《I’m Just a Merchant’s Son, Why Am I Leading an Army?》 Chapter 1: Reincarnated... as a Nobody?! Reivan Valcrest groaned as he woke up, his head pounding like he had spent all night grinding ranked matches and chugging energy drinks. But when he opened his eyes, the sight that greeted him wasn¡¯t his cluttered gaming desk or his old apartment. Wooden beams. A small, dimly lit room. A rough, straw-filled mattress. ¡°¡­The hell?¡± His body felt lighter, unfamiliar. He sat up, clutching his head, and it all came rushing back¡ªhis past life, his high school days spent obsessing over Age of Dominion, the strategy RPG he had poured countless hours into. His name had been Kang Ji-ho, a regular Korean guy who had coasted through life, more interested in min-maxing game strategies than studying. He had lived an unremarkable existence, working odd jobs and barely scraping by in a cramped apartment. The only thing he had ever truly excelled at was Age of Dominion, where he had been known for breaking the game¡¯s economy and discovering hidden mechanics. And now? He was inside that very world. Reivan wasn¡¯t stupid. He had read enough manhwa to recognize a reincarnation scenario when he saw one. This should have been exciting, right? A fresh start, a new life filled with adventure and power? So why, out of all possible roles, was he a merchant¡¯s son?! He looked around. The small room was cramped with sacks of grain, wooden crates, and cheap trinkets. His memories filled in the gaps¡ªhis new name was Reivan, the only son of a minor merchant in Ravensburg, a small trade city. His father, Gerald Valcrest, was a struggling trader who specialized in selling common goods. No noble blood. No special powers. Just¡­ a merchant¡¯s kid. ¡°¡­I really got the NPC treatment.¡± Reivan sighed. Alright, fine. He wasn¡¯t a duke¡¯s heir, but this wasn¡¯t so bad. He knew how the world worked thanks to his game knowledge. The safest play? Stay out of the main plot, make some easy money, and slack off in peace. The First Misunderstanding As they ate, Gerald shuffled through a few papers, his brows furrowed in concern. ¡°Something wrong?¡± Reivan asked, more out of politeness than actual curiosity. His father sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about investing in iron shipments. There¡¯s a rumor that Duke Farnell is expanding his army. If that¡¯s true, the price of iron will skyrocket.¡± Reivan nearly choked on his porridge. This was one of the early game traps in Age of Dominion. Duke Farnell wasn¡¯t expanding his army yet. That wouldn¡¯t happen for another year. Right now, the iron market was about to crash due to an oversupply. Reivan hesitated. He didn¡¯t want to stand out, but watching his father lose money over something so obviously wrong? He couldn¡¯t ignore it. ¡°¡­I wouldn¡¯t do it,¡± he muttered. Gerald looked up. ¡°What?¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°I mean,¡± Reivan scratched his cheek, ¡°Iron¡¯s not a good investment right now. Prices will drop soon.¡± Gerald frowned. ¡°And what makes you say that?¡± Reivan panicked for a second before lazily shrugging. ¡°Just a hunch.¡± His father studied him for a long moment before sighing. ¡°You¡¯ve never been interested in trade before, but¡­ you¡¯ve got a sharp mind. Maybe I should trust your gut this time.¡± Reivan internally sighed in relief. Crisis avoided. Two days later, news spread through Ravensburg. The iron trade had collapsed, and dozens of merchants who had invested in it were ruined. Gerald, who had hesitated because of Reivan¡¯s warning, had just dodged a massive loss. Rumors started. ¡°The Valcrest family didn¡¯t invest in iron? How did they know?!¡± ¡°I heard their son predicted the crash.¡± ¡°A prodigy?! A hidden genius?!¡± Within a week, Reivan went from ¡®merchant¡¯s lazy son¡¯ to ¡®mysterious young strategist.¡¯ And it only got worse. A Merchant¡¯s Home A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Before Reivan could react, the door creaked open, and a broad-shouldered man with graying hair stepped inside. His rough hands and weathered face showed years of hard labor, yet his eyes carried a gentle warmth. ¡°Reivan, you¡¯re finally awake,¡± the man¡ªhis father, Gerald Valcrest¡ªsaid with a relieved smile. ¡°You had me worried, boy. You slept like the dead.¡± Reivan blinked. His memories told him that Gerald wasn¡¯t the strict or ambitious type. Just an honest man trying to get by. A bit stubborn, but kind. ¡°I¡­ uh, I was just tired,¡± Reivan mumbled, still adjusting to the situation. ¡°Did I sleep long?¡± ¡°Two whole days,¡± Gerald said, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯ve never been sick before, so I didn¡¯t know what to do. Almost called a priest.¡± Two days? That explained the headache. His soul must¡¯ve needed time to fully merge with this body. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Reivan said, scratching the back of his head. ¡°I feel fine now.¡± Gerald sighed in relief. ¡°That¡¯s good. But don¡¯t push yourself too hard. Come, eat something.¡± Reivan followed his father to the small wooden table in the main room. The house was modest¡ªworn furniture, but well-maintained. A fireplace crackled softly, adding warmth to the otherwise chilly morning. A simple meal of bread, cheese, and a bowl of porridge sat on the table. Reivan hesitated before taking a bite. He had expected bland, medieval-era food, but¡­ ¡°¡­This is actually pretty good,¡± he admitted. Gerald chuckled. ¡°Of course! You think your old man doesn¡¯t know how to make a proper meal?¡± Reivan felt something unfamiliar¡ªa small warmth in his chest. It had been a long time since someone had cared for him like this. His past life had been filled with long nights alone, takeout meals, and cold apartment rooms. Maybe this reincarnation thing wasn¡¯t so bad. The Second Misunderstanding One day, while Reivan was running an errand, he wandered into a crowded plaza where mercenaries were recruiting. Vendors were hawking wares, blacksmiths displayed freshly forged weapons, and armored men barked orders at new recruits. He had no real business there, but the commotion drew his attention. Out of sheer curiosity, he stopped at the training grounds where a group of mercenaries were sparring. It was nothing impressive¡ªjust a bunch of undertrained fighters swinging swords and barely maintaining their footing. With his arms crossed, Reivan idly watched, his mind half-distracted. Tch. Their stances are all wrong. That guy¡¯s exposing his side. That shield user isn¡¯t even blocking properly. It was the kind of casual analysis he always did when playing Age of Dominion¡ªa habit he had picked up after thousands of hours spent breaking the game¡¯s mechanics. To any bystander, however, he wasn¡¯t just standing there. He was silently evaluating the fighters, his eyes sharp, expression unreadable. His posture¡ªleaned slightly forward with a hand resting near his chin¡ªmade it look like he was deep in thought, judging their movements like a war strategist. Viscount Roderic, a noble overseeing military affairs, happened to be passing by. When his gaze landed on Reivan, he paused. ¡°What precision¡­ what insight¡­ That young man¡ªcould he be a hidden strategist?!¡± he muttered to his assistant. Before Reivan could even leave, whispers spread like wildfire. By the time Reivan had made his way to the market¡¯s exit, he noticed something strange. Why were so many people staring at him like he had just passed judgment on their entire profession? And most importantly¡ªwhy was that noble looking at him like he had just found the next great war strategist?! Chapter 2: The Future is Doomed Chapter 2: The Future is Doomed Reivan sat at the small wooden desk in his room, a crude quill in hand and a half-filled ink bottle beside him. A single candle flickered, casting long shadows across the wooden walls. He let out a deep sigh, staring at the blank parchment in front of him. "Alright," he muttered. "Let¡¯s put this all down before I forget anything." After the disaster at the mercenary recruitment, it was painfully clear¡ªhe had to avoid more misunderstandings. People already thought he was some kind of military genius, and if things kept going like this, he¡¯d be dragged into a war before he could even enjoy a proper meal. But that wasn¡¯t even the worst of it. Reivan clenched his jaw. He knew this world¡¯s future. And it was grim.
Game Mechanics & The World¡¯s Fate Reivan dipped the quill into the ink and began writing.
  1. The World Setting
  2. The War Timeline
Reivan stopped writing and rubbed his temples. "This is worse than I remember," he grumbled.
Where He Stands Viscount Roderic probably had his name written somewhere by now. The mercenaries? Who knew what they were thinking. The last thing Reivan wanted was to get roped into politics or war¡ªbut the world itself was already tilting toward disaster. "I need a plan," he muttered, tapping his quill against the table. "Something that keeps me out of trouble and lets me enjoy life."
The Plan
  1. Avoid War at All Costs ¨C No fighting, no battlefield nonsense. He¡¯d rather be a rich merchant than a dead hero.
  2. Build a Network ¨C Influence matters. If he could get in the good graces of a powerful noble or a big-shot merchant, he could use them as a shield.
  3. Secure Wealth ¨C Gold was power in this world. If he could start controlling trade, he could make himself indispensable.
  4. Stay Away from the Main Characters ¨C This world¡¯s ¡®protagonists¡¯ would eventually wreak havoc. He needed to stay far, far away.
  5. Keep Playing the Fool ¨C The misunderstandings were dangerous, but if he played them right, he could use them to his advantage.
