Linburg Province.
The mountains refused to don a mantle of green. Instead, they spewed black smoke made of coal ash and iron filings into the sky all year round.
Eternal Night Fortress was a great beast entrenched among the mountains through steel and will, and the lair of the Blackstone Hand Merchant Guild.
The top floor of the fortress.
The air here held none of the coal ash and rust that permeated the city, only the scent of expensive ambergris incense.
Hector Ester signed his name on the last file.
At the top, conspicuous red ink proclaimed: "Preliminary Investigation and Remediation Report on the Structural Collapse at Mine No. 3."
Beside his signature, a glaring number sat within parentheses: 1274.
He casually tossed the report onto the stack of completed paperwork.
In the deepest shadows of the office, a figure entirely shrouded in a gray cloak spoke.
The voice sounded like two pieces of rusty metal scraping against each other.
"Over a thousand living souls, and they weren't even worth a few extra seconds on your desk."
Hector did not turn around. He took out a silk handkerchief and leisurely wiped his fingertips.
"Merely expendables, my lord. Expendables do not deserve to consume my precious emotions."
"You truly don't intend to pay compensation? Over a thousand people means over a thousand families, after all."
Hector raised his head and looked gravely at the figure in the shadows.
"My lord, as you said, each of them had a family. That is precisely why I won't hold them accountable for the substantial losses their operational errors caused me."
"Ha ha ha. Very good."
The imperial mage beneath the cloak gave a soft chuckle, tinged with an unpleasant satisfaction.
"It seems you have quite a favorable opinion of the 'appetizer' we prepared."
A courteous smile graced Hector's face, pale from a lack of sunlight.
"Efficient, simple, and remarkably effective."
He walked to the enormous desk and picked up a heavy metal box.
"It struck the Golden Sail Merchant Guild exactly where it hurt. That self-important daughter must be running herself ragged at her fisheries by now, like a cat with scalded paws."
"The Golden Sail Merchant Guild's foolish alchemists must be running around like headless chickens, searching everywhere for the 'source of infection' they imagine exists. They will never understand that their enemy isn't a plague at all. It's 'rules'!"
"Rules have always been written by the victors."
The imperial mage's voice held condescending approval. "The empire appreciates efficient hunting dogs."
"As for an untamable mongrel like the Golden Sail Merchant Guild, which dreams of breaking free of its chains, its spine must be broken without mercy."
Hector bowed slightly, as humble as a student listening to instruction, yet not a flicker of emotion stirred in his eyes.
"Then is the 'main course' that will put an end to this ridiculous farce ready to be served?"
The imperial mage did not answer immediately.
He extended a withered hand and slowly pushed a palm-sized crystal vial into the middle of the desk.
The vial had been carved from a single piece of colorless crystal, its stopper tightly sealed with some mysterious metal that gleamed silver.
Magnificent colors swirled within.
"Sealed inside is 'Withering.' A substance capable of reducing any high-grade magical timber to a puddle of rotten sludge within a week."
The imperial mage's voice carried a beguiling power.
"You need only release it into the main shipping channel near Stonebridge City. The currents will do the rest. The Golden Sail Merchant Guild's fleet, those ocean-going caravans they take such pride in, will dissolve into foam before they even realize it."
A smile appeared on Hector's face again, more sincere this time.
This was the art he wanted.
Silent, lethal, and irreversible.
First, use the crisis at the fisheries to herd the foolish sheep, drawing Caroline, that silver-haired witch, away from her lair.
Then, while she exhausted herself over those rotting fish, utterly destroy her foundation-the ocean-going fleets that gave her the confidence to accept enormous shipping contracts.
Once her shipping network vanished completely, once her cash flow collapsed, he, Hector, would acquire everything the Golden Sail Merchant Guild owned for a price so low it bordered on an insult.
A perfect strangulation.
"And what the empire requires," the mage's voice brought Hector back to reality, "is for you, after inheriting the title of Marquis Ester, to make all of Linburg Province the first wedge the empire drives into the heart of the duchy."
"As you wish."
Hector smiled, but out of sight, his fingers gently stroked a gold coin stamped with the empire's phoenix emblem.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
A subordinate in a black steward's uniform slipped silently inside and smoothly dropped to one knee.
"Guildmaster, the latest intelligence. Caroline Channing's flagship, the Siren's Song, arrived at Stonebridge City's port yesterday morning."
Hector nodded lightly.
Everything was under control. The piece was moving into position exactly as he had anticipated.
"What has she been doing?"
"She has summoned every alchemist and high-ranking priest she could find. She appears to intend to resolve the fisheries' problems personally in Stonebridge City."
The steward paused, seemingly searching for more precise wording.
"Also... according to our informants, she took a great deal of information about 'Newborn Town' with her before departing."
"Newborn Town?"
Hector repeated the utterly unfamiliar place name, his brow creasing almost imperceptibly.
"According to the Golden Sail Merchant Guild's internal reports, it is a territory on the edge of Graysea Marsh, established by an obscure cadet branch of the Klein family," the steward replied respectfully. "Our records indicate that Graysea Marsh contains nothing but mud pits that swallow people and troublesome mosquitoes."
"That region is a complete blind spot in our intelligence network. It is simply too barren to offer anything worth our attention."
Hector waved a hand, dismissing the steward.
An insignificant Pioneer Knight.
Caroline Channing was probably grasping at straws, hoping to squeeze some paltry profit out of that wretch to offset her losses at the fisheries.
Pathetic, and laughable.
Over the past few years, the Golden Sail Merchant Guild's business maneuvers had grown increasingly aggressive. In the iron ore trade especially, this woman's business instincts were as keen as a beast's, and she had disrupted his plans time and again.
Her absurd talent reminded him of his father, who was always going on about "bloodline" and "birth," and his utterly useless legitimate elder brother, who could nevertheless inherit everything by right.
The entitled arrogance on their faces was exactly the same as hers.
He hated that feeling.
So he would break her proud spirit with his own hands, and turn the Golden Sail Merchant Guild, along with that silver-haired witch, into the finest pieces in his collection.