Merchant Crab-Chapter 275: Forced Audience

The very air in the hall seemed to turn cold as the guild members watched in aghast silence while their former guildmaster strode into the meeting.

Antoine looked at his former peers with a spiteful sneer that twisted the thin mustache above his upper lip. A hint of sadistic satisfaction lurching in his eyes as he watched them writhe and struggle to move their paralyzed limbs.

“I’m so glad you all would grant me this audience during the meeting to choose my replacement,” the corrupt merchant said, his words laced with venomous contempt as he addressed the poisoned crowd. “Because tonight you all get your just deserts, you craven turncoats.”

Balthazar’s tongue thought faster than his brain, and he did the one thing he tended to do when nothing else came to mind—he ran his mouth.

“We haven’t even had dinner yet, but I’m all for skipping it and going straight to desserts. Can I have mine to go?”

The mustached man turned on his heels abruptly with derangement in his eyes.

“Silence, crab!” Antoine yelled. “I will get to you, after I savor my moment with them.”

The small excuse of a man looked much worse for wear than Balthazar remembered from the last time he had seen him, at the time of his arrest. His clothing was still clearly expensive, but visibly worn, as if he hadn’t changed from it in several days, and like no maid had carefully washed and meticulously ironed it that morning. Despite his unkempt appearance, he continued to wear a merchant hat with a feather sticking up from it that still left a partial head of matted and slightly messy hair exposed.

The crustacean would have thought the former guildmaster wasn’t looking too good, but then again, Balthazar never thought he looked any good to begin with.

“Guaaaards!” Abernathy called as he tried and failed to push his body to stand up from his chair.

“Don’t bother, you old ghoul,” Antoine said to the tax official. “The guards have all been dismissed from the vicinity of the guild meeting by order of the mayor, apparently. It’s amazing the things a small bribe in the right place can achieve, isn’t it? A few bottles of poisoned liquor, the guards sent away, and all the doors to the hall locked.”

Abernathy’s eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. “Jarvas…”

“Bingo!” the mustached man said with a grin. “You should have promoted him years ago. Since you didn’t, he had to find a better source of income elsewhere. With me.”

“W-what have you done, Antoine?” Ambrose asked, both arms on the table as he struggled to stand up, unsuccessfully. “What manner of poison is this?”

“Ah, my dear Ambrose, the stupid alchemist who always refused to let me resell his vials of muck at my emporium,” the uninvited guest said. “I’m sure you more than anyone will recognize what you all had to drink tonight—extract of Eclipsus Flower.”

The alchemist’s face turned white as chalk as he gasped.

“That’s right,” said Antoine, with a sadistic glee in his eyes. “Go on, tell everyone else what it is.”

“I-it’s an extremely rare and extremely lethal poison,” Ambrose explained with difficulty as more of his body became rigid. “C-completely tasteless and odorless. At first, it paralyzes the lower extremities of its victims, slowly working its way up the body, until it reaches your heart and… and it stops it.”

“Exactly!” Antoine exclaimed triumphantly. “No common cure poison potion can undo its effects, either. Once you consume it, you’re doomed, even if you know what you have been poisoned with. And it’s slow and deadly, just the way I wanted it. Isn’t that just beautiful?”

He snapped his fingers over his shoulder, toward the large bald man behind him, who cocked an eyebrow but did not move.

“And this is Bruce. He’s my insurance. Even if any of you manages to try anything funny, he will personally snap you in two.”

The mercenary in dark gray leather armor crossed his arms and scowled as he looked at everyone in the room.

While nobody was looking at him, Balthazar used his monocle to inspect the two intruders.

[Merchant - Level 12]

[Mercenary - Level 48]

“B-but…” Ambrose stuttered. “How did you get enough Eclipsus extract to poison everyone in this hall? It is said to be so rare that even the most well-connected of assassins would have to spend a fortune to get a single tiny vial of it.”

The wretched merchant brought his face closer to the alchemist’s, who recoiled as much as his body allowed him.

“And you’re right. It did cost a fortune. But I’ve learned a few new tricks since I left this miserable town, and now, once I get my hands on something, getting more of it is a trivial matter to me. I am no longer a mere trader, the simple guildmaster of a bunch of backwater villagers. I am something more. Something greater. I am—”

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As Antoine stretched his arms open and threw his head back as if about to make a grandiose announcement at the top of his lungs, Balthazar scowled at the realization that had just hit him.

“Wait, you’re the Duke of Dupe?” the crab blurted out.

“Argh! You eight-legged retch! Always ruining my moment!” the madman screamed. “Yes, I am the Duke of Du—I mean, I am The Duke!”

“Lame name, by the way,” Balthazar said, trying not to let out the grunt that wanted to escape his mouth.

“You’ll PAY for this!” a booming but pained voice exclaimed from the top of the room.

They turned to see Mayor Bergen leaning over the table, both fists clenched on it as he panted heavily and spittle flew out of his foaming lips with each breath.

Having clearly been the heaviest drinker of the liquor that night, the strongman likely had a dose of the poison in him big enough to down a horse—which meant he was probably suffering the same effects as anyone else who had taken just a few sips.

