Year 1193 of the Radiant Calendar, July 7th.
Though the sun had yet to rise fully, the merchants of Goldspark Town were already awake. Dressed in their finest clothes, they gathered at the eastern gate, waiting anxiously.
Today was the day Baron Rus officially reclaimed Goldspark Town.
As the first rays of sunlight painted the streets in gold, the sound of synchronized footsteps echoed in the distance. A military unit appeared on the road to the east.
The crowd collectively held its breath.
At the head of the formation were two massive Blood-Eyed Warhorses—each over two meters at the shoulder, clad in heavy, gleaming chainmail. Only their crimson eyes remained exposed, glaring out from under their barding. As their bowl-sized hooves struck the cobblestones, they sent up clouds of stone dust with each impact. No one doubted that once these beasts charged, nothing could stop them.
And mounted atop the lead warhorse—unmistakably—was Rus.
Beneath the baron's coronet was a mane of jet-black shoulder-length hair, a high forehead, sharp features, and skin pale with a hint of frost. His eyes were deep, unreadable, and glinting with a cold, commanding intensity.
Though he wore a luxurious noble's robe—more for form than function—his upright posture radiated a natural authority, the kind that came from within. In this moment, he looked less like a baron, and more like a king returning to his own land.
Behind him rode Erik, clad in heavy plate armor. Though taller than Rus, his presence didn't overshadow his lord in the slightest.
Led by a red-bearded man, the merchants bowed in unison. "Greetings, Lord Baron!"
"Rise," Rus said, briefly reining in his horse. His calm gaze swept across the crowd. "Come to the administrative hall shortly."
With a light squeeze of his legs, the warhorse moved forward, its hooves clicking crisply as he rode past and out of sight.
The merchants straightened—only to freeze again almost immediately.
Rus's personal guard was approaching.
Twenty-odd soldiers marched in two rows down the street, clad in thick chainmail, heads held high. Their faces were hidden beneath iron helms, but their eyes—gleaming with various hues—radiated a chilling aura.
It wasn't the greed the merchants were used to seeing in Snow Maple soldiers, nor the fake toughness used to extort bribes. No, this was the true, soul-piercing coldness of men who had walked the edge of life and death.
In that moment, the merchants understood.
These soldiers didn't just look like killers.
They were killers.
Their precise, rhythmic steps rang out like clockwork. Their long spears glinted in the morning light—an image so tense and dangerous, it felt like they might launch into a massacre at any second.
That one minute felt like a lifetime. Only when the soldiers disappeared down the far end of the street did the merchants finally start breathing again.
"Gods above… that was terrifying… I can't believe I ever doubted they could take on those bandits…"
"From Moen City to Snow Maple, I've never seen a force this… this intense. Are we sure they're not bandits in disguise?"
"Don't be ridiculous—bandits with discipline like that?"
"We're doomed… I thought he looked young, and we might pressure him into repaying his debts. But now? Forget it…"
That last comment reached the ears of the red-bearded man, who crossed his arms and snorted. "Cowards like you should go back to farming."
The man who had spoken earlier turned to retort—only to recognize the speaker and quickly smile obsequiously. "Ah, Mr. Carl, I was just rattled by the shock. Of course, we'll follow your lead when the time comes."
Carl, head of the Goldspark Town Merchants' Guild, had deep ties to the Fox family and dealt in the lucrative weapons trade.
With the backing of the Foxes and his own considerable business acumen, he had ruled the town's commerce for over two decades. No matter who technically controlled Goldspark Town, he was always the true power behind the market.
Seeing the unrest among the other merchants, Carl knew he had to reassert control.
"As long as you remember who's in charge," Carl said, raising his voice and scanning the crowd. "Look at yourselves—'boss this,' 'gentleman that.' All high and mighty… until twenty private soldiers scare you like rabbits!"
"So what if Rus took back Goldspark? This town still runs on our say-so. Without us merchants, it's a worthless patch of dirt!"
He stroked his beard smugly. "There's no war going on. Why would he march his whole force in? It's nothing but intimidation—a show of force."
"Like the old saying goes: courtesy that only flows one way doesn't last. If he dares flex like this, then we must respond in kind. No matter what he proposes, our first condition is repayment of Donald's debt."
"If anyone's foolish enough to betray us for short-term gain—then don't bother doing business in Goldspark ever again. Understood?"
The merchants exchanged glances, then bowed their heads. "Yes, Mr. Carl!"
"Let's move!" Carl barked, striding proudly to the head of the group.
Though Goldspark had four times the population of Eagle Town, it wasn't especially large. In no time, the group arrived at the administrative hall.
With the Snow Maple tax officials now gone, the hall stood empty—recently reclaimed by Rus. His guards lined the doors, silver scale armor gleaming under the morning sun.
Carl led the merchants into the meeting room.
A long, ancient table stood at the center. Its matching black-painted oak chairs flanked either side. At the head of the table sat Rus, who smiled and gestured. "We've already done the formalities—no need to stand on ceremony. Please, be seated."
Most of the merchants had been here before. They took their seats naturally. Carl settled at Rus's left, while Vice President Philip took the seat across from him.
