Chapter 249 - Training Arc Results (2)

The Merchant gripped his cane as tight as the next annoyed man. Oh, how he hated being interrupted in the middle of his musings. But, he played along.

He turned his head slightly, only to be greeted by none other than the fabled Duke, or rather ex-Duke Aryan himself. The Crownless King, and the forbidden younger brother of the current wise King Of Valterra. Why forbidden? Because, he had been exiled by his dear older brother simply because he had lusted after his older brother’s wife and power. 

A greedy man, Duke Aryan was. But, everybody knew that despite his exile, he still held a significant power and influence over this lower world. 

All because of his connection to a dead god. 

The Merchant smiled, too empty to be real. “Ah, why, if it isn’t Duke Aryan.”

The Duke was a tall man, a block of well-kept raven-black hair, and dressed in the finest all-black suit and pants that the world could make of, all accompanied by the little red amulet embroidered on his chest-pocket. Oh, his eyes were blood-red. Another reason why he’d been called the Vampire of Valterra. That, and simply because he was another greedy man, lusting for powers he didn’t deserve. 

The Merchant sighed inwardly. He had met too many like this man in front of him. A pitiful fate, this one would meet. 

The Duke, almost too creepily, turned to the Merchant, with his blood-red eyes first, before his body followed along the movement. Then, after staring at the Duke for a second too long, he finally smiled, but his eyes never blinked once.

"Ah, Merchant. You’ve arrived." Duke Aryan said, his voice laced with silent contempt. "I trust you're enjoying the spectacle so far?"

The Merchant offered a knowing smile. "Indeed, Duke Aryan," he replied. “There’s many interesting seeds this decade, perhaps even the finest the lower realms have to see. So, I do have a question - How, in the myriad realm’s name, did you manage to find and gather so many talents?”

“Especially for rather bland rewards,” The Merchant tapped his cane once. 

Duke Aryan only smiled his creepy smile again. “. . .The rewards are but a simple appetizer for what’s to come.”

“Hm,” The Merchant smiled. “I see. How interesting, my little duke.”

The Duke didn’t seem to appreciate being called ‘little’, but let it go, and instead sat right next to the Merchant, as if to show his dominion over the Merchant. The Merchant, however, did not give a flying fuck. 

“Please,” The Duke waved at the tournament below. “Enjoy the Tournament. I spent much. . .time preparing it.”

As the host of the Tournament, [Duke Aryan] carried himself with an air of confidence and authority. He had invited the Merchant, but that was only because the Duke required the annoying, tax-evading bastard in his plans. Soon, even his infamous wares would be his. 

[The Merchant] chuckled. "Trust me, Duke Aryan, I’m no stranger to Tournaments of Powers - what with their intricacies and grand show-boating," he said. "In fact, that's what makes this Tournament all the more thrilling."

The Duke’s smile widened, making him look like a bat who smiled human lips. "Thrilling indeed," he said. "Do not worry. I have a feeling that the real game has only just begun."

[The Merchant] couldn't help but wonder what role Duke Aryan would play in this grand spectacle. There was no doubt that the Crownless King had an agenda of his own, and [The Merchant] was curious to see how his machinations would unfold. In the lower realms, where power struggles and political intrigue were the norm, [Duke Aryan] was a master player. 

As [The Merchant] and Duke Aryan engaged in their subtle dance of veiled words, the Duke took a seat beside [The Merchant], exuding an air of confidence and authority. Despite his fall from grace, he still carried himself like a king, and the power he wielded in the lower realms was evident.

"I must admit, Duke Aryan," [The Merchant] said, "the prospects in this year's Tournament seem rather intriguing. There's an air of unpredictability that I find quite enticing."

Duke Aryan nodded, his gaze never leaving the contestants below. "Indeed," he replied, "it's a rare occasion when so many exceptional talents converge in one place."

The two exchanged knowing glances, each acknowledging the potential they saw in the participants. The Merchant tapped his cane again. ‘So, he still won’t spill the secrets on how he managed so many god-level talents in one place. Fine, so be it.’

