Forty minutes after the duel with Tjeerd, Martin was still riding the low hum of irritation when Belisarius intercepted him in a corridor lined with softly glowing mana-lamps. The hallway, typically quiet between lectures, now pulsed faintly with residual tension—an echo of the match's aftermath.
"That wasn't a good showing," the Warden said, voice cool.
Martin frowned. "I took him apart without killing him. What more do you want?"
"He expected you to break all his bones before he made a move," came another voice from behind—a lilting contralto.
Bellarine, dressed in her usual cascade of ribbons and emeralds, floated lightly behind Belisarius, arms crossed and grin sharp.
Martin turned to the pair. "Do you two know each other?"
"She's a friend," Belisarius replied evenly.
"Friend?" Bellarine repeated with a smirk. "You've been inside of me."
"I don't need context for that," Martin said flatly, already walking ahead. "Where's Roen?"
"In the medical bay," Belisarius replied, unbothered.
"Figured."
Crash.
A massive boom thundered from the western quadrant, followed by a snap of mana—the sound of someone overloading a glyph or collapsing a containment ward.
"That came from Fenice's recital," Martin said, his expression sharpening.
"Let's take a look," Belisarius said calmly, already walking.
They headed toward the amphitheater—a grand open-air stage built into the slope of a ridge. A favorite spot for exhibitions and events, it overlooked a sweeping view of Varncrest's mana conduits, flowing like glowing rivers beneath the floating city.
By the time they arrived, the recital had descended into pure chaos.
Seats were overturned. Panicked students ran in every direction. Several spell-wards activated mid-air, forming half-functional shields that did nothing to stop the chaos. A grand piano lay smashed in half against a cracked marble pillar. The stage was torn.
At the center of it stood Fenice Phoenix, elegant even amidst rubble, his expression unreadable. His sword was sheathed, but his hand hovered over the hilt.
Across from him stood something… less composed.
The man had the air of a thunderstorm in the shape of a brawler. Towering, wild-haired, shirt rumpled and half-open, his blue overcoat was torn at the sleeves. He wore battered sandals, and despite the chill in the air, seemed entirely unaffected. Violet eyes glinted beneath thick brows, and a beard like steel wool covered most of his lower face—except the mustache. That was conspicuously absent.
"I'm not leaving until he gives me my money back!" the man bellowed, pointing at a nervous noble student half-hiding behind a shattered harp.
Martin raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell let a loan shark into Varncrest?"
"You know him?" Bellarine asked.
"No," Martin replied. "But he looks like one."
"He's probably an Independent," Bellarine added.
"Okay, but still. Why a loan shark?"
"No clue," Belisarius murmured, watching calmly. "But you're handling it. That's an order."
"Thanks for nothing."
"Please, Dombach!" the noble begged, visibly sweating. "Just give me more time!"
"You are past the deadline!" Dombach roared. "Sign over the harp to me. Now!"
"No! Please! It's a family heirloom!" the student pleaded. "Just forty-eight hours!"
Martin caught the barely restrained fury in Fenice's expression as the noble's sobs shattered the silence. The duelist's fingers twitched on the hilt.
"Easy, shiny boy," Martin said, stepping beside him and grabbing his shoulder. "We can't have this escalate into a public execution."
Fenice glanced sideways. "He's insulting my art. Defiling it."
"It's music," Martin said. "Calm down. Oi! Big guy!"
The bearded man turned. "Who the hell are you?"
"Martin Kaiser."
Dombach's face twitched with recognition. "Does this moron owe you too?"
"No," Martin replied flatly. "But you're not exactly subtle."
"Debt doesn't need subtlety," Dombach said with a grin. "This moron owes me seventy-two thousand rune coins. Said he'd triple it with some fancy harp enchantments."
Martin turned to the noble. "That true?"
"I—yes," the student stammered. "But the enchantments were damaged. I couldn't afford repairs and—"
"Okay, shut up," Martin said, raising a hand. "I'm solving this."
Dombach crossed his arms. "What're you proposing?"
Martin's lips curved into a grin. "A settlement. Creative debt resolution."
Fenice blinked. "This had better not involve me."
"Oh, it does." Martin's eyes gleamed. "You received the Stradaria Harp at your blessing ceremony, didn't you?"
Fenice looked alarmed. "Yes. Why?"
"You'll lend it to this noble for forty-eight hours," Martin said. "He'll use it to replicate the enchantments and sell his commissions."
"That instrument is worth a kingdom," Fenice snapped.
"You're sponsored by four noble houses and the Abhean Sect," Martin replied. "You can survive without a harp for two days."
Fenice looked genuinely offended. "That harp was played by Saint Illindri herself."
"Then it should be easy to replicate its resonance," Martin said with a grin.
Dombach tilted his head. "If the brat fails?"
"You get the harp as collateral," Martin replied. "If he succeeds, he returns your seventy-two thousand plus ten percent."
The loan shark laughed. "Now that's a proposal. You got yourself a deal, Kaiser."
The noble student blanched. "W-wait, what if I fail—"
Martin's eyes narrowed. "Then you lose a harp and your kneecaps. Don't fail."
Fenice stepped forward, eyes like ice. "If you ever drag me into something like this again, I will kill you."
"Noted," Martin said cheerfully.
Dombach clapped Fenice on the back. "Glad we could do business. Martin, you ever need a guy broken or a harp tuned—I'm your man."
Martin turned, already walking away. "This place just keeps getting more theatrical."
Bellarine caught up, smirking. "You do realize you just turned Varncrest's musical legacy into collateral."
"I call it interdisciplinary learning," Martin replied.