Reivan leaned back in his chair. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Simple plan," he muttered. "Just one problem¡­"
A Fateful Encounter The next day, still wary of the mercenaries sniffing around, Reivan decided to take a detour through the city¡¯s marketplace. The streets were bustling, filled with merchants shouting their wares, the clatter of hooves against cobblestone, and the scent of freshly baked bread mixing with the sharper tang of leather and metal. He had no particular destination in mind¡ªjust a simple attempt to look busy and unapproachable so no one would stop him. However, as he strolled past a crowd gathered near the plaza, an auctioneer¡¯s voice cut through the noise. ¡°Next up, a fine specimen! Young, healthy, and ready to serve in any capacity!¡± Reivan¡¯s steps faltered. He turned his head toward the elevated platform where a row of slaves stood, their faces blank, their hands bound in iron cuffs. His stomach twisted. He had always hated these kinds of scenarios in games, but seeing it in real life? That was something else entirely. Then, his eyes landed on her. A girl with silver hair and dull green eyes, barely in her early teens, stood at the end of the row. Her clothes were ragged, her posture stiff but not entirely defeated. Unlike the others, she wasn¡¯t trembling or crying¡ªjust standing there, quiet and unreadable. A memory clicked in his mind. I know her. She was a minor character from the game, a sidekick to the protagonist. In one ending, the protagonist failed to save her, and she died in one of the countless wars that tore through the land. She was never important¡ªjust background support. But still¡­ Reivan exhaled. I should walk away. This isn¡¯t my problem. But his feet didn¡¯t move. He already knew how this world worked. This wasn¡¯t a game anymore. If he left her here, she wouldn¡¯t survive. The auctioneer continued his pitch. ¡°A perfect servant for noble households or an excellent hand for any craftsman¡ªdo I hear ten gold?¡± A noble across the plaza lazily raised his hand. ¡°Ten.¡± ¡°Twelve,¡± another bidder called. Reivan clicked his tongue. This is stupid. ¡°Fifteen,¡± he said, raising his hand. A few heads turned in surprise. Why was a merchant¡¯s son bidding on a slave? The auctioneer¡¯s eyes gleamed. ¡°Ah! A fine eye, young master! Do we have any other bids?¡± Silence. Reivan didn¡¯t wait for a response. ¡°I¡¯ll pay in full.¡± The auctioneer clapped his hands together. ¡°SOLD! To the esteemed young master!¡± A few murmurs rippled through the crowd as Reivan approached. The girl was unshackled and pushed toward him. She barely reacted, just staring at him with those unreadable green eyes. Reivan sighed. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go.¡± She hesitated, then slowly followed him out of the plaza. The weight of what he¡¯d just done finally settled on him. Damn it. I already know how this is going to go. As they walked through the streets, the whispers started up again. ¡°Why would he buy a slave?¡± ¡°Maybe she¡¯s secretly important?¡± ¡°He¡¯s making moves even nobles wouldn¡¯t dare¡­!¡± Reivan rubbed his temples. Another misunderstanding. Great. Chapter 3: An Offer He Can鈥檛 Refuse Reivan had barely gotten used to the idea of Sylphy staying with him when another problem landed on his doorstep¡ªquite literally. It started early the next morning, just as he was stretching and preparing for a lazy day of doing absolutely nothing. A firm knock on the door shattered that dream. Gerald, his father, answered first, but within seconds, he was calling Reivan over. ¡°Son, there are some¡­ men asking for you.¡± That was never a good sentence to hear. When Reivan stepped outside, he was met with a group of rough-looking mercenaries standing at attention in front of his house. The man in front¡ªa broad-shouldered warrior with a scar running down his cheek¡ªstepped forward and bowed. Bowed. Reivan barely held back his panic. What the hell is happening now? ¡°Sir Reivan,¡± the man said, his voice full of respect. ¡°I am Garm, captain of the Red Fangs. We have come to request your guidance.¡± Reivan blinked. ¡°My what?¡± ¡°The mercenary bands have been talking about your insight,¡± Garm continued, undeterred. ¡°Your evaluation of the training ground the other day was¡­ eye-opening.¡± Reivan fought the urge to groan. He hadn¡¯t ¡®evaluated¡¯ anything¡ªhe had just muttered about their sloppy stances while trying not to lose brain cells watching them. But clearly, the rumors had done their usual thing and turned him into some sort of war guru. ¡°I appreciate the sentiment,¡± Reivan said, attempting to weasel out. ¡°But I¡¯m just a merchant¡¯s son, you know? I don¡¯t really have time for mercenary business.¡± Garm frowned, then exchanged glances with his men. ¡°Ah¡­ I see. You are testing us.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m really not¡ª¡± ¡°We understand,¡± Garm said solemnly, nodding. ¡°You wish to see if we are worth your wisdom before you commit to us. A true leader does not waste his time on the undeserving.¡± Reivan clenched his fists. How do they keep misinterpreting everything I say?! Garm gestured to his men, and before Reivan could argue, a group of mercenaries stepped forward and set up a quick mock battle formation right there in the street. ¡°We are ready for your guidance, sir,¡± Garm said, standing at attention. Gerald, standing just inside the doorway, gave his son a look that clearly said, Fix this mess you¡¯ve created. Reivan sighed. Fine. If playing along would get rid of them faster, he¡¯d just say something obvious and call it a day. He pointed at one of the mercenaries holding a shield. ¡°You. Your stance is too rigid. If someone feints, you¡¯ll overcommit and get knocked off balance.¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. The man adjusted his stance slightly, looking thoughtful. Reivan pointed to another. ¡°And you¡ªyou¡¯re gripping your sword too tight. Your wrist will give out if you keep swinging like that. Loosen up.¡± The mercenary widened his eyes, gave it a try, then swung experimentally. His movements instantly became faster and more controlled. He stared at his sword in awe. ¡°...It¡¯s smoother. I¡¯m not even exerting as much force.¡± A murmur ran through the group. Reivan scratched his head, feeling awkward. ¡°Uh, yeah. Just¡­ keep your movements fluid. That¡¯s all.¡± One of the mercenaries suddenly dropped to one knee. ¡°Sir Reivan¡­ your wisdom is beyond our understanding.¡± Another followed. ¡°Truly, we are unworthy of this level of guidance!¡± Oh, come on. Garm grinned, crossing his arms. ¡°It is as we suspected. Your knowledge is not something we could have gained from mere experience.¡± He turned to his men. ¡°The Red Fangs will follow Sir Reivan¡¯s guidance from this day forth!¡± Reivan inhaled sharply. That was not what he wanted. He raised his hands quickly. ¡°Now, hold on. I never agreed to¡ª¡± A cheer erupted from the mercenaries. The words ¡°Sir Reivan!¡± and ¡°Our leader!¡± rang out across the street. Reivan stood frozen as Gerald sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. Sylphy, watching from the side, tilted her head slightly. ¡°You didn¡¯t mean for this to happen, did you?¡± Reivan¡¯s eye twitched. ¡°What do you think?¡±
The Bandit Problem Unfortunately, the mercenaries were not just here to pledge loyalty. Garm, now fully convinced Reivan was their strategist, insisted on seeking his wisdom about a real problem. ¡°Our company is plagued by bandits,¡± Garm explained. ¡°They¡¯ve been targeting our supply lines and bleeding us dry. We¡¯ve tried fighting them off, but they always retreat before we can land a decisive blow.¡± Reivan blinked. ¡°Sounds annoying.¡± ¡°It is! That¡¯s why we need your brilliant mind to lead us to victory.¡± Reivan¡¯s internal screaming intensified. Brilliant mind?! I was just trying to slack off! But if he rejected them outright, they¡¯d only think he was testing them again. He needed a way out. He exhaled and decided to go with the simplest solution. ¡°Why not stop transporting supplies the usual way? No supplies, no reason for bandits to attack.¡± The mercenaries looked at him, horrified. ¡°But then we won¡¯t have supplies either!¡± Reivan rolled his eyes. ¡°No, you redirect your supply routes. Make it look like you stopped, but actually start sending supplies in disguised merchant wagons, scattered among normal caravans. Bandits won¡¯t risk attacking every single merchant on the road in fear of retaliation. They¡¯ll get desperate and expose themselves.¡± The group fell into stunned silence. Then Garm¡¯s face lit up like he¡¯d just witnessed a divine revelation. ¡°A bait tactic¡­ but disguised as retreat!¡± Reivan nodded slowly. ¡°Sure.¡± One of the mercenaries slammed his fist into his palm. ¡°It¡¯s so simple¡­ yet so effective!¡± ¡°It¡¯s genius! They¡¯ll think we¡¯re out of the game, and when they get reckless, we can ambush them!¡± Reivan had just been spitballing ideas, but now they were practically worshiping him. ¡°Sir Reivan, will you lead the operation yourself?¡± Garm asked eagerly. ¡°Nope.¡± Another round of nods. ¡°Ah¡­ testing our independence. Wise.¡± Reivan wanted to slam his head into a wall. He wasn¡¯t testing anything! But before he could argue further, Garm clasped his hands together. ¡°Sir, please accept this token of gratitude.¡± Reivan barely had time to react before a heavy bag of gold was shoved into his hands. He stared at it. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°Payment for your leadership.¡± Reivan almost choked. ¡°You¡¯re paying me for this?¡± ¡°You are our strategist! It¡¯s only natural.¡± He stared at the bag, weighing it in his hands. Maybe¡­ just maybe, getting ¡°accidentally¡± roped into this warlord nonsense wasn¡¯t the worst thing that had ever happened to him.
That evening, as Reivan sat in his room counting gold, Sylphy leaned against the doorframe. ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re a mercenary leader now?¡± He groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t start.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°For someone who doesn¡¯t want to lead, you¡¯re really good at it.¡± Reivan buried his face in his hands. This was getting out of control. Chapter 4: The Merchant鈥檚 Gambit Reivan sat in his small study, staring at the bag of gold the mercenaries had given him. He turned it over in his hands, listening to the soft clink of coins. A normal merchant would be thrilled to receive this kind of payment, but to him, it felt like a heavy weight pressing down on his future. I was supposed to live a quiet life. So why do I feel like I just stepped onto a battlefield? After the mess with the Red Fangs, Reivan had one clear goal: Get out of mercenary affairs before it was too late.
A Merchant¡¯s Plan Reivan knew one thing for sure¡ªwar was coming. He had written down the timeline back when he first realized he was stuck in Age of Dominion, and everything was moving just a little too fast. Mercenary groups were getting more aggressive, nobles were fortifying their power, and small conflicts were already breaking out along trade routes. If he didn¡¯t want to get dragged onto the battlefield, there was only one path: money. Gold moved armies. Gold bought information. Gold could be the difference between a noble''s downfall and their ascension. And he was about to use that fact to his advantage.
