Regression of the Tower's Final Survivor-Chapter 52: The Iron Domain

The Gilded Spire lived up to its name, though Dante found the opulence more distracting than comforting because everything was white marble and gold leaf and velvet thick enough to choke on, wealth that screamed "we have too much money and not enough sense" loud enough to hear from the street.

"It’s... soft." Ravenna sat on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, running her hand over the silk duvet with a look of genuine wonder that made Dante’s chest ache a little. For a half-demon raised in the jagged, burning landscape of the Infernal Floors, simple comfort was probably more alien than the monsters they’d been fighting. "Is all of the upper Tower like this?"

"Only the parts controlled by people with too much money and not enough survival instinct," Dante said, pouring a glass of water from a crystal decanter and walking to the window to peer through the gap in the curtains at the street below. "Enjoy it while you can, because we’re paying for this room with blood money and that kind of currency has a way of coming due."

"Technically, we paid with a rock," Astrid pointed out from where she was sprawled across a chaise lounge that creaked dangerously under her armored weight, balancing a platter of roasted fowl on her chest like she was daring gravity to try something. "A very shiny rock, but still a rock, and I’d rather sleep on silk than dirt any day of the week."

Ren stood by the door with his shield propped against the wall, his hand never straying far from the grip even though they were supposed to be relaxing. "We’re exposed here, Dante. Everyone saw us come in, and if the factions want to make a move..."

"They will," Dante confirmed, turning back to the room. "That’s why we’re here, because we aren’t hiding in some back-alley inn where they can kick down the door and claim it was bandits. We’re planting a flag in the fanciest building on the floor and daring them to do something about it."

He gestured for them to gather, and even tired and battered as they were, they moved with a synchronization that hadn’t been there ten floors ago. They were a unit now, forged in the fire of the Iron Warden and tempered by everything that had tried to kill them since.

"Floor 11 is where the tutorial ends," Dante began, letting his voice drop into the lecturing tone they’d all learned to pay attention to. "Below Floor 10, it’s just survival, just killing monsters and not dying. Up here, it’s politics. There are two major powers controlling the Crystal Plateau: the Iron Domain, who control the mines and smithies, and the Flame Court, who hold the mana-rich zones and the reagent trade."

"Let me guess," Leon said, wincing as he adjusted the bandage on his arm. "They don’t get along."

"They’re in a cold war that’s been cold so long it’s practically frozen solid." Dante crossed his arms. "They don’t fight openly because it costs too much in resources and reputation, so instead they use proxy wars and dirty tricks. They hire smaller teams to raid each other’s supply lines or ’accidentally’ interfere with dungeon runs, and when a new, powerful team shows up that could upset the balance..."

"They try to recruit them," Sera finished, catching on.

"Or crush them before they become a threat that upsets the profit margins." Dante met each of their eyes in turn. "We just broke a record they’ve been trying to clear for months with a six-person team. We’re a threat whether we want to be or not."

As if on cue, a heavy knock echoed from the double doors, and Dante didn’t miss the way half his team tensed up like they were expecting another fight.

Ren stiffened with his hand closing around his shield handle, and Ravenna slipped off the bed with her eyes already glowing a faint orange as that playful curiosity vanished behind a mask of combat readiness.

"Right on time," Dante said, because of course the vultures couldn’t even wait until morning. "Ren, let him in. Just him, not the muscle."

Ren opened the door to reveal a man in polished plate armor, helmetless to show off a face that was handsome in a sharp, predatory kind of way, all slicked-back blonde hair and a smile that didn’t come anywhere near his eyes. Two heavily armed guards stood behind him, but Ren filled the doorway with his massive frame and made it very clear they weren’t invited inside.

"Garrett Vance," the man said, smoothing down his tabard which bore the emblem of a gray fortress. "Lieutenant of the Iron Domain. I’m here to speak with the Captain of the Lightbreakers."

"You’re speaking to him," Dante said from the center of the room without moving to greet the man or offer a seat, just standing there holding his water glass like a scepter. "What do you want?"

Garrett stepped inside and his eyes swept over the room, cataloging every member of the team with the practiced ease of someone who assessed threats for a living. He lingered on Ravenna for a second too long, a flicker of distaste crossing his face before he masked it, and Dante filed that away for later.

"A pleasure," Garrett lied smoothly. "My Guild Master, Lord Vane, sends his congratulations. It’s rare to see such... potential... emerge from the lower floors without backing."

