Chapter 244 Trade With All Factions

The weeks following their return from the Suntouched Confederacy settled into a new, more overtly strategic rhythm for Alaric Steele. The influx of valuable cores and unique reagents fueled Iridelle’s workshops and his own arcane experiments. Brita Kuusk, now firmly under his thumb and her Python Essence steadily integrating, became an even more potent, if subdued, asset. Shaila Bloomwater, still somewhat dazed by the rapid shift in her life but increasingly susceptible to Alaric’s subtle influence and the promise of purpose, diligently worked alongside Iridelle’s apothecaries, her knowledge of desert toxins and reagents proving invaluable. Ceanna Paxton oversaw her growing clergy, their faith now undeniably centered on Lord Alaric, the source of their divine power.

The world outside the Steele barrier, however, continued its descent into bloody chaos. The demonic legions, despite their setback in the Suntouched Confederacy with the loss of three Lords, still held roughly half of Eloriath. Their numbers, constantly replenished by the unholy conversion of corpses, were a relentless tide. The remaining half of the former kingdom was a messy patchwork, primarily contested between the expanding Jorailian forces under King Rouben Yachvili and the increasingly entrenched Phantom Assembly, led by the enigmatic Lord Vortan.

Having successfully disrupted the Sea Monsters’ immediate plans for the Confederacy capital, Alaric knew the demonic pressure in Eloriath would likely intensify. Ingranad and Krýllos, though perhaps temporarily set back, were not foes to be underestimated. They would adapt. They would seek new fronts.

‘The Jorailians and the Assembly are currently acting as unwilling buffers,’ Alaric mused one evening, staring at a constantly updated strategic map in his study. The map depicted demonic incursions deep into territories now claimed by Jorailia and showed Phantom Assembly strongholds coming under direct siege. ‘They are bleeding each other, which is convenient. But if either buffer breaks too quickly, or if the demons and sea monsters find a way to effectively coordinate… the pressure shifts directly onto us.’

He needed to maintain the chaotic equilibrium for as long as possible, weakening all potential threats while strengthening his own position. And he had the perfect tool.

His sleek, black Phone Artifact hummed softly in his hand.

With a focused thought and a surge of mana, Alaric broadcast a carefully worded message, not to a single individual, but to all registered Phone Artifacts held by significant powers operating within the former Eloriath and its bordering regions – a general announcement that would reach King Rouben Yachvili, Lord Vortan (through his high-ranking operatives like Brita had been, or Zylle Mordan), and any other sufficiently important individuals who had acquired his revolutionary communication devices.

The message, delivered in Alaric’s calm, authoritative voice, was a masterstroke of opportunistic diplomacy.

“Greetings to all esteemed leaders and organizations currently striving against the encroaching darkness,” the message began, elegantly neutral. “This is Alaric Steele, of the Steele Family. We have observed the escalating demonic threat with grave concern. The resilience of your forces is commendable, yet the enemy is relentless.”

He paused, letting the implied acknowledgement of their struggle sink in.

“The Steele Family, through dedicated research and unique artifice, has developed a range of specialized tools designed to counter demonic entities and their abyssal allies. These include advanced holy artifacts capable of channeling potent anti-demonic energies, highly effective magic circle barrier schematics, and cunning artifact traps specifically designed to disrupt demonic magic and neutralize their physical advantages.”

Another calculated pause. The offer.

“In the spirit of mutual survival and the pressing need to contain this widespread threat, the Steele Family is willing to conduct trade. We offer access to these advanced defensive and offensive technologies. Technologies that can significantly enhance your ability to protect your people, secure your territories, and push back the tide of darkness.”

He concluded with a subtle hook: “Interested parties may contact the Steele Family directly to discuss terms and specific needs. Let us work together to ensure the light of civilization is not extinguished.”

‘There,’ Alaric thought, a cold smile playing on his lips as he cut the transmission. ‘The bait is cast. Let’s see which hungry fish bite first.’ He knew they would. Desperation was a powerful motivator. And he was offering exactly what they needed most: a technological edge.

The response was almost immediate.

Within hours, encrypted messages began arriving on Alaric’s private Phone Artifact.