It was clear that they were both here not just to witness the battles but to seek opportunities for their own gain.

"You've always had an eye for true potential," Duke Aryan started, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Tell me, who do you think will emerge victorious?"

[The Merchant] considered the question carefully. "Talents beat hard-work, but even they are subject to variables," he said, "Don’t be so sure that these talents are all that will entertain us."

“So you believe that a dark horse will appear?” Duke Aryan laughed, malice ingrained in his laugh. “You must forgive me for laughing. I’ve always been a firm believer in the natural order. The strong dominate the weak, and the weak obey the strong.”

“I doubt some dark horse could flip this Tournament,” Duke Aryan said. “And my talents.”

The Merchant’s lips curled. “Indeed. But, do be careful with such beliefs.” Then, he nonchalantly took a sip of his tea, which he had casually retrieved from his [WareHouse]. 

The Duke's eyes flickered with a mix of envy and greed as he glanced at the warp in space-time that concealed the [WareHouse]. He needed that. That should be HIS. The [WareHouse] was a legendary dimensional storage space, holding an awe-inspiring collection of items—a testament to the merchant's reputation and power. Its very existence was almost as iconic as its enigmatic owner. 

The Duke couldn't help but wonder what hidden treasures lay within its depths. Perhaps there were artifacts of ancient power, or knowledge that could grant him the upper hand in his schemes. He knew he had already made a valuable exchange with [The Merchant], and the benefits of that transaction were already helping him with his plans.

"Tell me, [Merchant]," Duke Aryan asked, attempting to keep his tone composed, "Has anyone ever come close to unveiling the secrets behind your warehouse?”

“You want to know what’s inside?” The Merchant cut in sharply, before tutting his tongue. “Too bad, my little duke. A true merchant never reveals all his wares.”

The Duke's curiosity was piqued further, and he couldn't resist pushing for more information. “Keep your secrets. It won’t matter in a couple of nights anyway.” He whispered inside his head.

[The Merchant] leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded Duke Aryan thoughtfully. "By the way, my little duke, about the previous conversation we had. You see, Strength, my dear Duke, comes in many forms," he said. "In the realms of gods and demons, it's not just raw power that determines one's fate. Sometimes, it's the ingenuity of the mind or the subtlety of influence that can tip the scales."

Duke Aryan furrowed his brows, pondering [The Merchant]'s words. "Are you suggesting that true power lies beyond sheer might?" he asked, his mind processing the philosophical implications.

[The Merchant] chuckled.  "Say, have you ever heard of the tale of the tortoise and the hare?"

Duke Aryan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden philosophical turn in their conversation, before shaking his head, admitting that he hadn't heard the tale before. 

[The Merchant] leaned forward with a grin, delighted to share a story from another world.

"Allow me to share it with you then," he said. "It's a simple fable about a tortoise and a hare who decide to race each other. The hare, being faster and more confident in his abilities, takes an early lead and becomes complacent. Meanwhile, the tortoise, steady and determined, keeps moving forward, never giving up. In the end, it's the tortoise who wins the race, surprising everyone with his tenacity."

The Duke listened attentively, seemingly amused by the simplicity of the tale. "A children's fable, I presume?" he remarked. 

"Indeed, many consider it as such," [The Merchant] leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Many dismiss it as a mere children's story," he explained, "but I believe it carries a deeper meaning. In life, we often encounter situations where the obvious choice, the one with apparent power, doesn't always guarantee victory. Sometimes, it's the overlooked, the underestimated, who possess the true strength to prevail."

Duke Aryan furrowed his brows, considering [The Merchant]'s words. "So, you believe that someone unexpected could triumph in this Tournament?" he asked.

"Exactly," [The Merchant] replied with a nod. "A competitor with skills and abilities that go beyond what meets the eye. Power can be deceptive, and true strength lies not only in raw might but in the ingenuity of the mind and the subtlety of influence."

The Merchant held a hand over his heart and smiled. “A Dark Horse.”