I don’t like this.

  I turned and walked toward the window that overlooked the fields. The wheat swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, golden and soft and innocent. It almost made me forget that people were being crushed under invisible hands.

  Almost.

  Chief Elbien.

  That name sat in my mind like a stone.

  Not because I knew anything about him. I did not.

  But because I did not.

  No one resents a village this much without a reason. People do not bleed money out of starving farmers for sport. Not unless something twisted sits underneath.

  The story that the peddlers told can’t be the whole truth, it was simply too absurd.

  And that meant this was not just a trade problem.

  It was a personal problem.

  I leaned my forehead lightly against the glass.

  Think. Calmly. Slowly. Like a normal person.

  Charging into Carmien screaming accusations would get me laughed out of the gates.

  Threatening the chief openly would make him defensive and cautious.

  Using the Jakobster name too loudly would make him hide whatever he was doing better.

  I needed him to move.

  I needed him to react.

  And I needed him to do it in a way that revealed something.

  So I need pressure.

  But not pressure that looked like pressure.

  Pressure that looked like coincidence.

  I turned from the window and began pacing the room.

  What do I have.

  I had the surname Jakobster.

  I had formal authority over Foklunn.

  I had social authority over Kens.

  I had military access through the northern Watch.

  I had two terrified middlemen who would say anything if poked hard enough.

  I had time.

  And I had the fact that Carmien existed inside a fortress.

  Which meant walls.

  Which meant gates.

  Which meant control points.

  Trade only flowed through Carmien because it was safe.

  Safe meant predictable.

  Predictable meant exploitable.

  My lips twitched upward.

  Every system that survives on order collapses when you add controlled chaos.

  I stopped pacing.

  No. Too dramatic. Focus.

  I needed Carmien to feel unstable.

  Not unsafe. Not attacked.

  Unstable.

  Merchants hate uncertainty more than danger.

  Danger is manageable. It has rules.

  Uncertainty makes people panic.

  If Carmien became inconvenient, slow, or strange, traders would reroute.

  If traders rerouted, Elbien would lose control.

  If Elbien lost control, he would make mistakes.

  Mistakes meant openings.

  Openings meant truth.

  I exhaled slowly through my nose.

  But I cannot touch Carmien directly. Not yet.

  If I moved openly, Elbien would know the pressure came from me.

  That made it political.

  Politics brought attention.

  Attention brought my father.

  That was the one thing I wanted lnorth.

  So the push had to come from outside.

  Or from below.

  Or from somewhere no one would suspect.

  Which meant.

  The northern Watch.

  They controlled the border.

  They controlled monster flow.

  They controlled patrols.

  They controlled safety.

  They controlled fear.

  Fear shaped trade.

  I closed my eyes.

  I do not want to weaponize fear.

  I paused.

  I am already weaponizing economics. Fear is only one layer deeper.

  I opened my eyes again.

  I did not feel guilty.

  I felt focused.

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

  Fast. Light. Almost bouncing.

  I turned.

  Kens Kaeluse stepped into the room.

  He looked like he had jogged the whole way. His hair was messy. His cheeks were flushed. His uniform was half properly fastened and half not.

  He held a half-wilted red rose in his left hand and grinned when he saw me.

  “Something for the summons, my lord.”

  He saluted lazily with his right hand. It was technically correct and emotionally a joke.

  I sighed.

  “Why the rose?”

  He twirled the half-wilted rose around with his fingers “I wanted to bring something that would lighten the mood, heh. ...Unfortunately I was in a bit of a rush and didn't notice this one was a defect.”

  He shifted his weight, then looked at me properly.

  “So,” he said. “What kind of trouble did I get dragged into.”

  I stared at him.

  He stared back.

  Then he smiled wider.

  “That was a joke,” he said. “Probably.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “You are very bad at being intimidating.”

  “That is because I am not intimidating,” he said cheerfully. “I am just tall.”

  That was unfortunately true.

  I gestured to the chair.

  “Sit.”

  He did.

  He leaned back immediately.

  “So,” he said. “What does my lord need.”

  I met his eyes.

  I chose my words carefully.

  “Kens,” I said, “I need a favor.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “That serious.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned forward slightly.

  “How serious.”

  I exhaled.

  “Serious enough that I will owe you.”

  His eyes lit up.

  “Oho.”

  I glared.

  “That is not a good thing.”

  He shrugged. “Depends how I use it.”

  I did not like that answer.

  “Kens.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “This is not a joke.”

  He straightened.

  His smile faded.

  “Then speak.”

  Good.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I leaned against the table.

  “I need the northern Watch to do something unusual.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Unusual how.”

  “Not violent.”

  That relaxed him.

  “Not illegal.”

  That relaxed him more.

