Chapter 323: Lin Ruoli’s Trick

The absolute, final dismissal in Alaric’s laugh echoed in the silent chamber long after the sound had faded. It was the sound of a game ending, a gambit failed. Lin Ruoli’s last, desperate card—the offer of her body and her empire’s secrets—had been casually, contemptuously brushed aside. She was left standing beside him, exposed and utterly powerless, her skin burning with a humiliation that was colder and sharper than any fear she had ever known.

Seeing the utter futility of the conversation, the complete and total dead end she had reached, her training took over. When a negotiation fails, you retreat, you reassess, you report back. Survival was paramount.

She gathered the shattered remnants of her composure, piecing them together into a fragile mask of professional grace. She stepped back from him, creating a sliver of personal space, and gave a small, flawless bow that was a masterpiece of controlled elegance.

“This has been most enlightening, Lord Steele, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice a cool, steady instrument that betrayed none of the screaming chaos in her mind. “But I have other appointments I must attend to. The business of a guild, as you know, never truly sleeps. We can, perhaps, continue this discussion another time.”

She turned to leave, her movements fluid and deliberate, projecting an aura of a woman in control, a woman leaving on her own terms. It was a lie, but it was the only thing she had left.

She didn’t even make it a single step.

Alaric’s hand shot out, not with the blur of a warrior, but with a lazy, almost casual speed that was somehow even more terrifying. His fingers closed around her wrist.

The grip wasn’t crushing. It wasn’t designed to cause pain. It was worse. It was firm, unyielding, and as absolute as a manacle of forged steel. It was the physical manifestation of his will, a simple, undeniable statement: You are not going anywhere.

He didn’t even stand up. He just sat there, holding her, a faint, predatory smile playing on his lips.

“What’s the rush, Lady Ruoli?” he asked, his voice a low, charming purr that was utterly at odds with the cold, hard reality of his grip. “The night is still so young. I feel we’re only just beginning to get to know each other.”

The touch. The firm, inescapable grip. The predatory, possessive look in his ruby eyes.

It all slammed into her with the force of a physical blow, a key turning in a locked, dark room in the deepest recesses of her mind.

A flashback hit her, not as a hazy memory, but as a vivid, visceral re-living. The Emperor’s private chamber. The scent of ancient sandalwood and old power. The cold, heavy weight of his gaze. His hands, not gentle, not passionate, but simply powerful, taking what they wanted. The sound of tearing silk, her own gasp of terror, the feeling of utter, complete, and soul-crushing helplessness as he pushed her down, his power an inescapable mountain, his will an absolute, divine law.

’It’s happening again,’ her mind screamed, a raw, silent shriek of pure, animalistic terror. ’Gods, no, not again. He’s not even hiding it. He’s going to rape me, right here, in front of them.’

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a wild, frantic bird trying to escape a cage of bone. Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel a cold sweat break out across her entire body.

Her mind, a brilliant, strategic instrument that had won her fortunes and toppled rivals, raced, desperately searching for a countermeasure, an escape route, any path out of this waking nightmare.

She couldn’t fight him physically. That was a joke. He was an Archmage, and even if he wasn’t, the lethal shadow by the door would end her before she could even try. Her subtle seductions had failed. Her professional mask had been shattered.

What was left?

Wits. Deception. A change of venue, a change of the rules of the game. If she couldn’t win on his battlefield of raw, physical intimidation, she had to lure him onto hers.

She forced her trembling lips into a smile. It was a shaky, fragile thing, but it was a smile nonetheless. An act of pure, desperate will. She turned to face him, letting a hint of alluring challenge enter her terrified eyes.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” she said, her voice a little breathless, a little shaky, but she pitched it as seductively as she could. “You are right. It is rude of me to rush away.”

She placed her free hand on his, a gesture that was both a plea and a calculated caress. “How about we make the evening more… interesting? I have brought a special vintage from my homeland. A wine so potent, so rare, it is said to make even the gods sing. Shall we talk over a drink? Properly?”

It was her last, desperate gambit. A poisoned chalice offered with a trembling, beautiful smile.

Alaric looked at her, his ruby eyes gleaming with a deep, knowing amusement. He saw the terror in her eyes, the desperate, frantic calculations going on behind her perfect mask. He knew she was up to something. And he found it utterly, completely, fascinating.

He released her wrist, his smirk widening. “An excellent idea,” he said, his voice a low, appreciative rumble.

A wave of dizzying, disbelieving relief washed over Lin Ruoli. She had done it. She had changed the game. She moved back to her attache case, her hands perfectly steady now, the adrenaline of her gamble giving her a strange, sharp clarity.

She retrieved a beautiful, ornate porcelain bottle, its surface a swirl of deep crimson and gold leaf, depicting a celestial dragon chasing a pearl. Alongside it, she produced five small, delicate cups, each one a perfect, paper-thin piece of porcelain.

She uncorked the bottle. A rich, fragrant aroma filled the chamber, a complex bouquet of dark berries, exotic spices, and something else, something faint and sweet, like night-blooming jasmine. The wine itself was a deep, luscious crimson, the color of a perfect ruby, or fresh blood.

With the grace and precision of a court servant performing a tea ceremony, she served everyone. A cup for herself. A cup for Alaric. A cup for the elegant Ondine, the voluptuous Priscilla, and the silent, deadly Zylle.

The drinking began. It was a new phase of the interrogation, a more subtle, more dangerous one. Lin Ruoli continued to probe him with questions, her tone light and conversational, trying to get him to lower his guard, to keep him talking, to keep him drinking.

“So, this fortress of yours, Lord Steele,” she began, taking a delicate sip of her own wine. It was delicious. The taste of victory. “It is truly a marvel of engineering. Surely a structure of its size requires a significant garrison to protect? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand?”

