Chapter Text
Who Was The Fisher, Who Was The Bait?
Krais had built his life on a simple, elegant principle: the only true loyalties were to money and technology. Lords were risks, Guilds were liabilities, and people were variables in a profit-loss equation. He was a one-man corporation.
Publicly, a razor-sharp IT security consultant; privately, the Dark Merchant of the Awakened underworld, a broker of secrets and crafter of exquisite, illicit artifacts.
The modern world ran on data and capital. He mastered both. It kept him safe, comfortable, and gloriously independent.
Which was why his current situation was such a profound, petty insult. Worse, there was currently a high chance that he'd lose his life over this petty insult.
Taking on the project the Army had hired him for was objectively not a bad decision. He had worked on hands-on collaboration projects with various Government factions before, including the Army, and through the good and bad, he felt that he had a pretty good idea of how things would be like.
What he had underestimated though, was how the combination of bad luck and power abuse could result in such a disastrous outcome. Krais cursed himself - he clearly had gone soft, overconfident from what he had built up in life.
And all this was because he managed to win the favour of quite a lot of the ladies those Young Masters in the Army had their eyes on. He vowed to get his vengeance once the project term was over, and after he managed to return to the city.
Plucked from his curated life and dumped in this remote, mountainous Base bordering the Western Tribal lands, he felt like a prized orchid thrown into a compost heap.
He hadn't expected that they would dare to override the rights to privacy a proper business civilian collaborator like himself had - they’d even searched and taken his phone away in the name of keeping military secrets.
Utter rubbish. There weren't any secrets to be uncovered at all in this forsaken place - journalistic scoops yes - reporters would have a field day witnessing first hand on how corruption deprived this Army base of quality equipment and proper supplies. The outdated technology the Army Base had been operating on was far from what someone would consider a military secret. Krais himself could set up something much better in the privacy of his own home.
At least the soldiers never let up on their training - they moved with lean, desperate competence. They had to, with a Base so isolated and near the border, monsters and enemy skirmishes weren't exactly uncommon. They only had themselves to rely on. It was clear to Krais that the people here were mostly the combat competent type but had no backing. They were either orphans like himself, or had offended some big wig in the upper echelons of the organization and sent here.
In other words, they were too useful to dismiss but deemed unworthwhile to invest in. So exile to such a Border Base it was.
His disdain regarding his circumstances turned to cold, vicious fury and fear when unexpectedly, one of the Border Gates ruptured.
Monsters poured into reality. The soldiers fought with that desperate competence, but their equipment was simply not keeping up with the numbers. Krais, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, worked faster than he ever had in his cushy office, repurposing components from whatever materials he could lay his hands on, into various forms of barrier-emitting artifacts. No longer had he the luxury to keep this talent of his hidden. He would deal with any aftermath only after survival was guaranteed.
At worst, he was prepared to discard his public persona and disappear into the Underworld entirely. This was something he had already planned for years ago, meticulously.
Right now though, he was just a man conducting emergency asset management. His assets - the soldiers, with his hastily constructed protection artifacts - were the only barrier between him and being lizard food.
It bought them hours. Not enough. He could see the inevitable outcome: they would be overrun, exhausted and trapped. He, the non-combatant, the most valuable mind in the vicinity, would be the first to die. The injustice of it burned hotter than any fear. He would haunt all those dastardly fools that had sent him here and made sure they died excruciating deaths.
Then, the sky fell.
Or rather, a man did.
A streak of blue-tinted motion, too fast to track, descended between Krais and the advancing giant reptile. There was no dramatic shout, no flashy magic. Just a clean, devastating arc of a broadsword that seemed to draw a line of nullification through the world. The monster’s head, larger than a tank, tumbled from its shoulders. The body collapsed, shaking the ground Krais was crumpled on.
The soldiers’ shouts of “Captain!” and “Independent Special Ops!” registered as distant noise. All of Krais’s senses, all his analytical power, were funneled into a single, overwhelming input: the back of the man who had just saved his life.
