NOVEL NEXT Chapter 111: Lines Crossed
Veyron's words cut sharp across the field, but Ethan only looked at him with scorn.
"Ten gold coins… and you call me poor?" His voice carried, disdain dripping from each word. "My belongings aren't cheap. Let's see how far you're willing to go. If not—what a shame, Mr. Rich-with-a-disease."
Laughter flickered in the crowd, quickly muffled.
"Ten gold for a contract?!" one adventurer whispered.
"Damn… for me, that's half a year's worth of quests!" another muttered, shaking his head.
Veyron's eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm poor? Fifty gold. An amount people like you will never touch in your entire life."
Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Fifty!?"
"By the gods, nobles really are built different…"
"Just to see a slave contract? That's more than I'd make in two years."
Ethan sneered, unshaken.
"Fifty? Hah. You sound even poorer now."
Veyron's aura flared with heat, dust curling at his boots as he snapped.
"Enough! One hundred gold! But if this is a lie—" his eyes blazed crimson, "your head rolls for disgracing a noble."
His servants immediately moved, encircling Ethan and Lirael, their armor clinking as they cut off any escape. The watching adventurers stiffened at the oppressive mana rolling off Veyron.
But Ethan's smirk only deepened.
"We'll see about that. But if the mighty Thalmyr family can only muster one hundred gold… then maybe you truly are poor."
Lirael's voice slipped into his mind, bubbling with mischief.
Ethan! Show him already! One hundred gold! We could even get you your new healer pillow!
Ethan's step faltered for half a heartbeat. …Is she really pushing me to buy another girl right now?
But Veyron snarled, pressing harder. "Tch! You dare insult my family? Fine—two hundred gold!" He flung the words like a gauntlet. "Do you think you can claim 'insufficient compensation' and walk away? Two hundred gold is more than enough! even a fool knows that. If you still refuse—you may as well be dead."
"Two hundred…"
"Gods above… that's a fortune."
"One coin could feed my family for months. He just threw out two hundred like pocket change…"
Ethan's gaze sharpened.
"A fool doesn't decide the worth of what belongs to me. Even with your so-called powerful family, you can't scrape together more than two hundred? Pathetic."
Veyron's face twisted, crimson rage spilling into his expression. "You—!" He bit the word in half, veins bulging.
"Fine! Five hundred gold! But once this farce collapses, boy, you'll never have a family to return."
Gasps crashed through the crowd like thunder.
"Five hundred!?"
"That's… that's the price of a manor!"
"This is insane…"
"Even if it's fake… to squeeze five hundred out of a noble? This Goblin Slayer's got nerves of steel."
Ethan laughed, light and scornful.
"Good luck finding my family." Then, with a mocking softness, he added, "Five hundred does sound like the minimum… for my dear Lirael."
The deliberate phrasing sent another ripple of whispers through the crowd. Veyron's temple throbbed, his fury barely restrained.
And then Ethan raised a hand.
The air shimmered—arcane runes glimmering faintly before a translucent parchment unfolded into existence, hovering in the air.
The slave contract.
The gathered adventurers froze, stunned silence sweeping across the field as the glowing script hovered undeniable before their eyes.
---
Veyron's eyes went wide when the shimmering contract unfurled before him.
She… she's really under a slave contract?
But as his gaze skimmed the shimmering text, his frown deepened. What kind of farce is this?
>Clauses: Do not reveal secrets. Do not harm the master.
Not to reveal secrets… not to harm the master? The fuck? His thoughts churned. This isn't a real slave contract… at least not one binding by normal standards. Wait—could this even be considered legitimate?
Then the pieces snapped together. His breath stilled.
A slave contract… not for control, but to prove ownership. To block our family from reclaiming her by bloodright. That sly wench… she plotted this just to keep herself from being dragged back! And this Goblin Slayer? Bought off with coin to play the part?
His jaw tightened, but then a glimmer of strategy flickered in his mind. Wait… if he can be bought once… perhaps he can be bought again. What if I buy him outright?
Ethan's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts like a blade.
"So? Believe it now? Hand over the coins—or are you going back on your words? The great Thalmyr family, breaking a promise?"
Veyron clicked his tongue, face twisting. "Tch. Fine. Take it." He materialized a heavy pouch of coins and tossed it with casual disdain, aiming it so it would land at Ethan's feet—forcing him to stoop.
But Ethan didn't even blink. With a flick of his fingers, the pouch vanished into thin air, tucked neatly into his inventory. He smiled coldly.
"Bending down for scraps doesn't suit me."
Gasps broke out in the crowd.
"Whoaaa… did you see that?"
"He didn't even touch it—it just vanished!"
"Storage magic? That's worth more than the gold itself!"
Veyron's teeth ground together. "You really think I'm a fool, don't you?"
Ethan tilted his head mockingly. "Hmm? You just realized?"
The vein in Veyron's temple pulsed. He inhaled sharply, steadying himself. "I've been letting you provoke me too easily… but don't think I didn't see through it. You're not her real master, are you? Just a name on paper."
Ethan's smirk didn't falter. "So you do have a brain after all."
Veyron leaned forward, his tone shifting to a cold, calculating edge. "How much?"
Ethan's brow arched. "What do you mean?"
"I said how much for you to sell her to us."
The adventurers around them froze, eyes darting between the two men.
Ethan stared at Veyron like he'd just spoken in a foreign tongue. Then he replied flatly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She's not for sale."
Veyron's lips curled. "Not for sale? Everyone has a price. Let's see… one platinum coin."
(1 Platinum Coin = 1000 Gold Coins)
Ethan didn't blink. "Nope."
"Five."
"Keep trying, clown."
"Ten."
Ethan turned his back, waving Lirael to follow. "Keep shouting numbers—we'll be on our way."
Veyron's voice followed, laced with confusion and rising anger. "Why? Why are you helping her?"
Ethan stopped mid-step. A grin crept across his face, sharp and merciless. He turned, eyes gleaming with mockery.
"Because…" he said slowly, letting the tension stretch, "she feels damn good in the bed."
The words struck like a thunderclap.
Lirael's face exploded crimson, her head whipping toward him, eyes wide with outrage and embarrassment. ETHAN!!! she hissed, her glare hot enough to set him aflame. The crowd rippled with muffled laughter and scandalized whispers.
"Holy shit, he said that out loud?"
"Brave man… or suicidal…"
"That elf's going to murder him later."
Veyron's face, however, turned a shade darker than blood. His fury boiled over, veins throbbing at his temples. For a heartbeat, his mana surged so violently the air wavered around him. But then he snapped his teeth shut, forcing control, his voice like ice.
"You've crossed the line, fool. You brought my family into this disgrace. Now you've compelled me to use force. Enjoy the days you have left."
With a sharp motion, he turned, his cloak snapping behind him as he marched away. His armored servants followed like shadows, their footsteps heavy in the hush that followed. Even Veyron, proud as he was, knew better than to unleash bloodshed under the Adventurers' Guild's eye.
But his departing presence carried a promise—a storm brewing.