A Routine Trade... or So It Seemed Two days later, Reivan found himself at one of Ravensburg¡¯s bustling trade houses. The hall was filled with merchants haggling, brokers negotiating, and clerks running numbers faster than a gambling den. His father, Gerald, was beside him, arms crossed as he watched Reivan work. "You¡¯ve been strangely motivated lately," Gerald muttered. "You sure you¡¯re not planning something dangerous?" "Of course not," Reivan lied smoothly. "Just looking to make a profit." Gerald raised an eyebrow but didn¡¯t press further. Reivan spotted his target¡ªa mid-tier merchant named Hugh Leimann, known for handling grain trades between Ravensburg and the southern regions. He wasn¡¯t powerful, but he had connections to the big players in the city. "Master Leimann," Reivan greeted with a smile. "I hear grain prices are set to rise in the next few months. Have you considered adjusting your supply routes?" Leimann squinted at him. "And what makes you say that, boy?" Reivan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Because the Duke of Farnell is tightening his control over the southern trade routes. The increase in tariffs will raise transport costs. That means those who buy grain now, before prices spike, will be sitting on a fortune in a few months." Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Leimann¡¯s expression changed. "And how exactly do you know this?" Reivan simply smiled. "A little foresight never hurt anyone." He had no real proof that the tariffs were coming¡ªhe only knew that, in the game¡¯s timeline, they would happen soon. But from the outside, it looked as if he had insider knowledge. Leimann hesitated, then nodded. "I¡¯ll buy more than usual. But if your information is wrong, boy, I¡¯ll make sure everyone knows it." "Then let¡¯s hope I¡¯m right," Reivan replied smoothly. As Leimann placed a large order of grain, several other merchants in the hall took notice. If Leimann was making a big move, did he know something they didn¡¯t? Whispers spread. Within an hour, multiple traders started buying up grain in large quantities. Reivan took a step back, arms crossed as he watched the chaos unfold.
A Noble¡¯s Attention Up in the private balcony of the trade house, a man in fine noble robes tapped his fingers against the wooden railing, watching the sudden shift in the market. "That boy¡­ is he the same one from the mercenary rumors?" the noble murmured. A steward beside him bowed. "Yes, Lord Mertens. His name is Reivan Valcrest. The merchant¡¯s son." Lord Mertens chuckled. "Fascinating. A mere merchant¡¯s son swaying the market with a few words? Either he¡¯s a fool, or he¡¯s more dangerous than he looks." The steward hesitated. "Shall we intervene?" "No," Mertens said, eyes glinting. "Let¡¯s watch for now. If he keeps making waves, we may have to test his true value."
A Merchant¡¯s Reputation Grows Back on the trade floor, Reivan smirked as he finished a modest trade of his own. "Aren¡¯t you buying more?" Gerald asked. "You started this mess. Might as well make the most of it." Reivan shook his head. "I don¡¯t want to draw too much attention. Just enough to make people curious about me." And it worked. Within the hour, multiple traders approached him, subtly trying to pry information from him. Reivan deflected most of them with vague answers, letting their imaginations fill in the gaps. The more mysterious he seemed, the more valuable his word became. "So, you manipulated a deal, didn¡¯t you?" Sylphy¡¯s quiet voice came from behind him. He turned, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn¡¯t say manipulated¡­ I just nudged things in the right direction." She tilted her head. "And now you¡¯re in the eyes of nobles and merchants alike. That¡¯s not ¡®staying under the radar.¡¯" Reivan rubbed his temples. "Yeah¡­ I may have overdone it." Sylphy gave a tiny smirk. "You keep saying you want to be left alone, but the world keeps making you important." Reivan groaned. "I hate how right you are."
Another Unexpected Invitation That evening, as he returned home, a messenger dressed in the colors of House Mertens was waiting at the door. "Sir Reivan Valcrest," the messenger said with a bow, handing him a letter sealed with an elegant wax crest. "You are invited to discuss a business opportunity with Lord Mertens." Reivan held back a sigh. Great. More noble drama. He opened the letter and skimmed through it. His eyes narrowed slightly. Mertens wasn¡¯t just offering a meeting. He was offering a partnership. Gerald, reading over his shoulder, let out a low whistle. "You¡¯re in deep now, son." Reivan closed the letter, running a hand through his hair. He had wanted to escape the mercenary business, but now he had an even bigger problem. He wasn¡¯t just being noticed. He was being recruited. And he had no idea how to say no without making things worse. Chapter 5: Nobles & Hidden Forces An Invitation He Never Wanted Reivan sat at his desk, a fresh cup of tea steaming beside him, pretending he wasn¡¯t staring at the elegant wax-sealed letter in front of him. The golden emblem of House Roderic glared at him like an executioner¡¯s axe. Gerald, standing by the window with his arms crossed, sighed. "It was only a matter of time before a noble took notice." Reivan resisted the urge to slam his head on the table. "I was just trying to get away from mercenaries. Now I have nobles coming after me." "Viscount Roderic is a cautious man," Gerald said. "He wouldn''t call on you without reason. The fact that he¡¯s reaching out directly means he either wants to use you¡­ or test you." Reivan ran a hand through his hair. "Great. Love that for me. What does he even want?" Sylphy, who had been silent in the corner, finally spoke. "It says here he¡¯s inviting you to participate in a strategy game alongside other nobles and military officials." Reivan blinked. "Oh, that¡¯s easy. I just say no." Gerald and Sylphy exchanged looks. "¡­Right?" Reivan asked, suddenly uneasy. His father cleared his throat. "Refusing outright would make you look¡­ uncooperative." Sylphy tilted her head. "And weak." Reivan sighed. "What¡¯s the alternative?" Gerald hesitated. "You go." "That¡¯s the worst alternative."
The Eyes That See Too Much Despite his protests, Reivan soon found himself seated at an elegant wooden table in Viscount Roderic¡¯s study, surrounded by nobles and military men. The strategy game was already set up¡ªa detailed war simulation board, complete with carved figurines representing armies and supply lines. As the game began, he noticed something strange. Every other noble in the room sat with a practiced air, their expressions unreadable, their hands carefully controlling their movements. But they were watching him. Closely. One of them, a well-dressed nobleman with sharp features, leaned toward his companion and muttered, "His posture is unremarkable. His clothes, too. A typical merchant¡¯s son." If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. His friend nodded. "Yes, but¡­ his eyes." Reivan, unaware of the scrutiny, yawned and lazily examined the board. To him, it was just another strategy game. His brain, honed by years of gaming, automatically processed the best moves. Supply routes, choke points, reinforcement delays¡ªhe didn¡¯t even have to think about it consciously. But to the nobles watching him, it was unsettling. His posture was casual, his actions sloppy, but his gaze? His gaze dissected the board like a hawk circling prey. Viscount Roderic tapped a finger against the table. "Let¡¯s begin. Each participant will take turns moving their forces. The goal is to control key trade cities while maintaining supply lines. Overextending will lead to collapse. Undercommitting will result in stagnation. A delicate balance, wouldn¡¯t you say?" Reivan barely heard him. His mind was already moving pieces like a machine.
Winning by Accident His opponents took their turns carefully, spreading out their forces with calculated movements. Nobles whispered about their strategies, analyzing supply line maintenance, troop morale, and political alliances. Reivan¡¯s turn came. He glanced at the board, scratched his head, and moved all of his troops aggressively toward the central city. Silence fell over the room. "¡­Bold," one noble murmured. "No, reckless," another scoffed. "He¡¯s leaving his flanks open." Reivan yawned. "Yeah, yeah, but look. If I take the central city early, I control all these trade routes before anyone else. You guys will have to fight over scraps while I already have a stronghold." Several nobles exchanged uneasy glances. It was a reckless move¡ªbut it was also correct. As turns progressed, his initial push forced others to adjust their plans, disrupting their strategies. The military officers frowned as they realized Reivan had seized the economic backbone of the board, making it impossible for anyone else to gain enough momentum. By the end, he had complete dominance. "Unbelievable¡­" one noble muttered. "A merchant¡¯s son, and he controls the board like a war general." Reivan, meanwhile, was just relieved it was over. "Cool. I win, right? Can I leave now?" Viscount Roderic studied him, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "You¡­ are quite interesting, Reivan Valcrest." Reivan gulped. I don¡¯t like the way he said that.
The Hidden Forces Stirring That night, as Reivan returned home, he felt off. The game should have been a simple formality, but something about it felt bigger. His suspicions were confirmed when, just before bed, Sylphy knocked on his door. "There was another noble watching you today. Someone who didn¡¯t participate." Reivan rubbed his face. "Let me guess. Bad news?" Sylphy nodded. "He¡¯s not from House Roderic. I believe he¡¯s affiliated with the royal court." Reivan groaned. "First mercenaries, then merchants, now royals?!" Sylphy gave him a rare smirk. "You really should stop being so good at things." Reivan buried his face in his pillow. Things were spiraling out of control.
Elsewhere¡­ In a dimly lit chamber, the nobleman who had observed Reivan from the shadows sat before a desk, scribbling notes. "A merchant¡¯s son¡­ yet his instincts are unnatural. His movements are unremarkable, but his eyes¡ªthose are the eyes of a man who has seen too much." He leaned back, tapping the quill against the table. "This Reivan Valcrest may be more dangerous than we anticipated." Chapter 6: A Dangerous Reputation The Morning After the Storm Reivan woke up with a sense of impending doom. It wasn¡¯t a new feeling¡ªever since he got here, his life had been a series of unfortunate misunderstandings. But this time, it was worse. The moment he stepped into the kitchen for breakfast, his father, Gerald, shoved a pile of letters into his hands. "You mind explaining why nobles are suddenly interested in you?" Gerald asked, rubbing his temples. Reivan stared at the tower of invitations on the table. Each one bore the seal of a noble house, ranging from minor barons to powerful viscounts. "I¡­ may have accidentally impressed some people," Reivan admitted. Gerald sighed. "Accidentally?" Reivan shrugged. "Look, it¡¯s not my fault they think I¡¯m some kind of strategic genius. I was just playing the game like I always do." Gerald gave him a long look. "Son, you won a strategy game against actual war strategists. That¡¯s not ¡®just playing.¡¯" Reivan groaned and flopped into his chair. "Okay, but what do they actually want?" Gerald sorted through the letters. "Sponsorship offers, mostly. Some want to ¡®mentor¡¯ you, others want you to ¡®advise¡¯ them. A few are just inviting you to social gatherings." He paused. "House Mertens sent another one. They¡¯re¡­ insistent." Reivan shuddered. "Yeah, no thanks. I don¡¯t need a noble breathing down my neck." "Then you¡¯ll need a plan," Gerald said. "Because the more you refuse, the more valuable they think you are." Reivan¡¯s stomach dropped. Great. More misunderstandings.
