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[Book 2] Book 2 - Chapter 34: Owl’s Regular Customer
🕑 Added 2025-06-19 04:48:24 +0000 UTCDamien let out a sigh of relief as Jannalor faded into the void and vanished from the room. Vanity also calmed, returned to her comfortable chair, and threw herself into its warm embrace.
“I plan to reject the royal decree. Any objections?” Damien asked, and everyone raised their hand. Even Vanity. He gripped the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Why? Can’t you see the party is a death trap?”
Vanity had her eyes closed, and since she didn’t bother to breathe and her skin was deathly pale, she resembled a well-preserved corpse. “Brother, I believe there’s still a way. This is a golden opportunity to get close to the prince and end this farce.”
Damien gestured for her to continue with an impatient nod.
Vanity opened her eyes, and her scarlet pupils gleamed with primal power. “Do not forget, brother, I am just as dangerous as that young prince. He is a cockroach with powers, nothing more and nothing less.” She snarled, and her fangs elongated a little to show her disdain. “I could hypnotize the remaining nobles and maybe even try it on the undead puppets.” She moved her head slightly, and Princess Emilia gulped under the vampire’s predatory gaze. “Princess, how many are there in the court?”
Emilia shrank back into her chair and nervously counted on her fingers. “Err, a total of twenty, I believe. All heads of noble families or important members of the king’s cabinet.”
“And we just have to get eleven to vote against the prince for him to die?” Vanity said as she combed a hand through her long white hair. “Right?”
“N-not quite…since Prince August is one of the members, he cannot vote, so without him, we would only need ten people to vote for us. Actually…” Emilia had a flash of realization. “It’s only nine because Jannalor is one of the members, as he is head of the guild. So far, he has pretended to be on the prince’s side, but if the vote is guaranteed to execute August, Jannalor will happily vote for his execution.”
Vanity turned her attention back to Damien. “Brother, I understand your worries. Explain them to us so we can try and compromise. I want this bastard dead so we can move on. I refuse to have this constant threat hanging over our heads when we should be worrying about Karpov.”
Damien fell back into the oversize leather chair that resided behind a magnificent oak desk that dominated the northern side of the room. As a force of habit, he brought out his pocket watch and rubbed it between his fingers for comfort. The rules of the game have changed. I have a final boss on my side, and she’s willing to help me. One of the major reasons Damien had wanted to deny the royal decree was because he couldn’t bet on his sister’s assistance, but with her being so resolute about resolving the matter, he felt more at ease.
“I agree sister, that prince is simply a cockroach, and his abilities reflect that. Sure, he is hard to kill, but is he one to fear? No. Even with my mediocre skills, I may have a chance to escape with the help of artifacts. So what are the main threats?” Damien put his feet up on a small stool and caressed his chin in thought.
“The king and his guards would be one, but I am sure we could get him on our side.” Damien looked over at the elf princess. “His Majesty despises Prince August. Perhaps we could even stage a kidnapping of Princess Emilia if he refuses to help us.”
Emilia frowned but agreed. She understood her own worth in this situation.
Confirming Emilia was fine with the plan, Damien realized he had more power than he thought. Although her Luna magic is potent, she is far more valuable as a pawn for both sides. Despite the king’s incompetence, he still fields a legion of elite B-grade knights and the potential to call in A-grades for help. He also controls a few loyal noble houses. Emilia understands she is a bargaining chip to make the king move against August or me.
Drumming his fingers on the armrest, he stated, “If we convert the few remaining nobles to our side with hypnosis and convince the king to launch an in-depth investigation into the compromised nobles, we could have them apprehended for participating in the dark arts.”
Damien glanced at Emilia, and she nodded in agreement and added, “With the new vacancies, I can convince Father to let me pick the new council members.”
Damien stood up in shock and began pacing around his desk. “And once we have complete control over the court, we could swap out the king for you as the new ruler.”
Before he could get too ahead of himself, Emilia chimed again. “That is a great plan, but they would never let Miss Vanity anywhere near the capital. You were a unique case. I invited you with a royal decree, and once again, only you were invited, with my attendance expected.”
Damien looked at Vanity and had a strained smile on his face. “I have a plan for that…but you aren’t going to like it, sister.”
Vanity frowned. “Tell me.”
“Well, you see…”
***
A nondescript black carriage halted before the doors of one of Kassinki’s most infamous hotels. Its signboard read The Sanctum in beautiful golden calligraphy on a plank of imported white wood.
