Chapter 93: The Scroll That Should Not Exist II
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He felt a chill run down his spine. Then he forced himself to breathe.
One step at a time.
He could not jump from a merchant’s house to the Gods Hall in a day, no matter how much divine blood he absorbed. Null did not reward impatience. Null rewarded survival and persistence.
Sekhmet’s gaze returned to the scroll.
He studied the Dawn House sigil burned into it again.
The mark was not placed there like a modern stamp.
It looked fused into the material itself.
Like the scroll had been born with Dawn House’s name.
That made no sense.
And that was the problem.
A question rose in his mind like a sharp thorn.
Why would his father possess a scroll about gods?
Not a rumor.
Not a tavern story.
Not a fragment from a street priest.
A true scroll, old, detailed, and dangerous.
This knowledge was forbidden for common mortals.
If the wrong people knew Dawn House had this scroll, it could attract attention like blood in water.
Sekhmet swallowed.
Another question followed immediately.
Why did the scroll carry the Dawn House sigil if his father claimed Dawn House was something he created.
His father had told him he had no family. His father had told him he was an orphan. His father had told him Dawn House was built from nothing, from hard work and clever deals.
But the scroll looked older than the city itself.
Older than Slik.
Older than recorded history.
"Father," Sekhmet thought, "what are you hiding?"
The absence of his father felt heavier now.
Before, it had been an inconvenience.
Now, it felt like he was standing in front of a locked door with a key missing.
Sekhmet stared at the scroll for a long time.
He did not panic.
He did not rage.
He simply let the questions settle in his chest.
Then he folded the cloth back over the scroll, carefully, as if covering a sleeping beast.
Rustle...
He tied the bundle exactly how it had been tied before.
He returned it to the cabinet.
He closed the cabinet door slowly.
Creak...
And he stepped away.
This was not something to chase blindly.
If he dug too deep without preparation, he could open a hole that swallowed him.
He would ask Elena later. Elena had been with his father since before Sekhmet was born. If anyone knew something about Dawn House’s true roots, it would be her.
For now, he needed to focus on something practical.
Business.
Because business, at least, obeyed logic.
Sekhmet walked back into the common area of the library, letting the quiet settle his mind again. He looked at the stacks of ledgers, trade maps, supplier lists, auction schedules, and inventory records.
His eyes sharpened.
He opened the supplier ledger.
His fingers moved quickly.
Page after page.
His mind absorbed the details instantly.
He had always been like this. Even as a child, he could read a document once and remember it. His father used to stare at him with a strange pride and say: your head is a vault. Use it properly.
Sekhmet used it.
The problem became obvious fast.
The Dawn Shop and the auction house were not doing well.
They were still making money, yes, but it was the kind of money that came from burning stored wood in winter. The stock items they had left were being sold and resold. The auction house had fewer high-grade artifacts. The legendary-grade items they once relied on were not being supplied in the same volume.
Suppliers had stopped sending new stock.
Some had "delayed shipments."
Some had "contract disputes."
Some had simply gone silent.
Without auction-quality inventory, Dawn House’s reputation would weaken.
Without reputation, fewer buyers came.
Without buyers, the business collapsed.
Sekhmet leaned back slowly.
"So that’s why Father left," he thought. "He went to solve the supply problem."
And Uncle Ben had gone with him to help. That was his imagination.
Sekhmet exhaled. He needed to keep the business alive until they returned. He could not sit around waiting. He could not let Dawn House decline while he played with new powers.
He had a solution.
A very simple solution.
The orc treasure.
He had over a hundred legendary-grade items.
Those items were wealth.
If he sold them through Dawn House’s auction, he could not only keep the business alive, he could revive it.
He could create excitement.
He could attract buyers.
He could push Dawn House back into dominance.
Sekhmet’s lips curved slightly.
"I am such a genius," he thought, not with arrogance, but with practical satisfaction.
Then another thought followed.
If he sold too much too quickly, people would ask questions.
Where did he get it?
How did he return from purgatory with this much treasure?
Who did he kill?
Who did he rob?
He would need careful planning.
He would need someone to help with logistics. He would need a secretary.
Auri.
Auri could handle odd jobs. She could carry messages. She could observe quietly. She could stay loyal and silent.
Bat Bat would stay with Elena for training.
That plan made sense.
Sekhmet closed the ledgers and stood.
His stomach did not feel hungry the way it used to. Blood hunger had shifted his priorities. Food was optional now, almost like a habit rather than a need.
But he still enjoyed the food.
He still enjoyed the taste.
And it was lunch time. So...
He walked out of the library wing and into the main hall of Dawn House.
The hall was large, clean, and bright compared to purgatory caves. Morning light poured through tall windows. Servants moved like a practiced dance. The air smelled like cooked meat, spices, and warm bread.
Sekhmet’s steps were calm. He had barely reached the center of the hall when he heard a familiar voice.
"Sekhmet."
He turned.
Lily stood near the entrance, wearing travel clothes still, but cleaned and fixed in a way only a noble’s daughter could manage. She held a covered tray in her hands, and behind her were two city guards waiting respectfully. Her face carried a mix of relief and stubborn determination.