Whispers in the Mercenary Guild Meanwhile, in the dimly lit halls of Ravensburg¡¯s Mercenary Guild, rumors about Reivan were spreading like wildfire. A group of rough-looking men sat around a wooden table, drinking ale and swapping stories. Among them was Dain, a senior mercenary with deep scars on his arms and a sharp gaze. "I¡¯m telling you," one mercenary muttered, "the Red Fangs have stopped taking contracts. They¡¯re reorganizing under that merchant brat." Dain raised an eyebrow. "The Valcrest kid? Didn¡¯t he just start making a name for himself?" "Yeah, but word is, he¡¯s not just some upstart. He beat nobles in a war game. And Garm¡¯s men say his tactics are on another level." Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Dain scoffed. "Mercs and nobles don¡¯t mix. You sure they¡¯re not just trying to use him?" Another mercenary leaned in. "That¡¯s the thing¡ªhe¡¯s using them. He¡¯s not taking commands from anyone, but everyone keeps trying to pull him into their side." Dain went quiet. If what they were saying was true, then this merchant¡¯s son wasn¡¯t just another noble pawn. He was becoming a power player.
The Noble Perspective At a lavish estate far from Ravensburg, Viscount Roderic stood in his study, watching the flickering candlelight reflect off the sealed letter from Reivan Valcrest. "The boy didn¡¯t respond immediately," he murmured. His steward, a thin man with a sharp gaze, shifted uneasily. "Shall we pressure him further, my lord?" Roderic chuckled. "No need. If he were an ordinary merchant¡¯s son, he would have jumped at the first opportunity. The fact that he hesitates¡­ makes him more valuable." The steward nodded. "Rumors in the capital say that the royal court is also taking notice." Roderic¡¯s smile faded. "Then we must ensure he belongs to us first."
A Problem That Won¡¯t Go Away Back at the Valcrest household, Reivan was stress eating. "So let me get this straight," he said through a mouthful of bread. "Nobles want me. Mercenaries are whispering about me. And now I¡¯m being watched by multiple factions?" Gerald nodded. "Yes." Sylphy, who was peeling an apple with eerie precision, added, "Also, the royal court probably knows about you now." Reivan dropped his bread. "¡­Excuse me?" Sylphy smirked. "It¡¯s only a matter of time before they send someone." Reivan groaned. "I JUST WANTED TO BE A MERCHANT!" Gerald and Sylphy exchanged looks. "¡­Did you?" Gerald asked dryly. Reivan slumped in his chair. "Okay, maybe I made a few¡­ tactical miscalculations." Sylphy gave a rare chuckle. "A few?" Reivan pointed at her. "You¡¯re enjoying this way too much." Gerald set his hands on the table. "Joking aside, you need to choose a side, Reivan. The longer you stay ¡®independent,¡¯ the more dangerous you become." Reivan frowned. "Can¡¯t I just¡­ pretend I¡¯m an idiot and let them forget about me?" Sylphy leaned forward. "That would¡¯ve worked¡ªif you hadn¡¯t already proven you weren¡¯t an idiot." Reivan rubbed his face. "So what are my options?" Gerald sighed. "You could accept a noble¡¯s sponsorship and gain protection, but that comes with obligations. Or you could align with the mercenaries¡ªthough that path leads to war." Reivan shook his head. "No war." "Then¡­ you¡¯ll have to make yourself too useful to remove, but not threatening enough to eliminate." Reivan paused. That¡­ could actually work.
A New Reputation Forms The next morning, Reivan began making calculated moves. He attended some merchant meetings, subtly accepted certain invitations, and let slip just enough information to keep nobles interested¡ªwithout fully committing to anyone. Instead of being seen as a rising war strategist, he shifted the narrative toward himself being a brilliant economic mind¡ªa merchant prodigy. And it worked. For now. But as Reivan adjusted his plans, others were making their own.
Elsewhere¡­ In a candlelit chamber, a noblewoman tapped her nails against the armrest of her chair. "Reivan Valcrest¡­" she murmured. "A merchant¡¯s son with a war strategist¡¯s mind." A man in a hooded cloak bowed before her. "Shall we take action?" She smirked. "Not yet. Let¡¯s see how far he rises first. Then we¡¯ll see if he is an ally¡­ or an obstacle." Chapter 7: The First Real Battle A Normal Day (That Goes Horribly Wrong) Reivan¡¯s plan was simple: avoid trouble, make money, and live a peaceful life. Unfortunately, the universe seemed to have other ideas. The morning started normally¡ªhe was supposed to check on a minor grain deal in a nearby village and definitely not get involved in anything remotely dangerous. He even made a point of avoiding the mercenaries and staying clear of any noble affairs. But as he rode toward the village in a borrowed merchant wagon, his peaceful day came to a violent halt. Because up ahead, the road was on fire. Screams echoed through the valley as a caravan lay in ruins, bodies sprawled across the dirt, wagons overturned, and armed bandits looting what they could. Reivan immediately pulled on the reins and tried to turn the wagon around. Nope. Not dealing with this. "Turn back, turn back, turn back¡ª" But just as he was about to steer his horse off the road, a familiar voice shouted behind him. "SIR REIVAN!" Reivan stiffened. Oh no. Garm and a squad of twenty Red Fang mercenaries were riding in behind him, looking far too eager for his comfort. "What a fortunate day! You¡¯re just in time!" Garm grinned, drawing his sword. "We were about to engage the enemy. With your leadership, this battle is already won!" Reivan wanted to cry. What leadership?! Before he could protest, Garm¡¯s second-in-command pointed toward the bandits, who had now noticed the approaching group. "They have hostages, sir!" the man shouted. "Orders?!" Reivan, who had already started sweating, instinctively looked around for an escape route. Unfortunately, the mercenaries mistook this for careful battlefield analysis.
The Accidental Ambush Reivan, in a blind panic, spotted an overgrown hill with a dense tree line just off the road. Perfect cover. "THERE!" he shouted. "Get to the trees! NOW!" Garm¡¯s eyes widened with admiration. "A flanking maneuver? Brilliant!" Before Reivan could correct him, the mercenaries had already broken off the road and stormed into the treeline, vanishing into the cover of the dense foliage. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. The bandits, seeing the mercenaries disappear, hesitated. Where had the reinforcements gone? Were they trying to surround them? Bandit whispers filled the air: "They disappeared!" "They¡¯re surrounding us!" "It¡¯s a trap!" Reivan, still clutching the reins of his wagon, was about to turn around and run, but then he noticed something strange. The bandits were panicking. Instead of regrouping, they began shifting nervously, pointing their weapons in random directions, completely unsure where the enemy would come from. Garm¡¯s voice rang from the treeline, loud and commanding: "Hold! Wait for my signal!" The waiting only made it worse. The bandits were losing their nerve. "Screw this! I¡¯m not dying today!" one of them yelled before turning and running into the woods¡ª ¡ªright into the mercenary squad hiding in the trees. There was a pause. Then a bloodcurdling scream. The remaining bandits, who were already terrified, completely lost it. "We¡¯re surrounded! IT¡¯S A TRAP!" "RUN!" Panic exploded in their ranks. Some tried to grab whatever loot they could before fleeing into the forest, only to be cut down by the Red Fangs. Others threw down their weapons and bolted in all directions. Within minutes, what should have been a bloody, difficult battle turned into a complete massacre. And Reivan¡­ hadn¡¯t moved from his wagon.
The Aftermath (Or, How to Accidentally Become a War Hero) Reivan sat on a fallen log, staring blankly at the corpses and unconscious bandits being rounded up by the mercenaries. Garm clapped him on the back. "Incredible! I see now¡ªyour plan was to break their morale before they could properly fight back!" "Yes," Reivan said numbly. "That was¡­ totally intentional." "You have a gift, sir!" one of the mercenaries said in awe. "Not a single one of our men was lost! And the hostages¡ª" The hostages, a group of terrified merchants and their guards, were safe and completely unharmed. The Red Fangs had not only wiped out the bandits but also secured every single survivor. "Sir Reivan," one of the rescued merchants said, bowing deeply, "we owe you our lives." Reivan opened his mouth to say, It was an accident, but the words didn¡¯t come out. Because at that moment, the sound of galloping hooves filled the air. A unit of knights carrying the sigil of House Roderic rode into the clearing. At the head of the group was Viscount Roderic himself. The nobleman surveyed the battlefield, his eyes narrowing at the scene of utter one-sided destruction. "It seems," Roderic said, dismounting, "that we arrived too late." Garm stepped forward. "My lord! We were merely following the strategies of our esteemed commander, Sir Reivan Valcrest." Reivan wanted to curl up and die. Roderic turned his sharp gaze toward him. "So you¡¯re the merchant¡¯s son who keeps making waves." "No," Reivan blurted. "I mean¡ªyes? But also no?" Roderic chuckled. "Humble." Reivan internally screamed. The nobleman stepped forward. "Your tactics today were highly effective. You turned what should have been a dangerous engagement into a complete victory, securing both the hostages and the cargo." Reivan looked at Garm for help. The mercenary gave him a thumbs-up. "For such decisive action," Roderic continued, "I cannot let your efforts go unrewarded." Reivan perked up slightly. Wait. Reward? Roderic pulled out a small but ornate badge. "From this day forth, I name you an Honorary Knight of House Roderic. With it, you will have my favor and my protection." Reivan froze. Garm cheered. The mercenaries cheered. The survivors cheered. And Reivan, staring at the badge in his hands, mentally started screaming again. This was NOT part of the plan! Chapter 8: The Hidden Players Ripples Across Ravensburg Reivan Valcrest had officially become a problem. At least, that was the general consensus across nobles, merchants, and mercenaries alike after the bandit massacre near Ravensburg. The incident should have been a simple skirmish, a routine mercenary job, another page in a noble¡¯s military logbook. Instead, it had become a legend. Word spread faster than wildfire. By the time Reivan returned home, half the city was already whispering about the young merchant¡¯s son who had outmaneuvered a bandit group without lifting a sword. Some stories even claimed he had orchestrated a flawless ambush with nothing but a glance. Reivan, of course, was losing his mind. "I just wanted to sell grain," he muttered, head buried in his hands as he sat in his family¡¯s small study. Across from him, Sylphy sat cross-legged on the windowsill, idly tossing an apple in the air. "Well, that ship has sailed. Now you¡¯re a ¡®tactical genius.¡¯" "I tripped into that ambush by accident," Reivan groaned. "How is that genius?" Sylphy smirked. "Do you want the truth, or do you want to keep pretending this will all blow over?" Reivan didn¡¯t respond. He already knew the answer. And the worst part? People were reacting.
