“…You dare call yourself a Merchant Lord?” Azra hissed. “You are spitting on the famed neutrality of this great city!”
Instead of replying, Zeke walked over to the paper Azra had dropped, picked it up, and placed it back on the table. With deliberate care and slow precision, he smoothed out the wrinkles.
Only then did he face the other man, who was glaring at him.
“All my actions have been in line with Tradespire’s laws,” he said calmly.
Azra’s face twisted as he pointed at the contract now lying between them once more. “Then how do you explain this?” he nearly shouted. “None of the alliance states had to satisfy such a ludicrous requirement.”
Zeke’s gaze followed the accusing finger, his eyes scanning the brief words written there.
No Wraith may be purchased without prove of an official vetting process by the Elven Matriarchy.
One simple sentence, penned in clumsy letters, as if written by a child or in great haste.
“You are right,” Zeke said with a nod, making no effort to deny it.
“…Are you really that foolish?” Azra asked, caught between incredulity and anger. “Or do you honestly believe that taking sides in this war will not see you ousted from the city?”
Zeke leaned back, his posture relaxed. “I am not taking sides.”
“Then what do you call it when you blatantly favor one side over the other?”
“I am not, though?” Zeke shrugged.
“Take this seriously, or I will have this matter taken up by the committee before the day’s end.”
Zeke’s gaze drifted to the window, where night already pressed against the glass. “That might be difficult. To the best of my knowledge, the committee does not convene at this hour.”
Azra’s face darkened further. “Mockery? Do you not understand the seriousness of your current situation?”
Zeke smiled lazily. “Serious? For the Empire, perhaps. For you, certainly. But for me? Not so much.”
Azra’s gaze grew colder, though Zeke’s complete lack of reaction clearly unsettled him. Instead of storming out and making good on his threats, he chose to press further.
“Explain. Why must my Empire comply when others do not?”
Zeke smiled brightly. He had hoped Azra would ask. It was far more satisfying this way. “Ohhh, it’s quite the coincidence, if I may say so myself. I’m certain you’ll enjoy this.”
Azra’s expression remained unchanged, though Zeke doubted he could maintain that mask for long.
“…You see, due to some slanderous rumour circulating about me, I could no longer fully rely on the local merchants.”
Azra’s face stayed impassive, despite being solely responsible for that very problem.
“I found the disruption to my supply chain irritating, so I cut them off entirely. That left me with no choice but to order in bulk from my remaining allies,” Zeke paused deliberately before finishing.
“…The Elves and the Dwarves.”
At last, a flicker crossed Azra’s face.
“…You see, in my new contracts, there is a clause that forbids me from selling anything made with their materials to nations that have committed acts of war against them in the past.”
Zeke’s grin widened almost to the point of splitting his face as he gestured again to the parchment lying between them. “So, unless you bring me a signed document from the Matriarchy voiding that restriction, I remain unable to sell to the Empire.”
Azra’s glare was so menacing that it could have silenced a crying child.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Zeke, however, found that expression quite refreshing. “In a sense, you could say that the Empire has you to thank for this circumstance, doesn’t it?”
Azra’s lips twitched.
Zeke didn’t miss the gesture, recognizing it as Azra’s last shred of reason warring with the urge to vent his fury. “…I truly hope they won’t hold this against you when considering your future career options. After all, you had no way of knowing how badly this would turn out.”
The Mana in the room stirred, gathering toward Azra. It was a colossal amount, enough to unleash a devastating spell.
Zeke remained calm in the face of such hostility. He neither flinched nor moved; in truth, he wished with every fiber of his being that Azra would follow through with the attack.
That would give him all the excuse he needed to bury his three guests where they stood.
As for how he would manage that? Zeke had no doubt he could.
Well… perhaps not by his own hand, but through the defensive array that had been locked onto Azra’s chest since the moment Zeke had entered the room. The Mages powering it needed only the slightest excuse to pierce his heart with a beam of concentrated light.
It would be over in an instant.
Unfortunately, that did not come to pass.
With a breath that reeked of sulfur and scorched earth, Azra let the Mana wash through him without shaping it into a spell. A moment later, his emotions settled, and the mask of control returned to his face.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said in a voice drained of all feeling. “The Empire knows my worth well.”
