Chapter 23: The Stuttering Sorceress and the Serpent's Smile
(When Innocence Meets Ambition)
Part 1: The Tears of a Titan
The forest held its breath.
Vivianne Yang stood trembling, her fingers knotted in the hem of her robe. The grimoire at her belt—emblazoned with the sigil of an eighth-tier mage—seemed absurdly mismatched to her wavering voice. "P-p-please," she hiccuped, "J-J-JuJu didn't m-mean to—"
Bennett's grip tightened on the squirming fearling. The creature's obsidian horns pulsed faintly, its nightmare-inducing magic now dormant under his blood-smeared fingers. How deliciously ironic, he mused. This trembling mouse controls a beast that nearly unraveled my men's sanity.
Robert's earlier words echoed in his mind: "Master, the girl's aura… it's wrong. No mage that powerful should smell of milk and honey."
Yet here she stood—a storm wrapped in lace.
"C-c-compensation?" Vivianne squeaked, fumbling with a velvet pouch. Her hands shook as she revealed a water-blue crystal the size of a fist. Moonlight fractured through its facets, painting the clearing in spectral hues.
Solskya inhaled sharply. "By the Nine Circles—a mid-grade aquamarine core!"
Bennett's mask of outrage didn't waver. "You insult us, madam. Do my men's nightmares dissolve for gemstones?"
Part 2: The Art of Extortion
Lina leaned heavily on her sword, her bandaged hand a stark white. The theatrics were unnecessary—her "wound" came from tripping over a root during the illusion's collapse—but Bennett's glare kept her silent.
Vivianne's lip quivered. "I—I have th-this!" She produced a vial of emerald liquid that hummed with latent power.
Solskya's knees buckled. "Gr-Green Mana Tonic! E-enough to fuel a battalion of—"
"Tsk." Bennett cut him off with a raised palm. "A mage of your standing carries tonics? Where's the creativity? The soul?"
Tears splashed the forest floor as Vivianne emptied her satchel:
A golden fireward orb still warm from her forge
Thirteen mixed-grade monster cores (three pulsating ominously)
Seven mid-tier spellscrolls sealed with wax the color of fresh blood
Robert exchanged a look with Lina. Both recognized the hunger beneath their lord's performative scorn—the same look he'd worn when dismantling Baron Cray's trade monopoly in Chapter 19.
Part 3: The Serpent's Whisper
"And what," Bennett purred, stepping so close his shadow swallowed her trembling form, "compensates for my distress?"
Vivianne froze. Her teachers' warnings rang belatedly: "The world beyond the towers eats lambs alive, child."
Bennett's finger tilted her chin up. "A favor. From one… academic to another."
"F-f-favor?"
"Your signature." He produced a contract glowing with infernal script—a relic from Chapter 17's raid on the Black Bazaar. "A simple oath to assist House Roland's… magical inquiries when summoned."
Solskya's throat tightened. Binding a mage of her caliber? This isn't greed—it's madness.
Yet as Vivianne's quill scratched parchment, Bennett's smile held the serenity of a spider welcoming a fly.
Chapter 24: The Devil's Arithmetic
(Where Innocence Pays Compound Interest)
The Art of Extortion
Vivienne's tear-streaked face glowed like a looted treasury. Her satchel lay gutted at Bennett's feet, spilling treasures even kings would murder for: a fist-sized aquamarine pulsating with mana, scrolls etched with forbidden sigils, and a velvet pouch clinking with dragon-scale grade monster cores.
"Th-th-that's all I h-h-have!" The stuttering mage clutched her empty bag like a child's security blanket. Behind her, the fearling "Chuchu" whimpered in its emerald cage.
Sorskrall's fingernails dug bloody crescents into his palms. Move, you greedy little bastard! his eyes screamed at Bennett. Before she realizes she could turn us to ash with a sneeze!
Robert's sword hand twitched. The knight had seen nobles haggle over trade routes, brides, even children—but extorting an archmage? This was suicide wearing velvet gloves.
Bennett knelt, plucking a fire-ruby from the pile. "Your generosity moves me, Lady Vivienne." His smile held the warmth of a banker foreclosing on orphans. "Yet true wisdom lies in…" He let the gem clatter back, "…investment."
The Unwritten Contract
"I s-s-swear!" Vivienne's hiccuping sobs shook her goldenrod robes. "M-m-master said never t-t-to—"
"—share spells?" Bennett's chuckle slithered through the clearing. "But didn't your master also say this?" He flicked the fearling's cage, making it shriek. "Rules bend. Especially when…" His finger traced her tear track, "…liabilities need burying."