King Rouben Yachvili of Jorailia was among the first. His message was curt, wary, but undeniably interested. “Lord Steele. Your announcement is… intriguing. Jorailia is indeed committed to eradicating the demonic scourge. Specify your terms for these ‘holy artifacts’ and ‘barrier schematics’.”

‘Predictable,’ Alaric smirked. ‘Rouben Yachvili is pragmatic. He smells an advantage.’

Lord Vortan’s response, relayed through a secure Phantom Assembly channel that Alaric had ‘allowed’ Brita to maintain for such purposes, was more cautious, more veiled, but the underlying interest was just as palpable. “Young Master Steele. Your ingenuity continues to impress. The Phantom Assembly is always open to acquiring… unique assets… that aid in ‘stabilizing’ volatile regions. What form of ‘reciprocity’ does the Steele Family envision for such a mutually beneficial exchange?”

‘Vortan, ever the wordsmith,’ Alaric mused. ‘He wants my tech, but he wants to frame it as an equal transaction, not him begging for help.’

Other, lesser powers also responded – besieged nobles clinging to remnants of their domains, merchant consortiums desperate to protect their last trade routes. Alaric delegated Rosalind and his business administrators to handle these smaller inquiries, offering them less potent, more expensive versions of his wares. His focus was on the major players.

He crafted his replies carefully.

To King Rouben Yachvili: “Your Majesty. The Steele Family seeks specific resources for our continued research and development. We require access to certain rare spiritual herbs known to thrive only within Jorailia’s unique geological formations – specifically, the Sunstone Lily, the Ironvein Root, and the Whispering Frostbloom. Additionally, we are interested in acquiring copies of advanced elemental magic spell matrices exclusive to Jorailian Royal Mage academies, particularly those pertaining to large-scale earth manipulation and advanced lightning evocation, suitable for Grandmaster-level practitioners.”

He was asking for things only Jorailia could provide, things valuable to his ongoing projects and the empowerment of his own mages.

To Lord Vortan, Alaric sent a more… personal, and far more audacious, private message.

“Lord Vortan,” his message began, foregoing any pleasantries. “Your Assembly has no doubt accumulated a significant number of demonic cores from your… cleansing operations. I require a substantial tribute of Sixth Order demonic cores, and no less than five intact Seventh Order Archdemon cores. These are non-negotiable.”

He let that sink in before delivering the true stinger.

“Furthermore,” Alaric continued, his tone icy, “there is the matter of your operative, Brita Kuusk. The Dark Seed you implanted within her contains a restrictive will, a leash you hold. I require the precise method to neutralize this restriction completely, severing all your influence over her. Consider her… a permanent transfer to Steele Family assets.”

He was, in effect, demanding Vortan hand over not just priceless resources, but also surrender control over a high-ranking, powerful mage, admitting Alaric had already claimed her. It was a deliberate, humiliating assertion of dominance.

‘Let him chew on that,’ Alaric thought with grim satisfaction. ‘He knows Brita is with me. He knows I’ve likely… integrated her. This forces him to acknowledge my supremacy in this specific matter.’

He then listed the advanced Steele artifacts he was willing to trade – a specific number of ‘Radiant Sun Orbs’ (holy artifacts that pulsed with concentrated anti-demonic light), schematics for a ‘Demonic Nullification Ward’ (a mid-tier defensive circle), and a batch of ‘Abyssal Snare Traps’ (artifacts that could temporarily bind and weaken demonic entities). He made sure the value offered was significant, but the demands, especially from Vortan, were steep.

King Rouben Yachvili responded within a day. After some token haggling (to which Alaric conceded minor points on quantity, feigning reluctance), a deal was struck. The herbs were rare, the spells valuable, but the prospect of superior anti-demonic technology was too tempting to refuse, especially with his legions facing increasing pressure.

Lord Vortan’s reply took several days. Alaric could almost feel the waves of fury and calculation emanating from wherever the Phantom Assembly leader hid himself. The demand concerning Brita was a direct slap in the face. Surrendering a high-ranking operative, admitting his control over her was broken, and providing the means to permanently sever his link… it was galling.

