The Royal Capital's commercial district, Golden Cross Avenue.
Ola followed behind Veylin, his chain mail drawing sideways glances from quite a few passersby.
"My lord, what exactly are we doing here?" Ola finally asked. "Even the air here reeks of money. I don't like it."
Veylin did not answer immediately. He slowed his steps, his gaze sweeping over the buildings on either side of the street as though weighing their merits.
"We're looking for a suitable venue," Veylin said. "It needs to be large enough and in a good location."
"A venue? Are we opening a restaurant?" Ola's beard twitched.
"No." Veylin shook his head. "I'm going to hold an event here-a large-scale recruitment fair."
Ola searched his mind for the meaning of the term, but came up empty.
"What's that?"
"It means telling everyone in the Royal Capital who has talent but isn't doing well that I, the lord of the Gray Marsh Fief, need them, whether they're craftsmen, scholars, or blacksmiths."
Veylin added one more thing.
"And that I can afford to pay them."
His plan was clear.
He wanted to build a stage that Tristan could not ignore.
Ola still did not understand. "Why not just go to the craftsmen's district, find skilled masters, and pay them? Like we did in Stone Salt Town. Simple and easy."
"Ola, I don't just want a few craftsmen." Veylin shook his head. "I want everyone whose talents have gone unrecognized to turn their eyes toward the Gray Marsh Fief."
After looking over the venues, Veylin began planning the event's details.
Publicity was the first step.
When Lilia came to visit Veylin, he was making corrections with a charcoal pencil on several sketches an artist had just delivered.
The first picture showed a skeletal stonemason coughing in a leaky workshop, with