The Cheater's Audit act 2
The Gilded Lily was the kind of establishment that sold privacy at a higher premium than its wine. Tucked away in the aristocratic district of the capital, it featured high-backed booths and enchanted curtains that dampened sound, making it the premier destination for illicit affairs and treasonous whispers.
Leornars arrived forty minutes before the scheduled meeting. He didn't wear a disguise; he didn't need one. He simply walked in, his presence so heavy and absolute that the ambient chatter of the room died down as he passed.
The head waiter, a thin man with a waxed mustache and eyes that had seen too many secrets, hurried forward. He recognized Leornars—everyone in the capital did.
"Master Leornars," the waiter bowed, his voice a frantic whisper. "We weren't expecting—that is, your name wasn't on the books for tonight."
"I am the book," Leornars said calmly, gesturing toward a private corner table. "A seat, if you please."
"Get Lord Leornars a bottle of your finest vintage."the owner said
"I'll have some tea, I don't drink brews" Leornars said calmly
Once seated, Leornars didn't look at the menu. He looked at the waiter. His eyes began to glow with a faint, rhythmic silver light. This was the Auditor skill in its purest form—the ability to sift through data, to find the discrepancies in a person's soul, and to force the "account" to balance.
"The woman who booked the back booth for eight o'clock," Leornars began, leaning back. "Selina Vane. Tell me about her 'usual' companion."
The waiter blinked, his face turning pale. "I... I'm afraid I cannot discuss the business of our guests, sir. Discretion is the soul of the Gilded Lily."
Leornars placed his silver pen on the white linen tablecloth. He didn't point it like a weapon, but the waiter recoiled as if it were a loaded crossbow.
"Discretion is a luxury for those who haven't committed tax evasion, murder, or treason," Leornars said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly low frequency. "I have read the ledgers of this establishment. I know about the smuggled spices in your cellar. I know about the 'donations' you make to the underground rings. Now, let's try again. How long has this affair been going on?"
The waiter's knees buckled. Under the crushing weight of the Auditor skill, the truth felt like it was being ripped out of his throat.
"S-six months!" the waiter gasped. "Maybe more. They meet twice a week. The man... he's a merchant prince from the Northern Empire. He promises her a life away from the Count. He says the Count is a 'dying breed' and that she deserves a king."
"A king," Leornars mused, a cold smile playing on his lips. "How poetic. And the plan to drain the Vane estate?"
"She brings documents," the waiter whispered, sweating profusely. "He signs them. They laugh about how easy it is to trick Count Vane. She says the Count is too busy crying over the 'new laws' to notice his coffers are being bled dry."
Leornars tapped the silver pen. Click.
"Thank you for the audit," Leornars said. "You may go. If you warn them, I will ensure this building is nothing but a hole in the ground by morning."
The waiter fled toward the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own feet.
Leornars sat in the shadows, watching the front door. Through his mental link with Althelia, he could still hear the carriage wheels of Selina Vane approaching. He could also feel Zhyelena's presence—she was leading Count Vane toward the restaurant under a pretense of an "urgent meeting regarding the southern borders."
The stage was set. The Count was about to have his heart broken, and Leornars was about to gain a vassal who owed him everything.
"Althelia," Leornars whispered. "Are we recording?"
"Every word, Master," the voice echoed in his mind. "The homunculi resonance is crystal clear. The Duchess has just stepped out of her carriage. She looks... triumphant."
"Good," Leornars said, standing up and adjusting his coat. "Let her enjoy that feeling for another five minutes. It's the last time she'll ever feel it."
He walked toward the back booth, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He placed his silver pen exactly in the center of the table where the two lovers were meant to sit—a silent, metallic omen of the judgment to come.
"Now," Leornars murmured to the empty air. "Let the show begin