The meeting was held not at the Black Tower, but in a neutral, heavily warded safehouse beneath the sprawling, gilded merchant district. Kaelen Vayne, clad in simple, functional black leather armor that seemed to absorb the room's meager light, sat opposite a figure named Elara. She was the primary liaison for the Hidden Sun Syndicate, and though she radiated the calm, contained power of a Late Grandmaster, her eyes never left Kaelen's. She knew exactly what—or who—she was dealing with.
"Lord Vayne," Elara began, her voice low and smooth. "Your interest in the clearance order R-92 is… unprecedented. It has been dormant on our roster for seven decades."
Kaelen didn't waste time with pleasantries. His mind, honed by years of cutthroat finance and centuries of brutal martial cultivation, needed the numbers, the risk matrix, and the potential yield. "The danger is commensurate with the reward, I assume. I require the full data packet and the price of the contract, stated clearly in a single sum."
Elara gestured, and a single, heavy, ancient-looking scroll, bound with iron wire, slid across the polished table. "The risk is beyond commensurate, my Lord. The reward is 500 million Imperial Crowns, paid upon successful extraction of the primary artifact. We also offer a secondary contract for half the price, which includes free access to all minor artifacts and knowledge recovered."
Kaelen scoffed, a genuine sound of irritation. Five hundred million Crowns was enough to pay the entire Lionhart Legion's operating costs, training, and equipment upgrades for an entire year. The secondary deal was the Syndicate's real prize. They didn't care about the gold; they wanted the knowledge—the techniques and blueprints—that would give them an edge over their rivals.
"The secondary contract is the real price, Elara. Stop treating me like an Adept negotiating caravan protection." Kaelen leaned back, folding his arms. The movement, minimal as it was, made Elara visibly tense. "Tell me about R-92. What is worth half a billion Crowns and has kept your Syndicate away for seventy years?"
Elara swallowed, her Grandmaster composure cracking slightly under the Legend's intense focus. "The target is the Shattered Vault of Aerthos, Lord Vayne. It is not an ordinary ruin. It is the sealed treasury of a Mythic-era Divine Forge Master that existed a million years ago. It was recently exposed by subterranean seismic shifts beneath the Frozen Wastes."
The words Mythic-era were like a siren call to Kaelen. Mythic, or Ascendant, was a realm he could only dream of reaching, a rank that existed only in history books and legends of eons past. The knowledge contained within such a place would be priceless—it could provide the high-tier cultivation techniques the Lionhart Legion desperately needed and perhaps even the blueprints for Sage-grade weapons he could not currently manufacture.
"The defenses are… unusual," Elara continued, her voice regaining its professional neutrality. "Our initial exploration team—led by two Peak Masters—returned with one survivor. The survivor was a husk. The report states the Vault is not defended by Golems or Mana Traps, but by residual will—a fading echo of the Forge Master's power that is functionally indistinguishable from a Legend-tier defense, except that it is constant, impersonal, and does not require maintenance."
Kaelen felt a rush, a familiar flicker of excitement that was rooted in the reckless gambler he used to be, the playboy who used to bet more than he could afford on a single hand. This wasn't just a fight; it was a theoretical problem—a lock designed by an ancient god-tier mind that only a modern, analytical brain could hope to pick.
"Residual will," Kaelen murmured, tapping the iron-bound scroll. "A stable, Mythic-grade defense that runs perpetually. It sounds less like a guardian and more like a law of nature."
Elara nodded. "Precisely. Any power below Legend is consumed instantly. Even an Early-stage Legend might be pushed to exhaustion. No one has been able to bypass the outer ward to access the first level of the Vault."
"And the deal?" Kaelen asked, cutting to the chase.
"Five hundred million Crowns for destroying the Residual Will and stabilizing the Vault entrance. For the secondary contract—the knowledge and artifacts—we will pay a further one hundred million Crowns, and the Lionhart Legion gets to keep twenty percent of all non-primary artifacts, weapons, and all discovered Adept-to-Master grade cultivation scrolls."
Kaelen stood up, the chair scraping sharply against the floor. The deal was terrible. The Syndicate would take 80% of the truly valuable, ancient knowledge—the keys to his Legion's future—but they were providing the target and the half-a-billion-Crown payout immediately. It was a lifeline. It would buy him time, pay his men, and allow his Grandmasters to stop worrying about desertion.
He picked up the heavy scroll. "Consider the contract accepted, Elara. I will take the secondary deal as well. Give me forty-eight hours to mobilize. Tell the Syndicate that for R-92, Lord Vayne will personally provide the clearance. The Lionhart Legion moves."
Kaelen didn't wait for her reply, already striding toward the exit. The logistical nightmare of deploying a Legend and a specialized Grandmaster team deep into the Frozen Wastes was immense, but the challenge tasted like freedom. He needed to think, to calculate the maximum risk for maximum gain. He needed to be running. It was the only way he felt truly alive.