The fire crackled softly between them as Halvern stared at Edric in complete disbelief. Beside him, Derren’s expression twisted immediately.
“You dare?!!” The larger merchant rose from his chair with a sharp scrape of wood against stone.
Serah moved instantly. Her hand settled fully against the hilt of her sword as she stepped forward beside Edric’s chair, her posture tightening into a guarded stance. The atmosphere inside the chamber sharpened at once; the female knight's murderous intent was almost suffocating. Celia barely managed to stay conscious.
"Scary!" Edric thought to himself.
“Derren,” Lucien quickly rose and held his associate. "Calm yourself." The younger merchant did not raise his voice, yet somehow it cut cleanly through the tension.
“Sit down,” Edric ordered firmly.
Derren’s jaw clenched visibly. For a brief moment, it looked as though he might ignore the order entirely, but ultimately he slowly lowered himself back into his chair.
Halvern finally exhaled quietly through his nose before speaking again. “…Lord Edric,” he said carefully, “perhaps we have misunderstood one another.”
“I don’t believe so,” Edric replied almost instantly. The young lord remained completely relaxed despite Serah standing ready beside him. “I meant precisely what I said.”
Halvern’s polite smile had grown thinner now, his expression hardening slightly beneath the mask. “With respect, my lord, rejecting our proposal would be… unwise. Winter is approaching quickly. The roads will soon become increasingly dangerous, and the commonfolk will need a steady supply of goods if they want to survive the cold winter nights.”
He leaned forward slightly. “When supplies begin thinning, House Artos may find itself in need of reliable partners more than ever.”
Edric studied him for several long moments. “I suppose it is fortunate,” he said calmly, “that I still have time to open trade access to other merchant companies.”
For the first time, Lucien’s composed expression shifted slightly. Halvern’s eyes narrowed. “Other companies?”
“Yes.” Edric leaned back leisurely. “If the Golden Hands Company declines to trade without exclusive rights, I’m certain others will gladly take the opportunity instead.”
A brief silence followed before Lucien finally spoke. “Lord Edric,” he said carefully, “merchant networks are… closely connected. Many companies prefer not to interfere in already established commercial arrangements.”
Edric tilted his head slightly. “Is that a threat, Master Lucien?”
The room immediately became still again. Lucien lowered his eyes politely. “Not at all, my lord. Merely explaining the realities of commerce—”
"Because my house does not take threats lightly," Edric interrupted as Serah rested her hand on her sword. None of the merchants dared speak.
Edric’s fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, his gaze shifting back toward Halvern. “There is also the matter of the ‘token of gratitude’ your company provided.”
At those words, Derren visibly stiffened again. Halvern remained composed, though only barely. “The Golden Hands Company has always acted generously toward House Artos,” he replied carefully.
“And House Artos appreciates gifts greatly,” Edric answered. “Your contribution was presented voluntarily,” he continued before anyone could interrupt. “No formal agreement was signed, no terms were accepted. As such, House Artos will naturally treat it as exactly what your company claimed it to be.”
A gift.
Lucien’s fingers tightened subtly against the ledger in his lap. Derren looked moments away from exploding again. But none of them could refute the statement. Because officially—Edric was correct.
The young lord slowly stood from his chair, delivering the unmistakable dismissal. “I believe this discussion has concluded.”
For several seconds, Halvern simply sat there silently. Then, very slowly, the merchant rose from his seat. Lucien followed immediately after. Derren stood last, his expression dark with restrained fury.
Halvern inclined his head slightly. “…Very well, Lord Edric.” His voice remained courteous, but the warmth from earlier had vanished completely. “We thank you for your hospitality.”
Edric merely nodded once. Serah did not move from her position near the table as the three merchants turned toward the exit. Celia opened the chamber doors, then lightly closed them behind them.
Silence lingered for several moments afterward.
“Haaaaah…” Edric dragged a hand down his face before collapsing back into his chair. “…That was exhausting.”
Serah let out a quiet snort from beside the wall. “You handled it well, young master.”
