The First Puppet ( lll )

Chapter 14: The First Puppet ( lll )

Step Two: The Bait – A False Victory

Noctis moved with precision, weaving a web of deceptions so carefully placed that Cedric believed he was discovering the weaknesses himself.

It wasn't enough to simply tell Cedric that Holstein was vulnerable.

He needed to see it.

To feel it.

To believe it with unwavering certainty.

And so, Noctis crafted an illusion so convincing that even Cedric's own instincts failed to warn him.

The first step was to make Cedric believe that his efforts were yielding results.

For that, Noctis needed a voice—someone seemingly unaffiliated with him, but capable of guiding Cedric toward a false conclusion.

That role was filled by one of Noctis's lesser-known informants, a man named Marcellus Blackwell.

A former merchant turned gambler, Marcellus had once tried to make a name for himself in Holstein's circles—only to be cast aside.

The man held a grudge, and Noctis knew how to exploit grudges.

Marcellus was instructed to do only one thing: make Cedric think he had found a key weakness in Holstein's operations.

The meeting was staged in one of Cedric's usual haunts—a seedy gambling den tucked away behind the façade of an exclusive noble club.

As Cedric sat with his third glass of wine, frustrated from another night of losses, Marcellus leaned in from a nearby table, lowering his voice just enough to be enticing.

"It's strange, isn't it? How Holstein's shipments have been arriving later than usual. A merchant of his status should never allow delays… unless something's wrong."

Cedric stiffened, turning to the man with narrowed eyes.

"What did you just say?"

Marcellus feigned surprise.

"Oh? You mean you haven't heard? Even his usual suppliers seem a bit… uneasy. Rumors say his main trade route might be compromised."

The hook was set.

Cedric immediately latched onto the idea. "Who's saying this?"

Marcellus took a slow sip of his drink, acting hesitant—as though he were debating whether to share more. That hesitation only made Cedric lean in closer, greed flickering in his eyes.

"Just whispers. But the right whispers in the wrong ears? They could do a lot of damage."

Cedric smirked. "Then perhaps I should listen a little closer."

And just like that, the seed was planted.

Words were powerful, but nothing spoke louder in the noble world than written proof.

Noctis knew that doubt was most effective when paired with physical evidence.

So, he arranged for a few carefully forged letters to fall into Cedric's hands—documents that implied Holstein's most trusted merchant allies were beginning to lose faith in him.

The letters were subtle. They did not directly state betrayal, only hesitation.

A note from a merchant lord suggesting that Holstein's shipments had become "unreliable."

A vague concern about an unspecified financial strain.

A letter questioning if Holstein's dominance in the trade market could be sustained.

Each letter was crafted to feed Cedric's ambitions without setting off his suspicions.

And when a bribed servant accidentally left the letters near one of Cedric's informants?

Cedric believed he had uncovered them himself.

Noctis knew that rumors and forged documents could only take the illusion so far.

Cedric needed to see real signs of Holstein's supposed downfall.

So, he arranged for minor disruptions along Holstein's trade routes.

A shipment meant for Holstein's warehouses was mysteriously redirected to another noble's estate, leaving Holstein scrambling to recover the goods.

A merchant caravan that carried key supplies for Holstein's business was delayed due to an unexpected customs dispute.

A crucial shipment of luxury goods vanished before reaching its destination, forcing Holstein to compensate for the loss.

Each disruption was small enough to be plausibly coincidental, but when combined with the rumors and letters, they created the illusion of a crumbling empire.

And Cedric?

He was exactly where Noctis wanted him.

By the end of the week, Cedric believed he was gaining ground.

He began to act with newfound confidence, no longer fearing Holstein as an untouchable figure.

He spoke more boldly at noble gatherings, dropping hints that Holstein was "not as powerful as he seemed."

He started negotiating as though Holstein's trade routes were already his.

He even began pressuring minor merchants into shifting their loyalties—assuming that Holstein would soon fall.

But the most important change?

Cedric stopped being careful.

He stopped questioning why his sudden fortune seemed so convenient.

He no longer considered the possibility that he was being played.

Exactly as Noctis had planned.

As Noctis observed Cedric's growing arrogance, he felt the quiet satisfaction of a plan falling into place.

Cedric believed he was the one orchestrating Holstein's downfall.

He no longer saw Noctis as an active player—only as an 'advisor.'

He was walking straight into the trap, willingly.

And the best part?

Cedric wasn't aware that every step he took… was one Noctis had placed before him.

The time for the final move was approaching.

All Noctis needed…

Was for Cedric to take the last step off the edge himself.

~~~~~

The Azure Pavilion was a place of luxury wrapped in vice—a den of smoke-laced laughter, gilded chandeliers, and fortunes won and lost in a single breath. The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine, expensive cigars, and the sharp tang of desperation.

The noble patrons seated at the velvet-lined tables were draped in opulence, gold cufflinks glinting under dim candlelight, jeweled rings tapping against polished mahogany.

For some, it was a game.

For others?

It was a lifeline.

And for men like Cedric Vaelmont?

It was a stage.

Noctis occupied a secluded corner, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, studying the room from beneath the shadow of his hood.

His disguise was subtle—a shift in eye color, a slightly different jawline, a posture that made him seem a touch less refined, a bit more common. Not enough to draw suspicion, but just enough to ensure he was unrecognizable at a glance.

He didn't need to hide completely. He only needed to be someone else.

Cedric entered minutes later, cutting through the haze of the room like a man who had already won.

He moved with renewed confidence, his coat thrown back, his steps easy—swaggering, even.

The illusion of victory suited him.

It made him reckless.

Exactly as Noctis had intended.

Cedric spotted him and smirked, striding forward without hesitation. The man was drunk—not on wine, but on the belief that he was winning.

Good.

Noctis gestured to the chair across from him. "You seem… pleased, Lord Vaelmont."

Cedric settled into the seat, rolling his shoulders as if he had already claimed the room as his own. He reached for the crystal decanter, pouring himself a generous glass of amber liquid.

"Why shouldn't I be?" he said, swirling his drink lazily. "Holstein's empire is cracking."

Noctis leaned back, feigning mild disinterest.

He let the words hang between them, the pause deliberate.

Then, he took a slow sip of his own wine. Unimpressed.

"So you believe you are winning?"

Cedric's smirk widened, as if Noctis had confirmed something he already knew. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"I know I am."

His confidence bled into his tone, into the way he sat back, waiting for Noctis's approval.

But Noctis?

He only smiled.

A small, unreadable curve of his lips.

Because he had given Cedric this exact moment on purpose.

The noble believed he was on the offensive. That he had forced Holstein into retreat.

That he was the hunter, rather than the prey.

But in reality?

Every move he had made had been placed before him.

Noctis had led him here, step by step, like a hound chasing a phantom trail.

And soon?

He would take everything away.

But not yet.

Not while Cedric still believed in the lie.

Noctis exhaled, setting his glass down with the softest clink of crystal against wood.

"Then tell me, Lord Vaelmont… what is your next move?"

He watched—waiting, waiting—

To see just how far Cedric would dig his own grave.