Chapter 23

The next morning found me staring out the window of my workshop, fingers drumming lightly against the wooden frame as I watched the city wake up. The early morning air was still cool, the sun not quite committed to the day yet, and I couldn't shake the lingering exhaustion from the previous night's efforts. But there was no rest for the ambitious, and I was determined to capitalize on every moment of favor I currently held.

It wasn't long before I found myself standing outside the auction house. The building was a familiar presence now, a beacon of wealth and power that radiated subtle grandeur. To the common eye, it was just another imposing structure in the city, but I knew better. Inside, fortunes were made and lost with the flick of a finger, and in this game, every player had their own agendas.

Leticia greeted me at the entrance, her face lighting up the moment she saw me approach. If someone had told me when I first met her that Leticia, the refined and sharp-eyed mistress of the auction house, would one day be practically fawning over me, I would have laughed them off. But here she was, her smile a little too eager and her demeanor a little too accommodating. The dynamic had shifted, and she was very aware of it.

"Master Goodchild!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying the practiced lilt of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of charm. "What a pleasure it is to see you again. You honor us with your presence."

I inclined my head slightly, offering her a polite smile. "Lady Leticia," I replied, my tone casual. "It's always a pleasure to do business with someone as… resourceful as yourself."

Her eyes gleamed at the compliment, and she quickly stepped aside to let me in, gesturing for me to follow. "You've certainly brought a great deal of prosperity to this establishment," she said, her voice taking on a purring quality as she led me down the familiar hallways. "Your items have caused quite a stir among our clients. I must say, I've never seen such interest in a single artisan's work."

The hall was as grand as ever, the walls lined with expensive tapestries and artifacts meant to intimidate and awe anyone who set foot inside. Leticia's heels clicked against the polished marble floor as she glanced back at me, her smile as polished as her surroundings.

"Word travels quickly in these circles," Leticia continued, her voice taking on a more measured tone. "You've made quite the impression, Master Goodchild. People are… curious about you."

"Curiosity can be a dangerous thing," I replied, my voice light but carrying an underlying edge. "But I suppose it's better to be known for one's skills than for one's mistakes."

"Indeed," Leticia agreed, her eyes narrowing slightly as if considering some hidden meaning in my words. "And that's why I believe a partnership between us could be most beneficial."

There it was. The not-so-subtle hint at something more. I had been expecting it—after all, she had been dancing around the idea for weeks now, dropping increasingly heavy-handed innuendos about the "special favors" and "exclusive benefits" a partnership with her might offer. When we had first met, Leticia had been all refined manners and cool professionalism. But now, with my work bringing in more gold and prestige than she had anticipated, her desperation was beginning to show.

"You've certainly been generous with your assistance thus far," I said, careful to keep my tone neutral. "But I'm not sure a formal partnership would be wise at this stage."

A flicker of frustration crossed her face, so brief that I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching closely. Leticia wasn't accustomed to being refused, especially not by someone she saw as an asset to her business. But she recovered quickly, her smile returning with practiced ease.

"Of course," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "But should you ever change your mind, know that I would be more than willing to offer you certain… privileges."

The way she said "privileges" was laced with more innuendo than an entire anthology of bawdy poetry, but I merely nodded, refusing to take the bait. Leticia was a shrewd businesswoman, and I had no intention of becoming entangled in whatever webs she was trying to weave. Still, there was no harm in keeping things cordial, especially since she was offering me something I actually needed.

"In the meantime," she continued, her tone turning more businesslike, "I can make arrangements to connect you with the auction house in the provincial capital. I have… certain relationships there that could be quite advantageous for someone with your talents."

Now that caught my attention. A connection to the capital was exactly what I needed, and if Leticia had the means to facilitate that, it would be foolish not to accept.

"I appreciate your generosity," I said, giving her a small smile. "And your willingness to go to such lengths for me."

Leticia's eyes lit up with a flicker of triumph, and she inclined her head graciously. "It's no trouble at all, Master Goodchild. We must look out for each other, after all."

The conversation might have been over, but I could tell she was already mentally tallying up points in whatever game she believed we were playing. I didn't mind letting her think she was winning—it was often easier to get what you wanted when your opponent thought they had the upper hand.

