Zeke dismissed the servant with a nod and made his way to the waiting chamber. His steps, however, remained unhurried, his thoughts clouded by curiosity and caution.
It wasn't surprising that the Merchant Union had learned of his return to the city since the king himself stood at the head of the council, but the speed of their response caught him off guard. Barely a night had passed since his discreet arrival, and he had taken every precaution to avoid detection.
Yet somehow, they had not only discovered his presence but managed to dispatch a messenger in record time. Their information-gathering network, it seemed, was as efficient as it was extensive—a force to be reckoned with.
More pressing than their efficiency, however, was the question of what the Merchant Union wanted from him.
Zeke had never directly interacted with this ruling body before, leaving him with no personal impression—neither good nor bad. All he knew about them was from hearsay which was not always a reliable source.
Most viewed the council with skepticism.
In the public eye, it was seen as a pragmatic assembly, held together not by loyalty or camaraderie, but by shared self-interest. While outsiders often criticized this as a weakness, Zeke found it refreshingly straightforward.
Unlike nebulous ideals such as loyalty and honor, Zeke placed more trust in the clarity of mutual benefit. At least with the council, motives were transparent, leaving no room for false pretenses or hollow displays of virtue. He had witnessed enough of that in the Empire, where the ruling class rarely lived up to their lofty reputations.
Yet, no matter how hard he tried, Zeke couldn't discern why the Merchant Union had chosen to contact him now. Lost in thought, he soon arrived at the entrance to the guest chamber, still no closer to unraveling their motives. As he reached for the door, his hand froze mid-motion.
He couldn't sense anyone inside.
Confused, Zeke focused his Spatial Awareness on the room, redoubling his efforts to pinpoint a presence. Yet, the result remained the same—an empty room.
Had the messenger already left? That seemed unlikely. He hadn't taken more than a few minutes to arrive. How impatient could this messenger possibly be?
Somewhat unsure how to interpret the situation, Zeke pushed the door open and stepped inside, hoping to find a clue to explain what was going on.
But before he could take a single step further, he froze again.
Contrary to what his senses were telling him, someone was there—a man with a wide grin, staring directly at him.
"That's an interesting spell you've got there, my lord," the man said smoothly.
To Zeke's credit, it took him only a moment to recover from his shock. Without missing a beat, he stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him, his expression calm and composed. Though, as he approached the old man, his mind raced to figure out what had just occurred.
The man was undoubtedly a Mage—and a powerful one at that. Yet Zeke couldn't detect even the faintest magical fluctuations from him. Stranger still, the man was entirely undetectable to Zeke's Spatial Awareness. It was as though he didn't exist in any sense other than sight.
The experience was deeply unsettling, leaving Zeke more rattled than he cared to admit. Yet, he ensured none of his unease showed as he extended a hand to his guest with a pleasant smile.
"No need to be so formal," Zeke said evenly. "Just Ezekiel will do. I've long been stripped of any of my titles."
To his surprise, the old man ignored the offered hand and bowed instead. It wasn't the casual nod of an equal, but the respectful posture of someone greeting a superior.
Zeke's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed this unexpected gesture. Regardless of appearances, he was certain of one thing: the old man was more powerful than him. Likely an Archmage, a rank that stood near the pinnacle of power on the continent.
There should have been no reason for him to act so subservient. After all, Archmages didn't have to bow to anyone, standing near the pinnacle of power on the continent. Moreover, Zeke had the suspicion that this old man was not weak—even by Archmage standards.
"How should I address you?" Zeke asked.
"My name is Vazzek, lord," the man replied.
Zeke noted the peculiar name, instantly associating it with a specific region. Combined with the man's grayish skin tone and bald head, Zeke felt confident in his assumption. "You're from Cosmoa?"
"That was indeed my home, once," Vazzek admitted with a faint smile.
The pieces fell into place, and the situation began to make sense. Cosmoa was one of the most enigmatic places on the entire continent. The massive city-state lay hidden underground, buried beneath the colossal crater of a meteorite that had struck ages ago. No one knew its exact location, as the only way to reach it was through a teleportation gate.
More significantly, Cosmoa was home to the continent's most powerful Space-affinity Mages. They had established the first Teleportation Network, a feat unparalleled to this day. It was said that their city was uninhabitable for anyone without the Space affinity, as even their houses lacked doors, relying entirely on spatial manipulation for movement.
Given that insight, it was no surprise the man could evade Zeke's Sphere of Awareness. If his people could hide an entire city from the eyes of the continent, it stood to reason that Vazzek could conceal his presence with equal mastery.
Zeke almost licked his lips at the thought of such a technique. The ability to vanish from all forms of observation was one of the most invaluable tools a person could possess—especially someone like him. It could mean the difference between survival and death in a world as treacherous as his.
Unfortunately, Zeke had no way of deciphering how the old man was accomplishing this feat. Was it the result of a spell? An artifact? Or perhaps a unique bloodline ability? He couldn't even begin to guess, leaving him both frustrated and intrigued.
"What brings you here, Vazzek?" Zeke asked after a moment of silence. "Does the council have business with me?" He gestured toward the crest embossed on the old man's chest.
