After saying this, Jarlaxle could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He was trying to bargain, to get more out of the deal for himself: money didn't tempt him—ten thousand gold was certainly a fortune, but he wasn't desperate enough for it to risk everything!
He was hoping for something much more—something money simply couldn't buy.
Sure enough, Charles's reaction was visibly stiff for a split second, then his gaze softened, turning contemplative.
Just as Jarlaxle thought he'd touched a sore spot—just about about to provoke his anger—Charles gave a slight nod and replied, "True. If luck could be bought for gold alone, it'd be far too cheap."
Jarlaxle quietly let out a long breath. The gamble had been risky, but he'd made the right call. He relaxed, settling into his chair, waiting patiently for Charles to up the stakes.
Then he heard Charles say, "But the honor that comes from noble character should be able to bring fortune. Would a knight's badge be enough to invite some luck tonight?"
Jarlaxle's eyes lit up—that offer was the final weight on the scales, making real refusal impossible.
A subtle smile crept to his lips, and he nodded genuinely. "I also have a feeling luck will find you tonight, sir."
Charles exhaled, inwardly relieved. It matched the "game" flow exactly: without a badge of nobility, you could never really buy Jarlaxle's help.
He nodded back. "And here's to luck shining on you as well, sir."
After paying the bill, they bid each other polite goodbyes and parted ways. It was already late at night, yet Charles didn't head straight for the monastery—instead, he wandered off toward East Harbor District.
After all, Jarlaxle Banrae had promised him, "Luck will find you tonight." So, Charles planned to roam the streets a bit and see what kind of fortune he could stumble into.
He didn't have to wait long. As he rounded the corner into a deserted, shadowy alley, a cold blade pressed soundlessly to the back of his neck. "Don't move, sir."
Charles obediently stopped, casting a sidelong glance to see three dark-skinned, white-haired, crimson-eyed Dark Elves, each aiming a light crossbow right at him.
Clearly, these were seasoned assassins and experts at lurking in the dark. Their quarrels would have been razor sharp and almost certainly coated in deadly poison—enough to finish off an ordinary person in agonizing pain with a single scratch.
For Charles, of course, such mundane weapons posed little real threat.
Keeping an easy smile, he raised both hands. "I surrender. Do with me as you wish—there's no point resisting."
Behind him, the one holding the knife—Jarlaxle—looked exasperated.
You know who I am. I know you know who I am. And you know I know you know who I am... But we both still have to pretend we're strangers. Why do we do this to ourselves?
Ugh.
"Mr. Charles." Jarlaxle kept his voice low. Annoyed as he might be, he stuck to protocol, his tone gravelly. "I've heard you've hit some trouble lately. If what you need isn't convenient through official channels, my friends and I may be able to help."
"As long as you're willing to pay the appropriate price."
Charles turned around; Jarlaxle didn't restrain him, just kept the dagger at his throat for show. "You can speak now."
Charles nodded. "As it happens, this matter really does involve your kind, sir."
He reached into his Bag of Holding and produced a folded piece of canvas, slowly unraveling it. "Recognize this magic array?"
At the same time, he got a good look at the Dark Elf before him: white hair, delicate features, petite—barely 1.6 meters tall. In fact, to even keep the dagger at Charles's neck, he had to stand on tiptoe—frankly, it looked a bit comical.
But, well, elves of every subrace were always on the lighter side. Charles fought back a smile but kept his face solemn, waiting for Jarlaxle's response.
As he got a clear look at the intricate array drawn on the canvas, Jarlaxle's pupils contracted.
How could he not know this array? Back when he chafed at Menzoberranzan's women-only magic tradition, scheming to secretly teach himself, he'd studied this very pattern many times!
And only a few days ago, when the family's envoys found him, the first thing they'd demanded was he deliver certain goods.
Disguised as a courier, he'd handed off the cargo at the appointed place—and behind his contact stood a huge array… just like this!
Jarlaxle examined the details more closely—though much was left out, all the critical coordinates and identifying data were present and accurate.
It was the very same array from the last delivery!
So, Charles coming to him now meant he was all but certain Jarlaxle had a hand in this.
Jarlaxle's heart pounded; Charles simply gazed at him calmly, radiating subtle authority. "So? Does this look familiar, my unfamiliar Dark Elf friend?"
Forcing down his shock, Jarlaxle's eyes darted. He'd heard of Charles's ferocity—not just the reputation for defeating Abyssal Lords, but also for teaming up with Madam Vajra to banish the avatars of Archdevils.
He looked placid enough now, but if he refused to cooperate, there was every risk he'd end up rooted out entirely.
But Charles addressing him as an "unfamiliar Dark Elf friend" showed his hand—he was making this approach sincerely, not looking to blow Jarlaxle's cover or burn any bridges.
Jarlaxle caught on quickly. Remembering the arrogant attitudes of those family envoys, acting like they were doing him a favor by forcing him to work for them, a surge of anger flared in his chest.
So he replied, "It's familiar. But there are countless layers to this magic circle—I can't possibly give you every detail."
"Tell me, human, what is it you want?"
Charles smiled. "I want to know: where does this magic circle actually lead? And how can we pinpoint its location in real time?"
Jarlaxle shook his head. "Real-time tracking is impossible. But I can give you a general area and several traits about the location of this circle."
"Wait for my message. Once you spot these signs, you'll be able to deduce exactly where your target's hiding."
Charles nodded. "That's more than enough, my friend. You've done me a great favor."
"In the future, if you need anything in Liberl Port, you can always come see me at my monastery."
Jarlaxle stepped back and vanished into the shadows. "Deal, Lord Charles. Just don't go back on your word when the time comes."
His three subordinates, armed with light crossbows, also quietly faded away, disappearing into the night as if dissolved like salt in water, leaving no trace.
A small smile tugged at Charles's lips. He couldn't help but marvel that things had gone even smoother than expected.
It proved once again—so long as you shook their confidence, however tough they acted, in the end, they'd fall right onto the path you set for them, obediently working for your interests.
Feeling satisfied, he finally turned and made his way back toward the monastery.
It was late. Time to head home.
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