Book 6: Chapter 53: Chains of Influence

Trinity of Magic

"That is quite the toy you have there."

Zeke’s eyes sharpened like blades. Who was this man? Had he been drawn by the power of the cube?

There was no ripple in the surrounding Mana, no sign of magic at work from the stranger. But that fact alone set every alarm in Zeke’s mind screaming. There was no way this intruder lacked Mana.

Which left only one explanation.

He was powerful beyond measure.

Zeke forced himself to swallow the instinct to attack. His body itched to strike first, but his mind knew better. Such a move would almost certainly mean his death. If this man intended harm, there was likely nothing he could do to stop it. Still, that didn’t mean he was without recourse.

He quietly reached out with his senses, searching for the distant pull of the beacon on Winter’s mountain. If it came to it, he would grab the cube and flee. Quite literally, abandon ship.

At first, it seemed cruel, but the best chance the crew had for survival was if this stranger's focus remained solely on Zeke. That was the only mercy he could hope to offer them.

But the plan failed before it even began.

Zeke’s eyes widened in alarm. There was nothing. Not even the faintest trace of his [Beacons]. Worse still, the space around him felt oppressively dense, too thick to pierce. His Sphere of Awareness had collapsed to the size of his own body, unable to extend even a hair's breadth beyond him.

It was as if...

"Domain," he breathed, his voice tight with horror as he stared at the man.

"Indeed," the stranger confirmed calmly. "You are inside my Domain."

"Who are you?" Zeke asked, surprisingly calmer now that he understood the futility of resistance. "I don’t recall offending an Exarch."

A flicker of confusion passed over the man’s face. Then his expression cleared with understanding. "Ah," he said, "you do not recognize this shell, so you fail to see me for who I am. My apologies."

"Recognize you? We have met before?"

"Indeed we have, child of blood."

Zeke’s mind immediately caught on to that peculiar form of address. There had only ever been one person who had called him that.

"Sheol?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Indeed, it is I," the man replied, giving Zeke a small nod of acknowledgment.

Zeke returned the gesture but kept his guard up. He didn’t let himself relax, not for a moment. There was no way this was a coincidence. The King of the Dead had come here, now, of all times, and Zeke highly doubted it was just a friendly visit. Especially since he had given strict orders for his men not to trespass into the Deadlands.

"...Surely, you haven’t come simply because I bypassed your lands with my magic?" Zeke asked cautiously.

Sheol looked almost insulted by the suggestion. "Who do you take me for, some highway bandit?"

Zeke wisely kept silent, offering no answer.

"I do not presume to lay claim to the space between dimensions," Sheol continued, shaking his head. "Nor do I feel wronged by those who choose to circumvent my lands to reach the Wilderness."

Zeke nodded slowly. It would have been absurd if that had truly been the reason for Sheol’s visit. Still, a part of him had hoped it was something so simple. "The cube, then?"

To his genuine surprise, Sheol shook his head once more. "A marvel, certainly," he admitted, his eyes flicking briefly to the artifact. "One that has few equals in this world... but not the reason I am here."

Zeke felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. It was as if an invisible pressure had been squeezing the breath from his lungs, and now, finally, he could breathe again. Somehow, the mere thought of losing the cube had felt as grave as if Sheol had come to claim a part of his very body.

Was that what it meant to be bonded at the Soul?

"What can I do for you, then?" Zeke asked, his tone curious.

Sheol shook his head. "It is not about what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. I have come with a warning and a gift."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Zeke frowned. "A warning? Am I in danger?"

Sheol’s lips curved into a slight smile. "Always. But that is not the kind of danger I speak of. You are at risk of walking into a trap."

"On my way home?" Zeke asked, narrowing his eyes.

"...At home," Sheol corrected.

Zeke paused, thinking it over. Only one possibility came to mind. "You speak of the hearing with the Merchant Council?"

Sheol inclined his head in confirmation.

Zeke’s mind raced. "I doubt anyone would dare try something under the king’s watchful eye. Would they?"

Sheol’s grin widened, sharp as a blade. "It is someone who has no reason to fear the king."

Now, that was a bold claim.

Zeke couldn’t think of a single person who did not fear the wrath of Merchant King Midas. With a flick of his pen, Midas could raise or ruin entire nations. His influence was absolute. In fact, the only person who might not fear him was...

"...the king himself?"

Sheol did not answer, but his grin spoke louder than any words.

Zeke shook his head in disbelief. "What reason would Midas have to trap me? There is nothing I own that he could not buy." His gaze drifted briefly to the cube. "...Or take by force," he added grimly.

Sheol shook his head slowly. "There is something."

Zeke fell silent, mind racing.

Something he possessed that Midas could neither purchase nor seize. Was that even possible?

Sheol chuckled, low and knowing. "You do not need to think so hard. You carry the answer on your body at this very moment."