A man emerged from the carriage and pulled his black overcoat tighter as the violent rain drummed on the carriage’s flat roof. A few guards dispersed around the premises and masked their existence with spells and artifacts.
A butler standing in the doorway of The Sanctum paid the guards little attention and gave a discrete bow to the gentleman. As the man passed, a wet coat was dumped into the butler’s open arms.
The man’s hat barely obscured his golden blond hair as he strode with purpose through the reception area. Guests craned their heads over newspapers or cups of steaming tea, but one stern look from the gentlemen made them divert their gaze.
Music similar to jazz complemented the atmosphere, but the gentleman was in no mood to hang around and headed straight for the reception desk. He reached out a gloved hand, grabbed the receptionist’s neck, and pulled her ear close to his mouth. “The golden river flows through Oshal on a quiet winter morning,” the man whispered, and the woman stood up straight and led him to a side door while nursing her throbbing neck.
“May I know your name?” she croaked as he followed a step behind.
“August Greentail, here on business to see the Owl,” August replied as he put his hands in his trouser pockets.
The receptionist nervously nodded, and the two reached the hidden elevator. A guard lounging by the elevator door opened his mouth, but August tossed a golden medallion onto the metal desk. With the clang, the guard’s mouth clamped shut at the sight of the Greentail medallion, and he simply nodded them through.
August tapped his foot with impatience as the floating platform ascended to the presidential suite on the tenth floor of The Sanctum hotel. As soon as the doors opened, August took off his hat and chucked it to the side, and it vanished into one of his storage rings.
“Prince August!” Owl exclaimed from his floating cushion with two women by his sides. The old man gave August roughish pirate-turned-elderly wizard vibes. He wore a dazzling white robe lined with gold trim that was fit for a holy emperor. As the man waved his wrinkled hand in greeting, the many spatial rings used to store his riches clinked together as they loosely hung onto his spindly fingers. “What a pleasure to see you again!” The man was all smiles, but even August noticed the hesitance and fear in the old man’s voice.
“I am your most regular customer, old man… I would expect your guards to recognize me by now,” August half joked as he walked into the center of the hotel suite. It was massive, taking up an entire floor. High-grade mages, warriors, and even assassins followed his every movement with disturbing concentration. August playfully twitched his finger and saw a few more eager ones tighten their grip on dagger hilts. The ladies wore bathing suits and lounged around steaming pools of water with alcoholic drinks in their hands while the men sat seriously in full gear around various tables.
Owl chuckled, laid back into his cushion, and pulled his two women closer with his thin arms. Both women lay scantily dressed like high-class whores, but they were far from it. Instead, their appearance was both for Owl’s personal pleasure and to extract higher payment from distracted clients.
August forcefully pulled his eyes from their exposed cleavage and faced the old man. Owl’s wrinkled face looked like a dried-up raisin, and his massive bald spot was covered in sunspots and ominous black splodges.
“Ahem.” August coughed into his gloved hand and continued. “I have come to request your services once again. As I am sure you know, I sent a royal decree up north to Blackthorn almost a month ago. Unfortunately, the royal psychic mage is currently occupied with the king’s birthday preparations, so I require your services.” August waved his hand, and platinum coins rained onto the floor. “I believe this amount of platinum will suffice?”
Owl raised a brow at the small mountain of platinum, and with a wave of his hand, the mound vanished. “Indeed. How can I be of assistance?”
“I need you to check up on the progress by scouting out Blackthorn with clairvoyance.”
“Very well,” Owl grumbled and closed his eyes. August shifted his feet as he felt a large pulse of mana head northward.
The room descended into silence, except for Owl making sounds of amazement every few seconds. August tapped his foot in annoyance before demanding, “Show me the darn projection, old man.”
Owl grinned, showing his missing teeth. “That service costs extra, young man.”
August signed Owl’s death warrant in his head before throwing a few platinum at his face. The coins, of course, paused in mid-air before vanishing, and a few of Owl’s guards had stood up from their seats and were ready to intervene. Owl waved them off and projected his view into August’s head.
August finally understood Owl’s reaction. Not only had Blackthorn drastically changed since he had last checked, but there was also evidence of military activity, with knights bearing the Cunningdal insignia on their chests standing alongside Silvermoon knights. August struggled to ignore the new Blackthorn, but his time was limited, so he focused his sights on the activity around the gates instead.
His view zoomed in, and he saw ten of the king’s elite guards dead on the floor in pools of blood and a female with white hair and red eyes bound in chains at Jannalor’s feet.
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