"Now, about today's auction," I said, changing the subject before she could press the matter further. I reached into my coat and pulled out a small velvet pouch, placing it on the polished table between us. "I've brought something new that I think you'll find quite interesting."

Leticia's eyes widened with excitement as she reached for the pouch, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric before carefully pulling the drawstring open. Inside were several small devices, each one etched with runes more intricate and refined than anything I had previously submitted for auction.

"These," I said, gesturing to the items, "are beyond anything currently available in this city. Each one is crafted with a new set of compound runes, designed not only for protection but also for adaptability. They're capable of responding to various threats and even learning from past attacks."

Leticia's eyes gleamed with greed, her fingers hovering over the devices as if she couldn't decide which one to examine first. "Master Goodchild," she murmured, her voice hushed with awe, "you truly are a marvel."

I offered her a polite smile, careful not to let my amusement show. It was always interesting to see how quickly people changed their tune when money and prestige were involved. Leticia's shift from refined businesswoman to eager opportunist was a perfect example of that.

"Will you be staying for the auction this evening?" Leticia asked, her eyes still fixed on the devices.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the auction house, casting long shadows over the polished floors and expensive tapestries. It was quiet for now, the hum of anticipation not quite building to its crescendo yet. I had intended to leave after dropping off my latest creations, but curiosity kept me tethered to the place. Part of me wanted to see the reaction, to gauge the frenzy firsthand, and to confirm what I already knew—that these runic devices I had crafted would drive the buyers into a bidding war.

"I think I'll stay a little while longer," I told Leticia, who stood beside me with that practiced smile that made her appear accommodating, even though I could tell she was eager to see me go so she could better orchestrate her little world. "I want to see how things play out."

"Of course, Master Goodchild." Her voice was sugar-coated now, though I could hear the edge of anxiety creeping in. She had positioned herself well over the past few weeks, inching closer to a partnership she clearly desired. She knew that my work had made her wealthy beyond what she'd anticipated, but I wasn't about to be drawn into her schemes. Not yet, anyway. Leticia would wait. She had no choice.

Still, her eyes gleamed with the thought of what tonight could mean—more gold, more prestige, and more leverage over me if she played her cards right. She gave me a slight bow before gesturing to a servant to escort me to my usual private box. I followed, slipping through the grand halls of the auction house that always managed to strike that perfect balance between elegance and menace. The high ceilings, marble columns, and gleaming floors were designed to intimidate as much as impress. Wealth spoke volumes in this place.

As I settled into my private box, the faint strains of music drifted up from the main hall. A group of musicians, plucking at strings and tapping drums, created an atmosphere of genteel sophistication. The sound reverberated through the spacious hall, its soft echoes calming the waiting crowd below. The auction wouldn't begin for another hour or so, and I had no intention of sitting idle. I took out my small notebook, the one where I jotted down notes on runic grammar, and opened it to the last page I had been working on.

I was scribbling down a theory about a new compound rune when the music paused, signaling that the auction was about to begin. The energy in the room shifted as people settled into their seats, anticipation bubbling just beneath the surface. From my private box, I had a clear view of the crowd—a mix of nobles, merchants, and the occasional wealthy artisan, all dressed in their finest, eager to outspend one another for a taste of power, prestige, or sheer indulgence.

The first few items were the usual fare—pieces of art, ancient relics with dubious origins, and extravagant jewelry. I watched with half-hearted interest, making mental notes about the buyers but not caring much for the pieces themselves. The bidding wars had begun, but it was when the beautiful women entered the stage that the mood shifted dramatically. It was a well-known tactic in these circles—use beauty to stoke the flames of competition, to ignite desire, not just for the object on display, but for the attention of the woman selling it.

The first of my creations was brought out—a small amulet, carved with intricate runes that glimmered faintly in the light. The device wasn't large, but its power was unmistakable to anyone who knew what they were looking at. The woman carrying it, though, ensured all eyes were on her first. She moved with a calculated grace, her dress clinging in all the right places, her eyes sweeping the crowd with an almost predatory gleam. The way she handled the amulet, as if it were some delicate treasure only she was worthy of touching, added to the allure.

