Azal'gul noticed Lorian contemplating.
He thought of giving him a bit of time to figure out things by himself and then decided to continue discussing his deal.
"Thus," Azal'gul resumed, as his gaze returned to Lorian,
"I cultivate champions.
I seek for individuals of immense potential, just like yourself.
You possess a unique blend—the ambition of your past life, the shrewdness of your intellect, and the inherent potential of your current form.
You are a fertile ground for investment. Valerius.
You understand growth.
You understand acquisition.
You understand the value of a well-placed resource.
You know money; you love money.
You have already initiated yourself in the art of nurturing and growing your wealth, and you are unapologetic and uncompromising when it comes to money.
They call me Prince of Greed.
And you, you are a conduit of greed—the perfect candidate to be my champion."
"So, I'm not a servant," Lorian stated, testing the words. "I'm... an extension of your will?"
"More precisely," Azal'gul corrected, as there was a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his golden form.
"You are an investment.
A long-term project.
Your successes are my successes.
Your growth fuels my influence.
I do not seek blind worship or mindless devotion.
Such things are fleeting and inefficient.
I seek results.
I seek expansion.
I seek to shape the course of history through capable hands.
Your hands."
He projected an image into Lorian's mind—vast trade routes expanding, new industries rising, empires shifting, all subtly influenced by unseen currents.
It was a vision of immense, controlled growth, a world constantly acquiring, constantly evolving.
"Your fear of 'hell' and 'damnation' is a mortal construct," Azal'gul explained in his voice, which was devoid of judgment.
"My domain is not one of punishment, but potential.
My purpose is not suffering but growth.
I am indifferent to your morality, Valerius.
Good, evil—these are labels for human convenience.
What matters is efficiency.
What matters is the expansion of influence, the acquisition of resources, and the cultivation of talent.
Your talent."
Lorian thought of his past life, Adrian's relentless drive.
He thought of his current predicament, the threat from Cassian, the unstable political landscape of Veridia, and the menace of piracy.
He indeed had ambitions, grand ones, to reshape this continent, to bring order and prosperity, and to protect his family.
But he was just one man, even with his modern knowledge.
Azal'gul's words resonated with a chilling logic.
This wasn't a deal with a devil who wanted his soul for eternal torment.
This was a partnership with a cosmic entity who saw him as a valuable asset, a means to achieve shared goals of growth and influence.
Azal'gul wanted to shape the world, and so did Lorian.
The demon prince offered the tools, the insights, and the advantages that Lorian, as a mere mortal, could never acquire on his own.
The 'Demonic Slot Machine' was not a trick, but RATHER a mechanism for reciprocal investment, a way for Azal'gul to provide the necessary resources for Lorian's growth, which in turn WOULD serve the demon's long-term vision.
"Your recent actions, your speech to the assembled dignitaries," Azal'gul observed, as there was a hint of something that might have been approval in his tone, "a bold move. You turned chaos into cooperation. You recognized a common enemy and forged a temporary alliance. That is potential. That is growth. That is what I cultivate."
Lorian realized the truth—
Azal'gul wasn't trying to trick him into servitude.
He was offering him a path to power, a means to achieve his own desires, by aligning them with a force that operated on a scale far beyond human comprehension.
The 'profit' was immense—survival, control, and the ability to truly make his mark on this world.
He could protect his family better, build his empire faster and stronger, and perhaps, just perhaps, reshape this entire continent into something more efficient, more prosperous, more... his.
"So," Lorian said, as his voice was gaining confidence, "I am your champion. Your avatar. And in return, you provide the means for my success, which in turn serves your goals of... growth and acquisition?"
"Precisely," Azal'gul confirmed, the golden light around him seeming to brighten slightly.
"Think of this as a symbiotic relationship.
You retain your will, your ambition.
You are the hand that shapes, the mind that plans.
I am the unseen current, the subtle advantage, the catalyst for your potential.
This is not a test, Valerius, but an investment.
A long-term one."
Lorian felt a surge of something akin to excitement, a familiar thrill that reminded him of closing a particularly complex business deal in his past life.
The fear of damnation receded, replaced by the cold, calculating logic of opportunity.
This was a dangerous game, yes, but he had always thrived on risk, on turning impossible situations into profitable ventures.
"Then we have a deal," Lorian said, in his firm voice, as there was a sense of grim determination settling in his heart, "a partnership."
"Excellent," Azal'gul murmured, and the golden light around him intensified, then began to recede, pulling back into the vast, inky blackness. "The true work begins.
You will find my presence... more constant now.
A whisper in the market, a guiding hand in the shadows.
Go forth, Valerius.
Acquire.
Grow.
Shape."
The pocket dimension dissolved around Lorian, and he felt himself falling, not through space, but through layers of consciousness, like a swift, dizzying descent back to his mortal coil.
He opened his eyes.
The first thing he registered was the soft, familiar scent of his own room.
The grand hall, the chaos, the battle—it was all gone.
He was in his bed, the silken sheets tangled around him.
He had apparently slept the entire night.
A warmth pressed against his sides.
He turned his head slowly.
On one side, Lord Elmsworth, his father, was sleeping while snoring a bit loudly. However, his hand still was loosely gripping Lorian's arm.
On the other, Lady Seraphina was sleeping curled up, her head resting on the pillow; her breathing was deep and even.
Lorian realized his parents had stayed with him, watching over him.
A wave of unexpected tenderness washed over Lorian. a feeling he longed for in his past life but hadn't fully processed since his rebirth.
Across the room, near the door, Jax Nightclaw was dozing, leaning against the wall. His head was bowed, but his massive frame was still and quiet.
Kaelan Strong was also there. He too was asleep, standing upright, with his head resting on Jax's broad shoulder and a faint snore escaping him.
By the fireplace, Eldard Alsnow was slumped in a chair, with his head on a table, and a soft, rumbling snore filled the quiet room.
And at the foot of the bed, curled up like a protective cat, Elara was sleeping, her spectacles askew on her nose.
Exhaustion had claimed them all.
Lorian smiled faintly. He could feel a warmth spreading through him.
They were safe. He had saved them.
Then, he noticed it.
From the darkest corner of the room, where the shadows clung deepest, a pair of glowing eyes was watching him.
It was a soft, luminous green, unblinking, observing him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine, not of fear, but of profound curiosity.
It was a silent, watchful presence and evidently an anomaly in the exhausted stillness of the room.
Something in him told him that it had been there all night.