Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 169: A Deal In The Dark

While the Heroes’ Party continued their heated debate across the Great Hall, Master Omares stood near the hearth, entirely detached from their bickering.

His blank, white eyes were fixed on the far end of the room, where Duke Ithalan was frantically whispering orders to a group of servants.

To the untrained eye, the Duke was simply a lord managing a crisis. But to the Great Scholar, Ithalan was a glass vessel filled with cracking ice.

Omares watched quietly, almost like he wasn’t even there, studying the minute tremors in the Duke’s hands, the erratic pulse beating at his neck.

It was almost like all of his hidden secrets were practically leaking from his pores.

The man was terrified, and it wasn’t just because of the dead Elven royal in his forest.

As Ithalan dismissed the last of the servants with a trembling wave, Omares stepped away from the hearth. His footsteps made absolutely no sound on the marble floor.

"Duke Ithalan," Omares called out.

Ithalan’s shoulders hiked up to his ears as he turned. The Great Scholar’s baritone voice was not loud, yet it cut perfectly through the ambient noise of the hall.

"A word, if you please. In private."

The Duke offered a strained, watery smile. "Of course, Great Scholar. Right this way." He pointed a shaking finger toward a flat door at the front of the hall.

As the Duke moved toward it, Elara, his closest Messenger followed

Omares raised a single, long finger, stopping her in her tracks. "Solely the Duke," he said. It didn’t sound like a suggestion.

"This matter is of severe import. And it is very private."

Ithalan swallowed hard, glancing nervously between the Scholar and his servant. "Stay back, Elara. Wait for me here."

The young elf nodded crisply. She stepped back against the wall, but as she did, she gave Omares a quick glance.

When Omares’ eyes caught hers, Elara quickly looked away, her composure slipping before she turned her attention to the arguing Heroes.

Omares turned and followed the Duke into the small room.

It was a preparation chamber for the hall’s festivities. Chairs and cutlery were scattered here and there, and it smelled like candle wax.

The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the sounds from the hall were completely severed.

Ithalan immediately crumpled, the facade of a ruling Duke evaporating. He wrung his hands together, his long ears drooping.

"Master Omares, I beg of you, please accept my deepest apologies," Ithalan said softly. "The death of your student, Lady Liraeth... it is a tragedy I will carry to my grave.

"I had a hand in weakening the defense of our world. I should have recognized the Outworlder. I should have let the Crown know the Hero was residing in my lands. I was foolish—"

"That girl is a spy," Omares interrupted smoothly.

Ithalan froze, his mouth hanging half-open. The apology died in his throat. "W-what?"

"Your Messenger. The girl waiting outside," Omares said, clasping his hands behind his back as he slowly began to circle the paralyzed Duke. "She is a spy for Duke Aelasor of the Neverglades."

"That—that is impossible. She has served my house since she was a child!"

"And yet," Omares continued, his white eyes unblinking, "she ties her dispatch scrolls using the thorn-slip knot; a ciphering technique taught exclusively in the Neverglades’ intelligence echelons. She spies for Aelasor, I am sure. How else do you think we were informed of the Gate World?"

Ithalan looked as if a hot slap had been dragged across his pale cheeks. He staggered back until his spine hit the edge of a long wooden table.

"But her treason is merely a symptom of your larger disease, Duke Ithalan," Omares said, stopping directly in front of him.

"In my centuries, I have taught many classes. I have studied the intricacies of nearly every magical discipline. That includes the rare art of Portal Mages."

Ithalan froze, looking up at the Scholar.

Omares remained reactionless. "Because of this, Lord Ithalan, I can recognize the residual mana from spatial tunneling. That is how I know there is an illegal portal anchored somewhere very close to this estate."

Ithalan’s face was drained of all color. He looked utterly bloodless.

"I have only been uncertain as to where it leads," Omares mused, tilting his head slightly. "Since it is likely how the Hero came and how he left, it surely has to lead to a province in the Human Kingdom. You have formed a secret alliance with another Duke." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"No!" Ithalan gasped, raising his hands in a pathetic gesture of defense. "It is—it is just an old ruin! A remnant from the... the old ages! It is completely dormant, I swear to you—"

"I know what I sensed, Lord Ithalan. Do not insult my intelligence," Omares stepped close, his eyes burning. "The portal is old but only by a few years. Now tell me, what is on the other side? Who is your ally?"