The Noble Court Reacts Viscount Roderic stood before the gathered nobles in Ravensburg¡¯s central estate hall, watching as heated discussions broke out among them. "We should bring the boy further into noble affairs," one baron insisted. "A mind like his is wasted on mere trade." "No," another noble scoffed. "He¡¯s dangerous. If he¡¯s truly that skilled, he could upset the balance of power." Roderic remained silent, watching the uncertainty spread. Reivan Valcrest had shaken the board. Whether by intent or accident, he had proven that he was not some idle merchant¡¯s son. He was something more. And now, the court had to decide what to do with him.
The Mercenary Underworld Reacts Deep within a dimly lit tavern filled with cutthroats and sellswords, a group of mercenaries sat around a battered table, drinking and muttering among themselves. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Dain, the scarred veteran who had once dismissed Reivan as just another noble¡¯s pawn, was no longer so sure. "The Red Fangs swear by him," one mercenary said, swirling his drink. "They¡¯re treating him like some warlord in disguise." "It¡¯s nonsense," another grumbled. "A merchant¡¯s son? Pulling one over on seasoned bandits?" Dain tapped his knife against the table, silencing the group. "It doesn¡¯t matter what we think. What matters is that people believe it." The others fell silent. Dain leaned forward. "And that means we have two options: Either we align ourselves with him¡­ or we eliminate him before he becomes a real problem."
The Hidden Forces Take Notice Far beyond the city of Ravensburg, in a shrouded mountain stronghold, a lone figure read through a detailed report with a frown. "Reivan Valcrest¡­" the woman murmured, tracing the name with a gloved finger. She was draped in black ceremonial robes, her face hidden beneath the shadow of a hood. Around her, dozens of masked figures knelt in silence, waiting for her decree. The report detailed everything¡ªhis mercantile origins, his supposed strategic genius, his sudden rise in influence. The faction she led thrived on secrecy. Any individual capable of disrupting the balance of power¡ªeven by accident¡ªwas a potential threat. "Investigate him," she ordered, voice cold and measured. "And if he is a danger¡­ remove him." The kneeling figures vanished into the darkness.
Reivan¡¯s Attempt at Damage Control (Fails Miserably) Back at home, Reivan was deep in crisis mode. "Alright, let¡¯s review," he said, pacing. "I¡¯m being praised by nobles, feared by mercenaries, and now there are probably assassins watching me. How do I fix this?" Gerald, sitting in his usual spot with a cup of tea, looked completely unbothered. "You can¡¯t." Reivan stared. "Not helping." Gerald took a sip. "Then stop pacing and accept reality. You¡¯re already a player in this game, son. There¡¯s no stepping back now." Reivan groaned, turning to Sylphy. "Please tell me you have something helpful." Sylphy grinned. "Start charging people for your ¡®strategic advice.¡¯ If they¡¯re going to assume you¡¯re a genius, you might as well profit." Reivan stared at her in horror. "That¡¯s¡­ actually a brilliantly awful idea." Sylphy shrugged. "I¡¯m just saying, if you¡¯re going to be a fake mastermind, you might as well be a rich one."
A New Reputation Forms In the following weeks, Reivan tried to lie low. Unfortunately, his name had already spread too far. Nobles, merchants, and mercenaries actively sought him out, desperate for even the smallest hint of insight. And the worst part? He accidentally gave great advice without meaning to. Each time he opened his mouth, it seemed to confirm his reputation. By the end of the month, he had gained a dangerous new title among the elites: The Merchant Oracle.
Elsewhere¡­ In a darkened chamber, the noblewoman from before sat with a report in hand. "He¡¯s growing too fast," she murmured. Her cloaked informant nodded. "Shall we intervene?" She smiled. "Not yet. Let¡¯s watch a little longer." She tapped the parchment, staring at Reivan Valcrest¡¯s name. "After all," she whispered, "what¡¯s more dangerous than a genius?" She smiled wider. "A genius who doesn¡¯t even realize what he is." Chapter 9: Preparing for the Worst The Beginning of a ¡®Simple¡¯ Business Plan Reivan stared at the mountain of supplies piling up in his family¡¯s warehouse, arms crossed, deep in thought. "This is getting out of hand," Gerald muttered, rubbing his temples. "We¡¯re a merchant family, not a military outpost." "No, Father, we¡¯re preparing for¡­ things." Reivan waved vaguely at the crates of grain, iron, textiles, medicinal herbs, and barrels of preserved fish stacked to the ceiling. "You mean the war you swear you¡¯re not involved in?" Gerald deadpanned. Reivan nodded sagely. "Exactly." Gerald groaned. Sylphy, who had taken up residence on one of the crates, idly spun a dagger in her hands. "So, remind me again¡ªwhy are we stockpiling enough goods to support a small nation?" "It¡¯s simple," Reivan said, pacing. "When war officially breaks out, supplies will become ridiculously expensive. If we control the stock early, we¡¯ll have leverage over every faction without actually being involved in the fighting." Sylphy blinked. "So¡­ war profiteering." "No!" Reivan protested. "It''s strategic economic planning." Gerald buried his face in his hands. "This is why nobles keep watching you, son." The Newspaper That Changed Everything Later that day, Reivan sat in his study, flipping through a freshly printed Ravensburg Gazette¡ªone of the few papers that circulated among merchants and scholars. And then he saw it. ¡°A Rising Star in the Empire ¨C The Hero of the Age Emerges!¡± Reivan¡¯s breath caught. The protagonist. The article detailed a young knight prodigy, a rising war hero beloved by the people and already displaying unnatural levels of charisma, skill, and bravery. In other words, the game¡¯s protagonist had entered the main stage. Reivan leaned back, staring at the ceiling. It¡¯s happening. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. A Reminiscent Glimpse of a Past Life For a moment, Reivan wasn¡¯t in a medieval world. He was back in his old apartment, a dimly lit room stacked with instant noodle cups, a PC glowing in the corner, and a poster of Age of Dominion¡¯s hero hanging on the wall. He had played through every possible route, memorized every hidden ending, and laughed at how stupidly powerful the protagonist could get. Back then, it was just a game. Now? It was his reality. And that hero? He was about to set the world on fire. Noble Paranoia Intensifies Meanwhile, in the capital, Viscount Roderic sat in his study, reading a detailed report from Ravensburg. "More grain shipments? Increased imports of iron?" He tapped the paper. "Valcrest isn¡¯t a military house. What is he playing at?" His steward shifted nervously. "Perhaps¡­ a mercenary coup?" Roderic sighed. "If only. No, this is too calculated." The nobleman leaned back, rubbing his chin. If Reivan Valcrest was truly planning something¡­ they needed to find out what. The Criminal Underworld Gets Suspicious In a dimly lit tavern, Dain sat across from a notorious smuggler, a woman with cold eyes and a scar running down her jaw. "Valcrest is buying up supplies like a warlord preparing for a siege," Dain muttered. "And I don¡¯t like it." The smuggler took a slow sip of her drink. "He¡¯s a merchant. Merchants stockpile." "Not like this," Dain growled. "He¡¯s either playing a deeper game, or he¡¯s about to make a very costly mistake." The smuggler leaned forward. "And what do you plan to do about it?" Dain smirked. "Nothing¡­ yet. Let¡¯s see what the ¡®Merchant Oracle¡¯ does next." Reivan¡¯s Attempt at ¡®Lying Low¡¯ (Fails Again) Back at home, Reivan sat across from Gerald, Sylphy, and Garm, now unofficially part of their meetings thanks to his mercenary loyalty. "Alright," Reivan began. "We need to expand operations. More storage. More trade routes. More middlemen." Gerald groaned. "Son, we¡¯re already one step away from looking like a rogue trading empire." "Exactly!" Reivan said brightly. "That¡¯s why we need plausible deniability. We¡¯ll work through intermediaries. Keep our name out of it." Sylphy smirked. "So, more crime." "Not crime!" Reivan protested. "Strategic outsourcing!" Garm leaned forward. "And what do we do if some noble decides to call us out?" Reivan paused. Then, with a completely straight face, he said, "Deny everything." Gerald groaned again. "We¡¯re all going to be executed." Sylphy snickered. "At least we¡¯ll be rich first." Meanwhile, Elsewhere¡­ A noblewoman sat in her candlelit study, tapping a delicate finger against a sealed letter. "He¡¯s not just stockpiling," she murmured to her informant. "He¡¯s preparing for something." Her shadowed informant bowed. "Shall we intervene?" She smiled. "No. Let¡¯s watch a little longer. Let¡¯s see how far he goes." She ran her fingers over the parchment, whispering one name. "Reivan Valcrest¡­" As the candlelight flickered, the royal crest of the Empire gleamed on her desk¡ªmarking her not as just any noblewoman, but the Empire¡¯s Crown Princess and next in line to the throne. Chapter 10: The Storm Begins The royal seal pressed into the thick parchment carried weight¡ªboth literal and figurative. The last time he had received something this official, he was being politely informed that he owed a rather unpolite amount of taxes. So naturally, his first instinct was to panic. But no. This wasn¡¯t a bill. This was worse. An official summons from the royal court. He broke the wax seal with all the enthusiasm of a man defusing a bomb and skimmed the contents. Then he read it again. Then once more, just in case his sleep-deprived brain was misfiring. He was being called to serve as an adviser at a noble war council. "Oh, for the love of¡ª" The paper fluttered onto the desk as he rubbed his temples. This wasn¡¯t supposed to happen yet. In the game¡¯s timeline, war didn¡¯t start for at least another year. The noble factions should still be busy backstabbing each other over import taxes or some other bureaucratic nonsense. Instead, here he was, being dragged into what was likely the beginning of a very messy, very bloody conflict. "Nope. Not doing it. I refuse." Sylpkx, who had been silently standing by the door like an overqualified shadow, raised an eyebrow. "So you''re ignoring an official summons from the royal court?" "Yes." "And what will you do when they send a squad of knights to personally escort you?" "Hide." "You''re an idiot." "A very smart idiot with an excellent survival instinct," he countered. "This war is moving way too fast, and if I show up at that council, they¡¯ll expect me to have answers. Which I don¡¯t. Because the game¡¯s script is currently on fire, and I have no idea who¡¯s holding the matches." Sylpkx sighed, crossing her arms. "Then let¡¯s figure it out before you end up on the battlefield with a stick and a prayer." Sylpkx - The Blade in the Dark A few hours and several exasperated arguments later, Sylpkx found herself standing at the training grounds, watching the soldiers prepare. Some were sharpening their weapons, others were sparring, and a few were just standing around gossiping about the upcoming war like it was some grand festival. "You hear? Lord Balthier¡¯s been hoarding grain. If we march, half the troops will be eating dried shoe leather before the first battle." "Forget food! What about armor? The smiths are already stretched thin, and the nobles keep placing personal orders for gold-trimmed plate. Who wears gold into battle?" Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. "People who want to get stabbed first." Sylpkx exhaled slowly. If war was coming, they needed to be prepared. And by "prepared," she meant not dying because some noble thought aesthetics were more important than basic survival. She spotted the captain of the guard¡ªan older, battle-worn man with a permanent scowl¡ªgoing over logistics. Without hesitation, she marched up to him. "Tell me something good." "We have enough weapons for maybe half the expected force, rations are already running low, and morale is... well, let¡¯s just say I¡¯ve seen chickens more eager for battle." "So nothing good, then." "I thought that was implied." Sylpkx pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alright. If I bring you a supply route that isn¡¯t under noble control, can you make use of it?" The captain raised an eyebrow. "That depends. How legal is it?" She smirked. "It exists outside of noble jurisdiction. That¡¯s all you need to know." "...Right. If it keeps my men fed, I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s run by bandits or ghosts." "Perfect. Expect a shipment by next week. And if anyone asks where it came from¡ª" "What shipment?" "See, this is why I like you, Captain." The Council Chamber - A Room Full of Jackals By the time he arrived at the war council, he was already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. The chamber was filled with nobles, each one trying to look more important than the next. Some were seasoned veterans, others were freshly titled upstarts looking to make a name for themselves. The atmosphere was thick with tension, political maneuvering, and¡ªunfortunately¡ªperfume. Way too much perfume. As he stepped inside, a familiar, smug voice rang out. "Ah, our esteemed adviser arrives at last! We were beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost." He turned to see Lord Edrin, a man who somehow managed to be both charming and insufferable in equal measure. Edrin wore an expression that suggested he was either welcoming a dear friend or preparing to push someone off a cliff. "Oh, I assure you, Lord Edrin, I was simply savoring the peace before stepping into... whatever this is." "A necessary discussion," Edrin replied smoothly, gesturing toward the long table where various maps and battle plans were spread out. "Come, take your place. We have much to discuss." He took his seat, resisting the urge to let his forehead meet the table. The discussion began, and it was every bit as painful as he expected. Nobles arguing over whose troops should be stationed where, accusations flying about grain hoarding, and at least one idiot suggesting they "simply charge at the enemy with overwhelming zeal." The only thing overwhelming was his desire to leave. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "If I may offer some insight?" The room quieted slightly as all eyes turned to him. "First, if we don¡¯t secure proper supply lines, this war ends before it begins. No food, no war. Secondly, the enemy isn¡¯t going to wait for us to finish arguing. If we keep bickering over logistics instead of actually preparing, we¡¯ll be overrun before we even see the battlefield. And third¡ª" He turned to the noble who suggested the "overwhelming zeal" strategy. "Please don¡¯t talk again. Ever." There was a pause. Then, to his absolute shock, Edrin chuckled. "Well, at least someone here understands the situation." Sylpkx, who had been quietly watching from the corner, smirked. "About time you started sounding like an adviser." He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, I am very much advising. Advising that we all reconsider our life choices and possibly relocate to a nice, war-free island." Edrin grinned. "Alas, the time for escape has passed. War is upon us, my friend. And it¡¯s time to see where the pieces fall." He looked down at the maps, his mind already racing with calculations. He just hoped he wouldn¡¯t end up as one of those fallen pieces. Chapter 11: Playing the Fool at Court Reivan had spent years perfecting the fine art of appearing like an absolute idiot when necessary. It was a skill he held dear, one that had saved his hide more times than he cared to count. But today? Today was a masterpiece in the making. The royal court was a viper¡¯s nest of politics, decorum, and thinly veiled threats wrapped in silk and honeyed words. Nobles, generals, and advisors all gathered in the grand hall, their expressions ranging from amusement to suspicion as he stood before them. "Your Highness," one particularly well-dressed noble said, clearly testing him. "As someone well-versed in, ah, military affairs, surely you must have insight into the Empire¡¯s recent movements?" Reivan, ever the scholar of nonsense, put on his best ''confused but thoughtful'' expression. He stroked his chin, furrowed his brow, and then¡ªbecause he was truly dedicated to the role¡ªtilted his head slightly, as if deep in contemplation. "Well, if we consider the ancient doctrines of the Ebon-Winged Dynasty," he began, referencing an obscure in-game event that had absolutely no bearing on reality, "then clearly the Empire''s strategy aligns with the celestial formation of the Twin Stars. Which, as we all know, foretells inevitable chaos should the Silvered Bloodline march northward." Silence. Beautiful, glorious silence. Then, as if on cue, the nobles began murmuring amongst themselves. Some nodded sagely, others frowned, and a few glanced nervously at each other. Reivan had absolutely no idea what they had just convinced themselves of, but one thing was certain¡ªhe had successfully created a problem that didn¡¯t exist. A small victory.
The Heir Princess - A Royal Pain (With a Plan) Princess Seraphina was watching all of this unfold from her elevated seat, fingers drumming against the armrest. She wasn¡¯t sure whether to laugh or throttle someone. Reivan was an enigma wrapped in ridiculousness. The man had the uncanny ability to talk in circles until people started seeing patterns that weren¡¯t there. And judging by the looks on the nobles'' faces, they were now convinced of some grand conspiracy involving celestial prophecies and the Silvered Bloodline. She suppressed a sigh. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "What do you think?" she murmured to her personal guard, who stood dutifully at her side. "I think they¡¯re about to rewrite military doctrine based on complete nonsense, Your Highness." "That¡¯s what I was afraid of." Seraphina wasn''t one to underestimate people, least of all someone like Reivan. He played the fool, but she had been raised in a court where deception was an art form. She could see the strings he was pulling, even if others were too caught up in their own egos to notice. He wasn¡¯t incompetent. He was dangerous. And she needed to know whether he was an ally or another problem waiting to explode in her face.
Nobles and Their Bad Decisions "Reivan," Lord Aldric, an older noble with too many medals and not enough common sense, leaned forward, "we¡¯ve discussed your talents at length. It would be a shame to let them go to waste. Have you considered an official position? Perhaps a formal role within the royal council?" Reivan smiled¡ªan easy, harmless sort of grin that concealed the sheer panic exploding in his head. An official position? No, no, no. That was how you ended up trapped in a gilded cage, forced to play their games on their terms. He needed to avoid that at all costs. "Ah, honored lords and ladies," he said, making sure to inject just the right amount of dramatic humility into his voice. "I am but a simple man, unworthy of such great responsibility." A lie. But a well-practiced one. "Nonsense!" Aldric waved a hand. "You have insight beyond your years. With proper guidance, you could be a great asset to the kingdom." And by "proper guidance," they meant "someone to keep an eye on him." Lovely. "I''m afraid my heart lies elsewhere," Reivan said, placing a hand over his chest as if he were about to start reciting poetry. "I could never shackle myself to politics when my true passion lies in scholarly pursuits. The pursuit of knowledge, you see, is a noble goal in itself." He could almost hear Sylpkx choking in the background. The nobles exchanged glances. One of them whispered something about "independent minds" and "uncontrollable variables." Seraphina¡¯s gaze sharpened ever so slightly. Good. That was exactly what he wanted. Better to be seen as unpredictable than as someone who could be manipulated.
Aftermath - A Most Interesting Fool As the meeting adjourned and the nobles dispersed, Seraphina remained seated, watching Reivan from across the hall. He was chatting idly with Sylpkx, looking for all the world like someone without a single care. But she wasn¡¯t fooled. "You find him amusing, Your Highness?" her guard asked. She tilted her head. "I find him... unusual." "A fool?" She smiled slightly. "Perhaps. But even fools can be dangerous if they know how to play the game." Reivan had just declined an opportunity most would have killed for. And in doing so, he had ensured that every noble in that room saw him as an independent force¡ªsomeone who couldn¡¯t be controlled. That made him both a liability and a wild card. Seraphina had spent her life navigating the treacherous waters of court politics, and she knew one thing for certain: You never ignored a wild card. And you certainly never underestimated one. Chapter 12: A New Threat Reivan never considered himself a morning person. Waking up before noon was already an insult to his well-being, but waking up to the sound of steel clashing outside his bedroom? That was downright disrespectful. He groggily sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as a figure burst into his room. "Assassins!" Reivan blinked. "Huh?" Sylpkx, standing by the door with her sword drawn, did not look amused. "Yes, assassins. As in multiple. As in currently fighting for their lives against your mercenaries outside. Any other dumb questions?" He ran a hand through his hair, still processing. "Uh. Did I order assassins?" She stared at him. "No. That¡¯s not how assassination works." "Right, right, just checking." The unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground outside made him sigh. "Okay. I guess I should do something."
The Battle Outside ¨C Featuring Very Confused Assassins The assassins had come in the dead of night, cloaked in darkness, moving with the precision of trained killers. Their target? A man they believed to be a key power broker, someone manipulating the kingdom¡¯s politics from the shadows. What they didn¡¯t expect was resistance. Fierce, overwhelming, and deeply, deeply confusing resistance. "WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF THEM?" one assassin yelled as he barely dodged a thrown axe. "They were supposed to be mercenaries! NOT AN ELITE PRIVATE ARMY!" One of Reivan¡¯s mercenaries, a towering brute known as Big Gorr, cackled as he sent another assassin flying with a well-placed kick. "Hah! You guys shoulda read the fine print before taking this job!" Another assassin barely managed to parry a strike from a twin-bladed rogue. "Fine print?! What fine print?!" "The one that says: If you mess with Reivan, you mess with us!" Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. "WHO EVEN IS HE?!"
