Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

"You could've let me die to the Sword Saint."

"I could've," she admitted, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were a deep crimson, but softer than most of the demons he'd seen since landing here. "But I've seen enough blood to know when it won't change anything. Your death wouldn't have hurt Veyras. It just would've added another head to the pile."

Lindarion studied her, expression unreadable. "Then tell me how to hurt him."

Nysha hesitated, then crossed the room, leaning on the table with her palms flat. "Directly? You can't. Not yet. This city is his spine, every merchant, every smuggler, every street gang owes him favors. The Dominion Lord's trust makes him untouchable. Even if you killed him tomorrow, they'd just replace him with another loyal dog."

He leaned forward too, until their faces were only a handspan apart. "I'm not here for politics. I'm here to end threats."

Her lip curled faintly. "Then you'll fail. Because here, politics are the threat."

The lamp hissed as the oil wick popped, throwing the room into momentary shadow. Outside, somewhere down the crooked street, a bell rang three slow chimes, curfew for the common quarters.

Nysha straightened, pacing toward the shuttered window. "The Second Dominion survives by making everyone else need it. We trade with the First for weapons, with the Third for… their vile little creations, with the Fourth for slaves and food grown in the wastelands. You tear out the trade, you cut the throat of the Dominion."

"And Veyras controls that trade."

"Exactly. But his power doesn't sit in his fortress, it sits in the ledgers, in the warehouses, in the guild masters' pockets. Kill him now, and those structures remain. You want to destroy him? You dismantle what feeds him first."

Lindarion's jaw tightened. "You're asking me to move slowly. That's not an option."

Nysha turned back to him, crossing her arms. "I'm telling you that if you charge in again, the Sword Saint will finish what he started.

And if by some miracle you win, the Dominion will see you as nothing more than a foreign invader. You'll be hunted by all four dominions, not just one."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The low murmur of voices from outside drifted in through the shutters, a reminder the city was still alive despite the chaos he'd brought hours ago.

Finally, Lindarion pushed the cold stew away, the wooden bowl scraping across the table. "What about the other dominions?"

Nysha's brow furrowed. "What about them?"

"If I can't move directly here, perhaps I can make them… less unified. You said they're rivals."

"They are," she admitted slowly. "But the rivalries are contained, trade keeps them from tearing each other apart. Each Dominion fears being weakened enough for the others to strike. If you disrupt that balance—"

"They turn on each other."

Her frown deepened. "Or they unite against the outsider meddling in their affairs."

Lindarion stood, his height casting his shadow over her. "Either outcome is useful to me. But I'll need information, on Veyras, on the Dominion Lord, on the Sword Saint, and on the other three dominions. Every scrap you can find."

Nysha's eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing whether to refuse. "Information costs."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping low. "Then tell me where to find someone worth robbing."

A reluctant, humorless chuckle escaped her. "You really don't have patience, do you?"

"No."

She tilted her head, considering him for a long moment before answering. "There's a man, calls himself Karvek. Runs a network of spies, smugglers, and informants. He can get you names, movements, secrets… if you can pay his price."

"I don't pay."

"Then I hope you hit hard enough to make him talk before his guards put a knife in your ribs," she said, walking past him toward a small cabinet. She pulled out a scrap of rough parchment, scrawled something in sharp, looping script, and pressed it into his hand.

"That's the symbol his men wear. You'll find them in the lower market district, near the river docks. Look for the black banners with the three silver coins."

Lindarion glanced at the symbol, then folded the parchment and tucked it into his sleeve.

Nysha's gaze lingered on him, serious now. "If you start something in that district, you'd better finish it fast. The city guard doesn't patrol there, the gangs do. And Karvek's people… they're not afraid of dying for him."

"That makes two of us."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Prince, you're walking into a nest of knives. Don't be surprised when you get cut."

He didn't answer. His mind was already on the alleys, the docks, the shadows where men whispered secrets for the right coin, or the right kind of fear.

Somewhere in this city, someone knew enough to bring Veyras down. And Lindarion would find them, no matter how deep he had to dig through the blood and smoke of the Demonic Continent to get there.

—

The air here was different.

The rest of the city stank of burning pitch, wet stone, and the sharp tang of cheap metal from the forges. But here, near the river, it was rot and brine and the sour stink of bodies that hadn't bathed in months.

Every narrow lane between the leaning buildings was shadowed, the lamps unlit, the cobblestones slick with something Lindarion didn't care to identify.

He moved slowly, the hood of his cloak drawn low enough to hide his face completely. Ashwing clung to the inside of his cloak now, her scaled tail coiled around his wrist like a decorative bracer. Only the faint scrape of her claws against his sleeve betrayed her presence.

Nysha had been right, there was no sign of the city guard here. Instead, he passed knots of hard-eyed men leaning against doorways, watching him with the flat wariness of predators sizing up another predator.

The black banners were exactly where she'd said they would be, stretched above certain doorways, painted on the shutters of boarded-up shops, stitched onto the sleeves of men who lingered just a little too still.

The symbol was crude but clear: three silver coins, stacked and bound by a jagged black chain.

Lindarion didn't bother being subtle. He stepped into the first tavern bearing the mark.