NOVEL NEXT Chapter 107: Debt Free
Viscount Fairchild blinked once, then twice, his expression flickering between disbelief and amusement.
For a man usually so composed, it was the closest he'd come to looking genuinely surprised.
Wade stood calmly before his desk, the firelight painting flickers of gold along his pauldrons.
"You… want to clear your debt?" Fairchild repeated slowly, as if the words themselves were foreign.
Wade inclined his head. "That's right."
The Viscount leaned back in his chair, staring at him with open curiosity. "All of it?"
"All of it," Wade confirmed.
Fairchild chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Barrett. I wasn't expecting to hear that for at least another month."
Wade didn't respond, he simply stood, staring.
"Tell me, Wade," Fairchild said conversationally, "where exactly did you come across this sudden… fortune?"
Wade met his gaze evenly. "I've been working."
"Working," Fairchild repeated, his tone almost playful. "Fascinating. Last we spoke, you mentioned having money left over. Did you go on dungeon runs at your guild? I imagine they don't pay that well for a few dungeon runs."
Wade shrugged lightly. "Sometimes a few good deals make all the difference."
"Deals."
"Yes."
Fairchild's smile deepened. "Ahh, so that's what it is. You've been trading, haven't you?"
"The city's economy has been wild these past few weeks. With the monster horde coming, people are buying everything that isn't nailed down. Potions, weapons, skill stones. There's been no shortage of fools with more gold than sense."
He leaned forward, his tone turning sly. "Tell me, Wade, have you been profiting off panic?"
Wade's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. "Something like that."
Fairchild laughed, a rich, booming laugh that filled the study. "Good! I like that answer."
He gestured grandly. "The market thrives on chaos, my boy. Panic breeds opportunity, and opportunity—"
"Breeds profit," Wade finished for him.
"Exactly!" Fairchild said, pointing a finger at him, his grin approving. "You're learning."
The mirth faded slightly from his face as he folded his hands on the desk again. "Still," he mused, "to clear your debt this soon… that's no small sum. You must've done very well for yourself indeed."
Wade didn't elaborate. He merely stretched his hand.
Fairchild stared at it for a few seconds before clasping it.
[Exchange Initiated]
[Transferring: 425,000 coins → Viscount Fairchild]
[Receiving: Loan Clearance Confirmation → Wade Barrett]
A faint chime rang out as the transaction completed.
[Exchange Complete.]
Fairchild's eyes glimmered at the sight of the total.
"Four hundred and twenty-five thousand," he murmured, leaning back once more. "And here I thought you'd be crawling in a month begging for extensions."
Wade said nothing. He gave a short nod, straightened, and turned to leave.
Fairchild watched him for a moment, the faintest edge of suspicion returning to his gaze. "Mr. Barrett," he said lightly, "I must say… you're an intriguing man."
Wade glanced back. "I get that a lot."
"Do you now?" Fairchild smiled again, a polite, toothless smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well then. Congratulations. Your debt is clear. I look forward to our next transaction."
Wade simply nodded, then turned and left the study.
The doors closed softly behind him, and the moment they did, Fairchild's pleasant expression vanished.
He drummed his fingers lightly on the desk, eyes narrowed in thought.
A man didn't go from struggling to pay weekly interest to clearing nearly half a million coins in a single week, not without making waves.
And Wade Barrett was making too little waves.
Fairchild exhaled through his nose and reached for the bell cord by his desk, giving it a tug.
Moments later, the door opened, and a familiar figure stepped inside. Ned.
"Viscount?"
Fairchild's tone was calm, but his eyes were anything but. "Wade Barrett," he said. "I want to know everything he's been doing since our last meeting. Who he's met. Where he's gone. What he's bought. What he's sold."
Ned inclined his head. "Understood. How deep should I dig?"
"As deep as you need to," Fairchild said smoothly. "Quietly. I don't want him spooked."
"Of course, my lord."
"Good." Fairchild leaned back, his smile returning, a smaller, colder thing this time. "There's more to that one than he lets on."
He waved a hand dismissively, and Ned left, closing the door behind him.
Fairchild sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the empty space where Wade had stood.
Then he finally said, "Let's see what secrets you're hiding, Mr. Barrett."
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After paying off his debt and removing the guillotine hanging over his head, Wade made his way back home.
By the time he reached his apartment, he was exhausted. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and collapsed into the nearest chair with a long exhale.
The silence was comforting.
He leaned his head back, letting the fatigue ebb slowly away.
The adrenaline that had carried him through the dungeon had finally faded, leaving only weariness in its wake.
After a few minutes of just sitting there, he stirred.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, pushing up from the chair. "Food first."
He made his way into the small kitchen. The cupboards were already stocked.
He set to work quietly, slicing and stirring, the rhythmic sounds of his cooking filling the small space.
By the time the food was ready, the aroma had filled the apartment. Wade grabbed a bowl, poured himself a generous serving, and set it down on the table.
Then he reached for the shelf above the sink and took down a large glass jar. His honey wine.
He held it up to the light, smiling faintly. The liquid shimmered gold, thicker now than when he'd first brewed it. Tiny bubbles caught the lamplight as they drifted lazily upward.
He uncorked it, the scent of sweetness and fermented warmth immediately filling the air.
"Let's see how you've aged."
He poured a cup, the liquid catching the light like amber. One sip told him everything.
Smooth. Sweet. A faint bite of heat beneath the honey.
It was perfect.
He set the cup down beside his food and began to eat, alternating between spoonfuls of stew and sips of the mead.
The warmth of both spread through him, loosening the knots in his shoulders and quieting his mind.
When he finished eating, he leaned back in his chair, the half-empty cup resting between his hands.
He stared at the jar on the counter, a small smile appearing on his face.
He could sell it now, easily. The honey wine would fetch a small fortune, especially with the panic of the coming war. People would pay through the nose for something to drown their fear in.
But Wade shook his head.
No. Not yet.
Selling it now would be short-sighted. After the war, things would change.
There would be celebrations. Feasts. And there would be grief. For every man or woman who returned home, there'd be more who didn't.
And both the mourners and the victors would want the same thing.
Something sweet. Something rare. Something to drink to forget.
And then there'd be the adventurers. Those lucky enough to survive, fat with the gold they'd earned, desperate to spend it.
That was when he'd sell.
He'd ferment more barrels of honeymead, and then he'd turn them into a small fortune.
Wade smiled faintly to himself, lifting the cup for another sip.
"Not yet," he murmured. "But soon."