Chapter 160: Hunger and Rules III
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He led them out, not toward the guest wing, but toward a room closer to his study, one that used to belong to his father’s old assistants. It was empty now, clean but unused.
"This is your room," he said.
Vera glanced inside. It was plain. Bed. Wardrobe. A small table. No luxury.
Vela did not complain.
Vera did not complain.
They looked relieved instead.
Because plain meant safe. Plain meant no one visited casually.
Sekhmet spoke one more time, voice firm.
"No feeding. No wandering. No playing with servants. You will learn this house rule before you become a part of it."
Vera bowed.
"Yes."
Vela bowed.
"Yes."
Sekhmet closed the door behind them and walked away.
He did not go to his own bed.
He went straight to the lower corridor.
Mira’s room.
He knocked once.
A pause.
Then the door opened.
Mira stood there in simple clothing, hair tied back. Her eyes were sharp even at this hour. She looked like someone who slept lightly, the way people slept when their past did not allow comfort.
"Lord Sekhmet," she said, formal.
Sekhmet’s gaze flicked past her shoulder. Her room was neat. A bag unpacked carefully. A small pile of writing materials already arranged on the desk. She was not here to be pampered. She was here to work.
Good.
Sekhmet stepped inside.
"I will be direct," he said.
Mira nodded.
"I prefer that," she replied.
Sekhmet’s voice stayed calm.
"You will manage my business preparations," he said. "Not publicly yet. You will start by reading the ledgers. Find me leaks. Find me irregular purchases. Find me suppliers who raised prices suddenly. Find me which contacts stopped responding. And also find out about who spread rumors of my death."
Mira’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"That is a lot for one night," she said.
Sekhmet’s lips twitched.
"You wanted resources," he replied. "This is what resources buy. Work."
Mira did not get offended.
She nodded like a professional.
"Yes," she said. "I will begin immediately."
Sekhmet studied her for a moment. Her battle power was not trivial, but her true value was her mind. And minds were harder to replace than swords.
He spoke again.
"One rule," Sekhmet said.
Mira lifted her chin.
"Yes," she replied.
"You do not gossip," Sekhmet said. "Not with servants. Not with other contractors. Not with anyone. If you see something strange in this house, you do not speak it aloud. You write it. You bring it to me."
Mira’s gaze sharpened.
"You expect trouble," she said.
Sekhmet did not deny it.
"I attract trouble," he replied.
Mira nodded slowly.
"Understood," she said. "My mouth stays shut. My ink stays open."
Sekhmet’s eyes softened by a fraction. Not kindness. Approval. He turned to leave.
But then Mira spoke again, carefully.
"My contract says ten years," she said. "I will give you ten years. But I will not be a doll."
Sekhmet paused in the doorway.
"I did not buy a doll contract," he replied. "I bought a knife with a handle."
Mira blinked, then her lips curved faintly.
"That is acceptable," she said.
Sekhmet left and closed the door. He walked back toward the main corridor.
Halfway there, the communicating stone in his pocket vibrated.
Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...
Sekhmet’s steps stopped. His fingers closed around it. He did not rush to speak. He listened to the vibration pattern.
Not a casual report.
Sekhmet activated it with a quiet press.
Raka’s voice came through instantly, low and controlled, like a man reporting to a commander.
"Master," Raka said. "I have confirmation."
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.
"Speak," he replied.
Raka’s voice tightened slightly, as if even obedience had difficulty carrying the information.
"Iron House," he said. "I found some dirt about the young master who ordered the attempt. But there is no solid proof. He used the broker channel. I traced it through two layers."
Sekhmet’s jaw tightened.
Raka continued.
"The assassins you killed were not hired directly," he said. "They were hired through a neutral middleman. The middleman used a contract phrase that is used only when the employer expects failure."
Sekhmet’s gaze sharpened.
"Explain," he said.
Raka’s voice went colder.
"It was a test," he said. "They wanted to measure your combat power. They wanted to see your limits. They wanted to see what you would reveal under pressure."
Sekhmet’s blood felt heavier for a moment.
A test.
That was worse than an attempt. Because an attempt ended when the killer died.
A test ended with information being delivered to someone who would try again with better tools.
Sekhmet’s voice remained steady.
"What else," he asked.
Raka paused. The vibration hissed faintly.
Then Raka spoke again, voice lower.
"The broker mentioned an auction," he said. "Not publicly. In code. They are preparing something for your auction day."
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed further.
The auction.
Everything circled back to the auction. That was when he would expose himself publicly. That was when he would announce he was alive.
That was when every rival would measure him with their eyes and decide whether to bow or stab.
Sekhmet’s voice lowered.
"Do you know what," he asked.
Raka answered immediately.
"Not yet," he said. "But I am close. The broker is meeting Iron House’s messenger tomorrow before sunrise. If I capture him, I can extract details."
Sekhmet’s mind moved fast.
Capture.
Extract.
Dangerous.
But necessary.
"Do it," Sekhmet said.
Raka’s voice carried a hint of satisfaction, the pride of a subordinate trusted with violence.
"Yes, master," he replied.
Sekhmet’s gaze turned colder.
"And Raka," he added.
Raka’s voice responded instantly.
"Yes," he said.
"If you can find solid evidence that ties the young master directly, I want it," Sekhmet said. "Not a rumor. Not suspicion. Proof."
Raka’s voice went flat.
"Understood," he replied.
Sekhmet ended the call. The stone went silent. The corridor felt too quiet again. He continued walking, but his mind was already layered with plans.
Iron House was escalating. They had tested him. Now they would plan the real strike. And the auction would be the stage.