Edmond Dantes walked alongside the lead Wheel House, its armored sides coated in dust, making its way along the coast of La Mer Mediterranee. The massive walls of Marseille had been visible for some time and were now finally within reach. The air tasted of salt, sweat, and the sharp tang of myriad exotic spices imported from the northern coast of Africa; this time of year always brought a bittersweet smile to his lips.

  Edmond's father had been a seller of these exotic spices all through Edmond's youth; his trade was built on the connections of Edmond's mother, the daughter of a respected merchant family in Algiers whom his father had met on a trading venture. Her sudden death from a swift fever when Edmond was just twelve shattered not only his father's heart but also his business network. Grief-stricken and lacking her vital contacts, Louis found himself spurned by her grieving family in Africa, who held him responsible for taking her so far from home to die in a foreign land.

  Louis Dantes saw his fortunes dwindle, his health failing alongside his spirit. Watching his father fade, consumed by sorrow and poverty, compelled young Edmond to seek work wherever he could find it, eventually taking a strenuous job as a loader for Monsieur Morrel's Pharaon Trading House simply to help make ends meet. His diligence and innate strength saw him slowly rise through the ranks over the years, eventually earning the position of second-in-command of the caravan guards.

  Beneath the cacophony of shouting merchants, creaking wheels of the heavy Wheel Houses, and the distant cries of gulls, a subtler energy thrummed through the air. Runes embedded deep within the great outer walls of Marseille deterred both nature and man in their constant vigil to keep the citizens safe. Inside the city walls, an ever-present confluence of ambition, desperation, and hard-won prosperity was on display everywhere. After passing under the Porte des Marchands – a massive stone archway set into the ancient city walls, its surface etched with faint, glowing runes designed to deter both storms off the sea, where city guards and stern-faced guild officials meticulously checked their manifest – the Pharaon Trading House caravan, a train of sturdy, armored wheel houses, moved through the bustling current like a dusty blue serpent winding its way home. The guards, cultivators clad in practical leather armor marked with the subtle Pharaon emblem, walked with the weary alertness of men who had faced leagues of bandit-infested roads and wild jungle near the newly established routes. Their Qi signatures, though thinned by fatigue, held the disciplined edge of martial training common to reliable caravan guards.

  At their head walked Edmond. Barely twenty summers old, his youthful face was weathered by sun and wind, but his dark eyes were sharp, missing nothing. His own Qi, humming steadily near the middle of the Qi Gathering stage, flowed with a natural strength that hinted at greater potential, a vibrancy that even the long, arduous journey couldn't entirely dim. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of competence, yet a shadow lingered in his gaze – the recent, unexpected loss of their Captain.

  A few paces behind, seated beside the driver atop the reinforced, armored command wagon – a position affording him a better view than his usual, more secure spot safely inside – was Danglars, the merchant representative assigned by the Pharaon Company. His robes, though dusty, were of a finer cut than the guards' gear. His eyes, narrow and constantly moving, shifted between scanning the approaching warehouses of the Pharaon Trading House and calculating potential profits from the new venture. He nursed a simmering resentment, barely concealed, that had festered throughout the return leg of their journey.

  The familiar, imposing stone facade of the Pharaon Trading House warehouses finally filled their view, stretching along the quay. With a final groan of stressed wood and iron from the lead wheel house's brakes, the caravan shuddered to a stop. Instantly, the relative quiet of their passage through the city erupted into the familiar dockside symphony: foremen bellowing orders that echoed off the stone walls, the rattle of unlocking chains, the thud of heavy ramps being lowered from cargo holds, porters already jostling for position. Through this burgeoning activity, a young junior clerk, ink stains on his fingers and broadcasting nervous deference, navigated quickly towards the command wagon where Danglars still sat, hurrying to reach them before they dismounted.

  "Guard Dantes, Merchant Representative Danglars," he bowed slightly. "Monsieur Morrel summons you both to his study immediately."

