A few more days passed, and reports from the census continued trickling into the manor.
Now, Edric slumped behind his desk, one hand pressed against his temple as fresh parchment piled steadily before him.
"This is a disaster!" he thought as he rubbed his eyes.
Bad news came one after another.
Missing labourers, inconsistent tax reports, declining population, bandits and beasts ravaging fields, villages abandoned despite appearing in official ledgers.
“Haaaaah…” He let out an exasperated sigh.
Beside the desk, Celia stood quietly with lowered eyes, hands clasped tightly against the front of her apron.
Every sigh made her shoulders tense slightly.
Every time Edric abruptly grabbed another parchment or muttered beneath his breath, she instinctively stiffened as though expecting anger to suddenly turn toward her.
The reports spread across the desk looked grim enough that she could scarcely blame him for being furious.
Yet strangely—
Lord Edric had not shouted once. Not at the servants, not at the scribes, not even at the messengers arriving one after another throughout the day carrying increasingly dire news.
Instead, he simply looked… exhausted.
A knock broke the silence inside. Celia visibly flinched before quickly approaching the door.
“Enter,” Edric called tiredly.
The door opened, revealing Gareth carrying several sealed parchments beneath one arm. Snowflakes still clung lightly to the shoulders of his dark coat, likely from crossing the courtyard.
The old steward stepped inside calmly, closing the door behind him.
“My lord.”
Edric immediately straightened slightly in his chair. “Perfect timing,” he muttered. “I was just about to ask for you.”
Gareth’s eyes briefly swept across the disastrous state of the desk.
Opened reports, loose ledgers, half-finished notes, one parchment had even fallen onto the floor beside Edric’s chair unnoticed.
For a moment, Gareth simply stared.
The former Edric would never have spent hours buried beneath administrative reports. The sight remained strange no matter how many times he witnessed it.
Edric leaned back again with another tired sigh. “Where’s Serah right now?”
“She is currently speaking with the household guards,” Gareth answered. “Likely regarding patrol rotations near the eastern gate.”
Edric nodded absentmindedly. “Good. I’ll also need a full accounting of the current manpower we have.”
Gareth then turned slightly toward Celia, who immediately lowered her head further beneath his gaze.
“How have you been adjusting?” he asked her calmly.
The question clearly surprised her.
“I-I am well, Steward Gareth,” she answered quickly. “Thank you for your concern.”
Gareth studied her briefly before giving a small nod.
“You appear less pale than before. That is improvement enough.”
Celia blinked in surprise.
Meanwhile, Edric looked up from another report with mild confusion. “…Have the two of you been having conversations without me?”
"As steward of your house it is only natural for me to look after your servants, young master."
Edric narrowed his eyes slightly.
Suspicious.
Then Gareth calmly stepped forward and placed the new reports atop the desk. “My lord,” he said evenly, “we have more pressing matters.”
Edric’s expression immediately became serious again.
“Go on.”
Gareth unfolded the first parchment. “The eastern mining settlement of Dunmere was abandoned two years ago following a tunnel collapse.”
Edric frowned.
"But I could have sworn I read somewhere that it was still operating?”
“Indeed so.” Gareth’s tone remained level.
“Treasury allocations for maintenance, transport, and worker wages continued uninterrupted.”
Silence settled briefly.
Edric slowly lowered the parchment in his hands.
“…Someone’s stealing.”
“Most likely.” Gareth neither softened nor exaggerated the accusation.
“Whether through direct embezzlement or falsified oversight reports remains unclear. I have already ordered the relevant ledgers secured.”
Edric rubbed his forehead again. Of course there was corruption, why wouldn't there be? He had written this territory to be collapsing from years of neglect, bloated administration, and noble incompetence.
At the time, it had seemed like excellent worldbuilding. Now it's just causing him a headache.
"Past me, you absolute bastard…"
Gareth continued before Edric could spiral further into silent despair. “The second matter concerns Baron Alric.”
Edric looked up again. “Is that someone I should know?”
“Yes.”
Gareth unfolded another report. "He's a baron, personally granted land by your late grandfather high up north. He guards your northern border from the mountain clans."
Edric looked over the ledgers one by one before looking up. "It seems his lands aren't producing much.. of anything actually."
“The census teams discovered discrepancies between his reported yields and actual village conditions.”
Edric frowned slightly.
“How so?”
“The villages under his authority are in significantly better condition than surrounding territories despite lower reported harvests.”
Gareth’s expression remained unreadable. “It appears the Baron deliberately underreported production and population figures over several years.”
Celia looked confused.
“But… why would someone report less?”
“Because the adjusted quotas reduced collection pressure on his people,” Gareth answered calmly.
Understanding slowly crossed her face.
The old steward continued.
“Several villages under his administration still possess stable grain reserves. Livestock populations remain relatively healthy. Infrastructure is poor, but functional."
Edric leaned back slowly.
“What else?” he asked carefully, though judging by Gareth’s expression, he already knew he would hate the answer.