Reivan ¨C The Man Who Did Absolutely Nothing By the time Reivan actually stepped outside, the battle was already over. Well, battle was a strong word. More like an unfortunate misunderstanding where a group of trained killers realized too late they had kicked a beehive instead of stepping on an ant. Sylpkx surveyed the scene with mild disinterest, stepping over an unconscious assassin as she turned to him. "Do you get how ridiculous this is?" Reivan yawned. "Which part? The assassination attempt? The part where my mercenaries apparently function like a small kingdom¡¯s standing army? Or the fact that I slept through most of it?" "Yes." One of the captured assassins, tied up and looking deeply betrayed by the universe, glared at him. "Just kill us already. We failed." Reivan tilted his head. "Oh, no, no, no. See, I have questions. Very important ones." The assassin remained silent, likely preparing for the usual interrogation tactics¡ªtorture, intimidation, bribes. Instead, Reivan crossed his arms. "WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?" The assassins exchanged glances. The leader sighed. "You''re Reivan. The man behind the political upheavals, the unseen mastermind, the one even nobles fear." Sylpkx choked on her own spit. Reivan just stared. "I¡¯m sorry. What?" "We were hired because they said you were untouchable. That your influence extended beyond the capital. That you were too dangerous to live." Reivan turned to Sylpkx. "They think I¡¯m dangerous. Like, intentionally dangerous." Sylpkx wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing. "Oh, this is fantastic." Reivan exhaled. "Listen, buddy. I think you might be laboring under a huge misunderstanding. I am not a power broker. I am not some grand manipulator. I am just a guy who talks a lot, somehow survives things I shouldn¡¯t, and occasionally gets dragged into nonsense." The assassin just blinked. "That¡¯s exactly what a dangerous manipulator would say." Reivan groaned. "Okay. Look, since I apparently have a reputation now, what if I just... let you all go?" The assassin narrowed his eyes. "To spread word of your mercy and solidify your legend as a man of wisdom and restraint?" Reivan was about to correct him but then decided, you know what, fine. "Sure. Yes. That."
Aftermath ¨C Rumors Get Worse By noon, the kingdom was buzzing. "Did you hear? Reivan personally interrogated assassins and let them live just to send a message." "No, no, that¡¯s wrong. He befriended them. The assassins left singing his praises." "I heard the assassins were actually secret spies sent by another kingdom, and Reivan turned them with just his words." Seraphina, upon hearing these rumors from her palace balcony, set down her teacup. "Oh, for heaven¡¯s sake." Her guard coughed awkwardly. "Should we... correct the rumors, Your Highness?" She thought about it. Then sighed. "No. Let the court believe what they want. Maybe it''ll keep the other nobles in check." Meanwhile, Reivan, oblivious to the growing legends surrounding him, stretched his arms with a yawn. "So... breakfast?" Sylpkx pinched the bridge of her nose. "I hate you so much." "You say that, but you¡¯d miss me if I were gone." "Unfortunately, you might be right." Chapter 13: The Rise of the Protagonist

A Map of Disaster

Reivan sat in his study, a large map of the empire spread across the table. He wasn¡¯t panicking. Yet. He traced a line across the parchment, frowning. This world was supposed to follow a set timeline. Certain wars, betrayals, and power shifts happened in a specific order¡ªone that allowed the protagonist of the game to level up, gather allies, and slowly grow into a hero. But now? Everything was out of order. Reivan tapped his fingers against the desk. Everything was happening too fast. In the original timeline, the protagonist¡ªwho he hadn¡¯t met yet¡ªwould¡¯ve had time to deal with these threats. Now? Reivan let out a long sigh. If this pace continued, the empire wouldn¡¯t last a decade. "...You¡¯re making that face again," Sylpkx muttered from the couch, where she was lazily sharpening her claws. "What face?" Reivan asked, not looking up. "The ¡®I¡¯m seeing the end of the world and it¡¯s giving me a headache¡¯ face." He exhaled. "...It¡¯s nothing." Sylpkx gave him a long look but didn¡¯t push. She probably just thought he was being paranoid again. Reivan pushed away from the desk. "I need a break. I¡¯m going to the market." Sylpkx yawned. "Want me to come?" "No need." She waved him off, and Reivan left without mentioning the world-breaking problem on his desk.

A Stroll Through Chaos

The city market was loud, chaotic, and alive. Merchants shouted over each other, selling spices, fabrics, and weapons. A baker and a noblewoman were in a heated argument over the price of imported honeycakes. A group of kids ran past, almost knocking over a fruit stand. Reivan took a deep breath. This was good. Normal. For once, he wasn¡¯t dealing with political schemes or world-ending catastrophes. Then, as if the gods hated him, he overheard an argument. A merchant was furiously waving his arms at a small-time alchemist. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. "You¡¯re a fraud!" the merchant barked. "You told me this potion would last three months!" "It should have!" the alchemist protested. "I followed the recipe exactly!" "Then explain why it turned into sludge after a week!" Reivan slowed his steps. Alchemy problem? He glanced at the merchant¡¯s stall. Several glass vials were displayed, all containing a strange, congealed mess. Reivan recognized the issue immediately. But instead of butting in, he waited. The alchemist frowned. "It doesn¡¯t make sense! I used the right ratio of ingredients!" "Then why did it fail?!" Reivan sighed internally. Alright. He couldn¡¯t let this go unsolved. He stepped forward. "The answer¡¯s obvious." Both men turned to him. Reivan pointed at the vials. "The glass. That¡¯s the problem." The alchemist blinked. "What?" Reivan picked up one of the failed potions and tilted it. "This is cheap glass. It contains trace minerals that react with the stabilizing agent in your potion. Over time, it breaks down." The merchant and alchemist stared at him. "Use alchemic-grade glass flasks next time," Reivan continued. "If you store a stabilizing potion in normal glass, the reaction speed increases. What should last three months rots in a week." Silence. Then¡ª The alchemist paled. "Oh gods. That makes so much sense." The merchant narrowed his eyes. "How do you know this?" "It¡¯s just common knowledge," Reivan lied smoothly. (It absolutely wasn¡¯t. He just happened to remember an obscure game mechanic about potion degradation.) The alchemist nodded furiously. "I¡ªI need to redo my stock. Thank you, sir!" Reivan just waved him off. Crisis solved. Peace restored. Now, if nothing else happened, he could¡ª

The Worst Encounter Possible

Someone crashed into him. Reivan staggered slightly as a younger man bounced off his chest. "Ah¡ª! Sorry, mister!" Reivan looked down. And his heart sank. The messy brown hair. The bright green eyes. The adventurer¡¯s gear that looked more like scavenged hand-me-downs. Oh no. Oh no. It was him. The actual protagonist of the game. Reivan turned on his heel to leave. "Wait!" the young man called out, grabbing his sleeve. Reivan forced a neutral expression. "...Yes?" "Do you know where the Mercenary Guild is?" the adventurer asked, looking sheepish. "I just got into town, and I kinda¡­ got lost." Reivan gave him a long stare. This was the guy destined to lead armies, challenge kings, and slay the Demon King. And he was struggling to find a building two streets away. Reivan sighed. "It¡¯s down the main road. Two lefts, then a right. You can¡¯t miss it." The adventurer lit up. "Oh, thanks, mister!" Reivan nodded and turned away. He had dodged the encounter. He was free. Then¡ª "You look strong! Are you an adventurer too?" Reivan felt a migraine forming. NO.

Trying (and Failing) to Escape the Plot

Somehow, some way, this idiot did not leave him alone. "You¡¯ve got that look," the adventurer said. Reivan sighed. "What look?" "The look of someone who knows things." Sylpkx wasn¡¯t here, but he could already hear her laughter. "I¡¯m just an average guy," Reivan said carefully. The adventurer squinted. "No way. You give off hidden master vibes." "I do not." "You totally do!" This was spiraling. "I should go," Reivan muttered. The adventurer grabbed his arm. "Wait¡ªat least tell me your name!" Reivan hesitated. If he gave a fake name, there was a chance the guy would keep looking for him. He sighed. "Reivan." The adventurer grinned. "Nice to meet you! I¡¯m¡ª" "I know who you are," Reivan almost said. Instead, he just gave a small nod. Arthur grinned. "Reivan, huh? That¡¯s a cool name!" Then, with complete sincerity, he said: "I bet we¡¯ll meet again!" Reivan had never wanted to scream more in his life.
Final Thoughts: Chapter 14: Merchant King or War Hero?
A War He Didn¡¯t Sign Up For Reivan sat at a long, gleaming table, across from an assembly of nobles, generals, and advisors. His headache was already forming. He wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d ended up here, but the moment a royal messenger had arrived at his estate with an official summons, he knew nothing good was coming. And now, Duke Varion¡ªthe human equivalent of a warhammer¡ªwas staring at him like a rare beast to be tamed. "Sir Reivan," the duke rumbled, stroking his beard. "Your strategic insight has proven¡­ noteworthy. The empire would be honored to have you officially join the war effort." Reivan¡¯s internal alarm bells screamed. Translation: "Get involved in a brutal war where you''ll either die on the battlefield or get politically assassinated afterward." Nope. No thank you. Reivan tilted his head like an idiot. "Ah¡­ war effort? What war?" The room stilled. Duke Varion blinked. The count next to him coughed. Even the scribe writing down meeting minutes paused his quill. Princess Seraphina, seated at the head of the table, narrowed her eyes. The Holy Kingdom was actively seizing territory. The barbarian tribes had breached northern forts. Even the local taverns were filled with news of conscriptions and border conflicts. And here was Reivan. Acting like he¡¯d never heard of any of this. Count Estienne squinted. "Surely¡­ you jest?" Reivan widened his eyes in mock confusion. "Oh? Are we at war? I thought it was just a series of unfortunate misunderstandings." The entire room was now staring at him. Internally, Reivan smirked. He had learned something valuable in his past life: The best way to dodge responsibility was to act so clueless that people gave up. Unfortunately, these nobles weren¡¯t giving up. "Sir Reivan," Duke Varion said carefully, "You are an intelligent man. Let us not waste time with false ignorance." Reivan shrugged. "I¡¯m a simple merchant. What would I know about war?" At that, Princess Seraphina finally spoke. Her voice was smooth, but her gaze was sharp. "A simple merchant?" she repeated. "You, who single-handedly exposed an underground arms network?" If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Reivan winced. Okay, to be fair, that had been an accident. He had only been trying to drive down local weapon prices, and somehow people took it as a grand move against corruption. Seraphina continued. "You, who warned of the eastern city-states¡¯ instability before anyone else?" That¡­ had also been an accident. He had just been casually complaining to Sylpkx about trade disruptions, and now people thought he had insider intelligence. "And," Seraphina leaned forward, lips curling slightly, "You, whom the future hero of the realm personally sought out for guidance?" Reivan almost choked on air. Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Was she talking about Arthur?! "You mean the lost kid in the market?" he asked before he could stop himself. Seraphina¡¯s eyes glinted. "Ah. So you do remember him." Reivan fought the urge to slam his head into the table. Arthur. That idiot. That absolute menace. By now, Arthur had probably told everyone in the guild about his "great meeting with the wise strategist Reivan." And now, people thought he was some hidden grandmaster. Fantastic. Just fantastic. Reivan forced a smile. "I see where this is going, but I must decline. War is a noble pursuit, but I am a simple man. I wish only to sell my wares and eat good food." There. A perfect refusal. Unfortunately, the nobles heard something else entirely.