Rus clapped his hands.
From outside, maids entered with trays, setting glasses of deep red wine in front of each guest.
"You've all worked hard to welcome me so early today. Please, try this—Angel's Tear."
Angel's Tear!
The name alone made every merchant's eyes light up.
They had all heard of the legendary wine—but almost none had ever tasted it.
The first three hundred bottles had been snapped up by nobles. Even the wealthier merchants hadn't had a chance to try it.
"Then we thank the Baron for his generosity," Carl said, lifting his glass. Only after he moved did the others follow suit.
Glasses clinked, wine flowed, and soon compliments filled the air.
"Angel's Tear—worthy of the Lightbringer's blessing! This may be the finest wine in the world!"
"And to think I always bragged about my precious White Mountain Vintage… compared to this, I should've dumped it down the drain!"
"It's incredible. Even the mythical Spring of Youth sung by bards couldn't taste better!"
Rus offered a modest smile. "I understand that many of you might feel uneasy about me reclaiming Goldspark Town. You might worry that I'm greedy or authoritarian. That I don't understand economics and will meddle recklessly. Or even that I'll support Elaina and suppress the local guilds."
He raised his own glass. "This Angel's Tear is my answer. I'm not someone who hoards wealth, nor a lord who rules by fear."
"As long as you continue to run your businesses honestly and pay your taxes as before, you've nothing to worry about. In fact, I'm willing to release a portion of Angel's Tear for sale here in Goldspark—and share the profits with all of you."
A murmur spread around the room. Eyes sparkled with renewed interest. The wine itself was valuable, sure—but what truly excited them was the foot traffic it would bring.
The more people who came, the better business would be.
"Baron Rus, you certainly have a way with words," Carl said, stroking his beard. "But surely, you don't expect us to profit without offering something in return?"
Rus was ready for that. He nodded smoothly and continued, "Of course, I have needs as well. To increase Angel's Tear production and diversify our product line, I'll be building a new workshop west of Eagle Town."
"I hope the Goldspark Merchants' Guild can assist me—construction materials, laborers, future equipment and ingredients. As long as the quality is up to standard, I'll ensure your interests are well protected."
He looked to the merchants expectantly.
But the previously enthusiastic crowd suddenly avoided eye contact. An awkward silence fell over the room.
"Such generosity, my lord," Carl finally broke the tension. "But perhaps you've forgotten something."
"Your uncle, Baron Donald, took out a 937 gold coin loan from us ten years ago."
Rus kept smiling. "Of course I haven't forgotten. With interest compounded at 30% annually, the total today stands at 3,748 gold coins."
"My proposal is to extend the loan by two years. That brings the total to 4,310.2 gold, which Eagle's Nest will repay in installments—179.6 gold per month over the next 24 months."
This was a figure Rus had carefully calculated with Gordon—large enough to demonstrate good faith, but not so large as to cripple the territory's economy.
"Well said, Baron Rus. But profits don't work that way," Carl replied, stroking his fiery red beard like he was already toying with Rus in the palm of his hand. "Baron Donald's loan was originally for five years. But now it's well past that."
A shadow briefly passed across Rus's face.
Carl continued, full of confidence. "Five years of principal plus interest comes out to 2,342.5 gold coins. After that, compound interest at 30% annually. That brings us to a grand total of 8,697.7 gold coins. I'll give you a discount—how about we round it down to 8,697?"
The air froze. You could hear a pin drop.
Most of the merchants in the room had issued loans before, so the profit margins didn't seem outrageous—for loans to peasants or fellow merchants.
But to bring that kind of crippling, household-wrecking interest scheme against a noble? That was something none of them dared even imagine.
Behind Rus, Erik—silent until now—erupted with fury. "This is extortion!"
Carl shot him a righteous glare. "It's a perfectly legal business transaction, protected by Imperial law. I'm simply exercising my rights as a merchant!"
"If Baron Rus insists on breaking the rules, then from this day forward, the Goldspark Merchant Guild will reject all orders from Eagle's Nest. We will pay no taxes, offer no cooperation!"
"Then you're courting death!" Shing! Erik drew his curved sword with a flash, and a wave of killing intent flooded the room.
But just as quickly, Rus reached over and held Erik's arm, smiling calmly. "Well said, Mr. Carl. As the old Imperial proverb goes, without rules and standards, nothing can be accomplished. You, sir, are truly a model merchant."
It was an obvious concession, and the merchants' eyes gleamed with disdain. Carl, however, was glowing with pride.
This was exactly the outcome he wanted—force Rus to submit to an outrageous debt, and the town would remain his domain. He, Carl, would continue as the town's uncrowned lord.
"I'm glad to hear you're a man who respects the rules," Carl said condescendingly. "I know you don't have that much gold on hand. So, I propose a better alternative."
Rus leaned forward, resting his chin on folded hands. "I'm listening."
"You mentioned Angel's Tear. Truly a divine blessing from the Lord of Light." Carl gestured grandly. "Why not share the recipe with us, the Goldspark Guild? We can handle production, and you, my lord, can sit back and count the coins we pay you."
