Magical Soul Parade

Chapter 289: An Old Friend

Immediately she stepped in, a waft of beast smell hit her right in the face, making her nearly take a step back reflexively.

She paused for a moment, before quickly adjusting and stepping forward.

"Ah. She is here," a deep baritone voice spoke from ahead, and Althea looked forward to see the speaker.

It was a hugely built man, shirtless, with tattoos snaking all over his bare-chested bronze skin.

He was sitting at the head of a round circle made up of others dressed the same as him, save for a few others who were more modest in their dressing. Beside the man was a creature that looked like a mix between feline and avian. Black and regal-looking. It was the source of the heavy beast smell that permeated the tent.

The creature’s eyes locked on to her immediately she came into view, particularly onto her shadow, as if it could sense the gateway to her soul masses.

Althea noted the acute senses of the creature flittingly, before returning her gaze to the man of authority.

She nodded lightly in greeting as a show of courtesy, before speaking:

"I am Althea Seneschal. I come as a representative of the fortress and the Preceptor who now commands it," she said. Her voice was steady in the heavy, musky air of the tent.

The man at the head of the circle chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. He leaned back, muscles shifting under the ink of his tattoos as he gestured to a low cushioned stool across from him.

"Seneschal," he said, tasting the name. "You look nothing like one, though. I know no Seneschal with purple hair..." he muttered. "Perhaps you’re from a distant branch...?"

Althea felt a flicker of surprise but kept it from her face. She sat down straight. She had expected to have to prove her worth just to get a hearing. Instead, she was across from a man who seemed to know her family’s intricacies with surprising familiarity.

"I was not aware House Seneschal had ties this far into the Feraxian territories," she replied.

"We are House Malakor," the man said, his voice thick with pride. "We do not have ties. We have interests. And our interests usually involve the same things your family provides: stability and the proper disposal of soul masses that refuse to stay dead. It is why I was willing to see you. My man tells me you are here to negotiate on behalf of the woman who just arrived. Preceptor Odette, I assume?"

Althea nodded. "She has authorized me to speak on her behalf and settle the matter of the mana rain and the occupation of the fortress."

Lord Malakor laughed, a genuine, mocking sound as he glanced at the men around him.

"The matter of the rain," he repeated. "You hear that, boys? She thinks we’re like those starving dogs out there, licking the dirt for every golden drop that falls from the sky."

He turned his gaze back to Althea, his expression settling into amused condescension.

"Let me be direct, Seneschal. Feraxia is not at odds with the Ossuary. We have our own ways, and you have yours, but we have lived alongside your schools for centuries without burning each other down. Unlike the Aethelosian or Mechanus Arcanists, I find the obsession with the mana rain tedious... At the end of the day, it is just energy."

He reached out and stroked the feline-avian creature beside him. The beast purred, a low vibration that triggered a subtle gnashing reaction in Althea’s teeth.

"I am not here to take your fortress," Malakor continued. "I have no interest in sitting inside a pile of old bones and waiting for the sky to leak. I am here for the beasts. The convergence draws creatures from the deep layers of the forest that we haven’t seen in the outside world for generations. The mana rain even makes them strong and aggressive. Worth catching. That is my only concern."

He signaled to a servant standing in the shadows. A small table was placed between them, bearing a steaming pot of tea and two ceramic cups.

"Drink," Malakor said. "It is a blend from the southern foothills of my home. You look like you expected to be dodging fireballs the moment you stepped through my camp."

Althea took a cup. The ceramic was warm in her palms. The tea was bitter and spicy, coating her tongue with dry earth and scorched grass. She was genuinely surprised. She had prepared a list of concessions and threats, a careful script built around Odette’s terrifying reputation. Instead, she was being treated like a visiting cousin.

"If you are not interested in the fortress, then your presence in this coalition is a contradiction," she observed.

"The coalition is a joke," Malakor said. "A collection of smaller men trying to feel tall by standing in a circle. I only joined because it provides a screen for my hunters to move through the forest. If you and the Arcanists want to kill each other over the ribcage of a titan beast, be my guest. As long as you don’t interfere with my hunt, I couldn’t care less who holds the fortress."

He leaned forward, his eyes sharpening with a different kind of interest.

"But enough of politics. Tell me about your owl. My scouts say it is an Echo Strider. A soul mass from a creature that hasn’t been seen in the wild for centuries. How did a girl your age manage to find and bind something so rare? Did your family buy it for you, or did you actually find a nest somewhere?"

Althea opened her mouth, a dry retort already forming, but she never got to deliver it.

The tent flaps were thrown open. Heavy fabric slapped against the poles, and a gust of cool evening air rushed into the warm interior.

Althea’s hand tightened around her cup. She didn’t turn immediately, but she felt the shift in the room. The Feraxian warriors went quiet mid-conversation. Lord Malakor didn’t move. He let out a long, weary sigh and rested his chin on his hand.

"Amadeus scion," Malakor said, his voice flat. "You’ve come. I was starting to hope you wouldn’t come at all."

"And miss such an auspicious gathering? I think not," a smooth voice answered from behind Althea.

Althea felt the blood drain from her face. She knew that voice. She knew its cadence, the underlying arrogance that made every sentence sound like a performance. She turned sharply.

Standing at the entrance was a young man who looked like he had been lifted from a high-society ballroom in the Aethelosian capital. Fine silks, reinforced leather, everything tailored perfectly. Blonde hair swept back. A practiced grin that never quite reached his eyes.

Riley Amadeus.

The heir of the Amadeus family. The man who had turned her simple Grade promotion test in Woodhaven into a nightmare of fire and blood. In a sense, he could be said to be the source... the catalyst for every single thing that had happened since Woodhaven, including this world tear itself.

Althea’s eyes narrowed to cold slits. Her worst assumptions were being confirmed in real time. If Riley was here, the Aethelosian presence in this camp was far more dangerous and far more personal than she had anticipated.

Riley didn’t seem bothered by the look she was giving him. His grin widened as he stepped further into the tent, boots clicking softly on the rugs.

"Oh, that is a scary look," he said, giving a mock shudder. "Truly. I can feel the frost from here. But really, Althea, is that any way to greet an old friend?"