After roughly thirty minutes, the carriage came to a stop before a large set of iron gates. Over the past few months that he'd been exploring the dungeon city of Torrin, Greg had come to learn that there were two primary occupants of the noble district. The first, as the name suggested, were the true nobles. The kind with hereditary titles that could be passed from parent to child. The other type, to which Sir Joram belonged, were the oligarchs. Individual merchants, the main branch of different trading families, heads of certain industries, and so on. While to the commoners there wasn't much difference between the two, there was a sharp schism between the two groups. On the surface, they all played nice and smiled at each other like lifelong friends, in truth, however, the true nobles looked down on the oligarchs and thought of them as nothing more than posers and social climbers trying to pass themselves off as true nobility. Meanwhile, the oligarchs thought of the nobles as nothing more than moochers and leeches who offered nothing of true value but just used their inherited titles to steal from them in the name of taxes and bribes.
For all of the oligarchs' distaste for the nobles, however, the true nobility had been in power far longer than most of the Oligarchs had and this was reflected in their abodes. The oligarchs tended to live in large ornately furnished houses. The compounds to their homes, however, were nothing to write home about. Land in the city, after all, was worth more than gold! The true nobility, however, would have large, and just as expensively furnished houses surrounded by acres of land that were also lavishly taken care of. Trimmed fences, manicured lawns, expertly carved statues, and most importantly, armored guards that seemed ready to skewer anything that even breathed wrong, patrolling the place. This was the compound that the carriage rode into after they were checked at the gates. The guard there had done a double take when he noticed Greg's commoner clothing. The presence of the merchant in the carriage with Greg, however, seemed to be enough for them to disregard this little detail and let the carriage through.
The man that the merchant had come to meet was one of the three names that he had called out. Sir Lark, as Sir Joram had called him, was a lean man of average height. His most notable feature was his large, owlish eyes. Especially when contrasted against his gaunt face, they left him with a look of perpetual surprise. At their first meeting, Greg was tempted to try and startle the man just to see if his eyes would grow even larger. The three armored men by his side, however, dissuaded him from this course of action. Sir Lark himself didn't hold a noble title, but apparently, he was the younger brother of some Earl somewhere and represented their interests in this city. From the fake smiles and empty platitudes they offered each other, they were clearly long-term acquaintances and it wasn't long before the merchant was invited to one of Sir Lark's private rooms to have a discussion.
Greg immediately understood what Sir Joram was trying to do. He had failed in getting a confession out of Greg as to who it was that had sent him so he had gone for the reverse approach. He was taking Greg around to the people that he suspected the most to gauge their reactions. If one of them betrayed any shock or recognition, he would still have achieved his objective of figuring out who had sent Greg after them. It wouldn't work, seeing as no one had sent him after the merchant. Still, Greg could appreciate the ingenuity behind the approach. On his part, Sir Lark was taken aback when he noticed that the Merchant's guard had changed from the usual muscled brute to a boy in commoner clothes. But other than that, there was no hint of recognition on any of his features. And after about three seconds of studying Greg, he seemed to lose interest altogether.
Inside the private room they were ushered into, there were only five people, Greg, Sir Joram, Sir Lark, and his two trusted guards. Unlike the armored ones on the outside, these two seemed to be much more lightly armored. Rather than the metallic full-plate armor that those on the outside seemed to have on, the ones in the room only had on a breastplate made out of hardened leather. They also had vambraces and greaves made of the same leather material. For some reason, however, Greg got an even greater sense of danger from these two than from those outside. It didn't feel like they were more vulnerable from being less armored. Instead, it was like they were less restrained and even more capable of being lethal with the freedom that their lesser armor granted them.
Unlike their employer who had lost interest in him, the two men had zeroed in on him from the moment they'd met. The two wouldn't neglect any possible threat to their master, no matter how insignificant it might seem. And from the slightest upward tilt of their lips, as they studied him, they clearly thought they could take him easily. Greg himself wasn't bothered by this. An enemy that underestimates you is the best kind of enemy, as far as he was concerned. Besides, it wasn't necessarily certain that they would end up clashing. Like living mannequins, Greg and the two guards stood behind their respective masters as they settled into their chairs and began speaking.
Both of them being members of the upper class, the conversation began with ten minutes of them blowing smoke up each other's ass and giving compliments that neither truly meant. In fact, from the look of things, this session would have lasted longer if Sir Joram hadn't cut it short by moving straight to business. By the slight frown that creased Sir Lark's forehead, he didn't much appreciate this. Still, he didn't protest and listened as the merchant began talking about his most recent shipment of goods.
For most of the conversation, Greg was spaced out. His mind kept fleeting between going over the lessons he'd had that day with the healer, and making plans for the week ahead where he'd be free. Given how busy his lessons with the healer had kept him, Greg hadn't had much of a chance to accrue the lust points he'd need to comfortably merge ten feats of lust. As such, for this coming week, he'd have to go on a marathon of sexual escapades to see just how much he would be able to manage. Greg had already known that even more than variety, the system rewarded risk-taking. The more danger he put himself in, the more lust points he'd end up with. As such, Greg was slightly nervous when trying to imagine just how many risks he'd have to take to earn the twenty-one-something million lust points he'd need to get to thirty million lust points.
The loud noise of Sir Lark banging the arm of the chair he was seated on brought Greg back to the present. At some point, it seems, the discussion had gone off the rails and now the two seated men were glaring at each other. Greg couldn't help but tense up slightly. His eyes immediately moved to the two men guarding Sir Lark. If things turned violent, these two would pose the biggest threat to him. They seemed to have also marked him as their primary target as they were sending unfriendly gazes his way. Greg turned his attention to the tense conversation trying to figure out what was wrong.
"What is that coward Sir Reigad offering you that I cannot?" Sir Lark questioned in a dangerously low tone.
"Both you and I know that it has nothing to do with Reigad and everything with my word as a merchant! The moment my clients no longer believe that I will deliver what I promise to them is the moment my business sinks!" Sir Joram countered.
"Ha!" A sound between a bark and a derisive laugh escaped Sir Lark. "You expect me to believe that a merchant values honor over coin! Next, you'll be telling me of all the charity you've done for the destitute of Torrin," The man spat mockingly.
"This is not up for negotiation. Sir Reigad will get his merchandise as promised and you will get yours with the next shipment that comes along," Sir Joram declared with a note of finality. "Now, I believe we are done here," the merchant added before making to rise to his feet.
"I haven't yet granted you permission to leave!" the noble growled and as if on cue his two guards stepped forward to drive home the point.
It would have been an intimidating sight if an arrow didn't fly through the eye of one of the guards and protrude from the back of his skull. Part out of shock and part out of reflex, the second guard turned in the direction of the first, which is why an arrow went through his temple and came out on the other side of it. When Greg began his dungeon dives, he might have thought his reaction to be out of proportion. Two people menacingly step towards you and so you kill them? Why not try to de-escalate? And if that doesn't work, try to intimidate them and get them to back off. That's probably what he would have done back then. The current Greg, however, wasn't as naïve. Not only was he outnumbered, but also, the two men were clearly more powerful than he was. To give them a chance to prepare, either to defend themselves or to counterattack, was no different from offering himself up on a platter. Rather than allow himself to end up in a position where he was at a disadvantage, Greg immediately made the first move and nipped the danger in the bud!
