The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage: Wandmaker Vol.2

Interlude WM [105.5] The Lords Duty

Ulfar Salstar was the embodiment of ruthless ambition, a man whose gaze never wavered from the conquest of power. To him, people were nothing more than disposable instruments to be used, discarded, or broken as needed. His mind allowed no room for sentimentality, no patience for weakness. Loyalty was a meaningless concept, family a vessel for his aspirations, and friendship an illusion entertained by fools. The only currency he valued was strength. Those who wielded it were worth his respect; those who did not were mere stepping stones on his relentless ascent. Nothing, no bond, no principle, no obstacle would keep him from ensuring that the Salstar name stood above all in Yuhia.

The First Princess's proposal was intriguing, but ultimately, Ulfar saw little value in reclaiming Ingrid from the frontlines. She had failed him. A spouse was a strategic asset, not a burden to be salvaged. Her continued survival mattered only insofar as it served his goals, and in this, death was as useful as life. As a war slave, she elevated the princess's name—but as a martyr, she would elevate the Salstar legacy. Each victory won in her name, each whispered tale of her sacrifice, would only bolster his family's dominance. She had already given him Ragnar and Eira; her purpose was fulfilled. Should she die, the bloodline would persist, and with it, his empire. Nothing else mattered.

"Lord, you look troubled. Are you still weighing the Princess's words?" Sølve's deep voice carried through the dimly lit office, smooth yet unwavering.

Ulfar's fingers stilled against the desk, pulled from his thoughts. He lifted his gaze, finding his Left Hand seated at the far end of the room, a book resting idly in his lap. Sølve had removed his veil, revealing the stark contrast of his charcoal-black skin and the bone-white tribal tattoos that stretched across his face. It was a stylized wolf, its fangs bared in eternal defiance. A mark of the Ophelion people from the western frontiers. His golden eyes, sharp and watchful, studied Ulfar with the patience of a predator gauging its prey.

Ulfar tapped his fingers against the polished wood. "You look like you have something to say. Speak."

Sølve inclined his head. "I think you should take back Lady Ingrid," he said without hesitation. "She has spent nearly eight months at the front and has surpassed every expectation. She has distinguished herself beyond what anyone anticipated. The latest reports—"

"I know what the reports say." Ulfar's tone was clipped.

"Then you should also see her value. If she dies, we lose more than just the Sword of Salstar. Until Eira can take the mantle, our house is left exposed."

Ulfar scoffed. "You believe a few victories against druids earn her the right to return?"

"I believe that you and I both know the First Princess withheld something from you. And I believe you are being petty, forcing Ingrid to remain as if you care about atonement. You don't. You never have. The past is dead. Only actions matter now."

Ulfar's gaze sharpened like a blade against whetstone, his fingers curling into a fist. For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Ulfar exhaled a slow, measured sigh. "You have lingered in my presence too long, Sølve. You are starting to make too much sense. Get in contact with the First Princess. Tell her I agree to the terms as she has specified."

Sølve inclined his head. "Yes, Lord Ulfar, it shall be done." He slipped his veil back over his face, shrouding his expression once more.

Ulfar pushed back his chair and strode toward the door, stepping into the corridor without another word. The matter was settled.

"Eira. What did I tell you about eavesdropping?" Ulfar said as he looked up into blank space. "I know you are watching. Get your brother and meet me at Thrand's stable in fifteen minutes."