He pulled a scroll from a case at his belt and held it out like he was offering a gift. "We’d like to formalize our relationship. The Iron Domain is generous to its friends."

Dante took the scroll but didn’t open it. "Define generous."

"Access to our private forges," Garrett said, ticking points off on his fingers with practiced ease. "Discounted potions. Intelligence on dungeon spawns. And, of course, protection, because this floor can be dangerous for independents and accidents happen to people who don’t have friends in the right places."

"And the cost?"

"A standard affiliation fee." Garrett shrugged like thirty percent wasn’t highway robbery. "Thirty percent of dungeon loot, exclusive rights to bid on your unique drops, and in times of ’Guild Conflict’ you would answer our call to arms. Standard contract, nothing unusual."

Dante unrolled the scroll and let his eyes dart over the dense legal text, and he recognized the clauses instantly because he’d seen this exact contract before in another life.

Clause 4 was about indefinite extension of terms based on guild needs. Clause 9 gave command authority that overrode party autonomy in designated zones. It was a servitude contract masked as an alliance, the same contract they had forced on him his first life when he’d been desperate and stupid and signed it because he thought he needed their protection.

He’d spent two years bleeding for them in the mines after that, killing monsters and handing over the cores while they got rich off his work.

"Thirty percent," Dante repeated softly, and Garrett must have mistaken his tone for consideration because the smug look on his face got even smugger.

"It’s a fair rate for the safety we provide. Without us, you’ll find that merchants won’t buy your goods, inns will mysteriously be full, the Flame Court might mistake you for enemies. We provide... stability."

Dante laughed, and it wasn’t a nervous laugh or a polite chuckle but a harsh, barking sound that made Garrett’s smile falter.

"Stability," Dante said, testing the word like it was a piece of rotten fruit someone had tried to sell him as fresh. "You call extortion ’stability’. That’s cute."

Garrett’s smile tightened into something that looked a lot less friendly. "Careful. That’s a heavy word."

"I’ll give you a heavier one." Dante gripped the top of the parchment with one hand and the bottom with the other, and he watched Garrett’s eyes go wide as he realized what was about to happen. "No," Dante said firmly.

The sound of thick paper tearing was shockingly loud in the quiet room, and Garrett’s jaw actually dropped as Dante systematically shredded the contract, tearing it once, twice, a third time until it was nothing but confetti drifting toward the expensive carpet.

"You..." Garrett spluttered, his composure cracking like ice in spring. "Do you have any idea what you just did? You just declared war on the Iron Domain!"

Dante stepped forward without rushing, but the movement was so sudden and so filled with intent that Garrett stumbled back a step before he could stop himself.

"No, Garrett, war implies you have a chance of winning." Dante tossed the last shreds of paper into the air and watched them flutter down between them like snow. "Go back to Vane. Tell him the Lightbreakers aren’t for sale, tell him we don’t pay taxes to anyone."

He leaned in close enough that Garrett had to tilt his head back, and his voice dropped to a whisper that carried the heat of the core pulsing in his chest.

"We collect them."

Garrett’s face turned a mottled shade of red and his hand drifted toward the sword at his hip. "You insolent little—"

"Touch that hilt and you go out the window," Dante said flatly. "Closed."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and absolute, and behind Dante he could feel his team falling into position without a word. Ravenna’s hands were already wreathed in soft flame that cast dancing shadows on the walls, Astrid was grinning like a shark that smelled blood in the water, and Ren hadn’t moved from the door but his grip on the handle looked ready to crush the metal into scrap.

Garrett froze, and Dante watched the calculation happen in real time as the lieutenant looked at his eyes, green-gold and utterly devoid of fear, and weighed his options.

Finally, he broke.

The man spun on his heel and marched for the door, his voice tight with impotent rage. "You’ll regret this. When you’re bleeding out in the gutter, don’t beg us for help."

"I won’t," Dante called after him, "but keep your windows open. It gets hot when things burn."

Ren slammed the door behind the lieutenant and locked it with a heavy thud that echoed through the suite.

The room was silent for a long moment while everyone processed what had just happened.

"So," Leon finally said, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts to sound casual. "We just made an enemy of the strongest faction on the floor."

"Second strongest," Dante said, walking back to the window to watch Garrett storm out of the building below and gesturing angrily at his guards.

"Who’s the strongest?" Sera asked.

Dante turned back to them, and he let the ghost of a smile play across his lips because they’d earned this moment, earned the right to feel a little bit invincible even if they weren’t.

"We are," Dante said.