  Edmond nodded, his expression one of respectful duty that betrayed none of his curiosity. The summons wasn't unusual after a caravan return, but the immediacy suggested something significant. Danglars' eyes, however, held a flicker of calculation that came and went like a merchant tallying potential profits. He slid down from the wagon with an air of importance, adjusting his fine jacket with manicured hands that had never loaded cargo or wielded a guard's weapon. Around them, the Pharaon workers continued their practiced dance of commerce, oblivious to the currents of ambition flowing between the two men.

  They walked through the familiar corridors of the Pharaon headquarters, the ambient Qi growing calmer, more ordered, reflecting the stability of the Trading House leader’s influence. They arrived at a solid oak door, flanked by two senior guards whose Qi felt like steady rock. Edmond knocked respectfully.

  "Enter," came a calm, resonant voice.

  Monsieur Morrel sat behind a large, meticulously organized desk. His presence radiated a quiet authority and unwavering integrity. "Edmond, Danglars," he greeted them, his gaze sweeping over both men, noting their travel stains and fatigue. "Welcome back. The journey was long." He leaned forward slightly. "How fares the new venture in Nice? Were you successful in establishing our initial contacts, Danglars? And Edmond, how is the situation on the ground near the Catacombs?"

  Danglars stepped forward, eagerness replacing his earlier resentment now that business was being discussed. "Progress was made, Monsieur Morrel. I met with representatives of the nascent merchant guilds and the provisional city council in Nice. They are desperate for reliable trade – building materials, food supplies, refined tools. The potential is immense. Adventurers and prospectors are flooding the area, drawn by the Catacombs. Early finds pulled from the depths are already causing stirs – strange resonant metals, potent reagents... I even saw a sample of a deep-earth fungus so rich in Qi that alchemists would weep for it – I managed to acquire a small piece, though the cost was exorbitant! Fortunes are being unearthed daily. However," his tone became slightly sour, "the risks are equally high. Security is chaotic, and acquiring truly valuable artifacts or exclusive access requires significant capital upfront, which... we currently lack the authority to commit."

  Morrel nodded, absorbing this. "And the security, Edmond? The atmosphere near the Catacombs?"

  Edmond spoke, his tone serious. "Nice itself is dangerous but charged with potent energy, Monsieur. Fortune-seekers of all cultivation levels are camped near the known entrances, drawn like moths to a flame. The local authorities, such as they are, have hastily established a temporary Collegium to register explorers in an attempt to control access, but skirmishes over resources and bypassing controls are constant. The local guard is completely overwhelmed." He met Morrel's gaze directly. "Our own guard contingent proved sufficient for passage and temporary security, Monsieur, but if the Pharaon House intends to establish a permanent trading post or secure exclusive access, a much stronger, dedicated force would be required on the ground simply to maintain order amidst the chaos, let alone establish secure operations."

  "The journey itself presented different challenges," Edmond continued. "As expected, the main coastal roads leading towards Rome were clear of bandits, thanks to the vigilance of Royal patrols along that vital artery. However, the routes closer to Nice, bordering the wilder terrains, brought nightly dangers. On several occasions, nocturnal beasts drawn perhaps by the caravan's scent or the fires of our encampments attacked our camp. Working cohesively as a unit, the guards successfully repelled all attacks. We sustained no losses to personnel or cargo. From the slain creatures, we managed to harvest eight intact beast cores. They have been secured in the command wagon's lockbox, earmarked for the Company's artificers or alchemists. Furthermore, as word of the Catacombs' riches inevitably spreads, I strongly anticipate that bandit groups will begin preying specifically on caravans *returning* from Nice, hoping to steal the fruits of others' labor rather than brave the Catacombs themselves. Future caravans must be prepared for these coordinated human threats."

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  He paused, allowing the implications of the rising bandit threat to settle before turning to the final point. "Regarding Rome, Monsieur, their chief legate arrived while we were establishing contacts, accompanied by a small contingent of soldiers – clearly not an invasion force, but enough to encourage prompt dialogue with the nascent local authorities. He seemed... cautious. Observing more than acting. Word in Nice is that Rome's attention is firmly fixed east, likely on their ongoing disputes with the Ottomans over Adriatic influence. For now, they seem content with diplomacy regarding the Catacombs."

