Malden’s eyes snapped open as someone nudged him.

Blinking the remnants of sleep away, he turned his gaze upward and found a man standing stiffly across from him, a sword resting at his hip and crude leather armor strapped across his chest. Before Malden could speak, his guard, Kellen, moved.

It was fast — so fast that the guard who had touched him didn’t even have time to react. In a blink, Kellen had drawn his dagger and shoved the man up against the stone wall with a sharp thud.

“No one gave you permission to touch him,” Kellen said, his blade pressing lightly against the man’s throat.

The unfortunate guard gulped, raising his hands. “I’m sorry!” he stammered. “It’s just… Baron Morgrave is finally free to see Merchant Malden. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

For a heartbeat longer, Kellen’s eyes stayed hard, assessing, before he finally dropped his dagger and stepped back. The man slumped to the ground with a shaky breath, rubbing his neck.

Kellen cleared his throat. “I believe we should move then,” he said with a respectful tone.

Malden nodded, hiding the small smile tugging at his mouth as he rose to his feet. It was always satisfying to see that he had made the right choice.

When he had first heard of Lord Arzan’s new Enforcers, Malden had wanted one for himself—a warrior as lethal as a Mage, disciplined and with elemental powers. Someone who could guarantee that no blade or scheme would reach him easily. But until recently, all Enforcers had belonged directly to Lord Arzan himself. It wasn’t until the young lord allowed the formation of the Adventurer’s Guild—independent, but tied to his authority that Malden had found his opening.

He had paid good coin for Kellen, yes, but more importantly, he had made promises, funding more Adventurer’s Guild branches across the Sylvan Enclave, investing in their future. Lord Arzan had given them the freedom to grow — and Malden had reaped the benefits.

Now, with Kellen at his side, Malden moved confidently through the narrow corridors of Baron Morgrave’s mansion. Though mansion was a generous word. It barely counted as an estate, with only three squads garrisoned and a handful of half-empty rooms to its name.

Still, Malden wasn’t here for appearances. Morgrave wasn’t the wealthiest patron he had ever courted, but this meeting wasn’t about short-term profits. It was about setting the pieces for something greater, something that might win him more favor with Lord Arzan.

His boots clicked softly against the worn stone as he walked, the old scent of damp wood and fading banners hanging in the air.

Malden’s thoughts wandered back, briefly, to that first meeting with Arzan. He had walked a corridor much like this one, grimy, half-abandoned and chanced upon a product, and more importantly, a connection, that had turned his entire business around.

In less than a year, Malden had risen near the top of the kingdom’s merchant class. Would this baron offer the same opportunity? Malden doubted it.

Morgrave was young, but not exceptional. His lands had been bleeding for a year and he had done little to stem it. Even now, most of the men guarding his estate were mercenaries, not loyal retainers.

Still… Malden allowed himself a thin smile.

If the man had enough sense to listen—to act on the offer Malden was about to make—perhaps he could solve some of Morgrave’s troubles. And perhaps, Malden’s own fortunes would climb even higher.

Malden finally stepped into Morgrave’s office.

It was a modest room. Worn carpet, a few dusty banners on the walls, and a desk that looked like it had seen better days a decade ago. Behind it sat Morgrave.

He was young, barely into his twenties, but he looked older than Malden himself. Dark circles clung under his eyes, and his beard had grown wild and untamed, hiding what might once have been fine features.

At the sight of him, Morgrave straightened hastily in his chair. His Enforcer guard remained just outside the door, leaving them alone. Malden’s smile deepened slightly. He could see the nerves tightening the young noble’s posture.

Good.

Wealth had a gravity all its own, and Malden had come to savor the way even titled men now treated him, not as a mere merchant, but as someone to be respected, even feared.

Morgrave wasted no time after gesturing him to sit down.

“I was surprised when my steward told me you wanted to invest in my barony,” he said bluntly. His voice was steady, but there was a crackle of frustration beneath it. “I don’t get such offers often… but one from a rising merchant? That felt even more surprising.”

He leaned forward, planting his hands on the table.

“I’ll be open with you, Merchant Malden. If you’re here to take advantage of a depleted barony, you’re wasting your time. There’s barely enough left for you to take.”

Malden chuckled softly, his smile widening. He liked this. There was no pretension, no pathetic attempts to dress up Morgrave’s state. The young baron was frustrated, beaten down and honest.

Far easier to deal with, Malden thought. Men like him just needed the right lever to move.

According to Malden’s informants, Morgrave had even been considering stepping down, passing his lands to a younger brother once he came of age. Desperation like that was fertile soil.