"Merchants do what merchants do. Nobles stay noble. Isn't that the best of both worlds?"
Rus clapped, laughing. "Now that's the best idea I've heard all day!"
He raised his glass. "Let's toast to your brilliant proposal, shall we?"
Carl deliberately hesitated, waited to see if anyone else would move, then smugly raised his glass and clinked it with Rus's before downing it.
The wine was just as rich and sweet as legend claimed—grape, citrus, a hint of char… and something else—something metallic. Salty.Bloody.
Then time froze.
The room fell utterly silent as they watched, dumbfounded, while Rus—still smiling—plunged a dagger straight into Carl's throat.
No one even remembered to scream.
Clink…
Carl's wineglass dropped to the table, spilling deep red liquid everywhere.
Thick blood bubbled from his nose. His eyes widened as he finally registered what had happened. His hands shot forward to grab Rus's wrist, but the blade was already gone.
Rus… is killing me!?
He dares!?
To murder a merchant leader in broad daylight… doesn't he fear driving all of Goldspark into chaos!?
But there was no time for outrage. The cold vanished, replaced by a wave of unbearable pain and suffocating pressure. Carl clutched his throat as the air was slowly squeezed from his lungs. His limbs weakened, then collapsed with a crash onto the table.
"M-murder! He's killed someone!—"
The room erupted in chaos. Glasses shattered. Bold merchants rushed for the door. Others sat paralyzed in terror. A few collapsed to the floor, legs trembling.
But as they reached the exit, they came face-to-face with Rus's fully armored soldiers. Anyone who tried to force their way through was kicked unceremoniously back into the room.
"Silence!" Rus's voice boomed through the chamber.
The merchants finally grasped the reality. One by one, they returned to their seats, trembling.
"Carl, chairman of the Goldspark Merchant Guild," Rus declared, wiping his dagger clean with a silk handkerchief, "attempted to assassinate Baron Rus in public, driven by greed for the Angel's Tear recipe. He was executed on the spot."
He gently dabbed the blood from his face, but the aura radiating from him in that moment was cold and terrifying.
"Did I say anything incorrect?"
To the merchants now staring at Rus's bloodstained, handsome face—he might as well have been a devil.
Then there was Carl's twitching corpse, still flailing like a dying fish. No one dared speak up.
A merchant seated at Rus's right frantically nodded. "Yes—Carl went mad! He tried to attack Baron Rus! He got what he deserved!"
"You're Philip, correct?" Rus asked with a smile.
Philip nodded blankly.
"Good." Rus looked around. "From today on, Philip is chairman of the Goldspark Merchant Guild. Any objections?"
A short, gnomish-looking man leapt up. "This violates the Guild's traditional—"
Thwip.
A crossbow bolt zipped from Rus's sleeve, nailing the man to his chair by the throat.
Rus sipped his wine with a smile. "How about now?"
The air was thick with blood—and something fouler. Some of the merchants had already lost control of their bladders.
"I—I support Philip as chairman!"
"Me too! I agree!"
"I second the motion!"
Rus grinned. "Now, about that debt…"
Philip, face pale, forced a smile that revealed a gleaming gold tooth. "Forgiven. Completely forgiven!"
Rus shook his head. "No, that won't do."
"W-what?" Philip stammered. "But—but…"
"I, Rus, am not someone who shirks his debts," he said coldly. "We'll proceed as originally proposed—4,310.2 gold coins, repaid over 24 months."
"Wha…?" Philip was stunned.
And so were the others. He'd just killed two men and taken over the guild—yet still insisted on paying the full debt?
Rus's voice rang out across the silent chamber. "I respect rules—but not your rules. I follow my own."
"Carl and his co-conspirators—traitors who plotted to steal from me—will have their businesses seized. Their shops will now be managed by the guild collectively. The profits will be yours."
"And as long as you complete the tasks I assign, my earlier promises still stand. Angel's Tear will be sold in Goldspark, and future products from Eagle's Nest will be available to you at a discounted rate."
He clapped.
Erik stepped forward, hefted a large chest, and slammed it down on the table.
A flood of gleaming gold coins spilled across the bloodstained wood, glimmering even brighter for the red that smeared them.
Rus's voice was crisp and clear: "I have many needs—household goods, building materials, weapons, armor, food. Every one of you can profit from this."
"This is the first payment—800 gold coins. If you want out, you may leave now. No hard feelings. But those who stay… from this moment on, are my people."
The fear in the merchants' eyes was now replaced with greed—and hunger.
They were clever enough to see Rus's strategy:
Slap them with one hand—then feed them candy with the other.
And now that he'd slapped someone else to death and offered them the sweet, how could they possibly refuse?
"Lord Rus! Anything you need in construction—I, Hank, have it covered!"
"And me! From coal to salt, any daily necessity, just name it!"
"I have the finest leather armor in all of Nord Province—even enchanted monsterhide sets! I'll give you 20% off!"
As the chamber filled with eager voices and offers, Carl's corpse gave one last shudder beneath the table before falling still.
No one even glanced at him.
"Excellent," Rus said, smiling. "Then here's what I'll need next—"