“I will pay?!” Antoine said with deranged delight as he ran toward the mayor’s table. “You absolute buffoon! You had me thrown into a jail cell! A filthy jail cell! Me! Antoine! The finest trader this cesspool of a town ever had the privilege of seeing! You are the one who will pay. I will enjoy every second of watching you succumb to the poison, you animal!”

Bergen was visibly shaking. Whether it was because of the poison or the rage inside him, Balthazar wasn’t sure, but what he could tell without a doubt was that the mayor had murder in his eyes.

“You…” the seething strongman said between grinding teeth, slowly trying to reach for Antoine’s neck with his clenching fist, but the poison’s effect was too strong and made his arm fall to the table with a thud.

The sick little man brought his impish smile slightly closer to the bearded man, while still keeping a safe distance.

“And I want you to know, Bergen,” Antoine whispered, still loud enough for everyone to hear him. “I always found your stupid garden to be an eyesore, and your flower hobby ridiculous. I went home and cackled all night after I made Tristan kill your prized Camellias. I still remember your stupid devastated face that night. You actually shed a tear when you saw it withered, you pathetic oaf!”

“AAAARGH!” Bergen yelled, throwing himself forward over the table with all he had.

Antoine jumped back with a start and a yelp as his bodyguard stepped forward, ready to get in front of him, but the paralysis kept the mayor’s lunge from reaching far enough.

They both eyed Bergen, who was now firmly pinned to the table by his own weight, his thick black beard bunched under his chin as he panted angrily, eyes rolled up to look at Antoine with fiery fury.

“Hah!” the disgraced merchant said, readjusting his vest and putting on airs again, as if he hadn’t just seen his whole life flash before his eyes a moment ago. “I hope you go slow.”

With a pretentious smirk, Antoine walked away from the mayor’s table.

Meanwhile, Balthazar’s mind continued racing as he watched everything unfold.

His body was feeling heavier by the minute, and he was now barely able to raise his pincers, let alone walk. Even if he could, there wasn’t much he could do. While the crab had little doubt he could snip that twig of a man easily, the problem would be the merc protecting him, Bruce. He was far higher level than anyone else in that room, except for Bergen, who was clearly down and out.

The eight-legged merchant eyed the main door. If he had his Backpack of Holding Stuff & Things, maybe he could pull some trick out of it, but the bag was behind that door. Which was locked. And there was the whole being paralyzed part too.

Damn it! Balthazar thought. I can’t think of a way out of this before everyone’s hearts here stops.

Suddenly remembering that it wasn’t just uppity nobles filling that hall, the crab turned his eyestalks to look at the table where he had been sitting earlier—and the one Antoine was walking toward.

“Oh no…” Balthazar whispered with genuine worry in his voice for the first time that night.

Tristan was behind the table, leaning on the floor over two girls—Olivia, who was grabbing her rigid legs, and Suze, who was lying on the floor, paralysis already taking over her arms.

“Mr. Tristan… I don’t feel so good,” the little girl said with a whimpering voice.

“Oh, child, what did you do?” an anguished Tristan said as he cradled the back of her head.

“I just wanted to know what it tasted like,” Suze said with an almost apologetic tone. “I took a sip from Olivia’s cup when she wasn’t looking. My tummy really hurts now. I… I don’t think I like liquor, Mr. Tristan.”

Antoine reached the side of the table, his shadow looming over his former business partner like an apparition. Tristan’s eyes widened before he turned slowly.

“A-Antoine…” the kneeling man said, his face looking like he had just aged a decade in a few seconds. “Please don’t do this. This is too far, even for you.”

“No, Tristan,” said Antoine, each word dragging as he savored every second with a sadistic glee. “This is exactly what I wanted.”

The corrupted merchant’s eyes jumped to Olivia, who was half sitting on the floor, legs paralyzed and fists clenched against the stone beneath her.

“Ah, the petulant niece of Marquessa’s baroness,” he said with mockery. “I’m glad you could join us tonight. I never liked you since you were a kid and you’d vandalize my carriage by drawing mustaches on the side of it every time I visited your city. And now you decided to associate yourself with scum. You can go down with them, then. Maybe I will pay your dear aunt and her city a visit after I’m done here.”

The young woman grunted and clenched her jaw as she stared up at his grinning face, but she seemed unable to form any words.

“As for you…” said Antoine, turning his focus to Suze. “I don’t even know who you are. But you seem to be a friend to all this other… garbage, so good riddance, too.”

Bruce approached the table, towering over his employer with a deep frown creasing his meaty forehead.

“I thought it would be just snotty nobles and rich cats here tonight,” the burly bodyguard said, looking down at the little girl lying on the floor behind Tristan. “You didn’t say anything about kids.”

“What does it matter?” said Antoine without turning to look at his hired muscle.

“I told you I don’t like children,” the merc said with a slight snarl.

“Good! Me neither,” the vile merchant said. “So just ignore her. She’s not important anyway.”

Feeling the panic and desperation of having his legs and pincers metaphorically tied, Balthazar used one of the few parts of his body not yet paralyzed again—his mouth.

“Hey, pencil-mustache! I thought your problem was with me? Why are you avoiding me, huh? Scared?”

Antoine’s gaze turned to the crustacean, malice filling his eyes as a sick grin grew on his face.

“Oh, I was just saving the best for last…” said the Duke as he walked toward the crab.