Chapter 208 – A New Painting (4)
Harkman’s face was tinged with a soft pink hue.
His expression, which had been tense at their first meeting, had now softened, as though he was still savoring the lingering afterglow of indulging his deepest desires.
Wearing nothing but a loose robe over his muscular frame, he sat lazily on the bed, burning a few leaves that helped ease his fatigue.
The moment Kamel entered, however, he sprang up and spread his arms wide in greeting.
"You seem satisfied."
"One of the most exquisite weeks of my life. I could count the days like this on one hand."
"I’m glad to hear that."
Kamel casually scanned the lavish chamber, gilded with gold in every corner.
The servants had already cleaned the place thoroughly, yet the thick, lingering scent in the air still carried traces of indulgence, evoking a peculiar stimulation.
"If you ever wish for another such experience, simply call for me. I’ll make the arrangements."
"No matter where I am in Hell Grime, I’ll come running the moment you summon me."
"I’m pleased you think so highly of me."
"After all, these are pleasures only available in Tobaron."
Unlike their first meeting, where the air had been tense and filled with calculation, their second meeting now carried the warm familiarity of old friends.
After briefly exchanging pleasantries, the two men sat across from each other at a gleaming table.
"I heard you were looking for me."
"Ah, yes. I wanted to discuss business. Time has… flown by rather quickly."
"Grand Duke Clarke contacted me a few days ago."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I told him you were… temporarily unavailable."
"Haha… You’re becoming more and more to my liking."
Kamel relayed the details of his conversation with the Grand Duke.
Harkman listened in silence, stroking his jaw as he considered something.
Then, as if reaching a decision, he rang a bell.
"You called for me, my lord?"
"Bring me my cloak."
The woman who bowed and exited was one of the very ones Kamel had personally selected.
A stunning beauty with crimson hair and eyes, exuding an air of elegance.
When she returned, she carried a cloak in her arms and carefully placed it beside Harkman before stepping away.
Harkman watched her disappear, a hint of regret in his eyes, before shifting his attention back to Kamel.
"Where did you even find a woman like that? From the way she speaks and behaves, she seems to be from a noble family."
"She is. I issued a conscription order across the lesser noble houses for your sake, Sir Harkman. The young ladies were no exception."
"She’s a woman I’d like to keep."
"If you wish, you may take her."
Harkman let out a scoff and shook his head.
"She’s exactly the type the Grand Duke would covet the most. I’d rather leave her here than risk him taking her away."
"I’ll make sure she’s always available whenever you visit."
"I like how we understand each other. I suppose I should repay this favor properly. Here—take this."
"What is it?"
"The item you wanted."
Harkman reached into his cloak, and when his hand emerged, he was holding a small box.
It was an iron chest, with a glowing magic circle no larger than a palm engraved upon its surface.
Where had that come from?
Kamel’s gaze flickered toward the cloak, prompting Harkman to chuckle as he turned it inside out.
The interior was lined with densely inscribed runes.
"A cloak embedded with the formula for creating spatial pockets—a rare find even in Demtor. Its storage space is large enough to hold… maybe three or four human heads? Though, in my case, I’ve mostly used it to store witches' heads. Their value was… always negotiable."
"If you simply hand over this item, won’t the Grand Duke have something to say about it?"
"It’s not really a matter of giving or withholding. The Grand Duke wanted me to negotiate for the voodoo puppet’s creation method, but ultimately, this item would have ended up in your hands anyway.
Failing to extort more from you? Not a big deal."
"Then, I sincerely thank you."
"I always give as much as I take—now and in the future."
"I’ll remember those words."
Kamel accepted the iron chest and placed it calmly on the table.
"Aren’t you going to check the contents?"
"Do you know what this item is?"
"Of course. Which is exactly why I’m curious—why did Demtor’s Council of Stars give this treasure to you?"
"I agreed to eradicate the Ghost Forest."
