chapter 85 tatoo

The tavern was alive with noise—boisterous laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional clash of metal as rowdy adventurers knocked into furniture. The scent of ale and roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the faint staleness of unwashed armor. In a dimly lit corner, away from the chaos, Kaelith sat across from Malthor, his sharp eyes fixed on the old merchant.

Malthor was relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his expression unreadable beneath the flickering candlelight. He swirled the dark liquid in his mug, seemingly unfazed by the scrutiny. Kaelith, on the other hand, wasn't here for small talk.

Kaelith drummed his fingers against the wooden table. "Hey, old man. Answer me honestly," he said, keeping his voice low. "You're manipulating the bandits too, aren't you?"

Malthor took his time responding, his smirk barely twitching as he took a slow sip of his drink. He let the silence stretch just long enough to make Kaelith question himself before exhaling through his nose, shaking his head with amusement.

"Lad," Malthor said, finally setting his mug down with a soft thunk. "You're clever, I'll give you that. But you're mistaken." His lips curled into a knowing smile. "I'm not related to those fools. I just know how to use them."

Kaelith narrowed his eyes. "Use them?"

Malthor leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, forcing Kaelith to focus. "The bandits want easy money. The adventurers want glory and rewards. I simply... bridge the gap."

Kaelith's expression remained unreadable, but his mind was working fast.

"You scam adventurers into doing the dirty work, while the bandits keep up appearances as some big threat," Kaelith muttered. "And in the end, both sides dance to your tune."

Malthor chuckled, shaking his head with admiration. "Smart lad. Exactly." He spread his hands as if explaining the simplest business plan in the world. "Adventurers grind for silver, chasing side quests like hungry dogs. They hear a 'helpless merchant' was robbed and immediately rush off to hunt down some bandits, thinking they're the heroes of some grand tale."

Kaelith smirked. "Meanwhile, the bandits sit there waiting, picking off the weaker ones and looting their gear. And you? You profit from both sides."

Malthor's grin widened. "That's the beauty of it. The bandits don't even realize I'm milking them, and the players? Well... let's just say they'll always be eager to play hero—for the right price."

Kaelith let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Old man, you really are a piece of work."

Malthor raised his mug in a mock toast. "To good business, lad."

Kaelith lifted his own drink slightly, not to toast, but to acknowledge the game they were both playing. Neither of them were saints, but Kaelith knew one thing—if he played his cards right, he could use Malthor just as much as Malthor used everyone else.

"A Bunch of Bad Memories"

For the first time in their conversation, the air between them turned heavy. The playful glint in Malthor's eyes faded, replaced by something colder—something Kaelith hadn't seen before. The old merchant, always so smug and carefree, now wore a hardened expression, his fingers tightening around his mug.

Kaelith leaned forward, his voice steady. "Then what about the tattoo?"

Malthor didn't answer immediately. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, staring at the table as if seeing something that wasn't there. His other hand rested on his wrist, brushing over the faint, inked marking that Kaelith had spotted earlier. It was old, faded, but unmistakable. A symbol of loyalty, once worn with pride.

Finally, Malthor spoke, his tone devoid of the usual amusement. "A bunch of bad memories, lad."

Kaelith stayed silent, waiting.

Malthor's fingers traced the edge of his tattoo, his voice quieter now. "I wasn't always a merchant. Once, I was a royal advisor. One of the best, if I do say so myself. I served my king with everything I had—guided him, protected him, helped him build a kingdom worth ruling." His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. "And in return? The bastard handed me over like a sack of grain."

Kaelith's brows furrowed slightly. "Handed you over?"

Malthor nodded, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "He made a deal with the enemy. Promised them riches, territory, and me. Me. His most loyal servant. Because, you see, I was 'too dangerous' to keep around." He scoffed. "I was branded with this tattoo as a symbol of my loyalty, my unwavering faith in the crown. But fate? Oh, fate does love its little jokes."

Kaelith's grip on his drink tightened slightly.

"They came for me in the dead of night," Malthor continued, his gaze distant, lost in memories. "The very people I had once called allies. My own soldiers, the ones I trained, the ones I trusted with my life. They dragged me from my chambers, laughing as they spoke of my execution." His fingers curled into a fist. "I escaped, but only barely. Everything I had built, everything I had given my life for—it was gone, turned to dust in an instant."

Kaelith could see it now. The sharpness in Malthor's eyes wasn't just wisdom or cunning. It was the look of a man who had once been great, only to have everything ripped away.

"So," Kaelith said slowly, "you don't serve anyone anymore."

Malthor let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Serve? No, lad. I use. I manipulate. I scam. Because trusting people? That's a fool's game." He lifted his mug and took a slow sip before setting it down with a thud. "I wear the mask of a simple merchant now, but deep down, I know the truth. I was a man of honor once, and look where it got me."

Kaelith studied him carefully. "And if you could go back?"

Malthor smirked, though there was no warmth behind it. "I'd burn the whole damn kingdom to the ground."

For a moment, the two sat in silence, the tavern's noise fading into the background.

Kaelith leaned back, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Old man, I think I like you."

Malthor chuckled. "Dangerous thing to say, lad." But this time, there was a flicker of genuine amusement in his eyes.