Chapter 43
The first rays of dawn seeped through the cracks in the dungeon's crystalline walls, painting the room in hues of gold and amber. I lay sprawled across the sheets, my body sore but satisfied, my mind buzzing with the memory of the night before. The goblin's laughter still echoed in my head—his smug grin, the way he'd groaned my name as I'd driven him to the edge again and again. I'd meant every threat, every promise of humiliation. After four hours of relentless pounding, he'd stopped resisting. Instead, he'd clawed at my shoulders, begging in broken, desperate whispers for more. I'd given it to him, of course. I always did.
Groaning, I pushed myself upright, my muscles protesting. The room smelled of sweat and musk, the sheets tangled and damp. I grabbed my clothes, dressing quickly before stepping into the corridor. The dungeon's air was cool against my skin, and I breathed deeply, savoring the faint scent of damp stone and the distant hum of activity below.
Ebony was already at work in the forge, her scaled form glowing faintly under the forge's flames. She wielded a hammer with lethal precision, shaping steel into sleek weapons for the naga guards. Her tail lashed rhythmically, a metronome to her focus. "Morning, Lord Azazel," she called without looking up, her voice a low rumble.
"Morning," I replied, watching her work. The forge's heat radiated outward, warming my skin even from a distance. "How's progress?"
"Almost done with the halberds," she said, nodding toward a stack of finished weapons leaning against the wall. "The nagas wanted something… flexible. They said their scales are tough, but their joints are their weak points." She smirked, hefting a blade. "These'll pierce armor and bone alike."
I nodded, impressed. "Good work. Keep it up."
Isabella's voice carried down the corridor before I even reached the trading post—a sharp, melodic clash against the goblin trader's gruff tones. I found them in the grand hall, surrounded by crates of spices and textiles. The goblin's beady eyes widened when I approached, but Isabella's posture didn't waver.
"—and I'll pay you in copper or silk, whichever you prefer," she was saying, her hands steady on her hips. The goblin scowled, his claws tapping impatiently on the table.
"Good morning, Isabella," I said, stepping closer. The trader's tail bristled.
"Oh! Good morning, Azazel," she said, her smile warm but her eyes sharp. "Your rest?"
"Nice, though I could've used more," I admitted, pulling her into a quick hug. Her perfume—something floral and earthy—wrapped around me, grounding me. "But I'm here now. What's the issue?"
The goblin cleared his throat. "She's trying to buy my silk at half-price, my lord."
Isabella rolled her eyes. "It's your silk, but your prices are unreasonable. You're overcharging for inferior goods."
I chuckled. "Let's see. How much are you asking?"
"Twenty copper per bolt."
"Eleven," I said flatly.
The goblin sputtered. "That's madness! The journey alone—"
"Eleven," I repeated, "or I'll send someone else to buy it. Like Nike. He's… persuasive."
The goblin paled. Isabella stifled a grin.
"Deal," he muttered, scribbling a contract.
As I pulled away from Isabella, I cupped her cheek. "You're brilliant," I whispered. She blushed, but her eyes sparkled.
Cinder was sparring with Nike in the training yard, her massive halberd clashing against Nike's gauntlets. Agua, the snake, coiled protectively around Nike's shoulders, hissing at Cinder's every thrust.
"Careful, Cinder," Nike warned, dodging a swing. "That blade's meant for armored foes, not a dungeon lord's imp."
"Then stop dodging," she growled, her fire tattoos flaring. A spark caught Nike's sleeve, and he yelped, jumping back.
I watched for a moment, then cleared my throat. Both froze, turning to me.
"Cinder," I said, "I need you to lead an expedition into the forest. Gather meat—lots of it."
Her brow furrowed. "Why?"
"im worried we may be under a food shortage, please Fix it." I paused, then added, "And bring back anything else useful. Herbs, maybe? Or… oddities."
Cinder nodded, saluting. "Leave it to me."
The dungeon's main hall was bustling with activity, but I spotted Rikka near the entrance, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. Her mother lingered nearby, arms crossed, her eyes sharp.
"Good morning, Rikka, Mother," I said, approaching.
Rikka blinked, then dipped her head. "Morning, Azazel."
Her mother's glare softened into a reluctant smile. "To what do we owe this honor?"
I turned to Rikka. "How are you? Anything I can get you while I'm free?"
She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. "Just… good food. The meals here are… sparse."
I froze. Sparse? Since when?
Before I could respond, her mother snapped, "You're the lord. Fix it."
"I will dont you worry," Rikka's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."
i started to address Nike telepathically, "I need you to explain the Seed of Creation. Meet me in my quarters."
Back in my chambers, I found Nike pacing, his usual calm demeanor frayed. He didn't look up when I entered.
"Love," I said softly, closing the door behind me.
He stiffened. "Where were you last night?"
"I… I needed space," I admitted, pulling him into my arms. His body was rigid, but I pressed on, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry. I know you hate when I disappear like that."
He sighed, his grip softening. "Just don't make it a habit."
"I won't," I promised, resting my chin on his head.
We stayed like that for what felt like hours, the weight of the night finally lifting. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright, but his smile was warm.
"So," I said, "the Seed of Creation."
Nike hesitated. "im unsure."
He took a deep breath. "The seed could just for food that attracts monsters. the tree itself could be a monster that drops food or even the food becomes the monsters.
I frowned. "thats alot of maybe this or maybe that?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But planting it could change everything. We could have an endless food source, or… something worse."
I traced his jawline, my thumb brushing his lips. "Let's find out together."
His breath hitched. "What?"
"First," I said, leaning in to kiss him, "I need to show you how sorry I am."
The afternoon sun dipped low as I wandered the dungeon's corridors, checking on my residents. The goblins scurried with crates of supplies, and the nagas polished their weapons. I paused at the forge again, watching Ebony work.
"Still busy?" I asked.
"Always," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "These blades need to be perfect. The nagas won't settle for less."
By dusk, the expedition returned. Cinder's group hauled in game—deer, rabbits, even a boar—along with bundles of herbs and strange, glowing mushrooms. The goblins cheered, and Rikka beamed as the cooks began preparing feasts.
I found Nike in the training yard, polishing his gauntlets. "Still nervous about the seed?" I asked, sitting beside him.
"Terrified," he admitted. "But if anyone can handle it, it's you."
I squeezed his hand. "We'll plant it tomorrow. For now…"
"For now, you owe me a proper apology," he said, grinning.
"Oh, I plan on it," I said, pulling him close.