Drake nodded, not the least bit surprised that Alex had already pieced together his plan.
"In that case, I suppose I won’t be bidding at the auction," Alex said dryly. "I’m guessing the auction money you’ll be giving me is actually going to be your investment in my Interplanar excursion, right?"
"Of course," Drake replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I’m sacrificing my chance to attend a world-shaking auction for your sake. Why should I then pay extra for items that will only end up in your hands anyway?
"You’re an adult now, Alex. It’s time you bought your own toys out of your own pocket."
"You’re being petty, father. But very well." Alex shrugged, lips twitching.
He wasn’t truly bothered. After all, he was the owner of the Golden Palace. If he wished, he could keep every auction item for himself—though, of course, that was far from the truth. Still, it was enough to soothe his pride against Drake’s pettiness.
Drake leaned back. "The auction is still some time away, but it’s best you head to the Dragonspine Mountains early. Settle in before both the auction and the negotiation. I also reckon you’ll want to return to that Enclave of yours.
"Considering recent events, you won’t be able to leave for the family’s head agoge as we previously planned. Too much risk of someone connecting the dots. Instead, I’ll have the camp’s top candidates sent out to you under the guise of a mission. You won’t get the full roster to choose from, but it’s a small price to pay. You’ll still be getting the best cards."
"Understood, father," Alex replied.
Drake continued, "I also know you’ve set Udara to train under Allen. This will disrupt your plans, so I’ll have Allen accompany you to Dragonspine. But remember—he’s there solely to train that shadow guard of yours. Don’t expect anything more. His presence must remain minimal. Attracting too many eyes defeats the point of all this."
"I understand. Thank you, father," Alex said with a nod.
"Lastly," Drake said, his gaze sharpening, "I’ll have the resources needed to open a spatial gate smuggled quietly into the Enclave. After that, it’ll fall to you to find and employ a spatial mage capable of activating the Interplanar gate. That shouldn’t be too difficult at Dragonhold Enclave—especially with that lass, Zora, at your side."
Alex nodded once more, accepting the weight of the task.
"Alright. You can go now. You should leave within three days." Drake shooed him away with a wave of his hand.
Alex rose to his feet. Just as he reached the door, he hesitated and turned back.
"Is this the last time we’ll meet before I leave for my... ’sabbatical’?"
"Most likely," Drake said with a small nod.
"I see." Alex muttered softly. Then, in an uncharacteristically formal gesture, he bowed deeply, the weight of proper etiquette laced into every movement. "Thanks for everything, Father."
"That’s enough. Get out of here already." Drake flicked his hand dismissively.
A pulse of energy projected from his fingers, lifting Alex upright. For a fleeting instant, Alex felt the warmth of an embrace wrap around him. Before his mind could register or question it, the sensation was gone—he now stood outside the study doors.
’It couldn’t be... right?’ Alex frowned, doubting his senses. Shaking the thought away, he strode down the hall. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel•fire.net
He intended to head straight back to the Back Mountain Lodge, but halfway there he stopped abruptly.
’If I go back, I’ll just end up working on something again. I’m about to be buried in responsibilities for the foreseeable future. Might as well take this rare chance to relax—to actually touch some grass.’ He chuckled.
The problem was that there weren’t many places in the Virellian Empire where one could unwind without consequence, at least not in a way Alex wanted to be associated with.
The kitchen? Out of the question. Cooking was relaxing for him, yes, but barging in would only disrupt the cooks who worked tirelessly to feed hundreds daily.
The library? Also no. He knew too well he’d just spiral into research or some new project. The novels here failed to grab his interest; he’d rather plagiarise stories from his past life, release them under his name, and actually make money.
’Maybe I should consider it. Tech isn’t the only thing I can bring from my old world. Entertainment, fashion, even simple luxuries—this world is starved for them.’
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. But soon enough, he sighed and shook his head. Once again, his mind had veered back toward work.
Resolutely, he struck the library off his list.
’No matter how I look at it, if I step in there, I’ll just end up drowning myself in another project.’
That left only one option.
’The castle’s training grounds. I can at least watch some spars.’
There was nothing like watching a good wrestling or boxing match to get the macho blood pumping.
’I can also use the chance to collect the cameras I planted around the area. I’ve already gathered the data I need—it’s better not to leave them lying around while I’m off in another plane.’
With that in mind, Alex’s feet carried him straight to the training grounds. Just in time too—some soldiers, high on testosterone and ego, had decided on a five-a-side duel.
While everyone’s attention was locked on the fighters, Alex quietly retrieved a couple of his cameras before dropping himself comfortably onto a bench.
A few soldiers noticed him, but Alex silenced them with a simple universal gesture of an index finger pressed to his lips.
Soon enough, the two teams drew their fistotovs and kickotovs, pounding the daylights out of each other—without causing any permanent damage, of course. Their comrades, the bystanders, and Alex himself cheered louder with every punishing blow.
It was proof that no matter how "civilised" humans claimed to be, deep down we were still savages—whether it was one delivering the beating or watching someone else deliver it.
The thrill of violence was infectious. After the first match ended, more soldiers leapt into the ring for their turn. Before long, a queue had formed for the so-called "spars."
Even Alex wasn’t spared. The excitement dragged him in. He traded blows, dished out a few, and took more than a few himself before people realised who he was. But Alex brushed it off, downplaying the entire incident.
To his surprise, the Fury soldiers—simple folk at heart—followed his lead and treated it as nothing more than good fun. The spars carried on without pause.
Alex ended up getting his arse kicked more often than he won, but that wasn’t the point. The result didn’t matter—what mattered was the atmosphere.
And without even trying, Alex’s approval among the soldiers soared higher than ever.