"Hah. That’s a price high enough for them to justify parting with it. Especially the ‘Grand Duke.’"
Harkman seemed to have a deeper understanding of why this treasure—marked as Demtor’s relic—had been handed over to a mere border lord.
"You have good fortune on your side. If it had been any other treasure, they never would have let it go."
Kamel knew.
That was precisely why he had targeted it.
The item inside the chest.
The Frost Lord’s Heart.
A relic imbued with the power of extreme frost.
If this artifact fell into the hands of a mage, they would become the perfect counter to the Grand Duke, the Master of Infernal Flames.
And if one of Demtor’s own was suspected of becoming that counter?
Then, banishing the artifact to a distant border lord under the guise of legitimacy made perfect sense.
A great loss for Demtor—but an advantageous choice for Grand Duke Clarke.
It was this self-serving nature that made Kamel look down on him.
His thoughts and actions were simply too easy to read.
"Will there be any additional reinforcements?"
"I haven't received word yet."
"Is there a chance that mages will be among them?"
At this, Harkman let out a soft chuckle, which quickly turned into laughter.
It was a mocking laugh.
"The only way a mage would come to Tobaron is if they were on the run from Demtor. Ah, that reminds me—Dominic Huaton. That mage who served under the Grand Duke. Several years ago, we set foot in Tobaron to hunt him down. Even then, not a single mage came with us. That’s just how it is for them."
"So there won’t be any mages among the reinforcements."
"No mages means this place is my kingdom. I should’ve come to Tobaron sooner."
"You’re about to experience an even better world."
"Oh? Is there a place better than this in Tobaron?"
"In Beneta, you’ll find elves—creatures of unmatched beauty, ones you could never buy with gold. The Grand Duke has lusted for them but never possessed them."
At that, Harkman’s eyes gleamed.
"So, you're saying I can?"
"You are not a mage, are you?"
"I heard Beneta is hostile to us."
"Beneta will soon fall. Everything is already in place. Would you like to hear the plan?"
At Kamel’s signal, his attendants unfurled a massive map.
He pointed to Beneta and Etor, explaining his strategy in detail.
Harkman sat there, completely entranced.
Even from a knight’s perspective, there were no flaws in the plan.
"Will you assist me?"
"The Grand Duke won’t approve easily—"
"In Beneta, there are two most beautiful elves."
"Sharbadin and Nella. I’ve heard of them."
"In one month, I will deliver them to this very room."
It was a promise—a gift.
Harkman took a deep breath, his heartbeat growing louder and faster.
Excitement? Anticipation?
No—pure exhilaration.
Harkman stood up, exhaling a deep breath before chuckling.
"Do you know what they call me in Demtor?"
"They call you the Knight of Steel."
"That’s right. The Knight of Steel. It’s the name that defines me."
A five-star awakening ability—[Steel].
Anything he held, whether it be cutlery, branches, or even paper, would become as hard as steel.
And if that power was applied to his sword and armor?
There had never been a weapon or armor that he had failed to destroy once he set his mind to it.
Extending his hand, Harkman offered a handshake.
"Let me show you why they call me Steel."
"I look forward to it."
"Let’s see each other often, my friend."
Kamel firmly clasped his hand and nodded.
A faint, mesmerizing light shimmered between their joined hands.
At that moment, Harkman had stepped into Kamel’s grasp.
After parting with Harkman, Kamel arrived at the ruined lord’s castle.
The place was reduced to charred ruins, with blackened debris piled up like hills.
As he stepped deeper into the remnants, the ground beneath him stirred, and a massive iron gate emerged.
The gate creaked open, revealing Rengua, who greeted him from below.
"You left your escort behind…?"
"I stationed him with Harkman."
"Are you planning to watch him?"
"There are… various reasons."
By assigning the Red Knights—whose senses he could share—to both Wiley and Harkman, Kamel had ensured that every move they made was within his sight.
Rengua was curious about his reasoning but refrained from asking further.