  “Not public.”

  That made him suspicious again.

  He tilted his head.

  “You want us to do something quiet.”

  “Yes.”

  “And weird.”

  “Yes.”

  “And possibly annoying.”

  “Probably.”

  He stared at me.

  Then he laughed.

  “I like this already.”

  I did not.

  “Kens.”

  “Sorry. Continue.”

  “I cannot tell you exactly what I need yet.”

  His smile faded again.

  “That is not how favors work.”

  “I know.”

  “I need to know what I am risking.”

  “You are not risking lives.”

  “Good start.”

  “You are not risking your rank.”

  “Better.”

  “You are not risking your men.”

  “Better.”

  “You are risking inconvenience.”

  He blinked.

  “That is it.”

  “Yes.”

  He frowned.

  “That sounds suspicious.”

  “It is.”

  He leaned back.

  “So what do you want.”

  “I want you to agree first.”

  He laughed again.

  “No.”

  I stared at him.

  “You just said you wanted a favor.”

  “I said I might,” he corrected. “But I am not agreeing blind.”

  I thought.

  Then I nodded.

  “That is fair.”

  I straightened.

  “I will tell you this much,” I said. “This will affect trade.”

  He stiffened slightly.

  “Trade.”

  “Yes.”

  “Whose.”

  “Carmien’s.”

  His eyes sharpened.

  “That is sensitive.”

  “I know.”

  “You want to mess with Carmien.”

  “I want to observe Carmien.”

  “That is not the same thing.”

  “That is a lie.”

  I smiled faintly.

  He watched me carefully now.

  “You are dangerous,” he said.

  I shrugged.

  “I grew up bored.”

  He snorted.

  “Same.”

  Silence stretched.

  Then he exhaled.

  “Fine,” he said. “What is the condition.”

  I tilted my head.

  “You said you had one.”

  He smiled slowly.

  “If I do this for you,” he said, “you owe me a big favor.”

  “How big.”

  “Big enough that you cannot refuse.”

  I hesitated.

  “That depends what it is.”

  “I will not abuse it.”

  “You are a Kaeluse.”

  He grinned. “We are annoying, not evil.”

  I did not trust that.

  But I trusted him enough.

  “Fine,” I said. “I accept.”

  His eyes widened.

  “You did not even ask what it was.”

  “If I did, you would not tell me.”

  He laughed.

  “That is true.”

  He leaned forward.

  “Deal.”

  “Deal.”

  He extended his hand.

  I took it.

  It was warm and rough and honest.

  “Good,” he said. “Now tell me what you want.”

  I smiled.

  “No.”

  He froze.

  “…What.”

  “I said I cannot tell you yet.”

  “You just made me agree.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are horrible.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stared at me.

  Then he laughed again.

  “You are fun.”

  …Weird.

  But I accepted it.

  “Go back to the fence,” I said. “Act normal.”

  “I always act normal.”

  “That is concerning.”

  “Rude.”

  “Prepare your men quietly.”

  “For what.”

  “For nothing.”

  He stared.

  “You are terrible at this.”

  “Good.”

  He stood.

  “I will wait.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long.”

  “Not long.”

  “Define not long.”

  “Soon.”

  He sighed.

  “I hate nobles.”

  I smiled.

  “And yet here you are.”

  He pointed at me.

  “I like you specifically.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  He laughed and turned to a long spruce table, setting down a map of the general area on it.

  “Let's get to work.”

