[A/N: So for the sake of the story. I have once again decided to change the POV of the story. This will not be the last time but it is rare. I did this to make sure the characters involved and revealed didn't have the same voice as Kaizen. It also made sense from the story.]
Chapter 80: The King of Cesspits
The air in the "Serpent's Coil" was thick enough to chew, a potent cocktail of sweat, cheap ale, blood, and roaring crowds. This was Silas Vane's kingdom, and its cathedral was the fighting pit. Below a hazy dome of tobacco smoke, two men circled each other on the sand-strewn floor, one a hulking brute from the northern wastes, the other a wiry, scarred veteran of a dozen back-alley brawls. Money changed hands in a frantic blur, voices screamed bets and insults, and the very floorboards vibrated with raw, primal energy.
Perched in a raised private booth overlooking the chaos, the king himself held court. Silas Vane was a man who looked like he'd been assembled from the parts of several different scoundrels. He was young, maybe in his late twenties, with a head of unruly chestnut curls and a grin that was all easy charm and calculated mischief. He wore a garish, embroidered waistcoat of deep purple over a fine linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and littered with faint scars. He looked less like a crime lord and more like a particularly successful pirate who had just won a tavern in a dice game.
"See, Jax? I told you the big fella would tire himself out in the first minute," Silas said, not taking his eyes off the pit as the wiry veteran ducked under a wild swing and delivered a series of sharp, punishing blows to the giant's ribs. "All muscle, no stamina. It's a classic blunder."
His head of security, a mountain of a man named Jax who looked like he could bench-press a wagon, merely grunted. Jax was a man of few words and many broken bones, his loyalty to Silas as solid and unshakeable as the stone walls of the Coil.
"Bets are seventy-thirty in favor of Gronk," chirped a slender, sharp-faced young woman perched on the railing, her fingers flying over a complex-looking abacus. This was Lyssa, Silas's numbers-wizard and the true brains behind his financial empire. "The odds are shifting, but slowly. The crowd loves a spectacle, and Gronk is certainly that."
"Let them love him," Silas chuckled, taking a long swallow from a jeweled goblet. "Their love is about to make us very rich. The Vet's going to take him in the next thirty seconds. You mark my words."
As if on cue, the veteran feinted high and swept the giant's legs out from under him. The resulting crash shook the booth. The crowd erupted, a mixture of roaring cheers and furious curses as coin pouches were reluctantly handed over.
Silas laughed, a loud, genuine sound that cut through the noise. "Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful! Lyssa, my dear, calculate our winnings and buy a round for the house! Let's turn those frowns upside down!"
As Lyssa rolled her eyes but began her calculations, a third figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the booth. Morven was an older man, gaunt and sallow, dressed in drab, nondescript clothes. He was Silas's spymaster, a man who collected secrets the way others collected coins.
"You're in a fine mood," Morven observed, his voice a dry rustle.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Silas spread his arms wide, encompassing his thriving, filthy domain. "Business is booming. The guards are paid off. Evander is safely tucked away in his manor, polishing his trinkets and looking down his nose at us. All is right with the world."
"About Evander," Morven began, his tone carefully neutral.
Silas's grin didn't falter, but a new, sharper light entered his eyes. "Oh? Has our esteemed Patron finally done something interesting? Did he buy a new, even more boring tapestry?"
"Not a tapestry," Morven said. "He's entered into a business partnership. With the rabbit-eared merchant, Laron. And a... nobody. An out-of-town adventurer named Kaizen."
Silas waved a dismissive hand. "So he's funding another one of Laron's ethically-sourced trinket runs. So what?"
"That's the surface," Morven continued. "The investment is not in physical goods. It's in a project. A new form of... entertainment. They've hired the disgraced cartographer, Elara."
That gave Silas pause. He knew of Elara. Everyone in the Inkwell District did. Brilliant, difficult, and thrown out of the Guild for her "unorthodox methods." "Elara? What in the seven hells is Evander doing with a cartographer? Is he making maps now?"
