Chapter 2848: Ransom? Revenge?

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

Location: Myriad Realms, Card World, Southern Region, Blossom District, Three Mischief Encampment

"Revenge? Hahaha... is that what all this is about?"

Hearing Peyote’s demands, Maestro Matteo burst into loud, almost hysterical laughter. Then his gaze settled on Peyote, as if looking at someone who should have died long ago, yet still stood before him.

"I know you. You’re that naive Cacteye brat the Devil Merchant Code used to parade in front of me. You think I killed your tribe? Think about it. It was the Devil Merchant Code that made me do it."

Peyote only sneered, not bothering to argue. If Maestro thought he could trap him with words, he was mistaken. Peyote had no real thoughts of revenge or vengeance—he was simply using it as a prop, bait to mislead Maestro and make his lie more convincing.

"You don’t believe me? Then tell me—why do you think the Devil Merchant Code chose you as its demon merchant at the exact moment I came to your tribe to take you in as my disciple?

"I came for you, knowing your potential, your prowess. Had you simply rejected me, that would have been one thing. But you rejected me and chose the Devil Merchant Code instead. Don’t you know our two organizations are enemies?

"How could I knowingly allow the Devil Merchant Code to tie such a talented seedling... and a renowned tribe of specialized warriors to itself—"

"So what you’re telling me is that what you did was only natural, while what the Devil Merchant Code did was deliberate? Aren’t you overestimating yourself, thinking it chose me as a demon merchant just because you planned to take me in as your disciple? It chose me for my potential and talent—just as you did. The fact that you can see that tells me exactly what kind of person you are. Slay was right. All of you Dark Cult bastards are delusional."

Peyote had no intention of arguing with Maestro, but the moment the man blamed the Devil Merchant Code for his tribe’s massacre, he couldn’t hold back.

Yes, the relationship between demon/devil merchants and the Devil Merchant Code was chaotic—at times it felt like a cannibalistic cycle of ruthless capitalism—but most merchants, especially those from the Dark Realm, still respected it. Through it, they were not only recognized but also freed from the tyranny of the blessed dark races. The Cacteyes had been one such tribe.

When the Devil Merchant Code chose him as its demon merchant, the entire tribe had celebrated as one. For one of their own to be chosen meant the Code had acknowledged them. They were no longer nobodies scraping out a life in the desert at the foot of the Shrouded Hills, no longer at the mercy of nearby great families, clans, and factions. With the Code’s recognition, they could trade directly with it—so long as they could pay the price—and grow into a formidable tribe, one day ruling over all seven deserts beneath the shadow of the Shrouded Hills.

Unfortunately, they were destined to die before they could see those dreams fulfilled. Peyote held no notion of revenge, no thirst for vengeance. To him, the massacre of his tribe was simply another turn of society’s natural selection. They had survived the harshness of the desert, but not the shrewdness of the world beyond it.

He believed that if it hadn’t been those bandits, it would have been someone else. And now, knowing the bandits were in fact bounty hunters sent by Maestro Matteo, that belief only hardened.

"Kid, believe what you will, but that’s the truth. Your tribe was just one of many casualties in the long-standing struggle between the Devil Merchant Code and the Dark Cults over talent."

"Then blame the Devil Merchant Code for your missing disciple."

Peyote no longer let Maestro twist and distract him with words. He cut him off, cold and direct, reminding him that his beloved disciple was still in his grasp.

"Hahaha... I do. I blame the Devil Merchant Code. Once this ordeal is over, I plan to sacrifice a thousand devil merchants. Now, let me see my disciple. If he is still alive, I will not only give you the ten World Will Fragments, but also kowtow before your tribe’s mass grave and beg for forgiveness."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Peyote shot back. "It took considerable planning and resources to capture him while evading your Faith Order’s divination. What makes you think I would undo all that just to give you proof of life?

"How about this—consider the ten World Will Fragments and you kowtowing before my tribe’s mass grave, begging for forgiveness as the price for me to return your disciple’s complete body to you. What do you say?"

Maestro Matteo did not find Peyote’s words amusing. In an instant, the temperature across the divine dominion seemed to drop by several degrees. Yet Peyote stood his ground, squaring up to him without hesitation. There was nothing in his posture that hinted at retreat. If anything, his defiance only deepened, the kind that made one wonder where such confidence came from.

Maestro Matteo held himself in check, knowing full well that Peyote’s confidence came from the leverage he held over him, his beloved disciple. With no better option, he relented, clinging to the fragile hope that the boy was still alive.

It had been a long time since he had felt this kind of helplessness. The vulnerability sat uneasily on him, almost alien in its weight. But that did not mean he did not know how to handle it. In a situation like this, there was only one course—play along.

He was not afraid of being deceived; what he feared was losing his disciple. With his strength, he could annihilate everyone and everything responsible for the boy’s death. But power meant little if the disciple was already gone. He would rather endure this in hope than face that bleak outcome.

"Fine. Meet me at your tribe’s mass grave. I’ll bring the ten World Will Fragments and kowtow to their graves, begging for forgiveness. You’d better make sure my disciple is alive when you return him to me. Otherwise, I’ll dig up their graves and deny them peace, even in death."

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