Kamel always had a larger picture in mind, and questioning it was pointless.
Besides, there was already too much work at hand.
As they descended the dimly lit stairs, a vast open space came into view.
The underground prison.
And also—
The research lab of the shamans’ nest.
"The restoration seems to be complete."
"The underground suffered little fire damage. The research lab is fully operational, and over half of the nest’s members are focused on producing voodoo puppets."
"How many shamans remain?"
"A little over fifty."
"Too few."
"We’ve mobilized every contact within the black sorcerer circles to recruit more. With human sacrifices and voodoo puppets as bargaining chips, it won’t be hard to replenish our numbers."
As Kamel walked through the facility, he glanced around.
Rows of makeshift beds filled the space, and on each bed lay an incomplete voodoo puppet.
Above them, soul orbs—dark crimson spheres—floated ominously.
They had been harvested from the corpses of the madmen in Etor.
Upon reaching the second underground floor, Kamel stopped at the room where Lyon lay unconscious.
He handed an iron chest to Rengua.
The moment Rengua cautiously opened it, his breath hitched.
"…This is…!"
A cold breath escaped his lips.
The moment the chest was unsealed, the temperature in the room plummeted.
The Frost Lord’s Heart.
A fist-sized heart of pure blue crystal, pulsing faintly as it radiated frost.
Inside the chest, other frozen hearts lay encased in ice, gifted by Demtor at Kamel’s request—the hearts of witches.
These witch hearts were key materials for crafting the "Corrupted Reaper’s Dagger."
Setting them aside, Rengua focused entirely on the Frost Lord’s Heart, scrutinizing its essence for a long moment before smiling in satisfaction.
"Sir Lyon is truly blessed. His affinity for frost makes this the perfect match. If we refine the Frost Lord’s Heart into a potion and have him consume it over time, his growth would be unparalleled."
"No. Do not turn it into a potion."
"…What?"
"Implant it directly into Lyon’s body—as a second heart."
"…What?! Sir Lyon may not be able to endure its power!"
"Then use shamanic inscriptions to suppress the rejection."
"If we do that… his lifespan could drop to a year… maybe two at most."
"Then we find another way before that happens."
Rengua stared at Kamel and the heart, then slowly lowered his head.
To him, Kamel was a godlike existence—one he had chosen to serve willingly.
To doubt was to betray.
"It will take a month to complete the procedure, even with all the shamans working on it. Including the adaptation period, Lyon won’t be able to participate in this operation…"
"That doesn’t matter. You are the only one I need for this mission. The shamans will remain here and continue their work."
"But… weren’t you planning to bring down Beneta? We’ll need shamanic power to fight the elves…"
Kamel’s cold gaze made Rengua shut his mouth.
"You’re being foolish."
"…My apologies, my lord."
"Even Demtor cannot touch Beneta, because it is protected by witches. Do you really think a forest that still stands can be brought down so easily?"
"Then… what is your true objective?"
Kamel’s eyes drifted to the unconscious Lyon before he finally spoke.
"The research logs."
"…Research logs?"
Kamel had never intended for Beneta’s destruction.
His ultimate desire was something far more valuable.
The most crucial piece in completing his future plans lay within Beneta.
Dominic Huaton’s chimera research logs.
A father’s obsession with turning his daughter, Arena Huaton, into an immortal being had led to countless experiments—an archive of inhumane research spanning hundreds of thousands of human test subjects.
If those biological research logs were combined with Rengua’s human-shamanic experiments…
Then Kamel’s vision would become a reality.
"To gain, one must sacrifice…"
Kamel silently gazed at Lyon, then turned toward the map of Tobaron, hanging in the research lab.
Slowly, he spread his palm out toward it.
It almost felt as though he could grasp the entire territory in his hand.
Once, he had dreamed of owning all of it.
But now—
"Prepare for the procedure."
He was willing to discard everything if it meant securing those research logs.
Because they were worth that much.