“Did I?” Edric muttered. “Because I’m fairly certain they now hate me.”
“They already did,” Gareth answered calmly.
Edric stared at him for a moment. “…Fair point.” The old steward stepped forward slightly. “The Golden Hands Company will not abandon this matter quietly.”
“I know.” Edric’s expression slowly became serious again. “Which is why we move first.” He looked toward Gareth directly. “Begin searching for alternative trade partners immediately. Anyone willing to operate without demanding monopoly rights—I don't care who, as long as they can meet our needs.”
“At once, my lord.” Gareth gave a small nod.
Then Edric turned toward Serah. “Prepare horses.”
She blinked once. “Horses?”
Edric stood again before walking toward the frost-covered window. “If I stay inside this room any longer,” he muttered, staring out toward the snow-covered fortress grounds, “I’m going to strangle someone.”
A faint smirk tugged briefly at Serah’s lips, but Celia's face visibly turned pale.
"You, girl." Edric addressed Celia, bringing even more tension to the poor girl. "Do you know how to ride?"
"A-apologies, my lord. But I have no experience in riding."
"Of course she doesn't," Edric thought to himself. Common folk very seldom had the opportunity to ride horses. Even so, Edric could not just leave his potential assassin all alone.
"Gareth," he said as he walked towards the door. "Bring the girl with you, and keep an eye on her."
"Your will, my lord," Gareth answered as he offered a small bow. "Come now, Celia."
With that, the young servant girl meekly followed the older man.
Outside the manor, three men walked with a determined step. The largest of the three clenched his fist, his heavy boots leaving deep marks on the damp ground.
"That impudent, spoiled brat!" Derren exclaimed, a visible vein throbbing on his temple. "How dare he disrespect the Golden Hands like that?!"
Their negotiations with the lord of the territory had fallen apart completely. Edric Artos, the young lord of the Artos house, a man with a reputation of being entirely depraved, had completely shut down their request for exclusive trading rights.
"How dare he accept our offering yet deny our request?!" Derren continued, his voice trembling with rage. "He spit right in our faces!"
Ahead of the two younger merchants, Halvern walked calmly, his steps making no sound at all against the path.
Halvern didn't stop until they reached the edge of the estate grounds, where their private carriage was waiting under the shade of a massive elm tree. The driver took one look at Derren’s thunderous expression and quickly scrambled to open the door, keeping his eyes firmly glued to the gravel path.
Halvern stepped up into the velvet-lined interior first, his movements fluid and entirely unbothered. Lucien followed, settling into his seat with a heavy sigh as he placed his ledger on his knees.
Derren practically threw himself inside last, the entire carriage swaying under his weight.
"We blacklist them," Derren hissed immediately, slamming his fist against the padded armrest. "We talk to the merchants guild, to everyone. Inform them that Artos is unprofitable. We choke the boy until he's on his knees begging us to take his exclusive rights!"
"Calm yourself, Derren," Lucien said, his tone dry as he flipped open his ledger to a fresh page. "A total blockade requires coordination, and more importantly, it may open up investigations from other companies."
"And what do you suggest? We let a green noble steal our gold and mock our name?!"
"Enough."
Halvern’s voice wasn't loud, but it instantly snuffed out the argument. The two younger merchants turned to look at him.
The senior merchant was staring out the carriage window, watching the distant towers of the Artos fortress cut against the sky. The polite, superficial warmth he had worn during the meeting was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.
"Lord Edric is not the fool we negotiated with before," Halvern said softly, tapping a single finger against his cane. "The 'depraved youth' who squandered his inheritance on wine and gambling would have signed our contract without reading the clauses."
"He stole our token of gratitude!" Derren growled, his jaw still clenched.
"He utilized a legal loophole because we chose to label it a 'gift'," Lucien countered smoothly, not looking up from his notes. "Officially, he did nothing wrong. Unofficially, he just took a massive bribe and slammed the door in our faces."
Halvern turned his gaze away from the window, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He believes he has time. He believes he can simply invite our competitors into the territory to break our leverage."
