Hilda and Klara stood beside the carriage, waiting.

  Silence hung between them, broken only by the crinkle of leather as Klara tightened the strap of her gauntlet. Someone bearing a Demonic Curse had appeared. Equipping Warfaring relics helped steady her nerves.

  But the armor did nothing for the awkward atmosphere.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Klara caught sight of Hilda’s displeasure—before the maid masked it.

  “Do you dislike that I am here?” Klara finally asked, careful with her tone.

  Hilda’s head snapped toward her.

  “It seems odd,” she retorted with reproach, “that you would throw Master away, then come back when you need his help.”

  Klara frowned. “We have an arrangement—”

  “I don’t think you should be here if you don’t want to be,” Hilda cut in, her usual softness gone.

  Silence settled in, Klara’s war blessing reacting to her irritation. Her eyes wandered to distract herself, taking in the familiar manor she had always visited as a child.

  A thought crossed her mind, something she’d always wondered about Lucon’s maid but never voiced it aloud.

  “Why did you always enable Lucon back then?”

  Hilda faltered, stammering, “W-What?”

  “When Lucon was still a child,” Klara said. “You’d always give in to his demands, no matter how reckless. When he was old enough and began to drink, I remember your attempts to dissuade him were hardly ever worth noting. All his bad habits…you just…went along with it.”

  Hilda’s cheeks flushed. She stomped her foot. “You don’t get to talk about Master! Not when you’re only using him!”

  Before Klara could retort, footsteps approached.

  Lucon appeared.

  Both of them went quiet.

  “Did something happen…?” he asked.

  Klara climbed into the carriage, followed by Lucon. Hilda huffed and boarded last, pulling the door shut behind them.

  "Well, at least it’ll be a short trip,” he said with a smile as the carriage began to pull away.

  ***

  They returned to the manor after sundown.

  The carriage rolled to a stop in the courtyard.

  The driver hopped down and opened the door with a bow. Lucon stepped out first, almost lighting his pipe before remembering Klara’s complaints about it on the ride toward the Wilderwood. He lowered it as he sensed nearby figures in the darkness—the guards, most likely put on alert since the revelation of Niles’s plots.

  Klara emerged next, pale and hugging her greatsword as if it were a pillow that gave her comfort.

  "Lucon," she said quietly, for the third time since they'd left the forest, "you really shouldn't be running a full Mana Crystal operation…not right under Lord Auric’s nose."

  Lucon glanced at her, amused despite himself.

  “I told you already,” he said lightly. “Everything is part of the plan. My father will know about it in time.”

  "The Abandoned running it," she continued, her voice low, urgent, "the trained soldiers guarding it…this is—this isn’t normal!”

  Lucon held out a hand to accept a bottle of alcohol from Hilda about to climb out.

  “Normalcy only yields more of the same.” He gave Klara a pointed look. “Once Niles is dealt with and we go to Teleris to build your strength, the means of doing so will be anything but ‘normal’.”

  Klara studied his face and finally nodded, reminded of her true purpose here.

  “…Very well.”

  Hilda stepped down behind them, smoothing her skirt. The Flow around her was colored with quiet satisfaction.

  Klara did not fit here. She did not belong in the hidden corners of Lucon’s world.

  Hilda liked that.

  Lucon ignored it and started toward the manor.

  They'd only taken a dozen steps when he stopped.

  The Flow ahead was…disrupted.

  He slowed.

  Klara noticed immediately.

  “What is it?”

  Lucon didn’t answer as his eyes swept the courtyard.

  The guards at the main gate—slumped. Not standing post. Not alert.

  Dead.

  His gaze moved. Another guard near the stables, sprawled face-down in the gravel. A third by the side entrance, half-hidden behind a column.

  All dead.

  Hilda gasped.

  Klara’s greatsword came free with a metallic whisper.

  The Flow was like like a living map to Lucon. At first, he had assumed the presences in the shadows were surviving guards. But once he looked deeper, he saw faults. Their emotions were wrong.

  Predatory.

  Eager.

  "Why don't you come out?" he called, his voice light, almost friendly. "Standing so still for so long must be tiring."

