Crossover: Monthly Character Templates in the Multiverse Chat Group — Chapter 72

Chapter 72: The Shah’s Treasure

Night had long since fallen over the jagged skyline of Kazdel by the time Frez returned. He rolled his shoulders, working out the stiff knots in his muscles with a long stretch, and headed straight for the bathroom. The plumbing hissed to life. Thanks to the steady, burning heat of the soul furnace, a steady stream of scalding water washed over him. A rare luxury in a city still rebuilding itself from the ashes.

Toweling off, he stepped into his assigned quarters. The room Theresis had prepared for him lacked the sprawling square footage of a palace, but it made up for it in sheer opulence. Heavy, carefully carved antique furniture crowded the space—the absolute best the Regent could scrounge up, entirely relocated from Quetzalcoatl’s personal estate. Frez killed the lights and collapsed onto the mattress.

Sleep was just beginning to drag him under when the faint, heavy thud of footsteps paused outside his door.

His eyes snapped open in the dark. “Who is it?”

Silence. The presence seemed to fade. Frez let out a slow breath and shut his eyes.

A second later, a distinct scratching sound raked against the wood.

With a heavy sigh, he threw off the covers and yanked the door open. A massive golden lion sat crouched in the dimly lit hallway, staring up at him.

“Good evening.”

“Gawain.” Frez stepped aside. “Get in here.”

The ancient Beast Lord didn’t need to be told twice. He padded into the room, his massive frame taking up entirely too much space, and vaulted effortlessly onto the antique sofa. He settled his weight into the cushions and let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“I must admit,” the lion rumbled, “I didn’t expect you to actually leave Vina unharmed.”

Gawain had crossed the continent, traveling day and night to reach Kazdel just to track down the young Aslan. What he found upon arrival was a perfectly healthy girl aggressively venting her frustrations on a massive plate of mashed potatoes. She was eating well, sleeping well, and entirely intact. With his primary concern alleviated, the old lion had decided to pay Frez a late-night visit.

Frez leaned against the doorframe. “Couldn’t this wait until morning?”

“You are awake, are you not?” Gawain rested his heavy, maned head atop his front paws. “You are young. You can sleep whenever you please. For now, I am leaving Vina in your care.”

“I can keep an eye on her, but that girl isn’t exactly going to take orders from me.”

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated in Gawain’s chest. “If you intend to use her as a political puppet, there is a vast difference between a willing figurehead and a forced one. Having her cooperation would make your life significantly easier. You could always use a Shapeshifter to take her place, of course… but I am willing to offer you a little assistance, in exchange for allowing that child the room to grow.”

“Assistance like what?”

“The blueprints for the Steam Knights.”

As the guardian Beast Lord of the Victorian Aslan royal family, Gawain naturally held the secrets to their most devastating military assets.

Frez didn’t even blink. The offer held absolutely zero temptation.

Steam Knights were formidable, certainly, but they were archaic scrap metal compared to the divine machines., their manufacturing costs were astronomical, and the physical toll on the pilots was absurd. The pressurized steam generated lethal internal temperatures, demanding operators with both superhuman constitutions and extreme heat resistance.

The pilot requirements wouldn’t be an issue for the Sarkaz—their natural durability was well-documented, and the Goliath sub-race practically bathed in fire. The real problem was the logistics. A single Steam Knight required an entire, unbroken industrial supply chain to maintain. Given Kazdel’s current ruined infrastructure, manufacturing them was a pipe dream. Kiana’s faction lacked the necessary heavy industry, and while Master Yixuan possessed the facilities, there was zero chance of securing their cooperation for something like this.

“A generous offer, but I’ll pass,” Frez said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’d have better luck bribing me with something like the Shah’s treasure. Wait…” He paused, rubbing his chin as a thought surfaced. “Now that I think about it, there actually is a treasure. Lugalszargus’s youngest son is still alive, isn’t he?”

“You speak of the boy, Zubayr.” Gawain’s golden eyes narrowed as he recalled the distant past. In the apocalyptic clash where Lugalszargus and Kharanduu Khagan had perished alongside the northern demons, Zubayr had somehow survived the slaughter. But the cost had been absolute. His physical body was ruined beyond all conventional healing. He had only survived through the forbidden arts of the Immortal Army, his shattered form reconstructed into an undying vessel. Five pristine gems embedded in his chest now served as the anchor for his life force, his memories, and his fractured emotions.

