Chapter 963: New Orders

’Maintain your interested heiress attitude, Amara.’ Then his tone shifted. ’And you, Vivienne… keep that sweet little daddy’s princess act going. Or whatever it is that you are going for.’

For the briefest moment… something flickered in Vivienne’s eyes.

Annoyance. A spark of indignation. That lingering, foolish pride of the woman she used to be; an aristocrat raised above the common folk. A jewel of Greenvale, pampered, adored, spoiled since birth.

Her teeth clenched. The impulse to snap back—”You shut the fuck up right now or else…”—burned on her tongue.

But the seal pulsed.

A reminder. A law carved into her very spirit.

She swallowed. Hard.

’…Yes, Master.’

Her head tilted, chin up. Her practiced smile, which disappeared for but a single moment, slid back into place, eyes wide, lashes fluttering. She was every inch the innocent, naive princess playing the part her father adored.

Amara, standing beside her, voiced her acceptance of his new order.

Their gazes moved back to the map table. Masks fully secured.

Alastair and his generals remained utterly oblivious.

“Let’s begin,” Amara spoke up. “Please, General Reinhardt, elaborate further on the Consortium’s retreat patterns. I’d like to understand how the supply lines have been adjusted in response.”

The grizzled commander smiled at the sharpness of the question. “Ah, yes. Very perceptive, Lady Amara…”

And just like that, the game continued.

Two princesses. Two spies. Tethered to the will of a predator hiding in the shadows.

Every word spoken in this chamber… was another piece falling perfectly into Quinlan Elysiar’s palm.

The war table’s flickering projection faded from Quinlan’s vision, his focus elsewhere.

His gaze shifted to the figures standing before him.

His Ascendants.

Dressed. Armed. Ready for war.

Vex wasn’t among them, already dispatched to help stabilize the front.

“Listen up.”

He waved a hand, manifesting a paper in the air from his storage artifact. It was an old, yet detailed contract. Gold ink on dark parchment, stamped with both the Greenvale Duke’s sigil and the Consortium’s Finance Department seal.

“According to what Black Fang unearthed, the Finance Branch of the Consortium struck a deal with the Greenvales over ten thousand years ago.”

Selene’s crimson hair caught the morning light as she tossed it so they were no longer resting in front of her shoulders. Then, she asked, “Are the nobles truly working with criminals?”

“No deal is impossible if both sides have things to gain it seems.”

“What did the deal entail?” Kaelira, the stalwart elf tanker, asked.

“The Greenvale Dukedom became the unofficial prison of the Finance Division’s most… troublesome assets.”

“Prisoners,” Selene finished, her sharp eyes narrowing even further.

“High-value ones. People who were liabilities to the Consortium. Rivals, debtors, political hostages, failed traitors… or valuable bargaining chips. All dumped into Greenvale custody.”

“Why the hell would they hand over their prisoners willingly?” Cedric’s voice cut through the air. “Doesn’t make sense.”

Quinlan paused and inclined his head. “A fair point, Cedric.”

With a flick of his fingers, a new map appeared. It was an old parchment, faded but clear. A spiderweb of lines connecting Consortium departments to noble houses, trade hubs, and underground syndicates.

“Because… for all their brutality, the Consortium and the Greenvale Dukedom have peacefully coexisted for tens of thousands of years.”

He paced along the edge of the projection, hands behind his back.

“Each knew where the other stood. The Dukedom turned a blind eye to certain criminal activities so long as those activities didn’t disrupt the economy or the noble order. In exchange, the Consortium made sure its chaos never spilled too far beyond its own walls.”

Cedric was struggling to keep up, but he was doing his best, evidenced by his realization. “A balance.”

“A very fragile one,” Quinlan confirmed. “Especially inside the Consortium itself. The Consortium is a powder keg of ambition and rivalry. The departments are oath-bound not to betray each other, sure. But under that? Constant power struggles. Sabotage. Deals under the table. Everyone looking for an angle to get ahead. Just look how we got this information… Black Fang directly sent her lieutenant, and if there’s one thing I can say with absolute confidence, Raika did not gather this information through peaceful methods.”

A pair of footsteps echoed as Ayame stepped forward, her armored boots clicking on the floor. Her hand rested casually on the hilt of her katana.

She stopped at Quinlan’s side, his right hand. His second.

“Think about it logically,” Ayame addressed Cedric and the rest. “If you were the Finance Head, where would you store your most sensitive prisoners?”

Her gaze swept the room. No one answered.

“Not inside the Consortium,” she continued. “Not where rival departments could meddle. Not where a sudden coup, a betrayal, or a poisoned cup could compromise your assets.”

She gestured toward the projection. “The Greenvales… were the perfect vault. Stable. Orderly. An institution of lawful greed. They wouldn’t steal the prisoners. They wouldn’t kill them out of spite. They would guard them, and in exchange, the Finance Department gained leverage.”

“Leverage?” Abudha tilted his head.

“Protection. By handing them over, the Finance branch gained favor with the Greenvales. Nobles who now had a vested interest in the Finance Department’s stability.”

“And… for a department whose operations require constant trade beyond Consortium borders…” Quinlan picked up where she left off. “…being left alone by the Dukedom’s knights? They probably thought of it as the deal of a lifetime.”

Selene whistled. “A prison that doubles as a political alliance… Clever.”

Blackjack laughed. “Goddess, I love crime. The layers, man. The layers. Also… life’s been way too good since you defeated and humiliated me. I thought I’d never get to go balls-deep into royal affairs, yet here we are.”

Selene grimaced, slowly turning her head toward Blackjack with a look of pure, undiluted disgust.

The rest ignored him completely.

Quinlan, however, remained focused. His fingers traced a practiced motion, and with a low hum of distorted space, a portal materialized before them. A swirling maelstrom of violet and blue.

His eyes swept across his gathered Ascendants. “No more talking.”

He took a step toward the portal.

“Let’s move.”

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