Chapter 127: Business

Among the nobles, for those who rose through trade or invention tended to care more about etiquette than the old families who had inherited their titles. It was pretty hard to tell if that came from urgency or insecurity, but something about these new nobles always seemed excessive, as if their polish hid a hollow space inside.

Yes, that was it. Something missing.

Harvett, his expression is sharp and energetic behind a pair of round spectacles, leaned lightly on his gold handled cane. Every gesture he made—each step, each turn of the wrist—followed an exact measure of distance and rhythm. He moved like a man performing a ritual.

Nobility. A simple word that once defined an uncrossable gulf. The social order had been more rigid than the ranks of the Transcendents themselves. If not for the creation of the Noble Council, those who clung to land and industry might have clashed endlessly.

Harvett belonged to this new generation of nobles—men who hoped that their titles could outlast their lifetimes and be carried down through their bloodlines.

Unfortunately, his only son, Liwei, had inherited neither his mind nor his resolve. Keeping the family business afloat was already a challenge, let alone building something greater.

And today, a special guest was coming.

His steady steps carried him into the second drawing room. As he opened the door, he paused. By the tall window stood a slender figure, posture straight, every line of her bearing sharpened by sunlight. Her presence carried a composed, icy strength that unsettled him for a heartbeat. There was nothing timid or soft about her. The woman looked more like a knight than a nun.

“Good day, Lady Maria.”

The sun spilled over her shoulders, outlining her in molten gold. Dressed in a tailored suit, Maria von Cainhurst turned with calm grace. Her refined face held an effortless ease, a serenity that felt both languid and alert.

Languid, yet utterly in control.

The realization struck Harvett like a spark through his mind. He suddenly understood what new nobles lacked. They had polish but no gravity. Maria had both.

“Good day, Lord Harvett. I believe our last meeting was after the autumn harvest two years ago.”

“Ah, you have a fine memory, Lady Maria.”

Harvett studied her as if for the first time. There was an austere beauty in her composure, a quiet strength that suggested breeding far above her background. The eldest daughter of a provincial pastor should have seemed provincial herself, but this woman could have walked into any royal ball and drawn every gaze without effort.

After the servants placed tea and cakes on the table, they withdrew, leaving the two alone.

“I was sorry to hear what happened to Seth Town,” Harvett began as he took his seat. “When the Church told me the place had been leveled, I thought they were joking.”

He knew little beyond what the officials had said. Two priests had appeared one morning and delivered the news that the town no longer existed. Along with it had gone his ceremonial title of Honorary Mayor. Perhaps it would be reinstated someday, but the loss still stung.

Harvett did not care about titles. What unsettled him was the violation itself. The supernatural was dangerous. Even without intent to harm, it warped and wounded everything around it.

“All of it has turned to dust,” Maria said.

Her tone made him glance up. Beneath its calm surface, she carried knowledge she did not share. Harvett had no idea what had truly happened in Seth Town, but she did. The truth of that place was bound to Chaos itself, an event so polluted that its record had to be sealed. Even hearing fragments could break a mortal mind.

“Lord Harvett,” she continued, “I can tell you part of what really happened. But if I fall silent at certain points, forgive me. It is for your safety. Some truths are poisonous even to the Transcendent.”

“Then let it stay buried,” he replied with a quick raise of his brow. “The past is gone.”

He was not a fool. In this world, ignorance was sometimes the only defense. Secrets had their own gravity; draw too close and one was crushed. Seth Town, for all its tragedy, was not his concern. His grain consortium in the Southwind Province earned more in a season than the town had paid in taxes in a year.

“Then perhaps, Lord Harvett, you would be interested in working with me.”

Her voice cut through the air like the strike of a clock. Maria crossed her legs, fingers laced loosely in her lap. The languor in her expression shifted, replaced by a keen focus that gleamed like the eyes of a waking predator.

“You?” he said, his tone hovering between amusement and surprise.

“Yes. Me.”

She lifted her chin slightly, exposing the smooth curve of her throat. The gesture carried pride, but also an assurance that dared him to laugh.

“Lady Maria,” he said slowly, setting down his cup, “partnerships require balance. Each side must bring something of worth.”

He studied her with real curiosity now. For years, he had doubted that the remote, pious town of Seth could have produced someone like her. That doubt was now certainty. Maria did not belong to that quiet world. She carried the weight of another heritage.

Where did you come from, Lady Maria?

“Work with me,” she said, “and I can secure for you a permanent hereditary title ratified by the Noble Council. Along with that, you will gain the goodwill of a high noble and support when you most need it.”