Gareth placed another report directly before him. “The majority of the Artos Territory does not possess enough grain reserves to survive the winter.”
Silence.
Even Celia seemed to stop breathing for a moment.
Edric stared down at the report. “How bad?” he asked quietly.
Gareth answered immediately. “Should the coming winter be as harsh as the previous years, multiple settlements will face starvation before the first thaw.”
The room felt colder after hearing it spoken aloud.
Outside the windows, snow drifted steadily across the fortress walls, winter was approaching and he had limited time to try and fix things.
Edric slowly leaned back into his chair. For several moments, nobody spoke.
Then finally—
“Another thing, my lord” Gareth muttered quietly, "The representative from the Golden Hands Company have returned to the manor."
Another troublesome matter.
Edric slowly looked up at the ceiling and dragged both hands down his face. "Right, there's that too."
"Indeed so, my lord." Gareth answered, "should I send them away?"
Edric stood up and slowly walked towards the window sill. Wiping some of the frost that had accumulated, he gently peered outside.
"No," he said calmly, "I need to deal with this now, call for Serah, we'll meet the Golden Hands Company inside the receiving chamber."
"At once, my lord."
Elsewhere in the manor, Halvern sat within one of the guest lounges reserved for visiting merchants and minor nobles.
A low fire crackled quietly within the hearth, though the warmth did little to ease the growing impatience inside the room.
The merchant tapped two fingers lightly against the armrest of his chair while glancing toward the frost-covered windows.
Several days.
That was how long they had been kept waiting for House Artos’ answer.
Across from him sat the two men who had accompanied him north.
Derren leaned heavily against his seat with obvious irritation written across his broad face.
“This is becoming excessive,” he muttered. “If they intended to refuse, they could have done so days ago.”
Beside him, Lucien quietly adjusted the ledger resting across his lap.
“The delay itself concerns me more,” he admitted. “The manor’s servants have been unusually busy since the census began.”
"The lord's always let us do as we please, why is now any different?"
Halvern leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands. "The lord's brush with death may have something to do with it."
"So it's true then?" One of the assistants inquired, eyes widening in curiosity. "Someone actually poisoned the brat?"
"Lower your voice, Derren." Lucien interjected, "You never know who might be listening."
Derren grunted as he composed himself.
"From our sources inside the manor, it is true." Halvern continued as he tapped his finger against the wooden chair. "An attempt was made on the life of the young lord, and he survived it."
Ordinarily, it would have been a major incident, but for merchants like the Golden Hands Company, the death of a noble is nothing more but an opportunity.
"If anything," Lucien spoke, "this may actually prove more profitable for us."
"Our gift was of a substantial sum, of course." Derren continued, "enough for the "lord" to maintain his luxuries"
"A cost we'll recoup double once the trade agreement has been granted. An investment well placed." Lucien agreed.
Just as they were discussing, a knock came from the door. A young servant girl entered and offered a small bow.
"Lord Edric will see you now good sirs."
Halvern exchanged a brief glance with Lucien before slowly rising from his chair. Beside him, Derren let out a quiet grunt as he pushed himself upright. “Finally,” he muttered beneath his breath.
The three merchants gathered themselves quickly before following the servant out of the guest lounge.
The manor’s corridors were noticeably busier than before, servants carrying stacks of parchment hurried between halls while armored guards moved in pairs near the outer corridors.
Several household attendants moved quickly through the fortress with unusual urgency.
Lucien’s eyes quietly followed them. “Something has the household unsettled,” he observed softly.
Halvern said nothing.
Instead, his gaze lingered briefly on the guards stationed near several intersections.
More alert than before.
The atmosphere inside the fortress felt… tighter.
Eventually, the servant stopped before a pair of wooden doors reinforced with dark iron bands.
Derren frowned slightly. “A receiving chamber?” he muttered quietly.
Interesting.
House Artos normally conducted business inside larger halls whenever they wished to project authority or wealth. A smaller chamber suggested something else entirely.
The servant pushed the doors open carefully.
“My lord,” she announced softly, “the representatives of the Golden Hands Company have arrived.”
The room beyond was warm, though only barely.
A narrow fire burned quietly within the hearth while several oil lamps cast muted golden light across stone walls lined with old banners bearing the crest of House Artos, two silver serpents coiled around a golden sword.
And already seated at the center table—
Edric Artos.
Halvern’s eyes narrowed slightly. The young lord looked different.
Still young, still silver-haired, still plump, but gone was the lazy arrogance and careless indulgence Halvern remembered from previous visits.
Instead, Edric sat upright in a dark winter coat trimmed modestly with fur, one hand resting calmly against the wooden table beside several neatly organized ledgers.
His golden eyes met theirs evenly.
Sharp, alert, tired, certainly—but focused.
The faint reddish-black scarring stretching from beneath the collar of his clothing toward the left side of his neck only made the change more striking.
