The First Puppet

Chapter 14: The First Puppet

A Noble with Too Many Secrets

Noctis stood on the balcony of his private chambers, the cold breeze brushing against his skin. Below, the gardens of House Umbrael stretched into the night, their carefully arranged paths hiding the reality that even beauty could conceal rot.

His mind, however, was elsewhere—piecing together everything he had observed during the recent gathering.

Among the nobles he had spoken to, the veiled threats exchanged, and the veiled truths hidden beneath smiles, one name stood out.

Viscount Cedric Vaelmont.

A noble not of the highest standing, yet dangerously ambitious. He was a man who preferred force over subtlety, intimidation over negotiation, and power through blackmail, bribery, and coercion.

"A man who wields power like a cudgel rather than a scalpel is easy to manipulate."

Noctis needed a pawn—someone powerful enough to be useful but arrogant enough not to realize when they had been caught in a web.

A noble could be controlled in two ways—through loyalty or through fear. Cedric was too self-serving to be loyal, which meant he had to be ruled by fear.

But fear had to be subtle.

If Cedric knew he was being played, he would resist. Instead, Noctis would guide him into a trap of his own making.

Cedric was the perfect first puppet.

A single night was never enough to fully unravel a man. Noctis understood this, and so he dedicated the next week to gathering every shred of information he could acquire on Cedric Vaelmont.

To truly manipulate a noble, one had to know them better than they knew themselves.

Information was the currency of the aristocracy.

Noctis did not rely solely on his own observations—he had methods of acquiring information, ways to slip past the carefully guarded secrets of the noble elite.

Cedric Vaelmont believed strength was the only path to power. But power wasn't in brute force.

Power was knowledge.

And Noctis was about to prove it.

The servants' quarters of noble estates were a world of their own—a separate kingdom where rank and privilege were determined not by titles, but by who knew the most.

Maids, footmen, and valets saw everything. They were ignored, underestimated—but they listened.

And Noctis knew exactly how to make use of them.

Noctis stood near the grand staircase of Lord Lysandre's estate, his presence casual, unremarkable. A noblewoman's ball was taking place beyond the gilded doors of the ballroom, music and laughter echoing through the halls.

But Noctis wasn't here for the ball.

He was here for the servants.

As a maid passed by, balancing a tray of wine glasses, Noctis shifted slightly, just enough for the tip of his sleeve to brush hers.

The glasses wobbled.

She gasped. "My lord, I—I apologize!"

Noctis smiled, steadying the tray with one gloved hand. "No harm done."

Her relief was immediate. A noble who didn't sneer at her? Rare.

"I believe you serve at House Vaelmont, do you not?" Noctis asked smoothly.

She hesitated. "Y-yes, my lord."

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to imply conspiracy. "Then perhaps you can settle a debate for me."

The maid blinked. "A… debate, my lord?"

Noctis chuckled, making it seem harmless. "I've heard whispers that Viscount Vaelmont is planning a grand acquisition soon—a rather ambitious one. Some say it's a trade route. Others say… well, something more personal."

The maid hesitated, then bit her lip.

"...The viscount has been restless lately," she admitted in a whisper. "The master of coin has been visiting him at odd hours. And just last week, I overheard him arguing with his cousin. Something about debt—"

A quiet gasp left her lips. "I shouldn't have said that."

Noctis merely smiled, slipping a small gold coin into her palm.

"You've said nothing at all," he assured her. "Enjoy the evening."

As the maid hurried away, Noctis turned back to the ballroom, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Cedric was more desperate than he let on.

If a noble's pride lay in their estates and titles, their weakness lay in their vices.

And Cedric's vice?

Gambling.

Reckless, thoughtless bets—wagers he had no intention of honoring.

Noctis needed to see it for himself.

The Moonlight Gambling Den was unlike the polished halls of nobility. The scent of candle smoke, fine liquor, and desperation hung thick in the air.

The room was lined with private booths, where nobles and merchants whispered secret deals over cards and dice.

Noctis entered disguised—a minor illusion dulling his features just enough to make him appear as a lesser noble.

His eyes landed on Cedric.

The viscount was seated at a high-stakes table, his usual bravado masking the tension in his shoulders.

His ringed fingers drummed against the table's surface. His smirk was too sharp, too forced.

A noble losing control.

Noctis settled at a nearby table, making small bets as he listened.

"All in," Cedric declared, pushing forward a pile of gold coins.

The other nobles exchanged glances, knowing smiles creeping onto their faces.

Noctis noticed a merchant noble across from Cedric—Lord Aldric Holstein.

Holstein studied his cards, then chuckled. "A bold move, Viscount Vaelmont."

Cedric's grin barely concealed his nerves. "I prefer to play big."

Holstein nodded once—and then revealed his hand.

A winning set.

Cedric's face paled.

Silence stretched between them before Holstein leaned back lazily. "Ah… such misfortune. Perhaps next time, my lord."

Noctis watched as Cedric forced a chuckle, though his knuckles were white.

He had lost far more than money tonight.

He had lost face.

And Noctis now knew who Cedric truly feared.

A noble without allies was a noble waiting to fall.

