Heavenly Opposers-Chapter 282 - 281-Good Negotiation.

Azrail leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the armrest as he watched the reactions of the three elven elders seated before him. His hooded face remained unreadable, but he could sense the tension rising in the room. They were considering his demands, weighing the cost of giving up exclusive trade rights over their precious wood in exchange for the salvation of their dying forest. The situation was worse than they let on. They needed him more than they were willing to admit, and he intended to use that to his full advantage.

Therion Bough, the first elder and leader of the council, finally broke the silence. His voice, calm yet carrying the weight of his experiences, reverberated in the room. "You must understand, Mr. Dreadcloak, that what you ask for is not something we give lightly. Our wood is not just a resource; it is the lifeblood of our people, our culture, our history. Exclusive trade rights would mean handing over control of that legacy to an outsider. You ask for much."

Azrail didn’t miss the underlying threat in Therion’s words, but he met it head-on with a cold smile hidden beneath his hood. "And what I offer, Elder Therion, is more than fair in return. Without my help, that lifeblood you speak of will run dry, and your culture will rot along with the trees. You’ve felt the spread of the corruption. The decay grows faster with each passing day, and no amount of your healing or wisdom has been able to stop it."

Therion’s fingers drummed lightly on the table, his eyes narrowed but focused. Beside him, Aeloria Moo, the third elder, who had remained quiet until now, leaned forward, her golden eyes locked on Azrail. Her voice was soft, yet it carried a sharpness that sliced through the tension.

"And why should we trust you? You claim to have knowledge that no one else possesses, yet you offer no proof. What guarantee do we have that you’re not simply here to exploit our desperation? You know our situation well, Dreadcloak. That much is clear. But I’m not convinced you’re the solution to our problems."

Azrail turned his head slightly, his hidden eyes locking with Aeloria’s sharp gaze. She was the most dangerous of the three, he could tell. Intelligent, calculating, and deeply protective of her people. He would have to tread carefully, but not too carefully. She needed to see his strength, his resolve. "You don’t have to trust me, Elder Aeloria. But you’ll have to trust the results. I can stop the rot. Not with words, not with your traditional methods. I have knowledge that goes beyond your understanding of this situation. Knowledge gathered through alliances far older than your council."

Caelthorn Win, the second elder, spoke next, his tone carrying a hint of amusement though his eyes were anything but friendly. "You speak of knowledge as if it’s a commodity you can buy and sell. We’ve consulted scholars, healers, and even seers, and none have been able to stop the decay. What makes you think your ’solution’ is any different?"

Azrail’s fingers stopped their drumming, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, the weight of his words pressing against them like a tightening grip. "Because the rot isn’t natural, Elder Caelthorn. It’s a curse, a weapon crafted by an enemy that you cannot see. And that enemy has no interest in your survival. They want to destroy everything you hold dear, to see your forests burn to ash and your people brought to their knees."

The room fell into a deeper silence as the gravity of his words settled over them. The elders exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them interrupted. Azrail continued, his voice steady and cold, like the slow, deliberate drip of poison into a cup. "I can stop this. I can reverse the curse and restore your forests to their former glory. But my methods require secrecy, and they require trust. I do not offer these things lightly, but I demand proper compensation. In exchange for saving your lands, I want exclusive rights to your trade. And I don’t mean just for the short term. I want long-term contracts that ensure my merchant group—Radiant Redemption—has full control over the export of your wood."

Therion’s eyes flashed with anger for the first time since the negotiation had begun. "You demand too much. We would be selling our very soul to you, Dreadcloak. Our wood is sacred. To hand it over to an outsider would be a betrayal of everything we stand for."

Azrail didn’t flinch. He had expected this resistance, and it was all part of the game. "Sacred? Yes. But it will be worthless if it rots away. You’d rather let your people starve, and your lands die just to cling to an idea of purity that no longer exists? You need me, Elder. Without my intervention, your forest will fall. And once it’s gone, so too will your power."

Aeloria’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her voice low and lethal. "You speak as if we have no other choice. But we are not powerless, Dreadcloak. There are other avenues we could explore, other allies we could turn to. Don’t think that just because you’ve come here with an offer, we’re at your mercy."

Azrail smiled beneath his hood, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "You can explore all the avenues you like, Elder Aeloria. But we both know time is not on your side. Every day the rot spreads, the chances of saving your forest diminish. You don’t have the luxury of wasting time on half-baked solutions. You need action, and you need it now."

Caelthorn’s voice broke through the tension, his tone thoughtful but guarded. "Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that we agree to your terms. What assurances can you give us? You ask for full control over our trade, but what happens if you fail? If your solution doesn’t work, we’ll be left with nothing. You’ll have gained everything, and we’ll have lost the most valuable resource we have."

Azrail didn’t hesitate. "If I fail, you lose nothing. We can draft a contract that ensures your trade rights revert to you if the cure doesn’t work within a specified time frame. I’m not here to rob you blind, Elders. I’m here to build something—an empire that spans realms. And your woodlands are the cornerstone of that vision. But I won’t do this for free. I need guarantees, just as you do."

Therion steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. "And how long would you need to see results? If we were to grant you these rights, when can we expect to see the first signs of progress?"

Azrail leaned back, crossing his arms. "Once the contract is signed, the rot will stop within a week. The forest will begin to heal within a month. Full restoration will take time, of course, but you’ll see the progress quickly. I don’t expect you to hand over everything based on blind faith, but I do expect you to honour the agreement once the results are evident."

Aeloria’s lips twisted into a wry smile, her golden eyes gleaming with something akin to admiration, though she masked it well. "You drive a hard bargain, Dreadcloak. But we aren’t fools. If we agree to your terms, we will demand oversight. We will not simply hand over control and walk away. We’ll have our people monitor your progress, and if at any point we feel that you’re not living up to your end of the deal, the contract will be nullified."

Azrail nodded, knowing that this was the point where he could start pushing for the middle ground he’d been aiming for all along. "I expected nothing less, Elder Aeloria. Oversight is welcome. I have nothing to hide. But understand this—you can oversee the work, but you will not interfere. My methods are unorthodox, and they may not be what you expect. Trust is a two-way street, and if you want to save your forest, you’ll have to let me work without constant interference."

Therion exchanged a glance with the other elders, the weight of the decision pressing down on them all. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice slow and deliberate. "We will convene with the rest of the council. You’ll have our answer within the next cycle. But know this, Dreadcloak—we will not be swayed by threats or coercion. We will act in the best interest of our people, as we always have."

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Azrail stood, the tension in the room easing slightly as he prepared to leave. "I wouldn’t expect anything less, Elder Therion. But remember—time is not on your side. Every moment you delay brings your forest closer to ruin."

With that, Azrail’s form shimmered slightly, the faint glow of his exit spell beginning to take hold as he faded from their sight. He left them with their thoughts, knowing full well that the seeds of doubt and necessity had been planted deep within their minds. They had no choice but to accept his terms, and soon enough, they would see that this was the best deal they would ever get.

As the room emptied of Azrail’s presence, the elders sat in silence, the weight of the negotiation still heavy in the air. They knew the stakes, and they knew they were running out of options. But whether they would fully bend to Azrail’s will—or find a way to negotiate a better deal—remained to be seen.