Beside him stood Gareth in complete silence, hands folded neatly behind his back as the old steward watched the merchants enter with unreadable eyes. Near the wall stood Serah in partial armor, one hand resting near the hilt of her sword.
The maid from earlier remained inside the chamber as well, quietly pouring fresh tea near the side table.
“Lord Edric,” Halvern greeted smoothly as the merchants stepped forward together. “It is good to see you.”
Edric studied him silently for several moments before replying.
“Is it really?”
The answer came calmly, too calmly.
For the first time since arriving in the north, Halvern felt the faintest trace of unease settle in his chest.
But years of dealing with nobles had taught him how to hide discomfort behind courtesy.
“Of course, my lord,” Halvern replied smoothly. “The Golden Hands Company has always valued its relationship with House Artos.”
Edric gestured calmly toward the seats across from him. “Sit.”
The three merchants obeyed without protest.
Edric leaned back leisurely and placed a hand on his chin.
"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He continued. "I have a good few matters that need my attention, so I would appreciate it if we hurry things here."
Derren barely managed to hold back his anger, although visible veins throbbed on his temple.
Halvern merely allowed a small, practiced smile to settle on his face. “Lord Edric,” he said smoothly, inclining his head just enough to be respectful without being submissive. “It is a great honour that you would meet with us so intimately.”
His tone was warm and neutral.
“As always, House Artos extends its hospitality in admirable fashion.”
Edric did not return the smile, he simply watched.
Halvern did not rush to fill the silence, most inexperienced would have. Instead, he let it linger just long enough to be acknowledged, but not long enough to become uncomfortable.
Then he continued.
“We understand you are… quite occupied at present,” he said lightly, gesturing vaguely to the ledgers on the table. “So we will not overstay our welcome.”
A faint pause.
“However, the matter that brought us here is rather time-sensitive.”
Edric leaned back slightly. “Is it now?” he asked coyly.
Halvern’s smile did not falter.
“Indeed,” he replied. “As we have done so for several years now, the Golden Hands Company merely wishes to renew our exclusive trading rights within your territories."
He gestured gently with one hand, as if the matter were already settled in principle.
“I trust that the gesture of good will we offered is sufficient enough?”
Derren shifted slightly beside him, but said nothing. Lucien remained silent, eyes quietly tracking Edric’s expression.
Halvern continued.
“As we have mentioned before, this agreement would greatly benefit your house. A monopoly on trading would ensure a stable supply of goods, at the appropriate price, of course. Stability during these troubling times, as I'm sure you're aware, is the most important thing.”
Edric remained silent for several seconds after Halvern finished speaking, the fire crackled softly between them.
"Tell me, master Halvern" Edric was the first to speak up. "What does this monopoly entail for my territory?"
Though taken aback by the question, Halvern quickly regained his composure. "Well, monopoly my lord, entails that the Golden Hands Company shall control the flow of goods to and from your territories."
Edric gave a slow nod, as though genuinely considering the explanation. “I see.”
Halvern relaxed slightly and continued smoothly.
“In exchange, naturally, House Artos receives guaranteed trade access, secured caravan routes, stable distribution, favorable purchasing agreements, as well as of course small tokens of gratitude.”
“Token of gratitude, you say?” Edric asked mildly.
A brief silence followed.
Lucien quietly lowered his eyes to hide the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. Halvern, however, remained composed. "Of course, my lord. The same, maybe even more than the one we extended to you.” he answered.
“Mhmm, that is a considerable amount.” Edric repeated. He leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping softly against the armrest. "And if another merchant wishes to trade within my territory?”
Halvern answered immediately. “They would require authorization through the Golden Hands Company.”
“So you decide who may conduct business inside my lands.”
“We regulate trade flow to maintain order and efficiency.”
Edric tilted his head slightly. “How generous.”
Derren’s jaw visibly tightened again. Halvern continued before the larger man could speak. “As frontier territories often lack the infrastructure to support unrestricted commerce, centralized management prevents instability.”
“Instability,” Edric echoed softly. He glanced briefly toward Gareth. “Interesting word. I’ve been hearing it quite often lately.”
The old steward remained silent.
Edric’s gaze returned to Halvern.
“And what happens,” he asked calmly, “when this centralized management decides prices?”
Halvern folded his hands together neatly. “Prices fluctuate according to risk, transport difficulty, seasonal conditions, and market demand.”
“Of course.” Edric nodded again.
“The north suffers monster attacks, damaged roads, harsh winters, and bandit raids… therefore prices rise.”
“That is the unfortunate reality of frontier trade.”
“And when local producers wish to sell goods?”
“The company purchases them at agreed rates.”
“Rates decided by?”
Another brief pause.
“The company.”
Edric smiled faintly, not warmly, just enough to make the atmosphere subtly uncomfortable.
“I think I finally understand.”
Halvern’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Edric leaned forward slightly now, resting both elbows against the table.
"We will be rejecting your request for exclusive rights, master Halvern."