Chapter 51: 51:A Dungeon?
As Ethan walked back through the long stone hallway, a quiet voice came from his side.
"My Lord, will it be alright?" Oliver asked, worry clear on his face. His brow was furrowed and his hands were clenched behind his back.
"Things might not go well."
Ethan glanced at him and gave a calm smile. "Don’t worry, Oliver. I will sort that out," he said with steady confidence, though his steps did not slow.
The servant guiding him stopped at a turn, and there, standing under the glow of a lantern, was a graceful woman in a flowing gown. Her presence filled the corridor, and Ethan paused at once. Even without meeting her before, he could tell who she was from her noble features and calm bearing.
Besides that the dress was something he designed personally.
Ethan bowed his head respectfully. "Greetings, Duchess Emma," he said, his tone polite and measured.
Emma slowly raised her fan, covering her lips as her eyes curved with a smile. "How do I look?" she asked softly, her voice carrying both curiosity and amusement.
"With utmost respect, Your Grace,you look like an angel" Ethan replied, straightening slightly. His tone held no pride, only courtesy.
The Duchess studied him for a moment, then lowered her fan a little. A gentle smile spread across her face. "You are quite young and handsome. I have rarely seen anyone as good as you. No wonder the Baroness is crazy and head over heels over you," she said with a light chuckle, her eyes gleaming with playfulness.
Ethan offered a polite smile, though he said nothing more. His calm gaze remained on her, steady and respectful.
Emma noticed and gave a soft sigh. "I really liked your design," she said warmly. "So I hope you aren’t harmed. If you find yourself losing, you can just quit. I will make sure you are compensated well." Her voice was smooth, like she was offering genuine kindness, yet there was a test hidden within her words.
Ethan bowed again. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said firmly, his head lowered in respect.
Emma gave a slight nod, her fan folding closed with a soft snap. They exchanged a few more words of courtesy before Ethan excused himself and walked down the corridor. His footsteps faded slowly, leaving behind silence.
Emma stood still, her eyes following his back with quiet thought. "Good," she whispered to herself. "Neither arrogant nor conceited. Also, he isn’t as weak as he seems. A perfect match."
The maid beside her looked confused and leaned closer. "A perfect match for whom, Your Highness?" she asked carefully.
Emma smiled faintly, her eyes still on the path Ethan had taken. "We will see," she replied, her tone calm yet filled with meaning.
...
The next morning, the announcement of the fight spread across the city like fire in dry grass. At first, Duke Philip had planned to keep the match hidden, a private affair in the training ground of his manor. But Ethan had stepped forward, his voice steady and his request bold.
"My Lord, whether I lose or win, it should be held in public. If I win, I want to win under everyone’s gaze so no one can question me later."
The Duke leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying Ethan. "What if you lose?" he asked, his tone calm but heavy.
"Then I will accept it," Ethan replied without hesitation, his voice carrying a firm weight.
His words brought silence to the chamber. Ethan was not blinded by pride. He was well aware that not everything in life went his way.
He had a trump card hidden for the last moment, but what if his opponent turned out to be at the Advanced stage? He could not be certain.
At worst, he would lose his mine, but compared to the future he saw ahead of him, one mine was as good as a pebble thrown into a river.
Soon, the bets began to roll in. The air in the hall grew heavy with anticipation as nobles placed their wagers with pride and greed.
Baron Bragot stepped forward first. His lips curved with arrogance as he announced, "I put my Slate Rock mines."
The mention alone drew murmurs from the onlookers. Slate Rock was highly valued, used to build the walls of cities and the foundations of castles however..
It certainly wasn’t as precious as metal mines he had put before after all the metal was really a hot potato for cooking weapons.
Next came Baron Copper. With a dismissive snort, he declared, "I put my copper mines." A murmur of agreement spread across the room.
Copper was steady wealth, though not rare, and it showed he was confident but not reckless. Baron Ohen, however, folded his arms and stepped back. His silence was its own answer. He was cautious and chose not to take part.
But then, to everyone’s shock, Baron Fenwick placed his hand on the desk with a sharp tap and leaned forward. His voice rang through the hall. "I will put my dungeon at stake."
The words struck the crowd like a hammer.
.....
Back in the room..
Ethan’s eyes widened and his mouth parted slightly. "What the hell..." he muttered under his breath, stunned. His heart thumped hard in his chest. "Has he gone insane?"
It was not just any dungeon. It was an E-rank dungeon. A rare and priceless place.
To a transmigrator like Ethan, the meaning of dungeons was crystal clear. They were natural lands blessed with mana, filled with monsters, treasures, and resources. They were not only a knight’s training ground but also one of the greatest sources of wealth a noble house could possess.
He leaned closer to Oliver, his voice low but edged with disbelief. "Oliver, what do you think?"
Oliver frowned, searching his memory. "There is certainly something suspicious, My Lord. As far as I remember, the Fenwick house strength itself is built on that dungeon. They would never throw it away for a mere mine."
Ethan nodded slowly, his expression darkening as he thought it through. "That means either the dungeon has run out of reserves, or they have already harvested everything inside."
Oliver gave a short nod, his voice steady but uneasy. "Yes, My Lord. Dungeons cannot last forever. The mana core inside weakens over time. Once it dries, the place is nothing more than an empty cave."
Ethan’s gaze sharpened, but then a small, confident smile tugged at his lips. "I think it’s more likely they have stripped it clean already. Whatever..." he muttered, his tone shifting, his eyes glinting with something deeper. "The main gain isn’t coming from the bets. It’s from somewhere else."
A crafty smile spread across his face. Oliver caught it and could not help but chuckle softly.
"You are right, My Lord. We have already achieved our goal. As long as we gather a huge crowd, I am sure people will go crazy."
Ethan nodded in agreement, his eyes glimmering with a hidden plan.
Meanwhile, in another chamber lit by the glow of tall candles, Baron Fenwick sat with his men. His fingers tapped slowly against the wooden desk, each sound echoing in the tense air. He looked at his attendant. "Did he accept?"
"Yes, My Lord," the attendant answered quickly, bowing his head.
A cruel smile crept across Fenwick’s face. "Good... the trap has been set."
One of his advisors shifted uneasily and spoke in a hesitant voice. "But My Lord, is it really wise to let it go? The dungeon is no small thing."
For a moment, Fenwick’s expression darkened. His lips tightened as he thought carefully. Then he leaned back in his chair, his voice cold but certain. "Yes. Except for the last room, everything inside has already been cleared. As for that final chamber..." His lips curled into a sharp grin. "He would be lucky if he did not die the moment he steps inside."
The hall grew quiet after his words, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across his face. Fenwick’s men bowed their heads, though unease lingered in their eyes. The trap was laid, but the air around them was thick with suspense, like the calm before a storm.