Yet, Vortan was a pragmatalist above all else. He weighed the humiliation against the potential benefits. The demonic threat was real, even to the Assembly. Their shadow war was costly. Alaric’s artifacts, if as potent as claimed, could provide a crucial edge. Sheltering Eloriath’s royalty gave the Steele Family a veneer of legitimacy Vortan couldn’t easily challenge openly, not yet. And Alaric… this young, terrifyingly brilliant artificer… was someone Vortan increasingly saw not just as a rival, but as a potential future asset, or at least a uniquely valuable trading partner if managed carefully. Perhaps sacrificing one compromised operative and some cores was a necessary price to gain access to his unique creations.

Vortan’s reply finally came. “Young Master Steele. Your terms are… bold. However, in the interest of… continued regional stability… the Phantom Assembly is prepared to meet your requests.” He then listed his own demands in return – a significantly larger quantity of Radiant Sun Orbs, schematics for Alaric’s most advanced personal defensive barrier (not just the mid-tier one), and exclusive access to any new anti-demonic traps Alaric developed for the next six months. Outrageous demands, designed to regain some semblance of control, to make the deal seem less one-sided.

Alaric read Vortan’s counter-offer with a smirk. ‘He’s trying to save face. And testing my limits. Fine.’ He agreed to a slightly larger number of Orbs, offered schematics for a modified version of his barrier (powerful, but not his true masterpiece), and vaguely agreed to ‘consider’ future collaborations on traps. The core demands – the cores and Brita’s freedom – remained unchanged.

The deal, however strained, was struck.

Two weeks later, the representatives arrived.

First came the Jorailian delegation, a column of heavily armored knights and battle mages led by General Tauron, a stern, weathered warrior known for his discipline and effectiveness. They halted respectfully outside the shimmering, impenetrable barrier of the Steele territory, their awe at its palpable power evident despite their disciplined composure.

Alaric didn’t meet them personally. That would be beneath him for a simple trade. Lyra, acting as Matriarch, sent a contingent of Steele household guards and administrators, led by a senior steward. The exchange was formal, efficient. Crates of rare herbs and sealed scrolls containing spell matrices were handed over to the Steele representatives. In return, carefully packed crates containing the promised Radiant Sun Orbs, ward schematics, and Abyssal Snare Traps were given to General Tauron. No pleasantries were exchanged beyond the necessities. The Jorailians departed, their mission accomplished, their curiosity about the mysterious Steele Family and its defenses undoubtedly piqued.

A few days later, the Phantom Assembly delegation arrived. This was a smaller, more discreet group, moving with the characteristic silence and subtlety of their organization. They too halted outside the barrier.

This time, Alaric decided to make a personal appearance. He wanted to see their representative. He wanted to deliver a message.

He strode to the edge of the barrier, which thinned slightly at his approach, allowing clear visual and verbal communication but maintaining its impassable nature. Standing before him, flanked by two shadowy, high-ranking Assembly assassins, was a woman Alaric knew.

Archmage Zylle Mordan.

She was still strikingly beautiful, with sharp, intelligent features, with long beautiful hair, and eyes that held a depth of arcane knowledge and chilling ruthlessness. She had been Alaric’s nominal superior during his brief, unofficial association with the Phantom Assembly years ago, a liaison who had underestimated his true potential, seeing him merely as a talented genius mage but naive young artificer they could perhaps cultivate.

Seeing him now, standing confidently before his impenetrable fortress, radiating an aura of power as a Grandmaster Mage, Zylle’s carefully composed expression faltered for a fraction of a second. A complex mixture of shock, disbelief, and perhaps a grudging, resentful respect flickered in her eyes.

‘He… he has grown so much,’ Zylle thought, her mind reeling. ‘The boy I once dismissed as a clever tinkerer… now commands such power, negotiates with Lord Vortan as an equal, if not a superior? How?’

“Archmage Mordan,” Alaric greeted her, his voice smooth, a polite smile playing on his lips, yet his ruby eyes held a predatory glint as they swept over her familiar, alluring form. “It has been some time. A pleasure to see you again, under… more formal circumstances.”

