Chapter 285: Coward!
The echoes of the final carriages rolling out of the cobblestone courtyard signaled the official end of the farce.
While a few distant lords whose estates lay across the outer territories were escorted to the manor’s guest wings, the main hall quickly emptied of its suffocating crowd.
I smoothly excused myself from a pair of minor barons who were still desperately trying to pitch a marriage alliance, slipping away into the dim, shadow-drenched corridors of the estate.
Using my deep familiarity with the manor’s layout, I didn’t head toward my bedroom.
Instead, I waited near the side exit of the parlor, slipping like a ghost into the private, study just a few moments before Lord Matthew was set to pass it.
A subtle, sharp gesture from my hand was all it took to catch his eye, and the pragmatic guild master slipped into the room behind me without a word, the oak door clicking shut behind him.
The moment the latch engaged, the polite, carefully crafted noble mask dropped from my face completely.
I didn’t offer him a seat. I simply walked over to the mahogany desk, leaning against the edge with my arms crossed, my dark blue eyes locking onto his with absolute, freezing intensity.
Behind my eyes, my interface was already humming to life, passively overlaying Matthew’s posture, heart rate, and micro-expressions with live data feeds.
[Skill Activated: Social Engineering.]
[Skill Activated: Combat Analysis — Passive Psychological Tracking Engaged.]
"Let’s skip the aristocratic pleasantries, Lord Vance," I said, my voice dropping into a cold, flat register that completely cut through the remaining ambiance of the banquet.
Matthew raised a single amber eyebrow, a slow, highly amused smile spreading across his face as he adjusted his scholarly charcoal coat.
"You’re a very direct young man, Jin. What you want to discuss?"
"About the elixir you brought... I recognized a flawed, desperate imitation," I leaned forward just enough to project an aura of absolute control.
"The density is high, yes, but the stabilizer they used is volatile. It’s an standard moon-grass distillate, which means within three months of storage, the mana frequency will collapse, rendering the batch entirely useless, if not toxic to the consumer’s pathways. Amateurs."
Matthew’s breath hitched for a fraction of a milliseconds.
His amber eyes widened with a flash of genuine, profound shock. He hadn’t expected me to dissect the exact structural weakness of a black-market masterwork within seconds of looking at it.
"You speak as though you know the true architect of the original," Matthew murmured, his tone shifting from casual amusement to intense, sharp calculation.
"I don’t just know them. I represent them," I lied flawlessly, my Social Engineering weaving the deceit with absolute, unshakeable conviction.
"The person behind the authentic formula is... deeply tied to my personal operations. And they are not pleased that some nameless syndicate thinks they can steal their work without consequences."
I watched his heart rate spike slightly through my interface before stabilizing. He was trying to read me, trying to figure out if the Raith family was backing this or if I was operating entirely on my own.
"The networks are hitting a bottleneck because our former dealers are being bought out or threatened by whoever is pushing these counterfeits," I continued, dropping a calculated hint to let him know I was fully aware of the logistics.
"I want them erased from the market."
"And what exactly is the Imperial Merchant Guild gaining if we involve ourselves in an underground trade war, young master Raith?" Matthew asked, his pragmatic merchant nature immediately taking over.
"Exclusive distribution rights," I said, letting the words hang in the quiet room. "The Guild will help me track down every single counterfeiter, expose the traitorous dealers who broke our original contracts, and clean up the supply lines. In exchange, my supplier will grant the Vance syndicate exclusive rights to the real and upgraded versions of our entire alchemical line. Potions that make the current ones look like mud."
I let out a low chuckle, my eyes boring into his.
"Imagine the political and financial leverage when the military realizes only the Vance syndicate can supply the purest recovery elixirs in the continent."
Matthew stood perfectly still in the center of the room, his mind working at hyper-speed as he weighed the sheer scale of the profit against the risk of crossing whatever hidden faction I was representing.
My system interface stayed perfectly green, he was biting the hook, completely convinced by the technical authority of my formula breakdown.
Slowly, Matthew raised his hand, a deep, genuine smirk finally breaking through his calculated demeanor.
"You are a remarkably lucrative one. The Guild will have the names and locations of your traitors on your desk before your leave of absence expires."
I extended my hand, and Matthew took it, his grip firm and sealing our shadow pact.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Lord Vance," I murmured.
After showing him back out and directing him toward his assigned guest suite, I closed the door of the study and let out a long, slow breath.
My chest relaxed as I leaned back against the dark wood paneling.
That’s one massive problem sorted.
A cold smirk touched my lips
The counterfeiters think they’re clever, but they just handed me the keys to the market.
Turning on my heel, I stepped back out into the dimly lit corridor to make my way back to my quarters.
But as I rounded the corner near the grand staircase, I immediately felt that familiar, pathetic burn of raw malice.
Standing a few paces away, half-hidden in the shadow of a marble pillar, was Cedric.
He was still glaring at me, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his face twisted in a silent, furious rage.
I stopped and just looked down at him, dropping my hands into my pockets, my expression entirely deadpan.
"What?" I asked, my voice echoing coldly in the empty hallway. "You want another lesson? Because I have a few minutes to spare before bed."
Cedric violently flinched. He took a stumbling step backward, his hands trembling as he stammered defensively, trying to claw back some semblance of pride.
"Y-you... you’re just lucky Victor isn’t home right now!" he hissed, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure.
"If brother was here, he’d put a talentless bastard like you right back in your place!"
Without waiting for me to respond, he turned on his heel and practically fled down the hallway, his frantic footsteps clicking rapidly against the polished floorboards until he vanished around the corner.
I watched him go, a strange, deeply satisfying sense of amusement washing over me.
There was something undeniably therapeutic about scaring the shit out of the little bully who had spent years tormenting the original owner of this body.
"Coward," I muttered, letting out a soft chuckle as I shook my head.
With Cedric gone and the banquet thoroughly cleared, the heavy, dead silence of the old manor settled in. I reached into the inner pocket of my tailored doublet and pulled out the iron object Cassandra had forced into my palm on the dais.
I stared down at it in the dim moonlight filtering through the corridor windows.
"Now..." I murmured, my eyes narrowing as I looked toward the reinforfed door at the very end of the basement stairwell.
"Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve handed me, sister."