Kyle and the mercenaries walked over to a large barn a ways from the manor. Kyle actually took a moment to inspect the building now that he was out of his armor.

  The building looked almost colonial in style. It was basically a huge modern farmhouse-two stories, a bunch of bedrooms, and a huge living room. A few other rooms for storage and cooking.

  Once inside the barn, he had the mercenaries line up in an orderly fashion. He reached into the spatial bag, and pulled out weapon after weapon. All were made of magical materials, covered in enchantments, and generally looked deadly and effective.

  Carkh had assured him earlier that these men were the most loyal of the bunch, only 28 of them. There had been nearly 10 more, but those had been recent acquisitions with questionable loyalties.

  Each man stepped up and drew their weapon of choice from the growing pile. Handaxes, swords of all kinds, many spears and shields for all were taken by the men. Even once every man was equipped, some with a backup weapon, there was still a sizable pile of weapons left.

  Kyle just stuffed them back in the magic bag. “Okay. I'm just going to house you all in the manor itself, and in any empty houses. Remember, I’m paying each of you a deacon every two weeks-don’t betray my trust, because betraying me will be your last mistake. Carkh can explain why I hired all of you.”

  Kyle had construction work to do, and a census to complete. And he still had to meet with that representative, whom the college had redirected to his new manor.

  —————

  When he arrived at the manor once again to inspect the spacious interior, he found a man sitting on the steps to the slightly raised door. He was dressed in clean, flaming orange robes. A hood rose over his head, but looked comfortable rather than stealthy or mysterious.

  “Ah! You must be the man I’ve been looking for. One… Kylen Jessek?” “Please, you can call me Kyle. Sorry for all the dust, the place had been left alone for nearly three weeks before I bought it.”

  Kyle led the man inside. On the table in the main dining room, the man pulled out a dark wooden chair and sat down with a sigh. “I have a proposition for you. My superiors don’t care how you did it, but we can tell a powerful force died in the region. The Manaflows and current are in quite a tizzy! The whole region over, no less. You had that dragon spleen-we want more. If you let us have the dragon's corpse, we’re ready to pay out 400,000 Deacons. Not in coinage of course, but in goods and services.”

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  Kyle decided he needed a second opinion. Grabbing Bariyon from his new leather belt, he slapped the skull on the table. The mage's eye visibly twitched at the sight. Kyle’s implants looked at the man’s heart rate and perspiration, and he could tell the man was quite angry about the lich.

  “Oho, what’s this my mana sense tells me? A Magmatic mage! Why are you dealing with Elnomaga, lad? They’ll rope you into their little political games! Not worth it…”

  The mage ignored the ancient lich’s rambling, despite how much it clearly infuriated him. “I come from the Magocracy of Greater Elnomaga. There’s so much we can offer you, if you would accept our deal.” Kyle had a request. “Sulfur, saltpetre, lab equipment, and samples of your best steel. As well as whatever flavor of mage specializes in construction. An entire company of them, actually.” “Done.” Kyle smiled almost gleefully. “I see great things in our collective future, Mr… I never got your name?”

  “Sir Centrous Bowman III, at your service, Lord Kyle. Although to be frank, I doubt we'll interact personally in the future. I'm just the messenger.”

  ————

  Just as the mage walked out of the main room, Kyle prepared to do some paperwork for the manor’s transference in ownership.

  As he sat down at the desk, he uttered, “I can see you, ya know.” From the corner of the office ceiling, a shadow deftly dropped to the ground. “Impressive. I certainly fooled the mage, no?” “What do you want?” The man chuckled. “I have a counteroffer. Strike while the iron is hot, as they say.”

  Kyle sighed and leaned back in his mechanically sophisticated chair. “Let’s hear it.” “600,000 Deacons. Whatever you need. We can do far more than the Elnomagans can, of that you can trust me.”

  Kyle felt a headache coming on. He wasn’t bad at it, per se, but he’d never liked politics. “I don’t take kindly to people breaking into my house. I’m sure I can raise their offer to 600,000 if I tell them about this… counter offer.”

  “You’ll regret not taking my organization's kind offer.. Take some time to reconsider, would you?”

  Kyle blinked, and the man’s shadowy visage dissipated like smoke.

  Surrounded by self important idiots and people who think they’re cool… Kyle had been about to put his feather quill to the paperwork left by the Waggoners guild, when a spatial anomaly opened in front of his desk. “What now?!”

  A scaly red hand with deadly-looking claws reached out of the small portal, and handed him a contract on leathery paper framed in molten gold and brimstone. A hissing voice that sounded like the aggressive shuffling of paper sounded out from the portal.

  “The Demon King Dahubu the Blooded sends his regards. Give us the corpse and your technology, and we’ll give you anything within our power. Immortality, the wealth to buy the entire Elnomagan Grand College, enough concubines to fill a palace. You will not receive a better offer than the one my lord proposes.”

  Kyle took the contract and set it on his desk. “Begone. I’ll think about it.”

  The voice snorted derisively. “As you wish.” The hand retracted through the red spherical portal, and it closed with the sound of a worn-out vacuum. The only evidence that it had happened was the faint smell of sulfur lingering in the air.

  Only one thought occupied Kyle's mind. How did he know about my technology?