  The shadows shifted before being stripped away as if they were cloth.

  Figures stepped forward.

  Masked men in dark leathers.

  Weapons drawn but relaxed.

  One of them grumbled, voice filled with irritation.

  “Ambushing them in secret failed—your hidden blessing failed, Garet.”

  Another figure stepped into clearer view.

  One arm.

  Garet rolled the stump of his shoulder.

  “It’s just like before…” he muttered. “This boy is not normal.”

  Lucon tilted his head, taking in the encircling assassins with an almost lazy sweep of his gaze. Twelve, maybe thirteen. All armed. A few Arisen. A few mages.

  He grinned.

  "What a lovely welcoming party," he said pleasantly. "I'm touched, truly. But I'm afraid none of you are going to leave here alive."

  The masked men paused.

  Then they began to laugh.

  The laughter had barely begun to taper off when another figure stepped forward from the line. The man’s presence in the Flow was steady, controlled—disciplined in a way the others were not.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Lucon's perception through the Flow recognized him immediately.

  Helto.

  Helto inclined his head slightly.

  “It is us who should be saying that to you, Young Lord.”

  His tone carried a begrudging respect for a worthy adversary.

  “But keep in mind,” Helto continued as if regretful, “this could have ended with your barony destroyed without you all losing your lives. If only you didn’t meddle so much.”

  Klara shifted her stance.

  Hilda’s fingers tightened in the fabric at Lucon’s sleeve.

  Lucon pursed his lips as if in thought.

  “Is this because I didn’t include you in the new Blood Wraiths I started?” he asked casually. “I assure you, you were considered, at the very least.”

  Helto did not smile.

  "This isn't a joke, Young Lord." He gestured past Lucon, toward the manor gates. "We have the manor surrounded."

  Lucon glanced back.

  His Flow-sense rippled as presences entered within its limits.

  A great number of men, fanning out, encircling the manor grounds. Too many. The Edelyn guard, even at full strength, couldn't handle so many. It would be a bloodbath.

  And worse—several of the signatures felt wrong.

  Hollow.

  Like Garet when he used his Demonic Curse.

  Multiple bearers wielding the same power.

  Lucon's expression remained pleasant, but behind his eyes, calculations raced.

  ***

  Auric sat alone at his desk.

  Letters lay before him—ink still drying.

  Requests for aid.

  Carefully worded.

  Not desperate.

  Not yet.

  He stared at them without seeing them.

  The Midnight Watch swirled around in his thoughts.

  Fanatical.

  Arrogant.

  They carried themselves as though they alone stood between the realms and annihilation—as though every demon that had not yet poured through the Verge had been held back by their personal will.

  And now they were possibly entangled with Niles.

  None of it made sense.

  Auric exhaled slowly.

  His fingers tapped once against the desk, then stilled.

  Doing nothing felt wrong.

  It reminded him of an old saying.

  Niles’s saying: “While the money flows, we can’t stand still.”

  He used to say it whenever they were at their lowest.

  When shipments failed. When creditors circled. When their first ventures nearly made them lose everything.

  It was Niles’s way of pushing forward. Work harder. Move faster.

  Seize opportunity before it vanished.

  Auric’s lips twitched faintly.

  He remembered the first time they met—Niles—a red-faced, chubby young man shouting in the Teleris market, trying to sell polished river stones.

  "Lucky Stones—guaranteed to prevent drowning!"

  Auric had arrived to sell slings made from old clothes. It only made sense in that moment to join forces; Auric’s slings lacked stones, and the boy’s "lucky" rocks—while failing to sell as charms—were still handsome enough to pass for handcrafted ammunition.

  They hadn't sold a single sling or stone that day, but Auric figured he’d found something luckier.

  A partner as crazy as he was.

  The corner of the study shifted.

  [Hidden Curtain]

  The air folded.

  Genevieve stepped through in a rush. Her dagger was already in hand—an artifact of the Hidden God he had once gifted her.

  Her breathing was controlled, but not calm.

  “Auric,” she said, voice urgent. “We have to go.”

  He stood immediately.