Alaric took a long, slow swallow of the wine, his eyes closing for a moment in appreciation. “It is adequately protected,” he said, his voice a lazy, relaxed purr. He opened his eyes, a faint, amused smile on his lips. “This is a delightful vintage, Lady Ruoli. Truly exquisite. It has a… sleepy quality to it. Very relaxing.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Had he noticed? No, it was impossible. The sedative, a refined, tasteless dust distilled from the petals of the Black Dream Lotus, was utterly undetectable by normal means. He was just making an observation.

She watched the other women as they drank. They were Archmages, powerful beings of immense will and magical fortitude. But they were still, at the end of the day, mortal. They had physical bodies, with veins and blood and brains that could be affected by a sufficiently potent neurotoxin.

After the second cup, she saw the first, subtle sign.

Priscilla, the blonde Archmage, who had been watching the exchange with a sharp, academic focus, rested her chin in her hand. Her posture, which had been perfect, slumped ever so slightly. Her violet eyes, which had been as clear and bright as amethysts, seemed a bit unfocused, her gaze drifting towards the tapestries on the wall.

After the third cup, the change in Zylle was even more pronounced.

The dark-haired woman had been a coiled spring of lethal energy, her stillness a thing of immense, contained power. Now, that tension seemed to… release. Her sharp, predatory gaze softened, blurring at the edges. She leaned back against the wall, her perfect, ramrod-straight posture relaxing into a more natural, almost weary, slump.

Ondine, the elegant one, remained regal, her composure a fortress. But her blinks became a fraction slower, her movements losing their crisp, precise edge.

’It’s working,’ Lin Ruoli thought, a surge of wild, desperate triumph flooding her veins. ’It’s working! The Black Dream Lotus is powerful enough to fell a Martial Lord in their prime. Even an Archmage’s constitution cannot resist it for long. Their minds may be fortresses, but their bodies are still flesh and blood.’

She refilled Alaric’s cup, her smile now genuine, filled with a renewed, predatory confidence.

’Soon,’ she thought, her mind already racing ahead, planning her next move. ’Soon, he will be a drooling, unconscious lump of muscle. And then, he will be mine to command. Or, at the very least, unconscious enough for me to escape this gilded cage. And the secrets I can take from his mind while he sleeps… the Emperor will be very pleased.’

The fourth cup was poured.

Priscilla, who had been struggling to keep her eyes open, finally succumbed. Her head slumped forward, landing on her folded arms on the table with a soft, gentle thud. A cascade of blonde hair spilled across the polished wood. She was fast asleep.

A moment later, Zylle, who had been leaning against the wall, slid down into a sitting position, her head lolling to one side, her eyes closed. The deadly assassin was neutralized.

Ondine lasted the longest, her royal willpower a formidable thing. But even she could not fight the inevitable. Her head drooped, her breathing deepened, and she too fell into a deep, drug-induced slumber, her regal head resting against the high back of her chair.

Three Archmages. Three of the most powerful women in the western kingdoms. All felled by a single, poisoned bottle of wine.

It was a victory of staggering proportions.

Lin Ruoli turned her triumphant gaze to Alaric. She expected to see him swaying in his chair, his eyes glazed over, his handsome face slack with the onset of unconsciousness.

Instead, he was perfectly, terrifyingly, clear-eyed.

A sharp, mocking smile played on his lips. He was watching her, his ruby eyes glinting with an amused, almost pitying, light.

He drained his fourth cup in a single, long swallow and set it down on the table with a firm, deliberate click that echoed in the silent, sleeping room like a death knell.

“A truly wonderful wine,” he said, his voice a calm, conversational murmur that was utterly at odds with the scene of carnage around them. “But it seems to have had a rather strong effect on my companions. They have no tolerance for such fine vintages, I’m afraid.”

He looked at her, his smile widening. “You, however, seem completely unaffected. Which is remarkable. I imagine you ingested the elixir to grant you immunity beforehand?”

The blood drained from Lin Ruoli’s face. The triumphant fire in her veins turned to a river of ice.

He knew.

He had known all along. Or he was simply, impossibly, immune. Either way, her trump card, her final, desperate gambit, was not just useless. It had been a child’s game to him.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, the words hollow and pathetic even to her own ears.

Alaric laughed. It was a rich, full-throated sound of pure, unadulterated amusement.

“Oh, I think you do,” he said, his voice laced with a derisive humor. “It was a good try, Lady Ruoli. A classic. But your game was boring. How about we play a game of my own then? A game of true skill.”

He gestured with his head towards a small, inlaid table in the corner of the room. On its polished surface was a board marked with a complex grid of intersecting lines and star points, a game of profound, ancient strategy.

“We shall play Starfall Weiqi,” he declared, his voice a low, commanding purr. “But with a twist.”

He leaned forward, his ruby eyes dancing with a wicked, predatory light.

“Each time one of us wins a match, the winner gets to command the loser to remove one piece of their clothing. Any piece. And we don’t stop until one of us is completely, utterly, and beautifully naked.”

Lin Ruoli stared at him, then at the board. Starfall Weiqi. She was a master of the game, her strategic mind renowned throughout the Empire. It was a battlefield of pure intellect, of cunning and foresight. A battlefield she understood.

Her terror, her despair, was suddenly replaced by a final, defiant surge of pride.

’He’s arrogant,’ she thought, a spark of her old, fierce confidence returning. ’He thinks he can beat me in a game of pure intellect? He has underestimated me. I will strip him bare, piece by humiliating piece, and leave him shamed and defeated in his own chamber.’

She looked at him, her own eyes now cold and steady. This was a challenge she could meet. A battle she could win.

“I accept your challenge, Lord Steele,” she said, her voice a blade of ice.