The air that hung around the Count's gate was heavy, thick with the threat of death. It was not just the smell of dust and old wood; it was the cold, sharp smell of powerful magic and expensive metal. The huge army of House Denares, the hundreds of horses, the heavy, iron carriage wheels, the nervous, tense breathing of the guards, all stopped dead at the gate. Everything became dead quiet, except for the man who stood alone.
Eon stood directly under the stone arch of the gate. He had used his Matter Manipulation magic to fix and strengthen this arch just hours before, making it strong enough to hold against a small battering ram. He wore a simple, dark tunic, the color of clean earth. His hands were empty and relaxed at his sides. His face showed nothing, no fear, no anger, no excitement. He looked like a man waiting for a simple business meeting, not a former slave facing two of the greatest nobleman in this empire and their army.
The Denares force was a clear show of power. There were fifty guards in black, heavy steel armor, all wearing the roaring lion symbol of their Marquess house. Their swords and spears shone menacingly in the torchlight.
Flanking the massive, gold-covered carriage were four elite mages. Their black and crimson robes marked them as "Saint-class" Mages, masters who could call down fire, stop a man's heart, or protect a whole castle with words.
Then Darius Denares, the Marquess of War, burst from the carriage. His face was ugly with pure, burning anger. He pulled out his long, silver-plated sword. The metal screamed as it left the sheath.
"Where is she, you miserable, dirt-eating slave!" Darius roared, his voice thick and loud. The sharp tip of his sword stopped right in front of Eon's chest, so close Eon could feel the cold metal and the slight tremble of Darius's fury. "Present my sister here now, or I will use your skin to polish my boots and feed your elf spawn to the dogs!"
Eon did not move a single muscle. He did not look at the sword, only at the man holding it. His own gaze was cool and level.
"A greeting fitting for a Marquess," Eon replied. His voice was steady, clear, and loud enough for every guard to hear. "But the rules for this exchange have not changed. Teressa Edger, safely delivered, first. Then your sister is returned."
Alaric Denares, the older brother and the Marquess of Law, slowly stepped out from the other side of the carriage. He was the complete opposite of Darius. He was thin, pale, and moved with cold, controlled care. He wore the immaculate black and crimson uniform. His face was a mask of contemptuous boredom. But Eon, watching closely, saw the small truth: Alaric's right hand, hidden deep inside his coat, was flexing and relaxing rapidly. It was a sign of a man holding immense internal stress.
Alaric smiled a slow, mean smile. "Do you take us for fools, slave? You stand here with empty hands, just one man against our army. You have no power here. You are lying to trick us. Bring Elora now, or we will bring fire to this entire estate and burn it to ash. We will make you watch as we take every one of your loved ones head."
Eon moved his head just a little. He spoke Alaric's name, simple and cold, acknowledging the man's cunning while completely rejecting his threat.
"You are welcome to try, Alaric," Eon said. "You are the strategist. You understand leverage better than your brother. You know that if you attack, there is no stopping what happens next. And I promise you, Alaric, the high, clear screams you hear will be Elora's, not Teressa's."
Eon's words, so quiet and calm, were more powerful than Darius's roar. Alaric's cold mask cracked. Eon hadn't just threatened her death; he had promised a terrible, drawn-out end, and he spoke with the confidence of a man who already had the means to do it.
The cost of losing Elora, his family's pure symbol, was too high. It would break House Denares not politically but also internally. Alaric had to believe the threat was real.
Alaric slowly raised his hand, silencing Darius's renewed curses. His eyes were locked on Eon's, trying desperately to find the trick.
"The hostage," Alaric commanded, his voice barely a whisper.
A guard quickly opened the carriage door, and Teressa Edger was pushed out. She stumbled onto the dirty road, but quickly stood up, showing the pride she still held. Her expensive dress was torn and covered in mud, her hair was a dark mess, but she was alive.
Eon walked forward, calmly moving past Darius's sword, which Darius held still only because of Alaric's terrible glare.
Eon reached Teressa. He put a gentle, protective hand on her shoulder. He quickly checked her face and arms for new injuries. She looked up at him, and in that silent look, Eon saw thanks and gratitude in her eyes.
"Unhurt," Eon confirmed, meeting Alaric's cold gaze with his own.