  “Explain.”

  “They’ve been killing my subordinates,” she said. “Anyone trying to get a message through. One of them died delivering it. They said there’s a small army headed for the manor.”

  Her eyes darkened.

  “And the one hunting my people...I’m not sure I can stop them.”

  Auric’s expression hardened.

  “How close are they?”

  Before she could answer, the study door opened.

  Warren stepped inside.

  His face was tight. Upset. Alarmed.

  “Warren?” Auric asked. “What’s the matter?”

  Warren’s head turned to look back.

  Then Auric saw behind the treasurer was a familiar portly figure, pressing a dagger against Warren’s back. The figure stepped out from behind him.

  Niles. He was expressionless.

  "Greetings, my friends,” he said tonelessly.

  Genevieve's body shifted instantly—lowering into a combat stance, eyes sweeping the shadows beyond the door, searching.

  “Where’s the killer?” she demanded.

  Niles waved a hand dismissively, the blade still resting lightly against Warren’s back.

  “Sheck is outside.”

  “Put the dagger away, Niles,” Auric demanded.

  With a quiet exhale, Niles lowered the blade and stepped back.

  Warren stumbled forward at once, crossing the room to Auric’s side.

  Genevieve tensed, weight shifting forward as if she would attack—

  Niles’ voice stopped her.

  “If Sheck has to come in for any reason,” he said with solemnity, “no one in this room will leave here alive.”

  Genevieve faltered, a stream of calculation passing through her eyes.

  Auric’s gaze shifted between them. Genevieve’s wariness was rare, regardless of the opponent.

  “Who is Sheck?” he asked.

  Genevieve did not look away from Niles.

  “A problem,” she said simply.

  Warren stepped forward, his voice thick with disbelief.

  “Niles,” the House Treasurer said. “You were the one who taught me how to balance a ledger. And people. You said it was the same—find what weighs too heavily, shift it, find equilibrium." He stared at his old friend as if searching for something familiar. "This is not balanced. This doesn't make sense. Why are you betraying us? We made a fortune together. We saved the kingdom together."

  Something flickered in Niles’s eyes—regret, perhaps.

  He looked at Auric. “Yet only one of us received the title of Merchant Hero for saving it.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Auric stared at him.

  "This..." He shook his head. "This can't be. Jealousy? You of all people, Niles?"

  Niles gave a listless shrug.

  “Who wouldn’t be jealous of the Merchant Hero?” he asked. “You gained fame. Fortune. The admiration of the entire realm and beyond.”

  Auric took a step forward despite himself.

  “But so did you,” he argued. “Not just what the kingdom awarded you, but I also relinquished my position in the Western Trade Alliance and left you as its sole chairman. I pushed every contract, every merchant guild in Teleris, into your hands.”

  Niles smiled—a thin, sad thing. "Yet you seemed to have received more. A noble title. A loving wife. A son who is a Named Hero candidate."

  His eyes shifted. To Genevieve.

  “And even the heart of the woman I love.”

  The room seemed to still.

  Genevieve’s expression did not change, her lack of surprise telling.

  “Ah,” he said softly. "So you knew all this time how I felt about you."

  A breath passed between them.

  “No,” he corrected himself. “Of course you did. What secrets does the Hidden Matriarch not know?”

  His forlorn gaze met hers, and Genevieve’s eyes softened; it was as if she saw a reflection of something familiar in them.

  “But how could I ever win you…” Niles said, “when you were already won over by the Merchant Hero himself?”

  Auric remained still before slowly turning to Genevieve.

  She glanced at him.

  "Of all the times to look back," she murmured, "you do it now."

  Auric's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

  "How can this be?" he whispered. "All these years—"

  Genevieve shook her head.

  “Not now, Auric.”

  Auric turned back to Niles, his expression shifting from shock to something harder.

  "So you resort to dealing with demons," he accused, "because of resentment?"

  Niles met his gaze tiredly.