  Morrel stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Good," he nodded as Edmond finished his report, making a mental note to ensure the guard received their customary share of the profits from the harvested beast cores. "Thank you for your thorough assessment of the security situation in Nice, Edmond. Your insights will prove invaluable as we move forward." Ottoman preoccupations, likely fueled by their ongoing disputes with Rome over influence in the Greek principalities and control of the Adriatic coast, according to his network, at least. This gave them some much-needed breathing room. The potential in Nice was vast, but Danglars was right, it required careful investment and strong leadership on the ground to establish a secure foothold amid the chaos.

  Before he could continue, Danglars interjected again, his earlier resentment resurfacing as he shifted the focus. "The potential riches of Nice are indeed significant, as our last expedition proved. We returned with three crates of spirit stones and those peculiar luminous fungi that fetch such high prices among the alchemists. The catacombs are a virtually untapped treasury of cultivation resources—jade essence pools, ancient spirit trees growing in darkness, and mineral deposits unseen for centuries. With proper investment, Monsieur—, but acquiring them was nearly jeopardized by a serious delay on the return journey. Near the coast, off the shores of Nice itself, Captain Leclere made a… questionable decision. Against my strenuous advice, citing unnecessary risk, near the island of Elba, he insisted the caravan halt."

  Morrel's brow furrowed instantly at the mention of Elba, the danger overshadowing the potential of Nice. Elba. The very name carried political weight that could crush a man's reputation—or worse. While no formal decree prohibited merchants from approaching its shores, in these uncertain times, such proximity could be twisted by ambitious officials into evidence of Bonapartist sympathies. A whisper of treason, however unfounded, could destroy everything he'd built.

  Danglars pressed on, sensing he had Morrel’s full attention now. "The Captain went ashore alone, Monsieur. For what purpose, he did not say. I urged Guard Dantes that our duty was to the caravan, the Company's cargo and passengers. That we should proceed, leaving the Captain to his own mysterious affairs, hoping he’d catch up with us later if that was his fate. But Dantes refused! He insisted we wait, delaying the entire caravan!"

  Morrel held his gaze on Danglars for a long minute, his weathered face revealing nothing while his eyes seemed to peer into the merchant representative's very thoughts. Danglars shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his confidence faltering under the prolonged scrutiny. A bead of sweat formed at his temple despite the cool air of the office. When Morrel finally broke the uncomfortable silence, he turned deliberately away from Danglars, dismissing him without words.

  "Edmond?" Morrel asked, his voice measured and calm as he addressed the younger man. "Your account of these events, if you please." His expression remained unreadable, though his eyes had softened almost imperceptibly when they settled on the promising guard.

  Edmond met Morrel’s gaze steadily. "Monsieur Morrel, Merchant Representative Danglars reports the events accurately, but misinterprets the intent. I do not know why Captain Leclere ordered the stop near Elba. He ordered me to ensure the caravan's security while he attended personal business ashore. My duty... was to obey my Captain and ensure the safety of the men, cargo, and passengers entrusted to us. Abandoning our captain was never an option.” He continued, his voice softening slightly. "The Captain returned after several hours, Monsieur, well within the time frame he gave us. He seemed… preoccupied, perhaps, but well. It was only two days later, well away from the coast, that he fell gravely ill. The sickness came upon him swiftly... he passed before we could reach Marseille."

  Morrel absorbed both accounts. He looked from Danglars, then to Edmond. A moment of silence hung in the study. Then, Morrel spoke, his voice firm.

  "Elba," he mused softly, his weathered fingers tapping a thoughtful rhythm on the polished surface of his desk. "A dangerous complication, indeed, but no laws were broken as far as I can determine." Morrel's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the political implications. "Captain Leclere was perhaps unwise to make such a detour, especially given the current tensions. The Emperor's exile has made that island a particularly sensitive location for any French vessel to approach." He then fixed his gaze on Danglars. "But you, Danglars, were wrong regarding your suggested course of action. An employee’s first duty... is loyalty. To suggest abandoning your Captain shows a fundamental misunderstanding of how the Pharaon Trading House operates."

