Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 72

The doors of the reception hall opened, making a sound of polished wood grinding against stone that echoed like a low thrum through the expansive chamber. Edward Vistro entered with steps that were measured and rhythmic, his boots clicking softly against the marble floor.

The hall was a testament to the Vistro legacy. High above, the vaulted ceilings were lost in shadows, while sunlight fought its way through narrow, arched windows, casting long, dusty fingers of gold across the room. Banners of the Vistro house, the formidable wind falcon, hung motionless along the walls, their fabric heavy with the dust of decades. At the center of this architectural display of power stood a long table of dark mahogany, scarred by the pens and rings of generations of negotiators.

Thaleia followed exactly half a step behind him. Her presence was like a sharpened blade hidden in a silk sheath. Her posture was perfectly straight, her chin held at an angle that suggested both deference to her lord and a warning to his enemies. While her expression remained a mask of professional calm, her eyes were restless, flitting between the three figures seated at the far end of the table. She was cataloging every twitch of a finger and every nervous adjustment of a collar.

The men waiting for them did not represent the sword, but something far more volatile: gold. They were dressed in the regal, ostentatious attire of high tier merchants. Their robes were layered silk, dyed in expensive pigments of crimson and teal, trimmed with fur and silver thread that whispered of vast warehouses and overflowing ledgers. On their hands, signet rings glittered, each bearing the crest of a guild that held the northern region’s economy in a firm grip.

As Edward approached, the silence in the room became heavy, thick with the unsaid. The merchants did not rise. In the dance of nobility and commerce, this was a calculated insult, a test of the young man’s temper. They studied him not as a ruler, but as a curiosity, or perhaps a carcass to be picked clean.

Thaleia stepped forward, her voice cutting through the stagnant air like a bell.

"My Lord, these are the representatives of the three major merchant guilds of the northern region of Luminaris. You have requested an audience to discuss the continuity of trade within your borders." She gestured with a graceful hand. "From left to right, we have Lord Cedric Vale of the Azure Caravan Assembly, Master Roland Greve of the Golden Wheat Consortium, and Sir Mathis Doran of the Frostveil Exchange."

Edward stopped at the head of the table. He did not sit immediately. Instead, he offered a small, curt nod of acknowledgment. "Gentlemen. I trust your journey to the Vistro heartland was without incident."

The three men exchanged glances before offering shallow, perfunctory nods. Their eyes remained fixed on Edward, searching for the monster the rumors promised. They had heard the whispers that had turned the capital upside down, that Edward, the unawakened and mana less disappointment of the Vistro line, had supposedly slaughtered his father and an Archmage Duke in a single night of blood and shadow.

Yet, looking at him now, the image did not fit. Edward was lean, almost slight, with a face that was unsettlingly serene. To the merchants, he looked like a boy playing dress up in his father’s shadows.

How could this child kill an Archmage? The question was written in the furrow of Cedric Vale’s brow. Was he a puppet, or was the story a fabrication meant to hide a deeper conspiracy?

The Vistro territory was the golden goose of the north. Its fertile valleys produced enough grain to feed the capital, and its mountain passes were the only reliable routes for ore and exotic spices. For years, the previous Marquis had been a pillar of predictable greed, a man they could understand. Now, the foundation of their wealth felt unstable.

Cedric Vale, the eldest and most influential, was the first to break the tension. He rose slowly and adjusted his heavy, fur lined robe. His hair was the color of slate, and his eyes were cold as a winter sea.

"My Lord Marquis," Cedric began. The title felt heavy in the room, dropped without warmth or respect. "I have never been a man for flowery prose or the winding language of the court. I will speak plainly, as befits a man of business."

Edward folded his hands behind the small of his back, his expression unreadable. "Plain speaking is a rare commodity these days, Lord Vale. Please continue."

"The Azure Caravan Assembly has enjoyed a fruitful partnership with this house for over twenty years," Cedric said, pacing a short line behind his chair. "Under your father, the contracts were firm. Trade was protected by the Vistro knights, and the Crown’s interests were always respected. We knew the rules. We knew the costs."

He stopped and looked Edward directly in the eye, his gaze sharpening.

"However, the winds have shifted. The rumors of your unconventional ascension have reached every counting house from here to the southern coast. The royal court is unsettled. The Church of Light calls you a heretic. Already, we see the effects. Northern trade routes are being flagged for extraordinary inspections by royal guards. Complications are arising where none existed before."

Edward remained still. He did not defend himself, nor did he react to the mention of the Church. His silence seemed to push Cedric further.

"Seeing you now, I must be candid," Cedric continued. "You are young. Experience is not something one can inherit like a title. Risking the stability of the Assembly against the direct interests of the Crown for a boy who has yet to prove he can even hold his own lands would not simply be a mistake. It would be professional suicide."

Cedric lifted his chin, his voice carrying across the chamber. "Therefore, the Azure Caravan Assembly will not be renewing or expanding any agreements under your authority at this time. We are freezing our investments until the instability surrounding the Vistro line is resolved."

He turned toward the other two representatives. "I believe my associates share my assessment."

Master Roland Greve of the Golden Wheat Consortium rose next. His build was broader, his expression sharp and calculating.

"The Golden Wheat Consortium prioritizes stability," Roland said evenly. "We manage grain flows, storage contracts, and distribution networks across the north. Uncertainty creates losses. Political tension disrupts shipments. Inspections increase spoilage and delay."

He looked at Edward without hostility, but without trust. "Until your standing with the Crown is clarified, we will suspend any expansion of trade through your territory."

Sir Mathis Doran of the Frostveil Exchange stood last. His demeanor was calm, almost detached.

"The Frostveil Exchange oversees maritime contracts and northern mining procedures," Mathis said. "Our ships are already facing scrutiny when docking near territories associated with your name. We cannot jeopardize our fleets."

All three men now stood together, united in caution.

Their decision was clear.

Cedric folded his hands behind his back. "We are men of commerce, Lord Marquis. We invest where risk is measured. At present, your house represents a variable too large to ignore."

The declaration settled heavily in the hall.

Edward’s gaze moved from one man to the next. He did not show anger. He did not argue. Instead, he simply nodded once.

"I see," he said calmly.

The merchants waited, expecting protest or desperation. Instead, they were met with composure.

"You have made your positions clear," Edward continued. "Existing contracts will be honored, I assume."

Roland inclined his head slightly. "We are not oath breakers. All current agreements will remain in effect until their terms officially conclude."

Edward responded with a faint, controlled nod. "That will be sufficient for now."

Cedric continued to study him in silence, his sharp eyes narrowing just a fraction. The absence of panic or visible frustration unsettled him far more than open anger would have. A young noble in this position should have reacted strongly, yet Edward stood there composed, almost indifferent, as if the outcome had already been anticipated.

"You do not object?" Cedric asked.

The three representatives exchanged subtle glances, each measuring the others’ reactions without speaking a word.

Cedric was the first to move. He offered a shallow, formal bow that lacked warmth. "Then we are finished here, Lord Marquis."

For now.

The unspoken addition lingered heavily in the air, understood by everyone in the room yet voiced by none.

As the men gathered their robes and turned toward the exit, the atmosphere in the hall seemed to grow colder. Edward watched them depart without any visible expression.