"The information is vague," Morven admitted. "My source in his household is low-level. But the whispers are... strange. They speak of a 'magical scribe.' Of 'picture books.' Of stories brought to life from another continent."
Silas Vane's easygoing grin finally slipped, replaced by a look of intense, predatory curiosity. He set his goblet down. "Picture books," he repeated slowly. "Like... children's tales?"
"Not according to the source. The one example they saw was... terrifying. A monstrous, terrifying creature, rendered in a style unlike anything seen in Artaros. It was described as having 'raw, emotional power.'"
Silas was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting back down to the fighting pit, where the next bout was being set up. But he wasn't seeing the fighters. He was seeing possibilities.
"Evander," he mused, "the great patron of culture, is investing in... picture books?" He burst out laughing again, but this time it was different. It was the laugh of a shark that had just smelled blood in the water. "Oh, that's rich! The old bastard is slumming it!"
Lyssa looked up from her abacus, intrigued. "If it's a new form of entertainment, it could be a threat. It could draw crowds away from the pits. From the dens."
"Or," Silas said, his eyes gleaming, "it could be the ultimate attraction. Imagine it, Lyssa! We project these 'moving pictures' on the wall between fights. We sell the stories in the gambling dens. We create heroes and villains that people can bet on! We wouldn't just be selling a fight; we'd be selling a story." He slammed his fist on the railing, his excitement palpable. "This isn't a threat. This is a gift! Evander is too stuffy to see its real potential. He'll turn it into some precious, limited-edition art piece for nobles to yawn over. But us? We could make it sing."
His charismatic energy was infectious. Jax cracked a rare, small smile. Lyssa was already mentally calculating the potential revenue.
But then Morven, the ever-present bucket of cold water, spoke again. "There is another matter. Your... guest... has arrived."
The change in Silas was instantaneous and absolute. The boisterous, grinning king of the underworld vanished. The charming rogue was gone. In his place was a man whose shoulders seemed to carry a sudden, invisible weight. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a deep, weary fondness laced with profound worry.
"Where is she?" he asked, his voice losing its theatrical boom, becoming quiet and soft.
"In your private quarters," Morven said. "She was... agitated. The noise unsettles her."
Silas nodded, all business. "Jax, you're in charge. No killing unless absolutely necessary. Lyssa, keep the money flowing. Morven, find out more about this 'Kaizen' and this 'magical scribe.' I want to know everything."
Without another word, he turned and left the roaring chaos of the booth, descending a hidden staircase that led to the quiet, fortified living quarters beneath the Serpent's Coil.
The room he entered was a world away from the filth and fury above. It was clean, simply furnished, and quiet. Sitting on a rug in the center of the room, meticulously arranging a set of painted wooden blocks, was a girl of about ten years old. She had the same chestnut curls as Silas, but her eyes were a wide, guileless blue. This was Maya, his younger sister.
She looked up as he entered, and a fragile, hopeful smile touched her lips. "Silas? Did you win?"
He knelt before her, his entire demeanor softening. "Yeah, Maya. We won. We always win." He reached out and gently straightened one of her blocks. "How are the towers coming along?"
"They keep falling," she said, her brow furrowing in concentration that was too intense for a child. "The foundation isn't stable."
"We'll make it stable," he promised, his voice a gentle murmur. "We'll make it so nothing can ever knock it down."
Maya was his secret. His weakness. His reason. She was all the family he had left, and a sickness in her mind, a fragility that made the world too loud, too bright, too frightening meant she would never be able to survive in it on her own. The Serpent's Coil, the gambling dens, the entire brutal empire he had built with charm and violence, existed for one purpose: to build a fortress of gold and power strong enough to protect her forever.
He looked at her, so innocent amidst the den of vipers he ruled, and then he thought of Evander's new project. A new form of entertainment. A new source of power. A new potential threat to the fortress he was building.
The charming, funny villain was gone. In the quiet of that room, there was only a fiercely protective brother, a man who would burn entire cities to the ground if it meant keeping one little girl safe. And Evander, Laron, and a nobody adventurer named Kaizen had just stumbled onto his construction site.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access and read 30 chapters ahead on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]