Chapter 179: Heated Negotiation

Several seconds passed in silence after they took their seats, yet the weight in the room did not ease. It only settled deeper, as though something unseen had chosen to remain and watch.

Alejandro leaned back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other with effortless elegance, his fingers resting lightly against the armrest as though nothing about this meeting disturbed him. His eyes, however, did not leave Damian.

“I must admit,” he began smoothly, his tone refined and almost amused, “it is not every day one encounters merchants of your… caliber.”

Damian did not respond immediately. He sat still, relaxed, one arm resting on the armrest, the other placed loosely on his lap. His posture lacked tension, yet it carried a quiet authority that filled the space between them.

“You speak as though you have encountered many,” Damian replied at last, his voice calm and almost disinterested.

Alejandro smiled faintly. “I have encountered enough to recognize when something is different.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “Artifacts such as the ones you bring are rarely handled by ordinary men. Their history alone tends to devour those unprepared for it.”

Damian’s eyes remained steady behind the dark lenses.

“History is irrelevant,” he said simply. “What matters is what they can do.”

A pause followed.

Alejandro’s smile did not fade, but something behind it shifted. The answer had not been wrong, but it had been inconvenient. There was nothing there to dissect, no thread to pull.

“Of course,” Alejandro nodded slowly. “Function over sentiment. A practical philosophy.”

He tapped his finger lightly against the armrest, and the soft sound echoed faintly in the quiet room.

“Still,” he continued, “a demonstration would be appropriate. My people prefer to understand what they are acquiring before committing such… significant resources.”

The request hung in the air for a moment. Behind Damian, Racheal remained still.

“Very well.”

Snap!

With a snap of his fingers, the space in front of Damian twisted and warped violently, spitting out a black box. Alejandro’s eyes flickered briefly toward Mateo, then back, unwilling to keep his attention away from Damian for too long.

The black chest hovered in midair. It flipped open, revealing a rusted surface dull and unremarkable under the soft lighting. For a moment, it looked like nothing more than scrap metal.

Damian did not rise. He simply flicked his wrist, and the dagger shot forward and struck the polished wooden table at the center of the room.

Bam!

The sound was sharp and clean.

For a single heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the table collapsed inward.

Not outward, but internally. A thousand fine cuts tore through its structure in an instant, splitting it into fragments so precise they devoured themselves. Wood separated into thin layers, then into splinters, then into dust that scattered across the floor.

The room fell silent.

Even the air seemed to pause.

Alejandro’s eyes did not widen, but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed him. Mateo’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Somewhere beyond the walls, the unseen watchers had gone completely still.

Damian leaned back into his chair as though nothing had happened.

“That is one,” he said calmly.

Alejandro exhaled slowly through his nose, his fingers tightening slightly before relaxing again.

“Impressive,” he admitted.

His gaze lingered on the remains of the table before returning to Damian.

“And the other?”

Damian did not move.

“It is less destructive,” he said. “But far more cruel.”

Alejandro chuckled softly, though the sound lacked its earlier ease.

“I do appreciate versatility.”

He leaned forward slightly now, his interest sharpened, though something cautious had begun to creep into his movements.

“Given what you have shown, I believe the agreed price may be… insufficient.”

A brief pause.

“I am prepared to offer more.”

The room seemed to tighten again, as though even the walls were listening for Damian’s reaction.

But Damian did not react. Not even slightly. No shift in posture, no change in breath, no flicker of interest.

He simply looked at Alejandro.

“What do you want in return?” Damian asked directly.

Alejandro’s smile faltered for the briefest moment. For the first time, a trace of uncertainty crept into his eyes. The man seated before him possessed a will as rigid as his body. He could not be moved easily.

He leaned back again, slower this time, studying Damian more carefully.

“Tell me,” Alejandro said, his voice softer now, more probing, “men who deal in such things rarely operate alone. There are always… greater forces behind the curtain.”

His gaze sharpened.

“I wonder which ones stand behind you.”

The question was light, almost casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. The room held its breath as Damian tilted his head slightly.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Alejandro held his gaze.

“It always does.”

A long silence followed.

Then Damian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest, his chin supported by his knuckles.

“You are not buying alliances,” he said quietly. “You are buying weapons.”

The words landed cleanly.

Alejandro’s fingers tapped once against the armrest, then stilled. For a moment, he said nothing. For a moment, he considered force, but if he were to die here for misjudging this merchant’s strength, they might never uncover the power behind this faction.

Alejandro smiled again, slower this time.

“Fair enough.”

But the ease was gone. Something had shifted. In this brief exchange alone, he had witnessed not only Damian’s strength but the unsettling implication of his resources.

Cursed weapons were too precious. Those who found them hoarded them. Yet this faction was not selling one, but two.

Even the ring used to store the weapons carried the unmistakable signature of a cursed tool, one that bent space itself. Alejandro felt a chill creep beneath his composure as he tried to imagine the scale of wealth and power required to treat such items so casually.

There were too many questions he could not ask, and that frustrated him the most.

“50 million dollars,” he said suddenly. “I will add an extra 50 million dollars if I can have the name of your… fraternity.”

The offer lingered for only a moment before it was dismissed with a simple shake of the head.

“Desist from asking private questions and focus on the business at hand,” Damian cut him off immediately.

There was no hesitation in his tone, no greed, no temptation.

If he yielded information for money, the illusion would shatter. The weight of his presence, the faith he needed to project, would crumble instantly.

He needed to appear unshakable.

And so he did.

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