Zeke met his gaze. It was a shame Azra had reined himself in, though it had been a long shot to begin with. He did not feel too disappointed about the missed chance.
“Your worth…” Zeke repeated slowly. “And what is that, exactly? From where I stand, the only thing remarkable about you is that you once studied under Maximilian. That, and your knack for gossiping like a fishmonger’s wife.”
Azra didn’t outwardly react, though Zeke didn’t care. He no longer aimed to provoke him into an attack. At this point, he was merely attempting to understand his opponent’s character to a great extent.
“But how long can that image last? At this point, even a blind man can see who the real heir to Maximilian is, wouldn’t you say? Your Empire doesn’t have enough mouths to drown out a truth known to all.”
Azra began to move. Slowly, he rose to his full height, staring down at Zeke, who remained seated. “You think yourself so clever, don’t you? You think your ship will save you? Or do you honestly believe that teaching those peasants a few tricks will give you an edge?”
This time, it was Zeke who listened in silence.
“Laughable…” Azra sneered. “You truly are that old man’s heir. I was a fool to think you might understand. But you turned out just as delusional as he was…”
“And what is it you think I don’t understand?”
“Who holds true power in this world!” Azra’s gaze sharpened with a fanatical edge. “Haven’t you realized it? Not even an army of commoners could touch the hem of the truly powerful. And yet you waste your time raising them up as if it means anything.”
“I am well aware,” Zeke said, making no effort to deny the claim, though it was outrageous enough to spark public outrage. “Not even united could the common folk ever pose a threat to the established powers.”
Azra’s eyes narrowed. Clearly, he had expected Zeke to defend the common folk, or at least resist in some way.
“…but I fear that is a very limited view of the world.”
“Limited?! You dare say that, knowing the Emperor himself shares this belief? Do you honestly think yourself wiser than the Exarch of Mind?”
Zeke shrugged. “In my opinion, the worth of a person extends beyond the purity of their Core.”
“Then you are an even bigger fool than I thought.” Azra’s eyes held something like pity. “But you will learn soon enough. When the wolves come for you, nobody will stand beside you. Not the elves, not the dwarves, and certainly not your precious commoners.”
His eyes gleamed with anticipation. “No. You will face us just as you are. Alone. Weak. And cut off from all who hold power.”
Zeke rose as well, meeting Azra’s threatening gaze with casual ease. “I am shaking.”
“The fact that you refuse to take this seriously isn’t bravery,” Azra replied, shaking his head. “Do you think the reason I haven’t crushed you until now was your strength? No. I simply chose not to act because you were already in my grasp. But now that you dare to bite, it is time to put you down.”
Zeke’s relaxed expression sharpened into mockery. “And how would you manage that? More rumors? Hired actors? Petty gossip? How am I to take you seriously when all your weapons belong to cowards and weaklings?”
Azra’s eyes blazed with fury, more than ever before. The words had clearly struck a nerve.
“One last chance,” he said in an eerily calm tone. “Provide us with a model of your ship, along with all the blueprints and schematics, and I can let today’s events go.”
Zeke’s expression hardened. The time for banter was over; it was time to take a stand. “…Ever since you came to this city, I’ve been waiting for you to come at me in earnest. No, dear brother. I want you to give me your best shot.”
Azra held his gaze a moment longer before nodding sharply. “Then let us put an end to this feud. Let us find out who is right and who lives in delusion.”
Zeke gave a slow, deliberate nod. Azra spoke no further word as he turned and left, the two dazed Mages trailing behind him.
He watched them depart from his estate from the window of his study, his mind drifting. Their dance had been a long one—a drawn-out war instead of a decisive clash. Both had suffered losses, both had claimed victories.
But now, the time had finally come. The time to see how the pieces had fallen, how the final score stood.
Whatever Azra had planned, it would be decisive. Something that would reveal a clear winner between them. Azra had not been idle. Just like Zeke, he had sharpened his claws in secret.
The battle for the soul of the von Hohenheim name was about to reach its conclusion.
Slowly, a grin spread across his face.
“Bring it on.”