"Most of the members of the merchants guild would not risk their reputation and coin on an unstable frontier territory," Lucien noted. "We can just let the lord's reputation do the work for us."
"That is true." Halvern said, a dark, thin smile finally creeping onto his face. "Derren is right about one thing, we cannot let this insolence stand. But a blunt blockade is sloppy. It invites investigations."
He leaned forward, the shadows of the carriage cabin framing his sharp features.
"We still have contacts with some of the bandit clans lurking along the Southern roads, do we not?"
Lucien’s quill paused. He looked up, his eyes sharp. "Indeed so, but what of it?"
"Send out word, have them ramp up their attacks. Caravans, villages, anything they can get their hands on." Halvern replied coldly. "I'll send word to our noble friends neighboring the brat's territories."
Halvern leaned back into the cushions, pulling the carriage blinds shut, plunging the interior into shadow.
"No one will extend a hand to a lord who intentionally burned a bridge with a prominent merchant company, lest they risk burning that very same bridge."
"We should just hire a bandit lord to take that whelp's head." Derren grumbled under his breath.
Halvern merely looked at his associate with a quiet disdain. "That would be unwise."
"How so? His people hate him, the territory is on the verge of collapse, we have the neighboring lords and bandit groups on our back."
Halvern rubbed his head, "though the territory is struggling, a frontier house's strength must not be underestimated. Years of harsh living conditions have hardened these men, it would be a costly war for us and our friends."
"So it's not off the table?" Derren asked, his eyes gleaming darkly in the dim light of the carriage.
"It is merely inefficient," Halvern corrected smoothly, lowering his hand. "Why waste our coin and soldiers to break a wall that is already rotting from the inside? We do not need to conquer House Artos. We simply wait for the eventual collapse of the territory."
Lucien looked up from his ledger, a faint, understanding smile touching his lips. "And when the young lord can no longer feed his people or secure his borders..."
"Precisely," Halvern whispered, his voice dripping with cold satisfaction. "When the territory falls into ruin, we swoop in to stabilize it. We divide the lands, handing the pieces over to the neighboring noble houses who are already in our favor—and deeply in our debt. House Artos will vanish from the maps, and we will own the entire northern trade route without ever having to swing a sword."
Halvern looked back out the tiny gap in the carriage blinds one last time as the estate faded into the distance.
"Let the boy enjoy his little victory today. He has only bought himself a slightly grander seat for the execution."
Meanwhile, back inside the manor's courtyard, the air was crisp as a stable hand led out a gelding. The horse was a magnificent, restless beast, its dark coat gleaming in the afternoon light.
Edric strode out of the main doors, having traded his heavy ceremonial robes for a practical riding coat and leather boots. Serah followed closely behind, already checking the straps on her mare’s saddle with practiced efficiency.
Gareth stood by the courtyard archway. Celia kept her head bowed, her fingers tightly gripping the fabric of her apron.
Edric stopped in front of them, mounting his horse in one smooth, surprisingly athletic motion. He looked down at the old steward.
"Keep her in the eastern wing, Gareth," Edric ordered quietly, his voice carrying just enough authority to keep the surrounding guards alert. "Assign her to the inventory counts for the winter stores. It’s quiet, isolated, and requires her to be exactly where you can see her."
"Understood, my lord," Gareth replied with a formal bow.
Edric then shifted his gaze to Celia. The girl flinched slightly under his sharp, assessing stare. "Work hard, girl. Prove your loyalty to this house, and you’ll find I am a very generous master."
"T-thank you, my lord," Celia whispered, her voice shaking. "I will not disappoint you."
With a sharp click of his tongue, Edric turned his horse toward the open iron gates of the estate. "Serah! Let's go before the sun dips."
"Right behind you, young master," Serah replied, leaping onto her mare.
With a burst of sudden speed, the two horses thundered out of the courtyard, leaving a cloud of dust behind them as they headed straight for the open, untamed ridges of the Artos territory.