The plush backrest of the sofa offered no comfort, not with a mind in such turmoil.
Sheol's visit had overturned the entire meaning behind Zeke's recent actions.
What had once seemed like a clever attempt to raise his standing had turned into a matter of life and death, assuming the King of the Dead had spoken the truth.
But Zeke didn't doubt him.
Sheol was a being so powerful that even Khai'zar feared him. The dragon had admitted his inferiority without hesitation, something Zeke had never seen it do with anyone else.
No. This wasn't a fabrication. The King of the Dead hadn't come to spin tales. Which meant the ruler of Tradespire, Midas, had been behind this entire chain of events—and not with good intentions.
It was baffling.
Zeke had never met the man, but he had always believed him to be a fair arbiter. Even if not an ally, he had seemed at least a neutral party. More than once, his intervention had helped Zeke in moments of need.
King Midas had been among the first to purchase the Gondola at the auction, indirectly vouching for its quality and sparking the wave of demand that became the foundation of Zeke's fortune.
His royal messenger had helped him during the negotiations with Arkanheim, even turning back time to prevent disaster and giving him a second chance.
Had he misunderstood these actions?
They felt so different from the devious scheme Sheol claimed was in motion.
Zeke tapped the armrest of the sofa, letting recent events replay in his mind.
He recalled how he had been informed of the hearing's conditions—the tight deadline, the trade agreements, the need for a royal endorsement.
Could all of that have been orchestrated? Had there really been a hidden dagger from the start?
But how could Midas have known that he was even capable of meeting the requirements in time? By all logic, it should have been impossible. Even now, he waited for word from his allies about their success. Without it, there was no chance of passing the hearing, not even if he accepted Midas's offer.
The whole plan felt far-fetched, to say the least.
However, the nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered a darker truth he still wasn't ready to accept.
King Midas had never needed to know whether Zeke would succeed. He had set the trap regardless. It made the most sense.
If he succeeded, Midas would gain a capable puppet, tied to his city and subject to his will. If he failed, the king would earn the favor of Arkanheim—or whichever other power he had sold him out to.
It was a win-win for Midas and a lose-lose for Zeke.
The only reason Zeke hadn't seen it sooner was because he hadn't wanted to. Even now, he resisted the thought. If Midas truly was that kind of man, then his position in Tradespire was more fragile than he had ever imagined. His family, his people, everything he had built was just one wrong move away from ruin.
Zeke let out a quiet sigh and pushed the thought aside. Speculating without a shred of proof wouldn't help him. Still, that didn't mean he would sit idle.
If Midas had taken such a gamble, the signs would reveal themselves soon enough.
…Or perhaps they already had.
Zeke extended his mind and connected to his beacon in Tradespire, projecting the image of the space into his thoughts.
He hoped, desperately, that he wouldn't find a letter waiting. But to his surprise and disappointment, an entire stack had already been prepared for him, each envelope still sealed.
Reaching out, he grasped the bundle and found it clutched in his hand a moment later.
He walked to his desk and laid the letters down, scanning each sender.
The first was from his mother. The next came from David, then Margret. Finally, there were two bearing the official stamp of Tradespire.
Zeke's hand trembled slightly as he held them. Two letters.
Hardening his resolve, he opened the first one. His eyes darted from left to right as he read its content.
To Ezekiel (formerly 'von Hohenheim'), Citizen of Tradespire,
Holder of Residence-Charter No. 8722‑B,
In accordance with the governing statutes of the Merchant Union and by majority resolution of the seated Council, you are hereby summoned to appear before the Assembly of Lords for the purpose of pleading your merits in consideration for elevation to the rank of Merchant Lord of Tradespire.
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The hearing shall be convened in the Upper Chamber of the Tradehall on the third day of the seventh moon, at the ninth hour past dawn.
You are required to present yourself in person and furnish formal documentation attesting to the fulfillment of all relevant criteria as outlined in Article VII, Subsection 4 of the Admission Charter:
Three qualifying trade contracts, each of no less than ten years' duration and a projected trade volume exceeding one million gold.
Employment of a certified Archmage resident in Tradespire.
Endorsement from the ruling authority of a recognized sovereign nation.
Nonappearance will be taken as forfeiture of candidacy and result in automatic disqualification for the period of one calendar year.
No escort or retinue shall be permitted beyond the outer ring unless bearing proof of vested interest.
On behalf of His Majesty King Midas, Sovereign of Tradespire,
and by the authority vested in this Council,
—Aubren Wex, Chief Scribe of Induction Matters
Zeke read the letter a second time, just to make sure he hadn't misread.
…The hearing shall be convened in the Upper Chamber of the Tradehall on the third day of the seventh moon, at the ninth hour past dawn…
His brows furrowed. The third day of the seventh moon was the day after tomorrow. That was an incredibly short notice. It was highly unlikely that the sender had only just received confirmation of the meeting.