The mage froze. Bennett's touch carried no magic—just the visceral threat of ledgers unbalanced.
Sorskrall's brain finally caught up. Holy shit. He's not after loot. He wants her soul.
Ten minutes later, Vivienne stood chalk-faced as Bennett's quill danced:
Article 3: The Party of the First Part (hereinafter "Victim") shall impart six (6) Class-A incantations, including but not limited to:
Spatial Distortion Hex (Third-Circle Variant)
Leyline Disjunction
[Redacted: See Addendum Re: Soulbrand Covenants]
"S-s-six?!" Her voice cracked. "I s-s-said one!"
Bennett's grin showed teeth. "Count again, darling. That was one…" He tapped each syllable as her stutter repeated the number, "…one…one…"
By sunset, the contract bore nine clauses, three blood seals, and a footnote granting Bennett rights to "consultative mentorship" during lunar eclipses.
The Fine Print of Damnation
Vivienne's first spell—a gravity inversion chant—shattered three trees before Sorskrall fainted from euphoria.
"Fascinating!" Bennett observed the floating boulders, ignoring Robert's green-tinged complexion. "Now, about those mana-efficiency modifications you mentioned…"
The mage sniffled. "B-b-but Master said—"
"—tradition is prison," Bennett finished smoothly. "Tell me, Lady Vivienne… Ever wonder why your 'master' keeps you chained to dusty scrolls?" His whisper carried venomous empathy. "Fear. Pure, simple, delicious fear that one day…"
He snapped his fingers. Chuchu's cage dissolved.
"…his little songbird might fly."
Chapter 24 (Part 2): The Oath and the Storm
(When Innocence Meets the Eye of the Hurricane)
The Serpent's Bargain
Vivianne's fingers trembled as she traced the glowing runes in the air—each sigil a shackle of light binding her to Bennett's whims. The contract pulsed like a living thing, its clauses etched in emerald flame:
Six spells of mid-tier or higher.
Unquestioned compliance until fulfillment.
No retaliation by either party.
Bennett watched, his face a mask of noble resolve. "To honor our pact, madam," he intoned, hand over heart, "I swear by the Holy Light and the Crown's Mercy."
The girl flinched at his theatrics. Her own vow spilled out in a torrent—words crisp and liquid, betraying none of her usual stutter. Magic thickened the air as she invoked the Elder Pact, a binding older than kingdoms.
Robert's jaw tightened. This isn't negotiation. It's predation. Yet he remained silent, his knightly honor warring with decades of Roland loyalty.
The Wolf in Scholar's Robes
That night, in the garrison's drafty guest quarters, Bennett cornered his prize.
"Let's begin," he said, spreading parchment. "First spell: something flashy. A fireball?"
Vivianne shook her head violently. "N-n-no! T-too d-dangerous f-for y-you—"
"Ah, but I'll decide what's dangerous." His smile held razors. "Or shall I remind your dear 'teacher' how his pet nearly gutted a town?"
She crumpled. The first incantation flowed reluctantly—a basic Lumen Charm.
Bennett memorized it in two repetitions.
"Next," he pressed.
By midnight, he'd extracted three:
Veil of Mists (Illusion, Tier 3)
Boneknit (Healing, Tier 4)
Sparkfang (Combat, Tier 5)
The girl's quill hovered over the fourth. "P-p-please… th-these are f-forbidden—"
"Forbidden?" He leaned closer, breath stirring her silver hair. "Or just inconvenient?"
The Calm Before
Outside, the garrison reveled. Soldiers toasted their survival, unaware of the storm brewing in their lord's chambers—or the greater one approaching.
Sorskrall guzzled stolen elven wine, his new hoard clutched to his chest. "Six spells! Six!" he cackled to a bemused stablehand. "That fool girl might as well have handed him a dragon!"
Robert paced the ramparts. Every instinct screamed wrongness. The binding magic had tasted rancid—like honey laced with hemlock.
Above, stars vanished one by one.
The Sister's Wrath
The first lightning bolt shattered the feast.
Men froze, tankards slipping from numb hands. The second strike immolated the gates, reducing ironwood to cinders in a heartbeat.
A voice colder than glacial runoff echoed:
"VIVIANNE YANG! BRING ME THE FEARLING OR BURN WITH YOUR THIEVES!"
Bennett's window exploded inward. Through the smoke strode a woman—tall, raven-haired, her eyes twin coals. The same gold robes as Vivianne, but where the girl's had shimmered, hers seethed.
Vivianne whimpered. "S-s-sis—"
The woman flicked a finger.
Bennett's desk atomized.