It was just a back. Clad in standard-issue gear, now stained with monster blood. And it held a stillness that Krais recognized as the aura of a man prepared for a full scale battle - it reminded him of a thunderclap hanging in the air after the lightning strike. This man had tanked a blow meant to shatter stone with no visible armor and ended the fight in one move. The tides of the battle changed with just one new addition to the field.
Then the man turned.
His gaze swept over the ragged defenders. When it passed over Krais, still paralyzed on the ground, something in his perpetually anxious, data running, high strung brain shorted out.
The eyes were a blue that defied the ashen battlefield. Not the cold blue of a monitor screen or a gemstone. This was the blue of a high-altitude sky, lit from within by a core of something that felt like pure combustion. It was a color that spoke of distance and impossible heat simultaneously.
'Poetry, now?' his mind said snippily to himself, unhelpful and treacherous. He was supposed to deal in numbers, in schematics, and risk assessments. Poetry was for the beautiful ladies, not for men, and certainly not on the battlefield. Yet the unbidden thought persisted: 'Summer sky and solar flame.'
“This is Captain Enkrid of the Independent Special Ops.”
The voice was clear, low, and cut through the chaos like a knife through fog. It brooked no interruption. It was a voice that stated facts as immutable laws.
“I’m taking over command of the base. No questions allowed.”
The silence that followed was absolute. The monsters’ dying shrieks, the soldiers’ panting, the hum of Krais’s artifacts - all were swallowed by the vacuum of that authority.
“Now,” Captain Enkrid said, his blazing eyes scanning them, already categorizing, assessing, processing. “Someone, report.”
Still on the ground, covered in dust and the visceral awe of a near-death experience, Krais felt his entire worldview - the tower built on money, tech, and cynical self-interest - was struck by a lightning bolt from the brilliant summer sky.
In that moment, he knew, that his life would change forever. And despite the crisis not fully resolved yet, Krais found himself occupied with future potential already.
----
The silence in the meeting room after Captain Enkrid left was thick enough to choke on. The order hung in the air, simple and short: "I will deal with the Minor Drake myself."
Krais felt the cold, professional calculation he’d maintained as the shield for his composure throughout the battle finally crack. A single soldier, even one who descended like a bolt of divine wrath, against a Gate Boss? Without any proper support and broken equipment, it was tantamount to a suicidal raid.
“Is he insane?” The words left Krais’s lips in a bewildered whisper.
The soldiers exchanged uncomfortable glances, their discipline warring with the same unspoken doubt. No one answered him. The reporting soldier just repeated, woodenly, “We will follow protocol. Please follow us to your room and await evacuation.”
The dismissal was a cold splash of reality. One moment, he was the strategic linchpin, his mind partnered seamlessly with Enkrid’s blade to keep them all alive. The next, he was ‘the civilian,’ a liability to be escorted to safety. The shift was so abrupt it felt like a betrayal of the unspoken alliance forged in the field.
A spark of familiar, cunning resentment ignited in his chest. 'Fine. If you want to see me as a civilian to be managed, I’ll show you just how unpredictable this civilian can be.'
He offered a placid smile. “It’s fine. I can make my own way. I’m not so without discretion to know manpower is tight.” Before they could protest, he was out the door, moving down the sterile hallways with a purpose and speed that belied his civilian status. He was grateful, for once, for the base’s neglected discipline due to the state of affairs. In a proper facility, he’d already be in custody.
His destination wasn’t his quarters. It was the Equipment Maintenance room. It was a gamble, but his mind, re-engaged in scheming mode, calculated the odds. Enkrid’s broadsword had taken damage. A man about to face a Gate Boss alone would want his primary weapon at peak condition. The logic was sound.
He rounded a corner and there he was - Enkrid, just as predicted, approaching the reinforced door.
“Captain Enkrid!” Krais called out, injecting a note of urgent gratitude into his voice.
Enkrid turned. The surprise was a subtle shift - a slight tightening around those brilliant blue eyes, a faint twitch of the brow. It was the look of a commander seeing a critical protocol broken. Krais spoke before the rebuke could form.
“I haven’t thanked you for saving my life, Captain!” He snapped into a perfect, earnest salute, his big eyes wide with dramatic sincerity. He was no longer the battlefield analyst; he was the grateful, slightly overwhelmed civilian, a role he could play with perfection.