More likely, it was a calculated move meant to catch him off guard. The fact that the letter had arrived just a few days after he left the city only reinforced that suspicion. Zeke glanced at the letters from Margret and David, hoping at least one of them held good news.
Then his gaze shifted to the second official letter. His stomach twisted at the thought of what it might contain. If Sheol had been right, this was likely the hidden blade aimed at his back.
To Ezekiel (formerly 'von Hohenheim'), Citizen of Tradespire,
Holder of Residence-Charter No. 8722‑B,
Be it known that, pursuant to Directive 118-A of the Citizen Compliance Ordinance, an official inquiry has been opened into possible historical associations between yourself and the convicted traitor Maximilian von Hohenheim, formerly of Arkanheim.
As per protocol, this investigation is limited in scope to the period prior to your naturalization as a citizen of Tradespire. Any findings establishing collaboration, material assistance, or concealment of treasonous activity—direct or indirect—may constitute grounds for the revocation of citizenship under Section 3.2 of the Foreign Crimes Provision.
Tradespire, as a neutral and sovereign trade capital, does not extend sanctuary to fugitives, war criminals, or any individual proven to have engaged in seditious acts prior to their induction under the Merchant Compact.
You are hereby advised to make available any documentation or testimony that may assist in the impartial resolution of this inquiry. Failure to comply will be interpreted in accordance with Article VI, Clause 19, and may influence future standing within city governance…
Zeke almost burst out laughing from sheer disbelief.
It was absurd, the kind of blatant nonsense that barely warranted a reaction. His relationship with Maximilian was under investigation?
Everyone in Tradespire had known about their connection for as long as he had lived there. Yet now, his esteemed mentor had been labeled a traitor, and their association was being treated as a criminal offense.
The accusation was so transparent, it might as well have been an open threat. He skimmed through the rest of the letter, which stretched across several pages filled with legal jargon, subsections, and obscure provisions.
It would have been nearly impossible to spot anything meaningful at a glance, but Zeke was confident he would find it. He already knew exactly what to look for.
And there it was.
On the final page, buried deep in the fine print, he found what he was looking for.
…Members of the Merchant Council are exempt from the threat of having their citizenship revoked, unless voted on unanimously by the entirety of the council…
Clever.
The fact that it wasn't presented as an obvious solution but buried in the fine print made it more likely that he would have discovered it on his own, thinking he had found a lifeline to save himself in a storm.
Zeke grimaced. It was a trap designed to exploit one of his better-known weaknesses: pride.
And unfortunately, he was fairly certain it would have worked. Hidden solutions buried in the details were exactly his kind of challenge. He would have felt like a genius for uncovering a last resort in a hopeless situation, already imagining the satisfaction of proving everyone wrong.
Whoever had set this trap understood him far too well.
Without Sheol's warning, he might have even thanked Midas for offering a way out, once again mistaking him for a benefactor.
That son of a bitch.
Zeke had no more doubts. Only one person could have orchestrated all of this and stood to gain from it. Midas. With the proof in hand, everything became clear. The King of Tradespire was an enemy. A traitor and a—
Calm down. Think.
Zeke took a deep breath, steadying himself with a controlled surge of Mind-aspected Mana. The cool sensation of pure rationality washed over him as he exhaled the charged Mana. Then again. And again.
King Midas.
Was he truly an enemy?
It didn't matter. Not anymore. Now that his mind was clear, the question felt irrelevant. Ally or enemy—what did that even mean in the city of merchants? There were no true allies here, only shared interests.
When had he grown so soft? So sentimental?
He had known for a long time that in Tradespire, everything had a price. Who could say what Arkanheim had offered for this opportunity? For all he knew, this scheme might have been the king's final attempt to offer him a way out.
Zeke didn't know, couldn't know, but it didn't matter. The only thing that truly mattered was the fact that he was in serious trouble if he couldn't secure the promotion to Merchant Lord.
Should he run?
There was probably no point. If Arkanheim had gone this far, they had likely prepared countermeasures. They could flee to another city through the teleportation gate, but who could truly protect them? Valor, perhaps, for a time—but there were no guarantees. No city outside Tradespire had the strength to withstand Arkanheim's pressure.
And even if one could, the conditions for refuge would almost certainly be harsher than what Midas had proposed.
No. There was only one solution, one way to protect himself while preserving his current standing in the world. He would have to become a Merchant Lord at the hearing in three days.
His eyes sharpened, and his lips pressed into a firm line as Zeke looked at the remaining letters.
Margret and David.
He hadn't ordered them to succeed, only to try.
It had been a loosely given command, perhaps not even a proper order, and now it might turn out to be the very reason for his downfall. Maybe it had been a mistake. But it was a mistake born of trust.
If they had failed, it would not be because they hadn't given everything.
Zeke reached out and gently tapped the first envelope, his expression unreadable.
It was time to find out if his faith had been rewarded.