Noctis needed to see how Cedric's relationships were shifting.

At a formal gathering, Noctis strolled through the halls, listening to passing conversations.

Two young noblemen stood by the wine table, speaking in hushed tones.

"I heard Vaelmont's been pressing the trade council again," one murmured.

The other scoffed. "Desperation. His debts are catching up to him."

Noctis stepped closer, casual. "Interesting. I was under the impression Lord Vaelmont still held considerable influence."

The nobles glanced at him before one snorted. "Not for long. House Halewood already refuses to back him, and Lord Lysandre distanced himself last month."

"And Holstein?" Noctis asked smoothly.

That earned a laugh. "Holstein plays with him like a cat with a mouse."

Noctis let the conversation drift into meaningless gossip after that.

Cedric was losing allies.

A noble without allies was a noble waiting to be controlled.

Information gathering was not merely asking the right people the right questions—it was watching.

For days, Noctis shadowed Cedric's movements, ensuring that every assumption he had about the man was correct.

Noctis never rushed. Power was a game of patience, of waiting for the right moment to strike.

Cedric Vaelmont was a noble who believed wealth and intimidation granted him security. But Noctis knew better.

A man with no allies, no discipline, and no foresight?

He was already falling.

All Noctis needed to do was nudge him over the edge.

A man who is predictable is a man who can be controlled.

Cedric's routine was as excessive as it was reckless.

Cedric never woke before noon.

While other nobles used the mornings for politics—securing alliances, signing contracts, making their presence known—Cedric slept off his previous night's indulgences.

Noctis noted this with amusement.

"Power is earned in the hours he wastes."

This meant Cedric was always behind. When he woke, the world had already moved on without him.

A man who played catch-up was a man who would never lead.

Despite his indulgence, Cedric wasn't entirely foolish.

His afternoons were reserved for private dealings with merchants. These meetings were rare among nobles—most preferred to have agents handle such matters.

Noctis watched.

The same merchants came and went, some leaving pleased, others leaving in frustration.

He subtly inquired about who they were.

Aldric Holstein's men never met with Cedric. A deliberate slight.

The House of Valmere—a minor merchant house—left dissatisfied. Likely refused funding.

Two unknown lenders—private financiers. Those were the interesting ones.

Private lenders meant debt.

And Cedric had far too many.

Noctis attended one of Cedric's parties in disguise. A minor illusion, altering only the color of his eyes and the structure of his jaw.

What he saw?

A man desperate to hold onto his reputation.

Cedric laughed the loudest, boasted the boldest, and spent the most.

Noctis watched him lose a fortune in a single night. The way his fingers tapped against his goblet, the slight twitch in his jaw when another noble mocked his misfortune.

Everything about him reeked of insecurity.

Noctis followed.

Cedric left the parties at odd hours, never alone.

But his companions weren't noble allies.

They were mercenaries. Enforcers.

He met them in private lounges, away from noble eyes. The conversations were low, hushed, but Noctis didn't need to hear them.

He saw how they spoke.

They weren't loyal. They weren't friends.

They were paid hands.

"A man who surrounds himself with hired blades rather than true allies… is already losing the game."

And Noctis?

He was going to make sure Cedric lost completely.

Cedric's bitterness toward Holstein was well known.

A merchant lord who had risen not through bloodlines, but through wealth and intelligence.

Cedric hated that.

Holstein controlled a critical trade route—one that could have made Cedric untouchable.

But no matter how many times Cedric tried to gain control…

Holstein always outmaneuvered him.

Noctis listened to the whispers.

"Cedric had tried to outbid Holstein before. He had failed."

"He had attempted to frame Holstein for illegal trading. The claim was dismissed."

"He even sent hired men to disrupt Holstein's shipments. Holstein retaliated twice as hard."

Cedric was losing this war.

And that made him ripe for manipulation.

Noctis didn't need Cedric to win against Holstein.

He just needed Cedric to believe he could.

Give a drowning man hope, and he will cling to it without question.

Cedric wore gold-threaded silks, hosted extravagant feasts, and spent recklessly.

But Noctis had learned the truth.

His wealth was borrowed.

His lenders were growing impatient.

His reputation was built on illusions.

And illusions could be shattered.

Noctis arrived at a small, unassuming tea house in the merchant district. Unlike the noble estates, this place was simple, practical— but filled with valuable information.

He sat across from a merchant bookkeeper—a man whose job was to keep financial records for the noble elite.

A coin purse rested between them.

The bookkeeper took it, weighing it carefully before leaning forward.

"House Vaelmont," Noctis said smoothly. "Tell me about its finances."

The man hesitated. "That's… sensitive information."

Noctis tilted his head. "And the payment is generous."

A moment of silence. Then, the bookkeeper sighed.

"He owes too much."

"To whom?"

"Private lenders. At least three. And—" The man hesitated. "There's talk that some of those loans… were made outside the law."

Noctis smiled. "Smuggled coin?"

The bookkeeper nodded. "If someone exposes it, Cedric could be stripped of his title."

Ah.

Now he had his weapon.

"A drowning man will grasp at any hand extended to him… even if it belongs to the one who will push him further under."