Chapter 10: The Currency of Men

Zuka gave a faint nod but remained silent, his eyes fixed straight ahead as they made their way to the bar.

There, behind the counter, stood a second barkeep—this one a woman hunched over a thick ledger. Blonde hair, tied in a no-nonsense braid, framed a face that was more tired than unkind—worn by long hours and short tempers.

Without looking up, she asked in a clipped, professional tone, "What can I get you?"

Noir leaned casually on the counter, his smile sharp but charming. "Four cups of your finest beer," he said with a velvet lilt.

The barkeep paused, brow arching as her eyes finally lifted to meet his. They flicked from Noir's grinning face to Zuka's silent, imposing figure, then back.

"Finest?" she echoed, skeptical. "Most folks around here don't bother pretending we have a finest."

Noir shrugged, unbothered. "Call it a small indulgence. We like to drink as if we're winning."

She gave him a long look, then turned to fill the order without another word.

While she worked, Noir let his gaze wander across the tavern once more. His crimson eyes landed on a corner table, where a cluster of adventurers sat hunched in close. Their gear was battle-worn, their voices low. Armor dented, cloaks blood-stained. Their shoulders held the weight of something recent—and ugly.

The barkeep returned and set four tankards down with practiced thuds.

"That'll be twelve silver," she said.

Noir slid fifteen coins across the counter with a casual flick of his wrist and offered the barkeep a wink. "Keep the change."

The woman paused mid-motion, her eyes flicking to the extra silver like she'd just seen a ghost. Her pen stilled above the ledger as she blinked—once, then twice—then silently scooped up the coins, saying nothing. But the disbelief lingered on her face.

Zuka's jaw tightened. He leaned in toward Noir, voice low and laced with irritation. "For someone who claims to want a low profile," he muttered, "you have an uncanny talent for drawing every eye in the room."

Noir didn't miss a beat. "I do it to piss you off," he said with a smug grin, lifting two of the tankards.

He took two of the drinks and nodded toward Zuka, who silently followed him to an empty table near the room's edge. They sat just within earshot of a pair of rough-looking men nearby—grizzled, suspicious, and armed. The moment the brothers approached, the men stiffened, eyes narrowing at the sight of their curved horns and quiet confidence.

Noir placed the tankards down gently, then slid one across the table toward the men with calm precision.

"Evening," he said smoothly. "They call me Blanche."

The two exchanged a glance. One frowned. "What do you want?"

Noir leaned forward, his smile still polite but a note of intent laced beneath it. "I seek what is unknown but can be bought."

The second man gave a short laugh. "And you think a drink'll loosen our tongues, dragonkin?"

Before Noir could respond.

Zuka reached into his robe and withdrew a small pouch. With a soft clink, he placed ten gold coins on the table. The candlelight caught their polished surfaces, turning heads even a few tables away. I'd forgive their racism… For now, at least.

The men stared in silence, suspicion creeping in—but greed won out.

The first one muttered, "Alright… what do you want to know?"

Noir leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming idly on the wooden table. "This city," he said thoughtfully. "It feels… disconnected from the human lands. Detached. Who controls it?"

The second man's expression shifted. "Why do you want to know?"

"You sound nervous," Noir said, eyes narrowing slightly. "Strange, for a common man. Why worry so much for those who sit on thrones built from the bones of the suffering?"

"A roof is a roof," the second man replied. "Yeah, I don't agree with everything—but there's not much room to complain when you've got shelter."

"You say that like the people have no choice," Noir said calmly.

Their silence answered for them.

Zuka's eyes widen, a small grin stretching across his face. "Oh, I see. They don't have a choice." He smiled faintly. "That makes this place perfect for the business I bring. I hear the rulers of this little haven might be interested in… certain extra hands." He glanced between the two. "So. You'll answer my question. Would be a shame if certain high officials lost out on valuable goods because of your hesitation."

"You can't threaten us," the first man snapped. "You don't even know anyone in power, fool."

Zuka leaned forward, his voice low and sharp. "I can be quite petty when it comes to my gold."

Silence stretched out between them—taut, heavy.

Finally, the first man spoke. "The Duke," he said. "And a few nobles. They set up here about a decade ago. Claimed the land, built walls, made it feel like a real city. Most folks don't complain. A roof over your head is better than a sword in your gut."

Noir's grin thinned. "Yet it feels wrong. Hollow."

The second man dropped his voice. "That's because it is. You don't ask questions here. People disappear. Strange things happen. Magic… doesn't behave like it should. Even the gods feel far away."

Noir's eyes narrowed. "And the nobles? Where do we find them?"

A beat of hesitation.

"Where else do you find wealth?" the first man said. "City center. Big estate. The Duke's got golden hair. Hard to miss. You'll know him when you see him."

Noir rose, lifting his tankard in a parting gesture. "Pleasure doing business my friend."

Zuka followed silently as the two brothers disappeared back into the crowd, their drinks untouched.

Behind them, the two men stared after the gold on the table, neither quite willing to meet the other's eyes.