“He stands guard over the Shah’s treasury in Minat-Hamayi,” Gawain continued, his voice dropping to a somber register. “Waiting for the descendants of the Nightzmorra to arrive and claim their inheritance, just as the Shah decreed in his final moments. That boy… he is a naive soul who loved his sister dearly, but he is also a man forged by his oaths.”

Centuries had ground to dust since Zubayr’s reconstruction. He had never even been granted the mercy of seeing his sister one last time. Stripped of his humanity and his future, he could never ascend as the new Shah. Instead, he entombed himself in duty, keeping a lonely vigil over the vault until a true Nightzmorra came to relieve him.

“Minat-Hamayi, deep within Sargon,” Frez mused, a calculating glint catching in his eyes. “Well, considering Kazdel’s current financial deficit, raiding the Shah’s treasury sounds like a highly practical solution.”

“Zubayr will not simply hand it over,” Gawain warned. “He is a fierce warrior. He may not possess his father’s overwhelming might, but he will make you bleed for every coin.”

“Over three hundred years ago, half the Chieftains in the desert tried to claim that hoard. They marched entire armies against the vault,” Frez countered smoothly. “Zubayr was overwhelmed and defeated back then, but the vault remained sealed. Without his specific Arts, the doors won’t budge. So, why don’t you tag along and help me open it?”

Gawain had served as the Shah’s personal mount during that golden age. He knew Zubayr intimately., the two Feline Beast Lords who had traveled alongside the Shah were old comrades of the golden lion.

“I am not going,” Gawain refused flatly. He had no intention of participating in a grave robbery. That wealth belonged to the Nightzmorra bloodline, and he would not spit on his former master’s final edict.

Frez shrugged, stepping away from the door. “Then keep your Steam Knights. You can find another babysitter to develop Vina’s personal growth.”

“Do not be so difficult.” Gawain let out a long, suffering sigh, his tail flicking against the sofa cushions. “Vina is an impossibly stubborn girl. I cannot force her down a path she refuses to walk. Give me a hand here. I will not lead you to the primary vault, but… I do know the locations of his other hidden caches.”

Frez stopped. He turned back, his expression suddenly much more accommodating. “I’m listening.”

“The Shah was the King of Kings,” Gawain explained. “Sargon is rich in originium and precious stones, and their gem-processing techniques remain unmatched. The Shah did not put all his wealth in a single vault. He buried secondary hoards across the sands. I still remember the exact coordinates of one of them. I will give them to you. In exchange, you will guarantee Vina’s safety, and when time permits… you will teach her a few harsh lessons.”

It was a one-sided deal heavily skewed in Frez’s favor. Free money in exchange for keeping an eye on a hostage he already possessed.

“Deal,” Frez said instantly. “But clarify something for me. What exactly do you mean by lessons?”

“I want you to force her to recognize reality,” Gawain said, his tone heavy with grim pragmatism. “Once your political goals here are achieved, I intend to take her back to Sargon with me.”

The old lion knew the truth. Vina could never return to Victoria. Even if Frez simply let her walk free, the continent was swarming with ambitious nobles and warmongers eager to exploit her royal Aslan bloodline. The only safe play was to retreat to his ancient homeland and lie low. He could use his past prestige to secure a quiet, modest position for her under the current King of Kings, allowing her to live out the rest of her days in peace.

His only lingering doubt was whether the girl could survive the brutal, blistering heat of the Sargonian deserts.

“Works for me. Let me make a call.”

Frez walked over to the secure communicator resting on the antique desk. He punched in a frequency. Barely ten minutes later, a sharp knock rapped against the door. Manfred strode into the room, his posture rigid and military-perfect.

“Your Highness,” the Sarkaz general greeted, bowing his head slightly.

“Manfred. Assemble a covert team and follow our guest here.” Frez gestured toward the giant golden lion currently occupying the sofa. “This Beast Lord is going to guide your unit into Sargon to unearth a buried treasure. We’re talking about a massive influx of capital, and you’re the only commander I trust to handle it quietly. Handpick your squad. Bring the wealth back to Kazdel, and whatever you do, avoid triggering a war with the local Chieftains.”

Frez paused, tapping his fingers against his thigh. He reached into his pocket and produced a small, carefully carved wooden plaque bearing his own likeness. He tossed it to the general.

“I’m going to teach you a specific incantation from the Anasa Enlightenment Method,” Frez instructed, his tone turning dead serious. “If the operation goes south and your team is in lethal danger, recite the lines into that plaque. I’ll sense the anchor immediately and warp in to pull you out.”

Manfred caught the wooden talisman smoothly, his grip tightening around the polished wood. “Understood, Your Highness. It will be done.”