Trade and Conspiracy

The human merchant Guildmaster Remus was a man who understood one thing above all others:

Profit.

"You want me to do WHAT?"

He stared at the elegantly-dressed cat-woman across his desk, certain he had misheard.

"Spread a rumor." Luna's smile was pleasantly venomous. "Nothing more. For this simple service, Schwarzburg offers exclusive mining rights to the copper veins in our southern territories."

"Copper..." Remus's merchant instincts warred with his survival instinct. "That's a king's ransom."

"Indeed. And all we ask in return is that you mention—casually, to the right ears—that Schwarzburg's forces are dangerously depleted. That the new Demon King is young and inexperienced. That the fortress could fall to a determined assault."

"You want me to spread WEAKNESS rumors? About YOURSELF?"

"Precisely."

Remus's mind raced.

The copper rights alone would make him the wealthiest guild master in the eastern provinces. But dealing with beast-folk was dangerous. If the noble houses discovered...

"There's also the matter of your debts."

Luna's words froze him.

"I—what debts?"

"The ones you owe to House Medean. Thirty thousand gold crowns, I believe? Borrowed to cover your losses in the silk speculation."

"How did you—"

"We have our sources." Luna produced a small pouch, setting it on the desk. "This contains documents proving your debt. And a signed release—House Medean's seal, legally binding—forgiving the entire amount."

"Impossible. Axel Medean would never—"

"Let's say we acquired it... creatively." Her smile sharpened. "The question is simple, Guildmaster. Do you want to spend your remaining years indebted to a man who will eventually seize everything you own? Or would you prefer freedom, wealth, and a powerful ally?"

Remus stared at the pouch.

At Luna's smile.

At the way out she was offering.

"...What exactly do you need me to say?"

Word spread like plague through the merchant networks.

"Heard the news? Schwarzburg's finished."

"The new Demon King? A boy, they say. Barely twenty."

"Their army's hollow. Half their soldiers are farmers with spears."

"Easy pickings for anyone brave enough..."

The rumors reached Lord Palras within days.

"Interesting," he murmured, studying the reports. "Very interesting."

His advisor shifted nervously.

"My lord, these are merchant rumors. Hardly reliable."

"Merchants deal in information. Good information means profit; bad information means ruin. They don't spread falsehoods carelessly."

Palras drummed his fingers on his desk.

"Send word to Lord Medean. Suggest we accelerate the timeline. If Schwarzburg is truly this vulnerable, why waste months on preparation?"

"As you command, my lord."

In Paradise Valley, Axel Medean received the suggestion with barely contained glee.

"You see?" He thrust the message at his generals. "Even Palras recognizes the opportunity! The beast-folk are ripe for harvest!"

"My lord, perhaps we should verify—"

"VERIFY?" Axel's face reddened. "They kidnapped my daughter! They humiliated me before the entire kingdom! There is nothing to verify!"

He calmed himself with effort.

"We march in one week. Pass the word to our allies. Tell them glory awaits."

Back in Schwarzburg, Altrelis received Luna's report.

"The bait is taken."

"Excellent." He turned to the assembled council. "Phase two begins. Ragnar—I want the main army visible. Make them see our 'weakness.' Train in the open, but poorly. Let scouts observe our 'disorganization.'"

"You want us to look incompetent, sir?"

"I want them overconfident. Arrogance blinds; blindness kills."

"And the real preparations?"

"Happen in secret." Altrelis's smile held no warmth. "The Magic Soldier Corps conducts all training at night, in the deep forest. The Wolf Tribe reinforcements take the mountain paths—they'll position in the hills above the Pass of Ancient Barrows."

"A trap." Isana's eyes gleamed with appreciation. "You're luring them into a kill zone."

"Not a trap. A lesson." Altrelis's purple eyes hardened. "They want to crush us with numbers. I'm going to show them that numbers aren't everything."

"Bold." Fido stroked his beard. "Bold and dangerous."

"Do you disapprove?"

"On the contrary." The old man smiled grimly. "I was beginning to think I'd die of boredom before seeing another real war."

The days passed in a blur of preparation.

By day, Schwarzburg's defenders stumbled through drills, looking every inch the rabble the rumors described.

By night, they transformed.

In the depths of the Black Forest, the Magic Soldier Corps honed their deadly art. Fire and lightning, ice and stone—elemental forces bent to military purpose.

"AGAIN!" Isana's voice cracked like a whip. "Your timing is off by a half-second! In combat, that gets you killed!"

"Yes, Lady Isana!"

Two hundred soldiers moved as one, their staffs tracing identical patterns as they channeled raw magic.

On the cliffs above the Pass, Luna oversaw a different kind of preparation.

"Here." She marked a position on the stone. "And here. When they enter the kill zone, you strike from above."

Wolf-folk archers nodded grimly, testing their bowstrings.

"No warning shots. No mercy. The first volley must devastate their vanguard."

"We understand, Commander."

And in the castle, Altrelis pored over maps and reports, refining his strategy for the thousandth time.

'You should rest,'* the Wisdom advised. *'Exhaustion clouds judgment.'

'I'll rest when this is over.'

'Stubborn. But I suppose that's a requirement for the job.'

Altrelis smiled thinly.

Outside, thunder rolled across the mountains.

A storm was coming.

In more ways than one.

End of Chapter Nine

—Next Chapter: The Trap of Brennus City