“It was nothing.” Enkrid’s reply was a quiet nod. The stoicism was back, a wall of impassive competence. It was infuriating. And magnetic.
This was the moment. The plan, spun in the frantic minutes after the meeting, was a delicate web of truths. He took a breath, letting his friendly, guileless smile bloom. “Captain, I have a proposal and a favour to ask. Could you keep the fact that I made those artifacts a secret?”
He watched Enkrid’s face closely. The raised brow was a fraction of a movement, a sign of processing. Krais’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was the first hook: a shared secret. A bond of complicity.
After a contemplative pause, Enkrid nodded. “Consider it done.”
The wave of relief was startling in its intensity. He had no logical reason to trust this man’s word, but he did. It was a senseless, instinctive trust that he filed away for later analysis. No time now.
“You have my deepest gratitude, Captain.” Krais took a step closer, then another, closing the distance in increments, his smile never wavering. “I would like to propose that you let me do the maintenance of your equipment.” He gestured towards the broadsword. “With the materials available, I can not only restore it fully but create an artifact to enhance the blade for the upcoming battle. Something that will be…utmost useful to you.”
He let the promise hang, then added the sweetener, tinged with just enough bitter truth to increase the persuasiveness. “It’ll be free of charge, of course. This is in thanks for everything, and also I must admit, to enhance my survival rate, should the bastards that sent me here delay evacuation procedures.” A flash of genuine anger darkened his eyes, the sincere expression of self-interest was a powerful tool to hide his real agenda.
It was the perfect proposal. No overt strings. A practical exchange of services between a grateful civilian and a soldier facing impossible odds. All based on truth.
But the true string was already spinning, fine as spider silk and infinitely strong.
'A shared secret. A debt of service. A connection established.'
The moment Enkrid accepted, Krais would have his foot in the door. This man was not Army fodder. He was an asset of incalculable, unrecognized value. A gem buried in mud. And Krais, the opportunistic merchant, coveted him. He would become this gem’s setting, its financier, its path to a luster the Army was too blind to see.
The goal to climb to the pinnacle of money and power using his brains and talent had always been rooted deeply in Krais. His ambitions had always knew no bounds. But now, they burned even more radiantly, fueled by a new actual physical source - Enkrid, who had stepped into the picture in his mind.
“Let me be of help, Captain, so that I pay off my debts.” His expression was the picture of heartfelt earnestness.
Enkrid stared at him. The blue eyes were unreadable, but Krais, a master of reading micro-expressions, saw the consideration. The tactical mind was weighing the offer. It was working.
Then, Enkrid’s hand moved.
It wasn’t a violent strike, but a sharp, precise smack to the top of Krais’s head.
“OW!” The unexpected pain and impact brought involuntary tears to his eyes. His hands flew to his scalp. His mind, for a panicked second, went blank before exploding into frantic recalculations. 'Detection? Rejection? Had he been seen through?' Backup plans flashed like emergency lights.
But before he could voice a single salvage strategy, he looked up.
Enkrid had lowered his gaze. And he was smiling. A small, sideways quirk of the lips that transformed his stoic face. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the smile of a collaborator who had just seen through a delightful, amusing scheme. It was a smile that acknowledged the game.
And it was devastating.
Krais’s breath caught. All his plots, his leveraged truths, his intricate webs - they evaporated under the sheer, unconscious charisma of that expression. He’d pursued beauty as a hobby, and he didn't overestimate himself to think he was immune to the effects of it, but he had never been drawn in like this. This was different. This was weaponized allure.
‘He’s definitely a demon of charisma,’ his mind supplied, dazed and helpless.
A soft 'beep' broke the spell. Enkrid had palmed the door open. He stood half in the threshold, then glanced back.
“Come in.”
No preamble. No discussion. Just an order that was also an acceptance.
Heart hammering now with a wild, triumphant delight, Krais scurried forward, slipping into the room just before the door sealed with a definitive *click.*
The deal was struck. The bond, however tenuous, was secured. The reasons - practical necessity, hidden agendas - didn’t matter. The connection was made.