I couldn't help but smirk. Some things never change.

As she held the amulet up, the crowd practically leaned forward in their seats, eyes widening with greed. The auctioneer began his chant, listing off the properties of the amulet, but I could tell the buyers were only half-listening. They didn't need to be told of its value—they could see it in the way the woman smiled, in the way she moved. She was selling more than a trinket; she was selling power, status, and the illusion of desire.

The bidding started slow, as it always did, but it didn't take long for the real competition to begin. The numbers climbed rapidly, with buyers throwing caution—and probably common sense—to the wind as they raised their hands to outbid one another. I could feel the energy rising in the room, the tension thickening as the price soared higher and higher. And all the while, I sat back in my chair, watching it unfold with detached amusement.

It was like watching a well-orchestrated dance. The woman knew exactly when to turn, to offer just the right angle of her smile, to tilt her head in a way that made the bidders believe she was looking at them, and them alone. I knew she wasn't interested in any of them—it was all part of the performance. But the crowd? They were eating it up.

The amulet eventually sold for three times the estimated price, and I couldn't help but feel a small surge of satisfaction. Not just for the gold it would bring, but for the confirmation that my work had value—real value—in this city. The buyers might be swayed by beauty and spectacle, but underneath all of that, it was my craftsmanship they were fighting over.

The auction continued, and more of my creations were brought out—each one causing a similar frenzy among the bidders. There was the ring with the protective ward that adapted to its wearer's needs, a small but powerful brooch designed to deflect magical attacks, and finally, a bracelet that amplified the wearer's physical strength. Each one was handled by the same group of women, their movements deliberate, their eyes flashing with the promise of something more. And each time, the crowd responded with the same fevered enthusiasm.

It was, in a way, a study in psychology. People weren't bidding just for the item itself—they were bidding for what it represented. Security. Power. A piece of magic they could wield in a world that was often unpredictable and dangerous. And yet, they were also bidding for the attention of the beautiful women who paraded the items before them. They weren't just buying trinkets; they were buying the fantasy that came with it.

And that's when I realized something else. It wasn't just the allure of beauty that drove these people—it was the feeling of being part of something exclusive. My work had become synonymous with prestige, with being part of an elite club that had access to something few others could attain. It was exactly the kind of psychological manipulation I had spoken about before, the kind that powerful men—and women—used to maintain their position at the top.

I leaned back in my seat, watching as the last of my items was sold, and couldn't help but think about how easily the dynamics of power shifted in these circles. People were so desperate to hold onto their status, to keep climbing higher, that they would spend fortunes on objects they didn't even fully understand, all for the sake of appearing more important than the person next to them.

The gavel struck wood with a sharp crack, sending a wave of murmured satisfaction through the hall as the auction officially came to a close. From my vantage point in the private box, I watched the crowd shift and disperse, buyers already moving to claim their newly acquired treasures while servants scurried to and fro like ants, attending to the whims of the city's elite.

Leticia, poised as always, moved through the throng like a conductor leading an orchestra. She smiled that carefully practiced smile of hers—part polite, part predatory—as she exchanged pleasantries and accepted compliments, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She had reason to be pleased, I suppose. The evening had been immensely profitable, and while I knew a portion of that profit was hers, it was my work that had truly dazzled the room tonight.

I rose from my seat, slipping my notebook back into the folds of my coat. The notes I had made on runic grammar still buzzed in the back of my mind, but there was something else stirring now. Something far more immediate. Information. I needed it—and not just whispers of the capital or polite compliments on my craftsmanship. No, tonight, I needed to know what was really going on behind the thin veneer of civility these people wore like fine cloaks.

As I moved down the corridor, I couldn't help but notice the eyes that followed me. A nod here, a murmured compliment there. The attention wasn't new, not anymore, but there was a subtle shift in the air—an acknowledgment that I was becoming more than just another artisan. Now, I was a fixture in their world, a player in their game. And with that came both opportunities and dangers.

The crowd had thinned somewhat, but the conversations still hummed with energy. I made my way through the grand hall, moving among the clusters of nobles, merchants, and military men, catching snippets of conversation as I went. A nod of acknowledgment here, a flirtatious smile from a woman draped in jewels there. The nobles were always quick to flatter—especially the women. It was a dance I had become all too familiar with, and one I played with careful restraint.