He let a beat of silence pass before responding.

“Lord Morgrave,” Malden said, “I didn’t come here for any such reasons. Merchants, it’s true, are men of coin and profit—not honor.” He gestured lightly around the room. “But I have some honor. You can look into my dealings. I have never cheated a noble, nor swindled a friend. I pride myself on my reputation.”

Morgrave’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Then why invest here?” he asked. “I read the proposal your man left. Heat stones at cheaper rates for winter. Grains and seeds of magical plants. Long-term contracts for goods this territory can’t even afford most years… All for lower than market price.”

He paused.

“All you’re asking in return is a building plot to set up your store.”

Malden nodded easily. “That’s right. A single building. Though… the plot is fairly large.”

Morgrave snorted. “I have land in abundance, Merchant. Half my young folk have already fled to the cities. I don’t see why you’re so interested in this place. A shop won’t make much profit without the populace having the coin to buy things.”

Malden’s smile sharpened slightly.

“Baron,” he said smoothly, “do you know how I rose to my position in such a short time?”

Morgrave leaned back, studying him. His hands came to rub between his eyes. “I know it was because of those Heat stones. And I’ve heard you have exclusive deals with Count Arzan, access to goods from his forges and alchemical halls.”

Malden inclined his head. “You’re right. But it wasn’t just products.” He tapped a finger lightly against the desk. “I got here because I learned to bet on the right young nobles—the ones who would shape the kingdom’s future.”

“I don’t even have a present to speak of.”

“Not yet,” Malden said. His voice was softened, taking the same tone that normally took him to persuade someone. “But with my help… you might have a future worth far more.”

He leaned forward, letting the weight of his words settle.

“Even if your territory lacks strength right now, it has one thing others don’t — location. You sit close to Mountain Ebon, where the Ashmaw beasts live. Their meat, their organs—they are vital for alchemy, for strengthening warriors.”

Malden let the silence hang for a moment, seeing the flicker of calculation start to dawn in Morgrave’s eyes.

“And if we develop the right trade here…” Malden said, “you won’t just save your barony. You’ll thrive.”

Baron Morgrave inhaled sharply. “If you’re after the beasts near Ebon,” he said at last, “you should know—they live deep in the mountains. I don’t have the men to hunt them. Not anymore.”

Malden’s smile didn’t waver. “But if I provide the men,” he said, “then it becomes a business. A very good one. Ashmaws grow fast and repopulate quickly. With the right arrangements, it could remain viable for years—long enough for your territory to recover.”

He leaned back casually.

“I’ll take my profits, of course. But the majority of the earnings? They’ll go to you.”

He let the words sink in before adding, almost as an afterthought, “And who knows? We might even find herbs, rare plants, and alchemical materials while mapping the mountains. Your family never mapped it properly, did they? Too dangerous, too costly.”

Morgrave’s mouth tightened into a grim line.

“Yes,” he admitted after a pause. “Years ago, my father tried. Hired a few Mages, a company of mercenaries, even a few of our house’s own knights. But no Mage would agree to the price we could offer. Much less a company of them.”

He straightened slightly, his posture stiffening with something between caution and disbelief. Then he shook his head, his brow furrowing.

“I don’t understand,” Morgrave said bluntly. “Why are you trying to be so… generous to my house? Even with your interest in Ebon, mapping it out would cost a fortune. And there’s no guarantee of anything. It’s a massive risk—even for a wealthy merchant like you.”

Malden studied the young man for a moment. He could see the wariness there, the unease behind Morgrave’s guarded tone. He decided to give it voice — to corner the doubt before it could grow.

“Would you like me to put my intentions out very clearly, then?” Malden asked, his voice mild. “Lay it all bare? Tell you what I request of you?”

Morgrave huffed a sharp, skeptical laugh.

“If you’re really serious about the investments and benefits you’re offering…” he said, “then you won’t be requesting me anything. It’s a demand in disguise and I will agree unless you’re about to ask for my family heirloom.”

Malden chuckled at that, shaking his head.

“No,” he said lightly. “Nothing so grand. I just wish to ask something that won’t cost you anything.”

He leaned forward slightly, letting the moment stretch, letting Morgrave lean in—unknowingly—just a little closer to the trap he had set.

Morgrave raised an eyebrow, his suspicion barely hidden. “And what’s that?” he asked.

Malden smiled, spreading his hands disarmingly across the table.

“Your vote,” he said. “When the Assembly of Judgment meets in a few months, I would like you to cast your vote in favor of my benefactor—Count Arzan Kellius.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Then understanding flickered across Morgrave’s face, sharp and clear.