He then lifted his chin slightly. From behind the fortified gate, a group of elves, led by the armored Elsa, moved forward. Elsa gently took Teressa's arm and led her quickly back into the safe courtyard. The elves formed a strong wall around their Countess. They looked at the Denares brothers with quiet, burning hatred, a silent promise of future payment.
Eon turned back to the brothers.
"The first rule is met," Eon said. "Now for the second, and the final."
He took a step closer, forcing the two Marquesses to lean in so he could speak over the crowd.
"Now for the meeting. You both will enter the house. Alone. You must be unarmed. Not a single guard. Not a single mage. Only the two of you inside, with me."
Darius roared in disbelief. "Are you asking for a quick death? I will not step one foot near your vermin without my personal mages to shield me!"
Alaric, however, started to laugh. It was a dry, chilling sound. He thought Eon was a total fool. He thought Eon was so desperate he was offering himself as a sacrifice.
"He believes he can stop us with talk, Darius," Alaric said, his lips curling in contempt. "He is just one man trying to stop two Marquesses who own half the capital. Fine. Let him try his amateur tricks. We will put him down fast this way."
Alaric's compliance was rooted in his absolute confidence. He knew his secret. His paid assassins, the elite 'Shadow Mages', were already inside. He believed they had passed through Eon's simple barriers and were waiting to ambush Eon the second the door closed.
"We accept, boy," Alaric announced, his eyes glinting with a dark promise. "Lead us. Let's see how fast you beg for your life."
The Denares brothers began to strip off their weapons. They handed their swords, daggers, and heavy chains to a trusted guard. Alaric, being a master planner, was careful to remove a small, powerful mana-charged ring and hide it deep in his left glove. This was his escape key, his final backup. He was certain no one noticed.
Eon simply stepped aside, allowing the two to walk past him and through the gate.
As the brothers walked across the courtyard, they passed Eon's team lined up for them to see: Hans, Verra, now standing straight and armed to teeth, and a dozen other elves, their faces showing their painful past and the sudden, fierce hope for the future.
The brothers didn't even look at them. To them, these elves were dirt, not worth their time.
Eon watched them go, his expression still blank. As the brothers reached the huge front doors, Eon's eyes moved quickly to a side window on the mansion's wing.
Elsa, the white-haired warrior, emerged briefly from the shadows of the window frame. She gave Eon a small, quick nod, a perfect signal. Elora was safe, far from the front of the house, and the stage was set. Eon's lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile.
The brothers walked into the Count's grand reception room.
It was a huge, magnificent hall, designed for the largest parties and balls. But now, it was strangely quiet. Thick, heavy velvet curtains were drawn over all the windows, making the daylight inside dim, muted, and very old-looking.
Eon followed them in, moving with a silent, easy grace that annoyed the brothers. He pointed toward two large, high-backed chairs made of dark mahogany wood, placed exactly in the center of the room.
"Please, be seated," Eon invited. His hand swept out in a grand gesture. "Let's discuss the final price for your sister's freedom."
Darius, fuming with impatience, immediately dropped into one chair. He leaned forward, ready to spit his demands.
Alaric hesitated. His senses screamed at him. The room felt wrong. It was too quiet, too still. He quickly scanned the shadows, searching for the mana signature of his Shadow Mages. He felt absolutely nothing. 'Impossible'. He had paid more than a small fortune for the best stealth mages. He told himself Eon was simply using a high-level silence spell.
He touched the ring hidden in his glove for comfort. His pride and his backup plan made him finally sit down, believing he was too smart to be tricked by a single elf.
The moment Alaric's heavy weight settled fully into the chair, the room shrieked.
It was not an actual sound, but an overwhelming, physical shock to their reality.
The entire atmosphere of the room snapped. The air that had been still and quiet suddenly became thick and heavy, pressing down on their chests. The thick velvet curtains and the massive double doors slammed shut at the same instant with a resounding THUD, as if an invisible, gigantic fist had smashed the whole room closed.
The dim light instantly vanished. The beautiful reception room they had walked into was gone.
In its place, they were in a much smaller, darker box. The walls were no longer rich tapestry and wood paneling, but rough, black stone. The air smelled of cold, metallic mana and damp earth. This was not the Count's reception hall; it was a magically constructed chamber, a perfect, soundproof cage. The grand room had been a complex, elaborate, and instantly dissolving illusion, a simple map of light and shadow, used to guide them to this single, fatal spot.
