Chương 113: Chapter 112: A Summit Showdown at the Gothic Café

The VIP room of the Black Moon Café sat at the top of a Gothic tower in the heart of Tartarus. The space inside hung in an icy, tension-thick silence. On the left side of the round black stone table, Eleanor sat ramrod straight in her white-and-gold knight's uniform, the Royal Holy Sword resting upright beside her chair, sipping small sips of tea from a white porcelain cup.

Across from her, Countess Carmilla sat in formal black Demon-court evening attire, her elegant black horns tilted slightly, fingers turning a glass of blood-jade red wine. Between them, Lucian sat rigid as a granite statue, hands neatly folded on his lap, a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him.

Under the table, the forty-meter Dark Demon Dragon — after having four of its front teeth knocked out by Astra the day before — had shrunk itself down to the size of a large dog, resting its head on Lucian's leg, snoring softly: khhh... khhh... Ting! A dim black Unified System V2. 0 notification appeared at the corner of Lucian's vision. [ROOM DANGER ASSESSMENT:] Conflicting mana pressure: sufficient to crack a six-thousand-gold table if either party loses patience.

Immediate mitigation: do not let either party lose patience. Lucian lifted his coffee cup and took a bitter sip. He looked at the jewel-inlaid black stone table, worth six thousand gold, silently calculating: whoever cracks this table with a burst of mana is getting it docked straight from their export commission. Eleanor set her teacup down on its saucer with a dry click. She looked straight into Carmilla's deep red eyes and spoke, her voice steely, carrying the authority of a Royal Diplomatic Envoy.

"The Solaris Royal Family requires a full inspection of the Crown-approved pilot corridor: the existing food, flour, hot-sauce, and cultural-export shipments to the Demon Realm. We need assurances these supplies are not being diverted into preparations for renewed war." Carmilla's full red lips curled slightly, resting her chin on her palm.

"Honored Princess, the pilot shipments travel under the commercial guarantee of Young Master Lucian and the inspection terms already accepted by Tartarus. His invoices are feared, but they do not outrank law." Eleanor's head snapped toward him, her blue eyes narrowing, fixed straight on Lucian's face, her mouth curling into a bright but icy smile.

"Is that so, Chairman Vance? Your 'word' carries quite the weight in this Demon Realm, doesn't it?" Lucian set his coffee cup down on the table, expression unchanged. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"My word is measured in three thousand tons of mixed iron and mana-ore per shipment. Purely a mutually beneficial economic partnership. No personal sentiment involved whatsoever." Eleanor let out a small huff. She didn't continue with sarcasm — instead, she pulled a thick dossier, sealed with Emperor Alaric's red wax, out of her diplomatic case and slid it across the table.

"This is the draft Tripartite Trade Agreement: the Solaris Royal Family, Vance Commerce, and the Tartarus Empire." Eleanor tapped a finger lightly on the document, her tone sharpening into the shrewdness of a future Queen.

"Terms are clear: Tartarus opens specified mineral concessions to House Wright's foundries under audited licenses. Solaris immediately suspends food and medicine restrictions for humanitarian shipments, then submits staged commercial easing for formal ratification. Vance Commerce coordinates approved transport under fixed, auditable terms and a fifteen percent intermediary fee.

Both governments cease hostile trade restrictions within the pilot framework while permanent provisions proceed through their normal state procedures." Carmilla picked up the dossier, her blood-jade eyes scanning each clause. She set the contract down and looked at Eleanor with a measure of genuine respect.

A disciplined first framework: immediate relief, controlled mineral access, and a way to test whether two governments that had spent ten thousand years distrusting one another could keep their signatures long enough to make money. SCRATCH. The Council of Twelve had issued Carmilla a formal black-sigil plenipotentiary mandate to negotiate and sign the pilot framework on Tartarus's behalf. Carmilla picked up the quill and signed. Eleanor stamped the royal seal in red wax.

Lucian pressed the [⭕] seal of Vance Commerce down over both. For the first time in ten thousand years of bloody war, two hostile races signed a comprehensive postwar normalization and trade framework over a café table. Its humanitarian clauses took effect at once; its permanent provisions still needed ratification. Touch. Under the table, the soft toe of Eleanor's leather boot reached out and lightly grazed Lucian's shoe.

She tilted her head to look at him, leaning close to his ear, whispering with a mischievous smile.

"I'll be staying at this castle tonight to oversee the treaty's implementation. My delegation suite and office are in the next wing, Chairman Vance. That way you cannot hide an unsigned clause under your bed." COUGH! COUGH! Lucian startled and choked on a mouthful of black coffee, coughing hard.

Outside the café's glass windows, Solaris delegation members, Tartarus guards and officials, and a local crowd gathered along the street watched the three leaders raise their glasses in celebration inside, erupting into a roar that echoed down the whole street.

"The normalization framework has been signed!"

"The Princess and Young Master Vance are obviously getting betrothed!" The second cry was gossip, not policy. Eleanor's look toward the window made three guards suddenly remember urgent duties elsewhere. Lucian wiped a streak of coffee from the corner of his mouth, leaning back in his chair with a long sigh. BOOM... BOOM... BOOM! A strange, thunderous growl suddenly rose up through the café's stone floor, straight from deep underground. The entire Gothic tower shook violently.

The wine in Carmilla's glass splashed over the rim. An ancient voice, reeking of blood and ten thousand years of hatred, echoed up through the sealed Castle Lilith vault and its old access shaft.

"Bearer of Valeria Lilith von Vance's blood... descend into the abyss and claim your throne... or be buried alongside this entire continent!"