“So that’s what you’re here for,” he said in an extremely low voice—almost a whisper—almost to himself more than Malden.

But before the accusation could take root, Malden leaned forward, his smile easy, his tone smooth.

“Please don’t misunderstand, Lord Morgrave,” he said. “I am not here on Count Arzan’s order. This is entirely my decision.”

Morgrave studied him warily.

“He didn’t tell you to gather nobles to support him at the Assembly?” he asked.

Malden shook his head.

“No. In fact, he hasn’t said a word to me about it.” His voice softened slightly, almost earnest. “But I am a man who believes in the old ways—gaining favors, and returning them. Lord Arzan trusted me when no one else would. Helped me when others would have let me rot. I owe him more than the coin can repay. And now…” He spread his hands again. “Now it’s time I repay that debt, in whatever small ways I can.”

He sat back, giving the man space, “And truly, Lord Morgrave, it won’t cost you anything. In fact, you might even earn some goodwill from Count Arzan himself.”

Morgrave sighed.

“I know Count Arzan is capable,” he said slowly. “But goodwill only matters if he survives the Assembly.”

Malden laughed, a low, confident sound.

“I believe he will,” he said simply.

Morgrave shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips despite himself.

“You have a lot of confidence in him.”

Malden’s eyes gleamed.

“There are people in life you can just tell will succeed,” he said. “They might stumble. They might fall. But their run—their moment—doesn’t just vanish.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial.

“And Count Arzan’s run?” Malden said. “It hasn’t even slowed.”

He smiled wider, letting the weight of his next words settle heavily across the room.

“Lord Morgrave,” he said, “forgive me if I offend you—but casting your support behind Count Arzan might just be the most sane decision you’ll make.”

Morgrave’s brows drew together. “And why is that?” he asked quietly.

Malden’s smile didn’t waver. He simply leaned back and said,

“Because with any of the prince’s factions, Lord Morgrave, your vote means nothing. But with Count Arzan… it means something.”

Malden gave a small, almost apologetic shrug.

“In the end, it’s really up to you—whether you want to be something or well, nothing.

”

If Malden could say, he knew that his words struck true. There was a sudden change in the man’s eyes he could pinpoint. And before he came here, he’d clearly thought, calculated the expenses of what he was offering and how Baron Morgrave would react.

And now, Malden knew he had touched a raw nerve. A fallen house, left to rot at the kingdom’s edge–few wanted anything to do with House Hallowmere anymore. Morgrave knew it too.

Yet, to his credit, the young noble took it in stride. Straightening, he shifted the conversation back on track, his voice a little steadier.

“Now… about your investments,” he said, “and the expedition to Ebon…”

By that point, Malden was sure. Morgrave was his.

There were no better offers on the table—and Malden’s was simply too tempting to refuse and he even offered some dessert on top of it, offering Morgrave and his entourage a stay at a premium inn in the capital, a friend’s establishment—a luxury the young noble would never have been able to afford otherwise, especially with every high house scrambling for the best spots near the castle during the Assembly.

For the next two hours, Malden and Morgrave hammered out the finer details. Contracts, shipments, hiring men for Mount Ebon, even possible future expansions.

Through it all, Morgrave remained amiable, determined to see House Hallowmere rise again.

Malden could see it—the desperation tempered by ambition, the hunger not to be remembered as a failed lord. When the negotiations finally ended, Malden rose with a courteous nod, smoothing out his robes.

Kellen, ever watchful, fell in step behind him without a word as they left Morgrave’s modest estate and made their way back toward the waiting carriage. The late afternoon sun hung low over the hills.

As he walked, Malden slipped a folded note from his inner pocket, glancing down at the names inked neatly across the parchment. Barons. Viscounts. Small-time nobles.

All crumbling. All desperate.

All ripe for the picking.

He marked off Morgrave’s name with a small, satisfied stroke and moved his gaze lower down the list—to the next town, the next house, the next opportunity.

By the time the Assembly came, Malden intended to deliver more than just his personal loyalty to Count Arzan Kellius.

He intended to deliver a bloc.

One that no one—prince or duke—would be able to ignore. As the carriage rumbled to life and began its journey toward the next town, Malden leaned back against the seat, a slow smile curling across his lips.

Rewards… titles… influence.

He wondered idly what Count Arzan would bestow upon him for this. But more than that—he wondered how the Assembly would unfold.

One thing he knew for certain, whatever happened in the coming months, it would be an event that changed Lancephil forever.

***

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