Vazzek nodded, then shook his head. "Not quite. It would be more accurate to say that you have business with the council."
Zeke raised an eyebrow, genuinely perplexed. "I do?"
"It has come to the council's attention that you've recently expanded your operations into Korrovan," Vazzek said evenly.
"That might be possible," Zeke replied cautiously.
"Some members are… displeased with your expansion," Vazzek continued, his tone measured. "Particularly the forceful takeover of trade routes and resources they consider their own."
Zeke's confusion gave way to a faint grin. "Is that so?" he asked. "And what are they planning to do about it? Are you here to threaten me?"
The old man immediately shook his head, firmly denying the accusation. "I may work for the council, but I am not beholden to the whims of any individual member. It would be more accurate to say that only the unified will of the entire council can compel me to act."
Zeke's brows knit together at the implications. If what Vazzek claimed was true, then the council had reached some sort of consensus about him. That was far more concerning than dealing with a few disgruntled members. A united Merchant Union presented a significantly greater challenge.
"What brings you here?" Zeke repeated, his tone far more serious this time.
"Do not worry," Vazzek said with a reassuring smile. "This is a friendly visit."
Zeke didn't let his guard down, his sharp gaze fixed on the old man.
Realizing his words had failed to put Zeke at ease, Vazzek cleared his throat. "Very well," he said, straightening his posture. "Let us get down to business."
"In accordance with the will of the council, reached by a 65% majority in the second voting cycle, Ezekiel of Tradespire is hereby allowed to plead his merits in front of the council," Vazzek announced in an official tone.
"Plead my merits?" Zeke's voice sharpened. "Am I on trial?"
Vazzek shook his head. "Don't misunderstand, lord. This is not a trial, but an invitation."
"Invitation for what?"
Vazzek tilted his head, his expression almost amused. "What else? To join the council, of course."
Zeke's expression shifted to one of disbelief. "I thought they did not like me?"
Vazzek smirked. "Some members indeed think poorly of you, milord. However, if grudges were enough to deny someone entry, there would be no members at all. I dare say there's not a single member on friendly terms with everyone."
Zeke's expression turned thoughtful. "The timing seems a bit suspicious."
Vazzek's grin sharpened. "Quite perceptive of you, lord."
Despite his praise, the old man didn't offer further clarification. Yet, Zeke was already forming his own conclusions. Becoming a council member likely came with more than just benefits. He suspected there would be restrictions placed on him as well. After all, there must be a standard way the council handled disagreements.
This could be an excellent way to put a leash on him if he wasn't careful.
"What does pleading my merits entail, exactly?" Zeke asked after he noticed that he old man wasn't going to say anything more.
Vazzek bowed, extending both hands in a respectful gesture. As he did, a document materialized in his hands. Zeke's brows furrowed. Despite being only a few steps away, he hadn't sensed any magic being cast. It was as though the man wasn't even truly here.
Zeke reached out to take the document, half-expecting his hands to pass through it. However, the paper was solid and when his finger brushed against it, he felt a brief resistance, like the momentary friction of two forces colliding. Zeke recognized it as the interaction between his Mana and that of someone else. Then, for just a moment, he could sense the old man's presence.
Zeke grinned, now having his first clue about how the spell worked. The man's shroud was certainly the effect of Magic.
"That is a list of all the requirements you need to meet to join the council," Vazzek explained. "Pleading your case is simply showing proof that you meet these requirements."
Zeke scanned the list, his brow furrowing slightly. "What if I can't meet these requirements?"
"Then you'll be rejected," Vazzek replied flatly.
"That's it?" Zeke asked. "No penalties or hidden dangers?"
Vazzek shook his head, clearly amused. "What do you think the Merchant Union is? We're a legitimate ruling body with the backing of the King. We don't operate in such a crooked manner." He paused. "However, there might be damage to your reputation if you are rejected. Also, you can not be reconsidered for the position for at least a year."
Zeke nodded slowly. The loss of reputation was inevitable. A rejection would mean he wasn't on par with the other merchant families in the council. However, the second condition was a bit more serious. Could this have been the aim of whoever had a hand in his election? to nominate him before he was ready?
"What if I refuse to plead my merits?" he asked, just to be sure.
"Non-appearance leads to automatic rejection," Vazzek replied.
Zeke nodded, as he had expected. It seemed he would need to take this issue seriously. His gaze drifted back down to the list. As it stood, there was no way he could meet the requirements. If he chose to join, a lot of work would be required to reach their standards.
His eyes returned to the old man before him, a single question lingering in his mind. "How much time do I have?"
"Roughly four weeks," Vazzek replied. "The exact date will depend on the availability of the presiding members, but it should be around that time."
Zeke nodded, his mind racing. Though this invitation was most likely a move to control him, it also presented a significant opportunity. It would grant him access to the continent's most influential merchants and solidify his position in Tradespire. More importantly, it would make it much harder for the empire to bully him in the future.
A grin spread across his face. He couldn't be sure if someone was plotting against him or trying to help him, but it didn't matter. He had been seeking a new challenge and a way to strengthen his position, and now this opportunity had found him before he could even decide on anything.
It almost felt as though fate was lending him a hand.