Appointment as Baron

Cypher stood before Drake's estate, his expression composed yet unreadable. His golden eyes flickered in the dull morning light as he watched the knights - adorned in shining armor that clashed with the grim task before them - drag Samantha's lifeless body across the blood-streaked ground. Her limbs, limp and unceremonious, bounced slightly as they tossed her onto a wooden carriage. The impact made her head loll to the side, brown strands of hair slipping over her pale face like brittle silk.

A second later, Drake's corpse followed. His body hit the carriage bed with little more care, the dull thud lost amid the murmuring of gathered servants and guards.

The air carried the faint scent of iron and damp earth, remnants of the prior struggle clinging stubbornly to the cobbled path.

Beside Cypher, two figures stood side by side, their presence as distinct as the wealth and power that separated them.

The first was a woman who gleamed with excessive opulence, her every inch adorned in layers of glimmering jewels. A deep violet gown draped her tall frame, the exaggerated collar extending around the back of her neck like a stiff halo. She waved a gilded fan lazily, flicking it open and shut in slow, deliberate motions, as though cooling herself were an afterthought rather than a necessity.

This was Viscount Denomesa, the ruler of Thorn's High District. Everything within these borders - save for the imperial palace itself - was hers to command. Every villa, every noble estate, every lavish home sat upon land she taxed, swelling her wealth like a ceaseless tide of gold.

Drake's estate, Cypher noted absently, had been one such stream feeding into her ocean of riches.

Beside her stood Lord Gunter, a man whose snake-like features twisted in barely restrained sycophancy. His smile twitched as he spoke, hands clasped before him in a feeble attempt to maintain dignity.

"I say once again, Viscount, it is an honor to meet you." His voice carried a nervous tremor, and despite his attempts to maintain composure, his shoulders subtly hunched beneath her presence.

Denomesa merely exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. "Who are you again? A servant?" She tapped the fan against her palm, the sharp click of metal-rimmed edges punctuating her disdain.

Gunter stiffened. "I—"

"How unsightly," she continued, raising a manicured hand as if to swat him away. Only at the last second did she pause, eyeing the delicate fabric of her gown with a frown before lowering her hand. It was clear - were she not dressed so finely, she might have struck him then and there. Her strength would probably end up popping him like a balloon, and ruin her new dress.

Instead, she turned to Cypher, expression painted with boredom.

"What a loathsome ordeal. Getting killed by a servant. Pathetic, actually," she mused, her voice like honey laced with arsenic. "But I suppose a new Baron will take his place. If I recall correctly, the next in line for this position is..."

She trailed off, plucking a scroll from the inside of her sleeve. The parchment unfurled with a dry rustle, her sapphire-ringed fingers gliding over the text as her lips silently formed the words.

"Ah. Lord Gunter, was it?"

"That would be me, Milady."

She turned her gaze upon him fully now, eyes dragging over his form with visible distaste. He swallowed under her scrutiny. Understandable, considering she was quite tall compared to him.

"I see..." she murmured, voice flat.

Before the silence could linger too long, Cypher extended a neatly folded letter, his fingers brushing against the cool surface of the wax seal.

"Viscount," he said smoothly, his voice measured, "I wish to inform you that Gunter will not be inheriting this land."

Her brow arched, but she accepted the letter without hesitation. The moment it touched her hands, she flicked it open, scanning its contents in a mere breath.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips, barely concealed by the flick of her fan. "Oh my," she mused, returning the note with amusement twinkling in her eyes. "This is much better. I think you'll be far more capable than a mortal Lord."

"And far more profitable, Viscount." Cypher let the corner of his mouth tug into the faintest smirk.

Denomesa seemed to appreciate the gesture. Her laughter, rich and velvety, curled around them like a silk ribbon, her blue hair shifting with the motion.

"You know how to please a girl, don't you?" she purred. "Very well. For the first month of your appointment, I'll reduce taxes - just for you."

She paused before a strange glint appeared in her eyes, "And, if you so happen to find this poison that the servant conveniently possessed, please do tell me. I'll reward you handsomely."