  Danglars flinched.

  Morrel turned back to Edmond, a hint of approval warming his eyes. "You, Edmond, acted correctly in upholding your duty... That is the mark of a true leader." Morrel stood. "The Pharaon Trading House runs many routes, but this new Azure Serpent Route to Nice and the Catacombs is vital for our future. It requires a steadfast leader. Captain Leclere served us well, but his journey is ended. Effective immediately, Edmond Dantes, I am promoting you to Captain of the Azure Serpent Caravan Guard." He named the substantially increased stipend – a wage supplemented, as was customary for Pharaon captains of both ship and caravan, by a small share in the venture's profits, Morrel believing loyalty was fostered through shared success. "You have earned it."

  The color drained from Danglars’ face, replaced by apoplectic rage. His Qi flared. "Monsieur! This is unacceptable! I have seniority! My understanding of trade routes— And Dantes? He is barely into the Qi Gathering stage! How can someone with such meagre cultivation lead?"

  "The Captaincy requires more than raw strength, Danglars. Leadership in Pharaon has never been about pure strength; we have plenty of fighters." Morrel countered, his voice hardening, his own Qi pressing down. "It requires loyalty and discipline... The Captain must be someone the guards trust implicitly... Edmond has demonstrated these qualities. His cultivation will grow... An increase in wage will allow him to find a manual to help him advance; in fact, Edmond, speak with me later on this topic."

  "Favoritism!" Danglars spat, his face contorting with barely contained rage. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, and the veins in his neck bulged prominently as he seemed poised to launch into a tirade. The merchant representative's eyes darted to him.

  "Enough!" Morrel's voice cracked like a whip, a pulse of Qi from a Foundation Establishment cultivator cracking through the air. The pressure of it made the room's atmosphere thicken, a palpable weight that pressed down on everyone present. "My decision is final. Edmond Dantes is Captain. Your outburst is unbecoming of someone in your position... If the ways of the Pharaon Trading House... no longer suit your temperament," Morrel's eyes were ice, cold and unyielding as they fixed on Danglars, "you are free to seek your fortune elsewhere. I hear there are other trading houses in Marseille that might value your particular... talents. Now, leave us." His tone left no room for further discussion, the finality in his words as immovable as the walls of Marseille themselves.

  Shaking with impotent fury, Danglars shot Edmond a look filled with venomous hatred, then stormed out, slamming the door.

  A heavy silence fell. Morrel sighed. "Pay Danglars’ envy no mind, Edmond... He has skill in finding the best prices... but he lacks the judgment and integrity required to lead men. You have a strong spirit and a good heart. Lead well... vigilant on the road, and loyal to the Company..." He gestured towards the door. "Now, go. Rest yourself. And… I believe young Mercedes has been asking after you... Go set her heart at ease."

  Edmond bowed deeply. "Thank you, Monsieur Morrel. I will strive to be worthy of this trust." He left the study, his steps lighter. Captain! The title resonated. But more than the title, the stipend, the stability. Marseille might have once been considered a smaller port, but its prospects were rising faster than any other in France, and now due to the recently discovered Tartarus Catacombs nearby, so many opportunities – rare ores, potent cultivation aids, and other valuable resources – will fuel explosive growth across the entire region.

  For years, he had loved Mercedes... As Captain of the vital Azure Serpent Route, named for its signature blue wheel houses, he could finally afford a proper home... formally ask for her hand... He could marry Mercedes.

  A wide grin split Edmond’s face as he stepped out into the Marseille sunlight, the chaotic energy of the port now feeling like a song of promise. He squared his shoulders, the weariness momentarily forgotten, and turned his steps towards the quiet street where Mercedes lived with her mother, his heart soaring with a hope as vast and bright as the Mediterranean Sea stretching beyond the harbor.