"Master Goodchild," one of the noblewomen purred as I passed, her fan snapping shut with a deliberate flick of her wrist. "Your work never ceases to amaze. Perhaps you could... discuss it in more detail over wine sometime?"

I gave her a polite smile, one that hinted at interest without commitment. "Flattery will get you far, my lady," I said, dipping my head slightly. "But perhaps another time."

She laughed, the sound low and sultry, but I was already moving past her, my attention elsewhere. Leticia had mentioned something earlier—something about the military—and it was that thread I intended to follow.

As I moved through the room, I caught snippets of conversation that, at first, seemed innocuous. Talks of trade deals, political alliances, the usual jockeying for power. But there was something else too—something that caught my attention in the tone of their voices, the way certain words were whispered instead of spoken outright.

"...the orcs from the plains..."

I paused, my ears pricking up at the mention of orcs. I drifted closer to a group of men, all dressed in the finery of high-ranking military officers. They spoke in low voices, clearly trying to keep their conversation discreet, but not discreet enough.

"...united this year... some kind of power struggle resolved..."

I frowned. Orcs were not uncommon in the plains beyond the valley, but they were usually disorganized, little more than scattered tribes. An attack from them was always a concern, but nothing the city's defenses couldn't handle. But the way they spoke about it—this wasn't just another skirmish. This was something different.

"Do you think the lord knows?" one of the men asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Another shrugged, his face tight with unease. "Of course he knows. He's always three steps ahead. But why keep it quiet? Why not mobilize?"

The first man shook his head. "Maybe he's waiting. Maybe... he has a plan."

I slipped past them before they noticed me lingering, my mind racing. A plan. Of course, the lord always had a plan. But what was it? Why hadn't I heard anything about this before now? An army of orcs, united under one banner—that wasn't something to be taken lightly. And yet, these men were speaking of it as if it were just another annual occurrence, like a harvest or a festival.

The thought nagged at me as I continued to mingle, exchanging pleasantries with a few more well-dressed elites while keeping my ears open for anything useful. As I moved from group to group, the whispers became more consistent. Orcs. A united front. A power struggle resolved. It all pointed to something larger—a threat that was looming on the horizon, and yet, no one seemed particularly alarmed.

No one except me.

By the time I left the auction house, the cool night air did little to soothe the unease that had settled in my chest. The city's streets were quiet now, the hum of activity from the auction house fading behind me as I made my way back to the workshop. But my mind was anything but quiet. The lord had kept me here, of that much I was certain. Lucius's interest in me, Alaric's sudden benevolence—it was all starting to make sense.

A trump card.

That's what I was to them, wasn't it? A contingency. Something they could call upon when things went south, and by the sound of it, they were expecting things to go south soon. Orcs weren't supposed to be this organized, but if what I had overheard was true, this year's attack was going to be different.

I reached the workshop, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. The familiar scent of oils and metal shavings welcomed me, grounding me for a moment as I let the tension of the night drain away. But there was still work to be done. If the city was going to be under threat, I needed to be ready. And that meant delving into something more... potent.

I made my way to the back of the workshop, where a large, weathered tome sat on my desk. The pages were filled with sketches, notes, and runes I had seen in the lord's palace—ancient designs meant not for simple protection or defense, but for something far more powerful. Military runes. Weapons-grade magic.

I flipped the book open, my fingers tracing the lines of a particularly intricate design. I had seen it on the walls of the palace, embedded in the stone like a silent sentinel. A rune that, when activated, could lay waste to entire battalions of enemies. The power it contained was staggering, and yet, it was incomplete. The lord's palace had only fragments of these runes, as if the full scope of their power had been hidden away.

But now, I had a reason to uncover that power.

If the orcs were truly coming—and in greater numbers than ever before—then I would need more than simple defense runes to protect myself, or this city. I would need to create something that could not only repel an army but decimate it.

I worked through the night, my mind focused on the task at hand. The runes came to life beneath my hands, each line precise, each curve deliberate. These weren't the careful, delicate runes I had crafted for the auction house earlier. These were weapons. Tools of war.