Chapter Three: The Deal

Following the secret passage behind the wine cabinet, the Lame Man crept forward, careful not to make a sound. He slipped past heaps of rum and spirits casks, clambered over two large crates filled with smuggled tobacco and sugar, until he reached a stone wall at the end of the corridor. In the pitch darkness, the only illumination came from a thin sliver of light seeping through the stonework. Pressing himself against the wall, the Lame Man placed his eye to that narrow beam to peer into the room beyond—a small, comfortably furnished chamber, its modest space made brilliant by the glow of over a dozen white candles. Arranged around the room was a circle of large armchairs draped in animal pelts. In one of them sat Lin Qi, his face wearing a grin so irritating it begged for a punch, guzzling wine with unrestrained delight.

The Lame Man's pupils shrank to pinpoints. He recognized the bronze wine bottle in Lin Qi's hand—one of the few bottles of century-old rum left in his bar. Such a vintage couldn't be measured by mere money; it was more legend than liquor in this place. "That damned brat—how did he find that treasure?" The Lame Man was trembling with fury, but then his gaze shifted to Enzo, who stood not far from Lin Qi, as sharp and imposing as a drawn sword. With a resigned grimace, he shook his head.

He pressed his hand against the stone wall, which slid open in utter silence. Composing himself with a dazzling smile, the Lame Man stepped into the room. "Hey, hey hey, what good things has my most delightful young friend brought for me?" He rubbed his hands together vigorously, deliberately avoiding Lin Qi and looking instead with greedy eyes at the cloth-wrapped bundle beneath Enzo’s arm. He knew Lin Qi well—without a handsome profit, the young man wouldn’t set foot in his establishment. For all his youth, Lin Qi’s cunning rivaled the most seasoned rogues.

"A boy with limitless prospects—his father truly has an extraordinary son," the Lame Man thought to himself.

As he entered, Lin Qi gave the wine bottle a vigorous shake, draining the last drop. He exhaled a long, contented breath, then tossed the bottle carelessly to the floor, the crash making the Lame Man’s heart ache. Satisfied, Lin Qi let out a belch and clapped his hands. "Dear Uncle Lame Man, every time I see you, it’s as though I’m seeing piles of golden cluckers and silvery chirpers. You’ll give me a good price, won’t you?"

The Lame Man glared at the rolling bronze bottle, then reluctantly fished out a gold coin and a silver coin from his belt. The Seventh Empire’s current gold coins bore the visage of Saint Louis XIII on one side and a proud rooster on the other—hence, among those in the know, gold coins were called "cluckers." The latest-minted silver coins, meanwhile, displayed a lark in flight, earning them the nickname "chirpers."

Feigning nonchalance, he tossed the coins onto the sole small table in the room and smiled broadly. "Uncle Lame Man has plenty of pretty little roosters and larks, as long as my dear young friend brings something I’m interested in. Price is no object."

Lin Qi belched again. Enzo stepped forward without a word and laid the cloth bundle heavily on the table. Deftly, the Lame Man unwrapped it, revealing six short swords coated in rust-preventing oil. The hilts fit perfectly in the palm; each blade was four feet long, slender, and etched with flowing patterns—a sign of exquisite steelwork. The sword tips glimmered with a striking blue-green hue, their chill so sharp it was intimidating.

"My, my, what lovely treasures!" The Lame Man’s eyes shone. He pounced on the table, his fingers tracing the swords with a lover’s delicacy. His fingertips trembled slightly as he examined each watery pattern—dense, resilient steel, truly blades of the highest caliber.

He snatched up one sword and gave it a flick. At once, the candlelight in the room dimmed. A hiss, like a viper’s strike, split the air as streaks of cold light—too swift for the naked eye—sliced through the room, striking a suit of armor standing in the corner.

The armor, made mostly of thick ox-hide with hand-sized steel plates at critical points, was torn as if it were paper under the Lame Man’s attack. Even the steel plates at the chest and armpits, each an inch thick, gave a shrill groan as the blade pierced straight through.

As the candlelight steadied, the Lame Man withdrew the sword and examined it closely. Only a few hair-thin scratches marred the blade; otherwise, it was unscathed. He couldn’t help but marvel—this suit of armor, bought at great expense from the regular army’s supply depot, was the kind of regulation gear only mid-ranking officers could wear. Yet it had been utterly helpless before these swords, a testament to their astonishing piercing power.

Seeing the result of the test, Lin Qi let out a triumphant laugh, rubbing his hands as visions of gold and silver coins danced before his eyes. He grinned at Enzo, "Didn’t I say so, didn’t I? This batch was sure to satisfy Uncle Lame Man. Am I right? These took us no small effort to acquire from the Military Academy’s armory!"

The Lame Man snorted, carefully setting the sword on the table. He narrowed his eyes, considering the six blades in silence.

Lin Qi arched his brows, both hands slipping into his sleeves. Enzo silently rested his hand at his waist, where in a hidden pocket he carried a sword identical to those on the table. He measured the distance between himself and the Lame Man; with one thrust, he was ninety percent sure he could pierce the Lame Man’s throat.

The candlelight flickered; something moved in the room, the draft stirring the flames. The hair stood up on the back of the Lame Man’s neck—he felt like a frog under a serpent’s gaze, shivering with dread.

After a moment’s thought, he sneered and shook his head. "Such fine weapons, in the Military Academy’s armory? Nonsense. Swords that can pierce solid steel a palm thick—those are treasures, and plenty are willing to pay dearly for them. But I want the truth: where did you really get them?"

Enzo’s hand gripped the hilt, his gaze fixed like a blade on the Lame Man’s throat.

Lin Qi crossed his legs, unconcerned. "Does it matter where they came from? They won’t stay in your hands for long anyway."

The Lame Man frowned and pondered, then, with a sudden wry smile, shook his head. Affecting generosity, he pulled a greasy purse from his breast, scooped out a handful of gold coins, and tossed them onto the table.

Lin Qi’s eyes turned golden with excitement as he dove for them with a cheer.