"You're too kind, Viscount. I look forward to any future arrangements." Cypher extended his hand, his fingers curling expectantly.

Denomesa placed hers atop his, the weight of her rings pressing into his palm as they shook.

"I hope so, Deacon," she murmured, her voice dipping into something teasing. "Or should I say... Baron."

The handshake ended, and with a final flick of her fan, she scribbled a signature onto Drakes will. Her signature showing her concent to appoint Cypher as the new Thorn capital Baron. She handed it back to Cypher, who calmly folded it back up.

"Now, do forgive my rudeness, but I've been invited to a colosseum event. Should you wish to attend, my invitation is open."

With a wave, she departed, the rhythmic click of her heels echoing against the marble path. A moment later, she stepped onto an ornate boiler carriage, its polished steel exterior gleaming in her favored shade of midnight blue. The rough hum of its wheels vibrated through the cobbled streets as it vanished into the gilded depths of the High District.

Left alone, Gunter exhaled, his awe apparent.

"How did you do that?" he blurted, still watching where the Viscount had disappeared. "I've never even received a glance from her, and now she's giving you tax cuts?"

Cypher rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck on both sides. He let the silence stretch a moment longer than necessary. Answering immediately would be unbecoming of his new position.

At last, he answered.

"Simple. You don't need to know someone to get on their good side. They're far more likely to favor you if you know what they want." He gestured vaguely, "Her jewelry, her demeanor - it's obvious. She values money. And by taxing me, she makes more of it. Give it some time, and I expect that ten percent property tax to go to fifteen."

Cypher's gaze darkened as he looked upon the smaller man with something almost pitying ,"And you're a mortal," he added. "That alone kills any chance you had with her. If you'd inherited this title, you would have been a punching bag - worthless in their eyes. They'll drain your money until you're useless, and then when your of no more worth, they'll discard you and appoint someone else."

Gunter opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

This was an unmistakable reality. In a world where strength dictated value, oppression wasn't something that could be fought. Not when power came in the form of gods among men. Not when a single gesture tear flesh and bone, or alter reality. This was the law of power, and this world had an abundance of power at it's disposal.

With a dismissive shake of his head, Cypher strode into the estate. Finally, this pleasant estate was his to own, and could serve as a sort of nice vacation area should he wish to take a break.

The scent of polished wood and faded embers greeted him. Gunter trailed behind him, eyes flickering toward the wooden storage boxes neatly arranged by the dead fireplace in the living room.

"Are these the miracle cure you mentioned?" Gunter asked, his hand brushing over the surface, fingers twitching with greed.

"It's not a miracle cure," Cypher replied, unlatching the lid. "But the customers can think that way. Before Drakes unfortunate passing, he used his wealth to buy them for me. With my new servant Luthers help, I could extract quite a lot of vaccination materials from him."

Inside, rows of glass needles glistened in the dim light, filled with a murmur dark fluid. The vaccine for smallpox.

"Now then, let's get down to business." Cypher sat on his couch and crossed his legs. With a single hand rested on his chin, he spoke again,"I think it can benefit both of us if you let it."

Gunter didn't take his eyes of the boxes, but still managed to nod his head.

"You'll get five percent of the profits from the underhive, and since I'm selling each one for five silvee, you'll get two hundred and fifty silver. " Cypher offered, his smile thin and stretched a little too forcefully.

He simply sat and waited for the response.

"Five percent? That seems low. How about ten—" Gunter staired at the reflection of the glass syringe, only to see a pair of avian yellow eyes from the Chandelier above them. He blinked.

And his words caught in his throat.

In an instant he stood before the fireplace, hands trembling as they clenched around a fire poker, its tip hovering dangerously near his own throat. His breath shuddered.

From behind him, Cypher's voice was unamused, "You can have an extra ten percent," he said. "That is, if you want that money to fund your funeral."

Gunter swallowed. "F-Five percent is fine."

"Perfect." Clapped his hands, Cypher quickly added, "And don't sell it all too fast. Our goal is not to eradicate the disease, but to profit from it. If their is no market for the product, the value will decrease until the revenue runs dry."