Harvett nearly dropped his cup. “You must be joking.”

“I never joke, Lord Harvett.”

She lifted her own cup, the motion fluid and elegant. Steam rose between them, carrying the scent of strong tea. Her eyes, red as rubies in the light, reflected a stillness that unnerved him.

“Forgive me,” he said after a pause, “but the favor of a high noble is a dream too distant for a man like me. However, legal hereditary rights—those interest me very much.”

Behind his calm mask, his thoughts raced. The offer hinted at scandal. Hidden bloodlines, illegitimate heirs, secret adoptions, struggles over inheritance—the very currency of noble intrigue. He found himself intrigued despite his caution.

How very interesting.

Harvett had made countless deals in his life. Not all had succeeded; he had endured ruin as often as triumph. Yet what Maria offered was unlike any transaction before. It glittered with both promise and peril. This was the kind of gamble that made or broke a dynasty.

“Perhaps I will need some time,” he said at last.

A good deal was not born in haste. Before he invested, he would investigate. Not the surface details—the so-called daughter of a town priest—but the older traces buried beneath that identity. The kind of evidence that lingered long after bloodlines changed their names.

Every path leaves a footprint.

In this world, it was not only mortals who could trace the past. The Mystics had their own methods, though such inquiries were dangerous. When the supernatural crossed its own kind, truth often warped, returning as rumor or illusion. Even gods could be misled.

Maria is unbothered by his hesitation. “Until then,” she said with a faint smile, “I trust you wouldn't mind helping me arrange a place i could stay into.”

Her voice carried amusement. Both Her crimson eye shimmered with sly humor, the gaze of a fox who just stole a chicken and was daring the farmer to notice it.

For a heartbeat, Harvett saw beneath the grace and polish. Behind that serene composure was a hunter, the kind that wore civility like a disguise. He felt a shiver of recognition—the same ambition, the same hunger that had once driven him upward through the ranks of merchants until he stood beside nobles who had once mocked his name.

This woman was dangerous, not because she threatened violence, but because she moved through the world with purpose. Every word she spoke was a step in a plan that stretched far beyond his own comprehension.

Still, he smiled, because that was what men like him did in the presence of risk.

“Lady Maria,” he said, “you will have the best guest quarters in the manor. I will see to it personally.”

“Thank you, Lord Harvett.”

She rose. Her movements were fluid, unhurried. Sunlight followed her as if drawn to her presence, glinting against the buttons of her coat and the fall of her pale hair. The moment she left the room, the air seemed to cooled down.

Harvett remained seated for some times, staring into the rippling surface of his tea. His reflection trembled within it—sharp eyes behind round glass, a man measuring profit against peril.

He thought again of her words. A permanent title. The favor of a high noble. What sort of power could grant such things? The Church? The Council? Or something older that moved unseen between both?

A soft knock came at the door. One of his attendants entered, waiting silently.

“Send a message to the record office,” Harvett said. “I want every document we have on the Cainhurst line. Old, new, public, sealed—everything.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And another,” he added. “To the Church liaison in the Southwind Province. Tell them I require confirmation on the destruction of Seth Town. Include all names of the clergy who served there.”

The servant bowed and withdrew.

Alone for once again, Harvett stood and walked to the window where Maria had been standing. The sunlight poured through the glass, warm against his palm. Below, the banners of his estate fluttered in the steady wind, their embroidered wheat-sheaf sigil glinting with gold thread.

He had built all of this with his very own hands. Every coin, every field, every worker’s wage bore his mark. Yet one misstep could strip it all away easily. That was the truth of noble life: a single favor could raise a man to the council, and a single whisper could unmake him.

Maria von Cainhurst had offered him both possibilities in one sentence.

He wondered what she wanted in return.

Outside, carriages rolled along King’s Avenue, the rhythmic clatter of wheels echoing against the marble façades. The city gleamed, but behind its brightness, deals were being struck in every drawing room and council hall. Gold and secrets flowed like blood through its veins.

Somewhere in that flow, Harvett sensed a new current forming—one that carried the scent of ash and sunlight.

Far from the manor, Maria stepped into the waiting carriage. As it pulled away, she watched the city unfold around her. Towers, spires, the faint shimmer of smog tinted gold by afternoon light. The world looked peaceful from the window, but beneath the quiet rhythm of hooves, she could almost hear the pulse of something deeper, something vast and ancient stirring in its sleep.

She rested a hand on the hilt of her blade. Her expression softened for the first time.

Business, after all, was just another form of war.