Alaric's face twisted in pure, dawning horror. This level of magic, the instant swapping of entire environments, was not the work of a novice. This was mastery.
"Trap!" Alaric roared, launching himself from the chair. His right hand shot out from his coat, trying to complete the short-burst spell he had prepared, the one meant to disrupt Eon's life force and save him.
But Eon was already moving. He wasn't relying on long, complex spells. Infact he was unarmed and clearly relaxed.
"It is indeed a trap. A trap in which you two have falled the moment you have sat on that chair. And before you try to do something, take a look your neck. There should be something."Eon gestured them to check their necks.
Without even checking what Eon was talking about Alaric tried to activate his trump card. But Before Alaric's mouth could finish the final, most important word of his chant, a small, heavy object appeared out of thin air directly above each of the brothers' necks.
Darius, struggling to get up, felt an instantaneous, heavy pressure.
SNAP!
Two heavy, thick leather-and-iron Slave Collars, reinforced with dozens of shimmering, embedded mana-siphoning stones, closed tight around their necks with a sharp, chilling sound that echoed in the stone chamber.
The effect was immediate and absolute.
Alaric's chant died instantly as the collar's magic stones began to suck the mana right out of his body. The spell he had worked on for months faltered, then vanished in a small puff of meaningless smoke. His arms, which had been raised to cast, fell uselessly to his sides. He wasn't just powerless; he was instantly a slave.
Darius screamed, clawing desperately at the thick leather that had locked him in. The iron was cold, and the leather was too tight, making him choke for air. He was the Marquess of War, a man who commanded armies, and now he wore the sign of a disposable serf.
Eon stepped back, his faint smile returning. He held up his hand. On his index finger, the simple silver ring he used to control the collar gleamed, pulsing with a victorious blue light.
"The grand hall was an illusion, Alaric, designed to exploit your strategy and your pride," Eon said calmly, walking in a slow circle around the two bound, gasping brothers. "You came in thinking your hidden mages would save you. But you see, my magic is simple. It is the magic of creation and absolute, physical control."
He gestured to the collars, his eyes gleaming with focused mana.
"These were not hidden under the floor. They were not enchanted days ago. They were sealed on your neck without your notice, the moment your bodies settled into the trap-chairs."
The brothers were choking, not only from the tightness of the collars but from the terrible, crushing reality of their defeat. They had walked into a house they thought was broken, only to be sealed in a perfect, private prison by the man they had scorned as nothing.
Eon walked over to the black stone wall and pulled out two short, heavy chains. They were made of simple iron.
"Before, you were powerful Marquesses. Killing you would have brought war," Eon said, snapping one chain onto Darius's collar and the other onto Alaric's. "But now? Now you are merely high-value property. The two most expensive slaves in the entire kingdom."
He stepped back and gave a short, sharp tug on both chains, forcing the two great Marquesses to drop onto their knees.
"I won't kill you," Eon said, looking down at them. "That would be wasteful. I will use you. You taught me how to ruin a noble house with politics, debt, and cold murders. Now, you will teach me how to build an empire on the ashes of your own."
Alaric's face twisted in pure, dawning horror. "You cannot! The Empire will find out! They will send the Royal Guards!"
"The Royal Guard?" Eon laughed, a low, cold sound. "The same Royal Guards that took your gold and looked away from your countless crimes? They will be told by their own lords, by you, eventually, that you two were tragically captured and lost while fighting to save your sister."
Eon looked at them, his eyes full of cold, victorious power.
"No one knows you are slaves. Everyone outside still sees two powerful Marquesses waiting for their sister. And who controls the Marquesses now? I do."
He turned back to the solid stone wall, which was just a normal room in his eyes. But these two brothers eyes, it was magic of high callibar. "What a joke? Hah… Who would have thought alchemy could be used in this way too."
He turned to the Denares brothers once again, "The final lesson is this: You thought you were negotiating Elora's freedom. But in truth, You were actually signing away your own. What a tragic fate you two have. Or should I say It is just Karma. Not that I care anymore. Whatever lets you sleep at night."
He walked to the exit, pulling the chains taut. The two most powerful men in the region, the brothers who controlled law and war of kingdoms south side, were forced to crawl on their hands and knees as their new master led them toward the light.
"Get up," Eon ordered, his voice echoing in the small space. "We have an army of guards waiting outside. And they will need to be told a new, carefully crafted story."
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