  And so, we got to planning.

  ```

  I am but a nitwit thug that cons others.

  And a thug such as I woke up thinking I was dead.

  Not in a poetic way. Not in a dramatic way. In the very simple sense that my head hurt, my wrists were sore, and the ceiling above me was not the ceiling of the inn.

  The inn ceiling had cracks shaped like birds. This ceiling was clean. Pale wood. Smooth beams. Too neat. Too expensive.

  Which meant one thing.

  I was in the Lord’s manor.

  That was worse than death.

  My partner groaned beside me.

  “Tell me this is a nightmare.”

  “I would if it was.”

  He swore quietly.

  We were still tied to the chairs, though the rope had been loosened enough for us to move a little. Our hands were numb. My shoulders ached. My mouth tasted like old bread and fear.

  The door opened.

  Wilmoris stepped inside.

  Village head. Round face. Gentle eyes. Kind hands. The sort of man who should never be part of anything unpleasant.

  Behind him were two guards.

  Masked, possibly to deny responsibility if something were to happen to us.

  I did not like that.

  Wilmoris cleared his throat.

  “You will be escorted back to retrieve your goods.”

  My partner blinked.

  “What.”

  I frowned. “Excuse me.”

  “You will prepare your goods,” Wilmoris repeated. “You will return to Carmien as usual.”

  Silence.

  My brain struggled to catch up.

  “You mean… we are not being executed.”

  “No.”

  I leaned forward as far as the rope allowed.

  “Then what is happening?”

  Wilmoris hesitated.

  “That is not for me to say.”

  Of course.

  My partner looked at me.

  This was wrong.

  This was very wrong.

  The Lord had us dragged in like criminals. Threatened us. Extracted information. Then instead of punishing us, he was sending us right back into the exact thing that caused the problem.

  That did not make sense.

  Unless.

  Unless he wanted to watch.

  Unless he wanted to see something.

  Unless we were bait.

  I swallowed.

  “Under whose protection.”

  Wilmoris gestured behind him.

  “The guards will accompany you.”

  The two masked figures said nothing.

  They just stood there.

  Still.

  Watching.

  I did not feel safer.

  I felt worse.

  My partner leaned toward me and whispered.

  “This is a bad idea.”

  “Yes.”

  “We should run.”

  “Yes.”

  “We cannot run.”

  “No.”

  Wilmoris clapped his hands together once, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Let us not waste daylight. The Lord wishes this done quickly.”

  The Lord.

  That soft speaking, smiling, blonde boy with the eyes of someone who noticed too much.

  I did not trust him.

  Not for a moment.

  We were untied. Not fully free, but free enough to walk. One guard took my arm. The other took my partner’s.

  Firm grip.

  We were walked out of the manor like guests.

  Not prisoners.

  That made me more nervous than chains would have.

  Outside, the village was alive.

  Children running.

  Women carrying baskets.

  Men shouting greetings.

  It felt obscene.

  Like we were walking through a painting while something ugly waited just outside the frame.

  We hid our faces in the shade.

  No one stopped us.

  No one stared.

  No one knew.

  We passed the inn.

  My partner flinched when he saw it.

  Behind it stood the warehouse.

  A squat wooden building with wide doors and a faded symbol of a scale painted on the side.

  Our scale.

  Our operation.

  Our mistake.

  We were guided inside.

  The air smelled like grain and oil and damp wood.

  Our goods were still there.

  Sacks of wheat.

  Barrels of rice.

  Crates of dried herbs.

  Nothing magical. Nothing rare.

  Just food.

  Just the lifeblood of this place.

  That people could barely afford.

  I hated myself a little when I saw it.

  Not enough to stop.

  But enough to feel it.

  The guards released us.

  “Load,” one of them said.

  His voice was young.

  That surprised me.

  We worked.

  Slowly.

  Quietly.

  My partner stacked sacks.

  I lifted barrels.

  The guards helped.

  They were efficient.

  Too efficient.

  They moved like soldiers.

  I watched them from the corner of my eye.

  One was taller than the other.

  Long limbed.

  Lean.

  The other was shorter.

  Broader shoulders.

  They never spoke to each other.

  They never hesitated.

  They moved like they had done this a thousand times.

  “You two from the Watch?” I asked casually.

  No answer.

  “Mercenaries?”

  Silence.

  “My Lord’s private men?”

  Still nothing.

  I sighed.

  “Friendly bunch.”

  The tall one glanced at me.

  I felt that look through the mask.

  Not hostile.

  Not angry.

  Just assessing.

  Like I was a problem he might need to deal with later.

  We finished loading the wagon.

  It was heavy.

  Too heavy.

  More than usual.

  My partner noticed too.

  “This is more than our normal run.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is a full village run.”

  “Yes.”

  He swallowed.

  “We will never make it past Carmien’s gate with this without paying everything we have.”

  “Yes.”

  We led the horses out.

  The wagon creaked behind us.

  The guards mounted their own horses.

  They stayed behind us.

  Watching.

  Protecting.

  Or herding.

  We moved through the village.

  People waved.

  People smiled.

  People thought everything was normal.

  It was not.

  Not even close.

  At the village edge, I hesitated.

  I looked back.

  At the roofs.

  At the fields.

  At the smoke from chimneys.

  At the place we had been slowly bleeding dry without meaning to.

  Without thinking.

  Without stopping.

  My partner nudged me.

  “Do not look back.”

  I nodded.

  We faced the road.

  The path toward Carmien stretched ahead.

  Long.

  Dusty.

  Quiet.

  I felt like I was walking into a trap I could not see.

  I did not know what the Lord wanted.

  I did not know why he was doing this.

  I did not know what would happen when we reached Carmien.

  But I knew one thing.

  Whatever was waiting there was worse than a beating.

  Worse than prison.

  Worse than death.

  Because death was simple.

  This was not.

  I clicked my tongue.

  The horses started forward.

  The wagon rolled.

  The village faded behind us.

  And we set off toward Carmien.