After visiting the Gaeserts and the Aelbes, Priam only needed to steal a few secrets from the Snaherts to complete his tour.
Whistling, he strolled into the tribe’s camp, surprised by the silence. Unlike the bustling Gaeserts or the feline Aelbes, the discreet Snaherts exuded a sly aura.
His good mood evaporated, Priam stopped whistling and made his way to Ophis’ place without asking for directions. The straight paths and the growing size of the tents provided all the clues he needed. At the camp's center, two shelters dominated the landscape. The first was red and black, the second green and silver. Dragon and serpent…
Ignoring the shaman Snahert’s tent, Priam approached Ophis’. The entrance opened, and a forgettable young man with slumped shoulders erged. Fortunately for Priam, his perfect mory quickly identified Vyphers, the young Snahert he had defeated while retrieving Seth’s skull at Osiris’s behest.
“Hey,” Priam greeted.
The loser looked up, flinched upon recognizing Priam, and then bolted, screaming.
“What the fuck?” Dumbfounded, Priam stood still for a mont. He had no intention of picking another fight with Ophis’ son. From his perspective, their last battle made them even as it had purified his draconic bloodline. The young master seed to disagree. Well, he hasn’t gotten his bloodline back yet…
Shrugging, Priam entered the tent and found himself in a relatively small room. The decor was sparse: a few cushions scattered on the floor circled an intense brazier. Sharing a al of raw at, Ophis and a young woman watched the flas.
“Can I co in?”
The Snahert leader smiled and nodded. “Sna, et Priam, the Lord of Oasis who refused my offer a few hours ago.”
The young woman’s cold eyes t Priam’s, forcing him to steady himself. Despite her youthful appearance, the creature before him was ancient and... cold.
“What brings you here?” Ophis continued, looking at Priam.
“Can I sit?”
His host didn’t respond, and Priam almost rolled his eyes. You’re too old to sulk, man.
Summoning a fake smile, Priam sat on a cloud of mist. “The fulcrum was a good item, but I have sothing more interesting for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“The heart of a Tier 4 Skulc shaman.”
The room’s atmosphere froze... literally. Like his son, Ophis had the petrifying gaze of a basilisk. “Are you serious?” he asked in a gravelly voice.
Priam tried to reply but couldn’t, having to wait for the Snahert leader to regain his composure before moving.
“... An organ that concentrates a potent draconic bloodline, yes,” Priam resud, irritated. He didn’t believe for a second that the Snahert leader had truly lost his temper for so long. But maybe it wasn’t just a threat. Maybe he did lose his temper for a mont. Makes wonder how rare the heart is…
“Interesting,” Ophis said, glancing at Sna. The shaman likely had the gift of discerning truth, and Priam decided to play with half-truths. “In exchange for...?”
“The ideal upgrade for [Stealth]…”
“Deal.”
“… and access to your own source of draconic bloodline—a basilisk, if I’m not mistaken.”
Today, the Snaherts' draconic source, and tomorrow, the Skull Temple’s heart: Priam intended to have it both ways. But first, you’ll show how to access the heart.
Before Ophis could respond, Sna leaned forward. “Why negotiate with him? We know where his base is.” Her voice was warm and hypnotic, yet still gave Priam goosebumps.
“Sna, he’s our ally!” Ophis frowned.
“An ally overstepping his bounds.”
Ophis clenched his fist, overacting his pity. “He doesn’t realize—”
Priam burst into laughter. The pressure from his Tribulations and the responsibility of saving his loved ones was weighing heavily on him. Just hours away from confronting Sumstreh, the good cop, bad cop tactic adopted by the two Tier 4s was so crude it was hilarious.
Seeing the astonished expressions of the two powerhouses, Priam’s laughter doubled.
“… Is sothing funny?”
“Your role-playing is comically bad,” Priam replied while sending a secret ssage to Ève. “What you consider the pinnacle of psychological tactics is common knowledge in my civilization.”
“So let be blunt: a Tier 0 should know his place,” Ophis retorted.
“A Tier 4 should fear an immortal Champion.” Priam turned to Sna. “I am Death’s Obsession. Have you lost your hubris along with your shedding to think you can succeed where death has failed? Now, either accept my offer, or I’ll see if I get a good price for the draconic heart at the Auctions.”
Ophis remained silent for a few seconds before dropping the affable mask he had worn so far. “I believe you’ve guessed, but my shaman currently wears another’s skin thanks to [Molt]. Give one reason not to have her possess one of your friends like a garnt and take what’s yours.”
“I knew you were a pragmatic asshole,” Priam smiled. He had worn enough masks to recognize another adept. “To answer your question, I’m counting on nuclear deterrence. There are several H-bombs hidden in your camp.”
“My Domain detects nothing and it’s always active,” hissed the ancient serpent.
“Ève.”
A second later, Sna violently turned her head towards her tent. For her, a wooden sphere concealed by Ève’s clone’s power had just appeared on her table. It was enough to prove Priam could hide an object from her senses.
Ophis t Sna’s gaze and hissed. “I thought you ca in peace.”
“If you want peace, prepare for war,” Priam quoted.
“Is that a threat?” Sna asked, unleashing her aura.
“What a stupid question,” Priam replied, undeterred. After enduring the aura of a god and a Fallen, the Tier 4 didn’t scare him. “Of course, it’s a threat.”
The torchlight reflecting off the fine scales of the Snaherts’ skin frad the tent’s entrance.
“Fine,” Ophis murmured after a minute of tense silence. “A drop of diluted royal basilisk blood and [Stealth] in exchange for the Skulc heart.”
“Deal,” Priam smiled. He knew he had just made enemies, but what did it matter? He would soon be the only one to rember.
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