Ithalan clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head rapidly.

"Who?" Omares asked, leaning in a fraction of an inch. The sheer pressure of his aura made the wooden table groan behind the Duke.

"Baron Eutheo!" Ithalan cried out, breaking completely. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "Eutheo of Luvengart City!"

Omares slowly straightened up, his white eyes narrowing as the final pieces of the puzzle snapped into place.

The silence in the room stretched for a moment as he thought, then concluding his pondering, the Scholar finally spoke.

"Of course," Omares whispered with realization. "I had often wondered how Luvengart rose so incredibly fast to become one of the wealthiest and greatest cities in the Human Kingdom. A mere Baron achieving such economic dominance in a decade."

Omares looked at the trembling Duke. "Your province, Hollowcreek, is littered with Gate Worlds. Too many for your own meager forces to clear. If you failed to hold them, the Elven Crown would strip you of your title."

"So, you struck a deal. Luvengart offers you their military help in secret, sending Awakeners through the portal to defend your realm, and in return... you give them the spoils."

"The monster cores, the rare minerals, the wealth from the Gate Worlds. Hmm, how perilous. A complete circumvention of both the Elven and Human tax laws."

Ithalan dropped to his knees, his robes pooling around him on the floor. He grabbed the hem of Omares’s cloak.

"Fine. I accept it all. But please, do not believe that I did it for power as you claim. I only did it for my people!" Ithalan sobbed, his dignity entirely shattered.

"The Gates were too many! The monsters would have overrun the villages! Please, Great Scholar, I beg of you. Do what you must with me—exile me, execute me—but do not harm my people! Do not let the armies of other cities take our Hollowcreek pride."

He bowed his head in shame. "When you tell King Galadrien and King Alfred, please... please let them know that I did none of this for wealth. It was only for my people’s protection!"

Omares stared down at the weeping Elf, barely caring for the display of regret. Rather, he gently, but firmly, pulled his cloak from Ithalan’s grasp.

"I do not plan to tell the Kings," Omares said quietly.

Ithalan’s weeping broke. He looked up, his tear-streaked face full of confusion. "You... you will keep this secret? But... but that will make you an accessory to treason against both Crowns!"

"It will only make me an accessory if you are caught," Omares replied coldly. He looked down his nose at the Duke, then turned away and walked to the end of the room.

"Get up off the floor, Ithalan. You have work to do."

Ithalan scrambled to his feet, wiping his face with the back of his trembling sleeve. "What... what must I do?"

"You will go to your friend, Baron Eutheo," Omares commanded. "You will tell him everything that has transpired here today. Tell him that the Messengers are already riding to the Kings."

"Once the rulers realize a Royal Elf has been murdered and an outworld murderer is on the loose, their wrath will fall entirely upon the last two places the Outworlder was seen: Hollowcreek and Luvengart."

Omares stepped closer, his voice turning into a serrated edge. "In order to stop their respective Kings from tearing your provinces apart looking for answers, you and Eutheo must put in all your combined forces."

"Every Warrior, every Awakener, every Whisperer you have, and capture the Hero yourselves."

Ithalan swallowed hard, nodding frantically. "Yes. Yes, we can do that. We know the realm in details—"

"I’m not finished," Omares cut in monotonously, "when you capture him, you do not bring him to the Crown. You do not kill him. You bring him directly to me. First. Is that understood?"

Ithalan, utterly overwhelmed and entirely confused as to what the Great Scholar actually wanted with the Outworlder, simply nodded. "I understand. I promise you, Master Omares. We will find him."

"See that you do," Omares said, turning his back on the Duke and placing his hand on the brass doorknob. "Because if anyone else gets their hands on the Hero before we do, this deal is entirely off, and I will personally deliver the truth of your portal to the Eternal Court."

Omares opened the door just a fraction, letting the faint sounds of the Heroes’ arguments bleed back into the room. He paused, looking back over his shoulder at the pale, sweating Duke.

"And Ithalan?" Omares added softly. "Perhaps you should deal with that Neverglades spy of yours. You need to find out exactly what she has already told Duke Aelasor. Because if your neighbor knows your most damning secret..."

Omares let the sentence hang in the air for a chilling second. "...it is definitely your end."

The Scholar stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

Inside, Ithalan stood frozen in the dark room, paralyzed by the multitude of bad news crashing on his already burdened soul.