  "I've resorted to many things, Auric." Niles’s voice was weary, the sound of a man finally setting down a heavy burden. "I've resorted to funding the Blood Wraiths to run rampant upon your lands. I've resorted to trying to destroy your barony by cultivating Mana Crystals in your Wilderwood—to lure in swarms of Mana Beasts. I've resorted to tricking you into wasting your money on charities, when it was really for funding my attacks against you."

  He exhaled slowly as guilt peeked through his expression.

  "I even resorted to making sure Lucon failed in every venture he tried. Subtle interference. Redirected shipments. Sabotaged partnerships. Enough to keep him from ever succeeding—so that eventually your coffers would bleed dry trying to prop him up.”

  Niles momentarily became a complete stranger to Auric.

  “So that’s why…” Warren breathed. “That’s why Young Lord Lucon never succeeded—even with Auric’s backing.”

  Auric's face darkened. Rage kindled in his chest.

  "My son," he said, his voice trembling, "gave up on himself. He became a wastrel because he thought he was a failure…and all this time, it was because of you?!"

  He surged forward.

  Genevieve caught his shoulder firmly.

  Her eyes flicked once toward the open study door. Wary.

  Niles nodded slowly.

  "I've resorted to all this," he said. "Not because of resentment. Not because of jealousy." He paused. "The reason is the same as why you became the Merchant Hero and I did not."

  Auric tensed, straining against Genevieve's grip.

  Niles's voice filled with quiet resignation.

  "It's because I'm a coward."

  The silence stretched.

  “Powerful men came for me,” Niles continued. “They threatened my life if I did not do as I was told. And I gave in.”

  His eyes dropped to the floor. “It was in that moment I understood why I wasn’t deemed a Hero. Why I could never move Genevieve’s heart.”

  He gave a hollow laugh.

  “I simply lacked courage.”

  The three of them watched him, wordless.

  “The worst part,” Niles went on, still chuckling humorlessly—helplessly—“is that despite my merchant skills...I could only bargain for your family’s lives, Auric. Nothing else.”

  The room seemed to tilt around Auric.

  “Your barony must be destroyed,” Niles said. “But they agreed to let you live.”

  He hesitated.

  “…Except for Lucon.”

  Auric’s mind went blank. “What?”

  “He’s meddled too much,” Niles said. “They insisted he has to die. That boy is not the failure you see him as—”

  Auric stepped forward again.

  “Who?” he demanded. “Who is powerful enough to threaten you—the Chairman of the Western Trade Alliance?”

  Genevieve answered before Niles could. “The Midnight Watch.”

  Niles gave a faint, melancholy smile.

  “And I don’t even know why,” he said. “What they want with your barony or why they targeted the guild alliance...I know none of it. I am only a piece being moved on the board.”

  Something in the air changed.

  [Black Water]

  A puddle of black liquid seeped up from the wooden floor.

  It spread.

  Thick.

  Viscous.

  Then it rose.

  Forming.

  A hooded figure of shadow took shape, a black staff clutched in its hand.

  Genevieve hissed, dropping into a combat stance.

  “It’s him,” she said sharply. “The one who killed my subordinates. A Hidden God mage.”

  Niles spun toward the figure.

  “I still have time, Sheck!” the merchant shouted. “Your superiors said I could have a few minutes to convince them to leave before the killing starts!”

  The hooded figure, Sheck, tilted his head.

  "A few minutes has already passed, fat man." His voice was water gurgling down a drain. "Time for the Edelyn Barony and its people to perish."

  Niles moved.

  Stepping in front of Auric.

  In front of Warren.

  In front of Genevieve.

  “That wasn’t the deal!” he shouted. “Your superiors said you would honor our bargain! Stand down this instant—”

  [Drown in Black]

  Black water streamed from Sheck’s staff. A dark blur, it injected itself into Niles’s mouth and poured deep into his body before he could react.

  He stiffened.

  It was as if he had become a statue. Slowly, he turned his head.

  He looked at them. At Auric. At Warren. At Genevieve.

  He gave them an apologetic smile.

  “My friends, forgive me for being such a coward.”

  The black water exploded outward from inside him.

  The man who had once sold useless 'lucky stones' in the Teleris market—the same man who had been pivotal in the Merchant Hero’s rise—was gone.