Chapter 130: The Masked Brotherhood’s Secret

It was night, and the private room of the Golden River Club in the Imperial City buzzed with activity.

A waiter meticulously constructed a towering pyramid of wine glasses on the long table. Then, ascending a ladder, they began pouring aged wine from bottles into the topmost glass.

A waterfall of white wine cascaded downwards, filling the glasses layer by layer. This extravagant pouring method caused a significant amount of the precious liquid to spill onto the table.

Each bottle, a vintage worth a commoner’s entire year’s living expenses, seeped into the tablecloth, its wet stain steadily spreading.

Subsequently, the young man hosting the gathering stood before the long table, raising his glass.

“Cheers! To the Masked Brotherhood! Thank you all for coming to my birthday party. Tonight, it’s all on me. Remember, anyone who isn’t drunk by the end of it is disrespecting me!”

“Cheers! To the Masked Brotherhood!” The other young men echoed, raising their glasses. Many had heavily made-up female companions by their sides, and after the toast, some shamelessly pulled their partners into passionate kisses.

This was a place for revelry, and during revelry, one should not concern themselves with trivial formalities. Such was the rule of the Masked Brotherhood.

Soon, a band took the stage, striking up an exhilarating tune. The slightly tipsy young men began to sway their hips and dance with abandon.

The Masked Brotherhood, a society from the Sanctuary Academy, had booked the entire venue for the night.

As was their custom, every few days, they would rent out the academy’s public manor for jesting and drinking. However, if they found any excuse whatsoever, they would seek out an entertainment venue and indulge in a night of unrestrained revelry.

Pierre, the son of Duke Alençon, was also present as a member of the Masked Brotherhood. Yet, he did not immediately join the revelry.

Instead, he sat by the sidelines, thoughtfully sipping a fruit wine, his gaze distant and empty.

A hand pressed onto his shoulder.

“Pierre, my good brother, you seem off today.” The young man hosting the party appeared beside him, asking with concern, “Normally, you’re the most enthusiastic one, having already downed half the hard liquor over there. I hope you don’t have a problem with me.”

“No, I’m fine, I just…” Pierre replied distractedly.

“Is it because your father is back?” The young man chuckled.

Pierre froze for a moment, then forced a strained, bitter smile. “If you know, then don’t ask.”

Days earlier, Duke Alençon had unexpectedly arrived in the Imperial City, leaving Pierre quite nervous. These days, he hadn’t dared to drink much, fearing his father’s reprimand if he returned home smelling of alcohol.

“I understand you. It’s truly unlucky to be saddled with a father like that.” The young man settled into the seat beside him.

“The old man is just too pedantic. He’s a grand noble, so why does he insist on restricting himself like a soldier? It’s one thing if he wants to be that way, but he even tries to control me! There’s no reasoning with him,” Pierre grumbled, pouring out his grievances. “And I don’t even know why he’s returned this time.”

“Is it related to that Saintess in your family again?” The young man asked with interest.

“Don’t use such an inauspicious term! She’s not part of our family!” Pierre frowned.

“Too bad your father doesn’t think so.” The young man grinned.

“Are you trying to send me home?” Pierre retorted, displeased. He genuinely couldn’t take such jokes. Now, any mention of Jeanne Decker struck a raw nerve with him.

For him, the only recent cause for cheer was that he hadn’t seen Jeanne Decker in a long time. He didn’t know why she hadn’t returned home.

“Don’t be so serious. If you’re in a bad mood, you should drink even more,” the young man said, chuckling as he clapped Pierre on the shoulder. “At worst, you can just get a guest room here tonight. After all, your father doesn’t really care what you do.”

“Did you specifically come here just to annoy me?” Pierre felt a headache coming on.

“Don’t misunderstand. I just don’t like seeing someone with a long face at my party. Ah, how about this? I’ll show you something good.” The young man rummaged through his pockets, producing a gold coin and handing it to him.

“Why are you giving me money?” Pierre was puzzled.

For young noblemen like them, a single gold sun coin was hardly considered money.

“Hold it near a flame and then look at it again.” The young man gestured towards a nearby candelabra. “Just scorch the edge a little, otherwise it’ll be too hot.”

Pierre, perplexed, did as instructed. He then saw a tiny word faintly appear on the heated gold coin: ‘s*ave’.

Pierre felt a strange sense of bewilderment, staring at the young man in surprise.

“I told you not to be shocked. This is… a Chain Market pass,” the young man whispered.

Pierre’s eyes widened at his words.

The Chain Market was a legend circulating among the wealthy circles of the Imperial City. The rumor spoke of a deeply hidden underground black market in the capital that regularly auctioned various illicit goods: smuggled items, stolen loot, illegal drugs, heretical artifacts, and even live human slaves, whose trade was strictly forbidden.

However, this market was open to only a select few, growing its membership solely through invitations from existing insiders.

For these pleasure-seeking young wastrels, such an urban legend was undoubtedly very appealing.

“Is it real?” Pierre was somewhat unconvinced.

“Absolutely. I’ve already been there, and the market is even more thrilling than the legends claim,” the young man said with a smile. “Through a stroke of luck, I met one of its members and received an invitation.”

Pierre gazed at the gold coin in his hand, astonished. That urban legend actually existed!

The young man observed him for a moment, then smiled meaningfully. “Interested? Do you want me to introduce you?”

‘Introduce?’ Pierre didn’t immediately grasp the meaning.

“That member, I’ve invited them as a distinguished guest today. They’re currently resting in another private room,” the young man slowly explained. “If you’re interested, I can quietly take you to meet them.”

“By all means!” Pierre immediately responded.

“Good. Let them amuse themselves for a while longer then.” The young man glanced at the others still engrossed in singing and dancing.

Two minutes later, Pierre was led into another private room and finally met the insider from the Chain Market.

He was a young man who appeared only a few years older than them. The host introduced Pierre by name, and the other man replied with a cheerful smile, “Ah, the future Duke Alençon, what an honor! My name is Dis.”

“Hello, Mr. Dis.” Pierre greeted him politely, mentally weighing how to phrase his request for an invitation.

Dis calling him the ‘future Duke of the North,’ rather than merely the ‘Duke of the North’s son,’ pleased him somewhat.

However, Pierre was entirely unaware that just the day before, this very young man had glared at his own father’s retreating back, muttering a curse for him to die a terrible death.