Zeke's hand instinctively moved to his chest, feeling the outline of a folded letter beneath his clothes. He pulled it free and quickly scanned its contents.

“…This offer will remain valid until the day of your hearing. There is no need to send me a formal response. If you claim my support during the meeting, I will take it as your acceptance of my terms.”

His eyes narrowed as he recalled the conditions of that endorsement.

A permanent presence in Tradespire, and exclusive first purchasing rights to all of his future creations.

“He is after my knowledge? My labor? My potential?”

Sheol shrugged. “Maybe one, maybe all.”

“…Maybe none,” Zeke countered. “What makes you so certain of any of this?”

Sheol fixed him with a steady look. “Though I have not left the Deadlands in thousands of years, do not mistake that for blindness. My eyes, though old, see more than the Seers of Serevan. My ears catch whispers beyond what the Fleshwalkers of Valor hear. And my spies reach deeper than the Shadows of Equinox. There is no scheme on this continent that escapes my notice.”

Zeke’s gaze sharpened. “Do you also know what Augustus is planning?”

A teasing grin played across Sheol’s lips. “Naturally.”

“Will you tell me?”

Sheol shook his head, slow and deliberate.

“…Millions could die in his wars,” Zeke pressed, his voice tight. “The man must be stopped.”

Sheol’s expression hardened, the playful glint vanishing from his eyes. “If I wished to stop him, I would simply end his life.” His gaze turned sharp as a blade, piercing into Zeke. “…But it is not my place to decide who is right or wrong, just or unjust.” He leaned in slightly, his tone carrying the weight of ages. “Otherwise, I might judge that your existence is just as dangerous to the Continent as his, child of blood.”

Zeke swallowed hard. The threat could not have been clearer if Sheol had placed a blade to his throat.

"…I fear we have strayed from the topic at hand," the man continued, his tone once again casual and unhurried. "Midas demands your service, and I doubt he will accept no for an answer."

Zeke considered this for a moment, then, without hesitation, tore the letter of endorsement to pieces and let them fall like snow across the floor. "Then I will simply refuse his offer, if I fail to secure another endorsement."

"You won’t," Sheol replied with quiet certainty.

"I won’t what? Find a different endorsement, or refuse his offer?"

"Neither," Sheol said, leaning back slightly in the armchair, making the old wood creak beneath him. "Can you not see it? The timing, the urgency, the conditions placed upon you? It all fits too perfectly. He is driving you to scramble about, keeping you too busy to notice the blade hanging over your neck."

Zeke’s eyes narrowed. "What blade?"

Sheol gave a nonchalant shrug. "Who can say? Perhaps there will be sudden pressure to deliver you to the Empire, a pressure that can only be lifted if you join the council. Perhaps it will be something else entirely. The only thing that is certain is that you will find yourself desperate, desperate enough to be accepted at any cost."

He gestured to the torn fragments of the letter lying scattered on the floor. "Desperate enough to accept almost any condition."

Zeke's mind raced. He did not take Sheol’s words as absolute truth, but he had to admit they aligned uncomfortably well with his own suspicions. Ever since this ordeal had begun, he had felt it—a hand behind the curtain, moving the pieces unseen, shaping events to fit an unknown design.

Zeke began to pace, his thoughts spinning faster with every step. If Midas had truly set his sights on him, for whatever reason, the implications were staggering. Fleeing from Augustus Geistreich had been one thing; the empire had enemies aplenty, and it was possible to find shelter beyond its reach. But Midas? Midas was different.

There was likely not a single nation on the continent willing to offer him refuge if it meant drawing the ire of the Merchant King.

In many ways, Midas was the true power of the continent. Not through military might, but through influence, through wealth, through countless invisible chains woven between thrones and crowns. His power was soft, but it reached everywhere.

…And it would be strong enough to strangle him.

"Do I run?" Zeke asked aloud, the words slipping from his lips, more to himself than anyone else.

"No need," Sheol replied, his tone light, as if they were discussing nothing more than breakfast.

Zeke’s face twisted with frustration. This was his life they were talking about, the lives of his family, everything he had sacrificed for, planned for, fought for. Everything he was, and everything he hoped to become.

He scoffed. "I have no intention of joining your collection so soon, Death Mage."

Sheol rose from his seat, moving with a grace that seemed both effortless and inevitable. "There is no need for agitation, child of blood," he said calmly. "I did say I came bearing news... and a gift. Or did you truly think I would bother to cross the threshold of life and death just to mock a man with no future? That would be poor taste, even for me."

As he spoke, something shimmered into existence in his hand, solidifying from the air itself. Without haste, Sheol set the object down on the armchair he had just vacated.

"I trust this will aid you in what lies ahead," he said, giving Zeke a final nod. "Until we meet again."

And just like that, he was gone.