Read Novel Full Chapter 1286 Magnanimous Villain
Chapter 1286 Magnanimous Villain
<Who knew you'd become such a capable lord?>
The voice hit them both like an arrow to the head.
Sarra jolted as if suddenly she sensed a horrible invader and had to protect her charge.
Eric's pen trembled in his hand, nearly dropping and spilling ink on the parchment.
They knew that voice.
They would never forget that voice.
The Primordial Villain.
His deep, unhurried tone rolled straight through their minds.
<I'm thoroughly impressed,> the voice continued. <Back when we first met, I thought you'd be another entitled, short-sighted noble brat. Yet here you are. Filling the shoes of your station better than men who spent centuries warming their thrones.>
Eric and Sarra exchanged a stiff glance.
And gulped.
At the same time.
Neither dared speak.
Neither dared even breathe too loudly.
The pressure alone made their ribs tighten. Quinlan didn't need to be physically present. His voice was enough to squeeze the air out of the room.
To them, he wasn't Quinlan, a man who was multi-faceted as a person.
He was the Primordial Villain, a cruel, violent, and incredibly threatening existence.
The monster who had broken their estate in half the moment he arrived.
<I'm so impressed, in fact,> Quinlan continued, unbothered, <that I found myself moved by your words. You're right, Eric Winterwood. A lord must take care of his subordinates. And considering your men serve me now… allow me to do my duty.>
A sharp hum filled the study.
The air folded in on itself.
A gate opened directly in front of Eric's desk.
Garrett stepped out.
Eric's breath stopped.
Blue skin.
Familiar armor.
Sarra's longtime superior officer, now one of the villain's elite soldiers.
He carried a chest and set it on the desk. The metal inside clinked with unmistakable weight.
Eric stared at it, stunned.
Then, slowly, his mind caught up.
This was a power play.
Still having the station and representing a long line of Winterwood ancestors so long as he sat where he did, Eric opened his mouth to refuse.
But the villain's voice arrived first.
<I visited multiple families tonight. Some resisted. Some didn't. I raided the coffers of a few who were too rich for their own good. And I did so using men and women your house trained for generations. Consider it my tribute. Accept it, Eric Winterwood.>
Eric and Sarra both stiffened.
The tone wasn't a request.
It wasn't even a directive.
It was the final word of a judgment.
A line that should not be crossed.
Eric swallowed hard. He already understood that arguing would be pointless. His life had changed only hours ago, but he was already painfully aware of how much worse things could be. If the first two hours were anything to go by, it wouldn't be bad… As long as he didn't do what he shouldn't have.
He bowed his head, unsure if the man could see him.
<I am grateful, My Lord.>
<Good. Now… have your clerk request a loan from House Merinth.>
Eric's eyes widened.
House Merinth was old money. Old, conservative, notoriously vicious with debt. Winterwood had no formal ties with them. <But my lord… Approaching them in my current state would be asking to be shackled with generational debt I can never repay.>
Quinlan chuckled.
A low, dark sound that sank into the bones.
Eric felt it more than heard it.
<Don't you worry about that. Merinth will offer favorable terms, citing their desire to help out a fellow Greenvale vassal in the face of a great, common threat. You see… They're going to be more cooperative moving forward.>
Eric froze.
Sarra's breath cut short.
A chill crawled up Eric's spine.
Merinth was not included in the list of estates that were hit tonight. They were supposed to be spared… Just how many families had this horrible villain usurped tonight?!
How many had he already broken?!
How many were now under his silent control?!
How much of the duchy now lived in his shadow?!
Eric looked at Garrett, then at the gold-filled chest, then at the gate still humming.
And for the first time since inheriting his house… he felt that he was starting to get a grasp of just what kind of a force now moved behind him.
No, that was just wishful thinking. Instead of starting to understand the extent of this creature's power, he was starting to understand that, in fact, he won't be able to understand.
It was in this moment that Eric's survival instincts kicked into overdrive, and the man decided that if he wanted a chance at prosperity, he had to do his utmost to not only be loyal but also to stand out from the rest of his subordinates so that he and his people received extra benefits, just as it so happened right now.
Moving forward, Eric Winterwood would strive not to regain freedom and independence, but to ensure his master thought of him as a useful tool not worth disposing of.
And this exact thought process would one day let the man with a good head on his shoulders reap immense benefits.
Eric drew in a slow breath, trying to steady the tremor in his hands.
<My Lord, is there anything, anything at all, I can do to be of use??
A faint chuckle rolled through his mind.
<Yes, Eric. In fact, there is something.>
Eric straightened instinctively, bracing himself.
…
Valorian City.
Royal Palace.
A stack of documents crashed onto a polished table.
"Your Majesty, more letters came in just now!" a secretary panted, carrying yet another armful.
King Alexios lifted his head with the weary slowness of a man who had long abandoned the idea of rest. His eyes were ringed with the kind of fatigue that didn't come from battles but from politics.
"From whom this time…?" he muttered.
"From the Greenvale vassals, as always, Your Majesty," the secretary replied. "Not addressed to their duke as proper protocol demands, but sent directly to the throne. Should I send them back?"
Alexios waved the suggestion away.
Another aide burst in behind him.
"Sire, these too just arrived. Also from the Greenvale nobles. All urgent. All bypassing their liege."
The king stared at the growing mountain of sealed correspondence.
Then he closed his eyes.
Then he exhaled through his teeth.
Then he pressed his palms against his face.
Of course.
Of course.
"It's him again…" he muttered, voice dragging with dread.
The Primordial Villain.
The name wasn't spoken aloud, but every servant in the room sharpened at the unspoken implication.
It was the name of the man who once hit the capital with committing the first act of major terrorism ever since Alexios took the throne nearly a thousand years ago.
"Goddess, give me strength. I'm too old for this."
Alexios reached for the nearest envelope with the defeated motion of a man about to read his own health diagnosis and expected bad results.