As the door closed, sealing them in the humming, tool-scented silence of the maintenance room, one certainty crystallized in Krais’s scheming heart: It was only a matter of time. The Captain would be his. Not as a subordinate, but as the centerpiece of a much grander, more lucrative enterprise. He would have this impossible man working by his side, and he would hold this dazzling, dangerous gem in the palm of his hand. Forever.
-----
Years later, in the soft, lamplit quiet of their shared office, the memory surfaced like a polished stone from a deep riverbed. Krais, orchestrating a dozen deals with the idle spin of a pen between his fingers, let the complaint slip with the ease of an old, cherished grievance.
“Captain, that hit really hurt.” The pen spun, a silver blur reflecting his pout. “It’s not like you’re Rem! Why on earth did you hit me just for making a perfectly reasonable proposal!”
Enkrid, reviewing a document on the opposite sofa, didn’t look up. His reply was delivered with the dry, matter-of-fact cadence of stating the weather. “You looked like the devil trying to sell me a deal for my soul. I thought it’d be good to hit you to make sure you weren’t actually one.”
The spinning pen froze. Krais carefully set it down on the lacquered worktable, the 'click' sounding unnaturally loud in the sudden stillness. A slow, sly grin spread across his face, his big eyes widening with revelation and delight.
“Ah,” he breathed, the sound full of vindicated mischief. “So Captain did see fully what I was plotting after all. I was never quite sure about that.”
He unfolded himself from his chair, a man shedding the mantle of a merchant prince for something more essential. He crossed the room and plopped himself onto the sofa beside Enkrid, the space between them evaporating. Reaching up, he cupped Enkrid’s face in his palms, his touch both purposeful and a caress.
“Ah, but Captain,” he said, his tone dipping into theatrical frivolity that couldn’t mask the raw truth beneath. “You were the one that already ensnared my heart then. My heart almost broke when I thought I was being rejected~” He trailed off, his gaze locking onto the brilliant blue eyes now focused solely on him. He saw his own reflection there - the schemer, the lover, the devoted fool - and a profound satisfaction settled in his chest.
Enkrid didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, resting the weight of it more fully into Krais’s palms. A silent concession. A wordless answer.
“You’re the one they say has the devil’s tongue in negotiations,” Enkrid still countered though, his own verbal parry swift and precise. Just because he was stoic didn’t mean he was a novice in the combat of words. He would not be outmaneuvered in this, their oldest game. “And I bought into your proposal in the end, hook, line, and sinker, didn’t I?”
The little smirk that touched Enkrid’s lips at the end was a weapon of mass destruction. It was infuriating. It was irresistible. It was an admission wrapped in a challenge.
Kris closed the distance, silencing the smirk with a kiss that was equal parts surrender and conquest. When he pulled back, just enough to speak, his voice was a low, accusatory murmur against Enkrid’s lips.
“Captain Demonic Aura,” he said, invoking the private title that held all of Enkrid’s terrifying, magnetic power. “I was the fish that took your bait, Captain. Admit it. You had your eye on me too, didn’t you?”
“Nothing of that sort,” Enkrid replied, the denial smooth as silk, his eyes gleaming with unmasked amusement. He was enjoying this. “I was just a straightforward soldier, seduced by your persuasive words.”
“Hah!” Krais scoffed, the sound full of fond exasperation. He traced the line of Enkrid’s jaw with his thumb. “One day, Captain, I’ll make you confess everything.”
Enkrid’s only answer was a silent, deepening smile. His eyes, the blue of the summer-sky, held a universe of mirth and quiet anticipation. The unspoken words hung in the air between them, clearer than any confession: ‘You can try.’
And Krais, the master negotiator, the architect of fortunes, the man who coveted and collected beautiful, dangerous things, knew when he was both defeated and victorious. He had won the gem, but the gem had never ceased to be its own sovereign.
So he did the only thing left to do. He closed the distance once more, his lips meeting Enkrid’s in a kiss that was both answer and acquiescence.
The gem of his heart. The impossible treasure he’d schemed to hold in his palm forever, now warm and pliant in his arms.
And the Captain was the one who, in the end, had allowed Krais to belong to him.
That, Krais thought as he lost himself in the kiss, was more than enough. It was everything.