Zylle inclined her head stiffly. “Young Master Steele. Your… hospitality… is noted.” The words felt like ash in her mouth. She was here as a supplicant, delivering tribute.

The exchange was brief. Zylle’s assassins presented heavy, magically sealed chests containing the demonic cores Alaric had demanded – Sixth Order and the precious Seventh Order Archdemon cores. Another scroll contained the intricate, dangerous method for neutralizing the restrictive will within a Dark Seed. In return, Alaric had Steele guards deliver the artifacts promised to Lord Vortan.

“Lord Vortan trusts these schematics are… complete,” Zylle stated, her tone carefully neutral, though a hint of challenge lingered.

“My designs are always complete, Archmage,” Alaric replied, his smile unwavering. “And always effective. As you will soon discover.”

He let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer, appreciating the way her dark robes clung to her curves, the proud tilt of her chin, the fire in her eyes. ‘Still so haughty. So… tempting. Another Archmage for the collection, perhaps? Yes. Someday, Zylle. Someday you too will kneel.’

He gave a slight nod, a dismissal. “You may depart. Convey my… regards… to Lord Vortan.”

Zylle Mordan turned, her expression unreadable, and departed with her escort, the weight of the transaction and Alaric’s blatant assessment heavy upon her. The balance of power had irrevocably shifted.

The impact of Alaric’s traded artifacts on the war against the demons was swift and dramatic.

Within two weeks, reports began to filter back through various channels.

Jorailian legions, equipped with Radiant Sun Orbs, found themselves cutting through lesser demonic ranks with astonishing ease. The Orbs pulsed with intense, holy light that seared demonic flesh, disrupted their formations, and weakened their unholy energies. Combined with the Demonic Nullification Wards hastily erected around their forward operating bases, Jorailian casualties plummeted, and their advance, while still costly, became more secure, more sustainable. General Tauron reportedly praised the “Divine intervention of Steele ingenuity.”

The Phantom Assembly, always adept at utilizing any advantage, put Alaric’s gifts to even more brutal use. Their elite strike teams, armed with the Orbs and supported by Abyssal Snare Traps, began launching devastatingly effective raids on demonic command posts and supply lines. The traps, when triggered, erupted in chains of binding shadow and holy energy, immobilizing even powerful Master-rank demons, leaving them vulnerable to the Assembly’s assassins. Lord Vortan, despite the humiliation of the trade, was undoubtedly pleased with the results. His forces began to push back, reclaiming territory with surprising speed, their shadow war suddenly gaining a much-needed offensive edge.

Even the demons felt the shift. Their relentless advances began to falter in sectors where Steele-tech was deployed. Their numbers, though still vast, were being attrited at a higher rate. Ingranad received furious reports from his lieutenants about “blinding sun-weapons” and “ensnaring shadow-light traps” that neutralized their shock troops and disrupted their magic. The carefully cultivated fear they spread was being countered by tangible hope, fueled by Alaric’s inventions.

However, Alaric had played his hand with characteristic cunning.

‘Limited uses,’ he mused, reviewing the positive feedback with satisfaction. ‘The Orbs have a finite charge. The Wards require specific, Steele-provided components for recalibration after sustained demonic assault. The Traps are single-use.’

He had given them a powerful taste, an undeniable advantage. But he hadn’t given them self-sufficiency. They would need more Orbs. More components. More traps. They would have to come back to him. Again and again.

Each trade would further enrich the Steele Family, provide him with more valuable resources, and solidify his position as the indispensable artificer, the power broker holding the keys to survival in a demon-ravaged world. His “generosity” was a carefully crafted leash.

The news of the Steele Family’s potent anti-demonic artifacts spread beyond just Jorailia and the Phantom Assembly. Whispers reached desperate nobles, beleaguered merchant guilds, even reclusive orders who had previously scoffed at worldly affairs. The Mystic Ice Sect, hearing tales of weapons that could turn the tide against the darkness, reportedly sent discreet inquiries through neutral merchant channels. Everyone wanted an edge. Everyone wanted protection.

And Alaric Steele, from his secure fortress, was more than happy to provide it.

For the right price.