Multiple POVs ¨C The Noble Misunderstanding Duke Varion¡¯s Thoughts:"Ah. He plays the fool, but he is wise. He does not wish to be tied to any faction, ensuring his independence." Count Estienne¡¯s Thoughts:"A merchant, he says? No, he is a shadow player, moving unseen! Truly, a dangerous man." Princess Seraphina¡¯s Thoughts:"He is testing us. Refusing outright, yet remaining in our sphere¡­ A brilliant move."
The ¡°Offer¡± Escalates The nobles exchanged glances. Then¡ªthey sweetened the deal. "We understand your concerns, Sir Reivan," Duke Varion said. "Thus, we do not ask you to fight. Instead, we offer you land and noble rank." Reivan froze. What? "With your wealth and expertise, you would make an excellent Duke of Commerce." WHAT?! Reivan forced himself to stay calm. Accepting noble rank would trap him in political games forever. He needed to get out. "That is¡­ generous," Reivan said slowly, "But I am undeserving. Truly, my talents lie elsewhere." Duke Varion nodded to himself. "I see. He wishes for a different title." Seraphina smirked. Reivan felt a cold sweat. Somehow, he was making this worse. Count Estienne cleared his throat. "Then, if not nobility, we offer you complete trade monopolies in key territories." Reivan almost fell out of his chair.
The Power Move That Wasn¡¯t Sylpkx, who had been loitering outside, walked in just as Reivan was about to lose his mind. "Boss," she said, completely unaware of the situation, "Some merchants wanna talk about buying that iron shipment you were asking about." Reivan, desperate for an escape, latched onto the topic immediately. "Ah, yes! My true passion¡ªiron shipments. Let us speak no more of war, and let me return to what I do best¡ªnegotiating metal prices!" He stood up as fast as possible. The nobles, of course, misunderstood.
Multiple POVs ¨C The Final Misunderstanding Duke Varion¡¯s Thoughts:"He turns down power and war, choosing instead to focus on trade? A brilliant play." Count Estienne¡¯s Thoughts:"He refuses land, yet secures resources? Clearly a hidden kingmaker, operating in shadows." Princess Seraphina¡¯s Thoughts:"He is far more dangerous than I expected. I must watch him closely."
Reivan Walks Away¡­ into More Trouble As soon as they were out of earshot, Reivan turned to Sylpkx. "That was a disaster," he muttered. Sylpkx, completely unaware of what just happened, shrugged. "I dunno, boss. They looked impressed." Reivan sighed. That was the problem. Somehow, by doing everything in his power to stay out of war, he had accidentally made himself look like a major power broker. Fantastic. Just fantastic. Sylpkx nudged him. "Hey, at least you didn¡¯t get roped into fighting." Reivan groaned. For now. Chapter 15: The First Kingdom Falls
A Map Marked in Red Reivan sighed, dragging a gloved hand over his face as he stared at the map laid out before him. The kingdom of Elseth had fallen. He traced the red ink that marked its borders, now smeared and useless, as if reality itself had bled through the parchment. The reports scattered across his desk all said the same thing¡ªElseth no longer existed. Its capital had been taken, its leadership scattered, and its people were fleeing in every direction. This wasn¡¯t supposed to happen yet. In the original timeline, Elseth should have held out for another three years. It was meant to be a buffer kingdom¡ªa minor trade hub on the empire¡¯s eastern border that absorbed the first waves of war before crumbling in an expected, manageable way. But now? Now it had collapsed far too early. That meant something had changed. Something had sped up history. Reivan frowned, eyes flicking between different reports, cross-referencing information in his head. What had caused this? Reivan leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. Whatever the cause, the result was the same. Elseth was gone. And the first wave of refugees was already flooding into his territory.
An Empire on the Edge A kingdom collapsing wasn¡¯t just a minor event. It was a political earthquake that sent tremors throughout the entire region. And at the center of all this, of course¡ª Was Reivan. Because unfortunately, the first massive wave of refugees was heading straight for his lands. ¡°Of course they are,¡± he muttered, staring at the latest reports. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Across the room, Sylpkx, who had been lounging near the window, flicked her tail lazily. "You¡¯re making that face again," she said, not even bothering to look up. ¡°What face?¡± ¡°The one where you realize everything is broken, and you have to fix it.¡± Reivan exhaled. ¡°I don¡¯t have to fix it.¡± Sylpkx raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. ¡°No? So you¡¯re just going to let the nobles handle it? Let them mess everything up and turn starving refugees into criminals?¡± Reivan rubbed his temples. Damn it. She was right. Again.
The Refugee Problem (and Why It Wasn¡¯t Just About Kindness) Reivan wasn¡¯t heartless. He knew that these people needed help. But wanting to help and being able to help were two different things. Because an uncontrolled influx of thousands of desperate, starving people into a single region could lead to catastrophe. If this wasn¡¯t managed properly, it could spiral into disaster within weeks. Reivan set down the report and exhaled. Fine. If no one else was going to fix it, he¡¯d have to do it himself.
Step One: Turning Refugees Into an Economic Asset The first thing he had to do was change the way people saw the refugees. Right now, they were a burden. A problem. He needed to make them an opportunity. Because the moment people saw them as valuable, they would stop resisting their presence.
Step Two: Solving the Food Crisis The biggest issue? Feeding thousands of people. Reivan secured grain shipments before prices could spike, then rerouted refugees away from the cities and into agricultural villages. At first, the local farmers had been wary. Then Reivan did something unthinkable. He paid them. Not just for food, but for taking in refugees as workers. Suddenly, instead of a burden, the refugees became a workforce. The moment the money started flowing, opposition vanished overnight.
Step Three: The Accidental Military Supply Chain Reivan had one goal. Stabilize the trade routes. Unfortunately, he accidentally created a military-grade logistics network. Because when you regulate food distribution, enforce trade efficiency, and standardize supply lines¡­ It starts looking like wartime preparation. Suddenly¡ª People noticed. And they misunderstood.
The Misunderstandings Begin Word spread quickly. Duke Varion¡¯s Thoughts: "He does not prepare for war, yet his lands are fortified. He secures food, roads, and manpower¡­ What is he planning?" Count Estienne¡¯s Thoughts: "A masterful strategy. He makes himself indispensable, yet claims to be uninvolved in politics." Princess Seraphina¡¯s Thoughts: "Fascinating. He builds infrastructure, gains loyalty, and ensures economic stability. A merchant? No. A kingmaker." The Commoners¡¯ Thoughts: "Finally, a noble who actually does something logical. Gods bless him." The Merchants¡¯ Thoughts: "Reivan is too fair. Too competent. We must protect this rare breed at all costs." Reivan¡¯s Thoughts: "I DID NOT MEAN TO DO THIS."
Final Scene: A Meeting with Seraphina That evening, he received a summons. Princess Seraphina stood in the royal gardens, gazing at the moonlit fountain. "You move quickly," she said. "I move logically," Reivan corrected. Seraphina smiled. "To the nobility, there is little difference." Reivan sighed. "I just want things to function." "And yet, the empire now relies on you," she murmured. "You¡¯ve become a pillar of this war." Reivan groaned. "Why does this keep happening?" Seraphina¡¯s smirk deepened. "Because you are too competent for your own good."
Reivan just wanted peace. Fate had other plans. Chapter 16: A Prodigy鈥檚 Army
The Morning Disaster Reivan had experienced many unpleasant wake-up calls. Once, an assassin had tripped over his laundry pile in an attempt to kill him. Another time, a noble had shown up at dawn to discuss "urgent politics" (which turned out to be a tax loophole issue.) But this? This was worse. Because this time, it was Garm. The Red Fang Mercenary Leader. A man built like a war elephant, with the tactical patience of a charging bull. And he was standing in Reivan¡¯s study before sunrise, grinning like he had done something wonderful. "Boss!" Garm slapped a hand on Reivan¡¯s desk, nearly splitting the wood. "Good news!" Reivan, still half-asleep, stared at him. "Good news?" he repeated flatly. Garm nodded, crossing his arms. "The Reapers have arrived!" Reivan blinked. "The what now?" Garm grinned wider. "The Reapers! You know¡ªthe biggest mercenary force in the empire? Their leader¡¯s here. Wants to talk to you." Reivan slowly set down his tea. "¡­And why," he asked, his voice dangerously calm, "did you let them in?" Garm shrugged. "Seemed like the polite thing to do." Reivan rubbed his temples. This was going to be a long day.
Sylpkx¡¯s Observations Sylpkx had been watching from the corner of the room, arms crossed, tail flicking slightly. She wasn¡¯t surprised. Reivan had been avoiding power for too long. And power, if left unchecked, found its own way to him. But as she watched his reaction, she wondered. Would he rise to meet it? Or would he, like so many before him, be swallowed by it?
The Mercenary King¡¯s Arrival The Reapers were not a normal mercenary group. They weren¡¯t just hired fighters. They were a force of nature. When the Mercenary King moved, wars changed. And today¡ª Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. He had come to see Reivan.
The Mercenary King¡¯s Evaluation The courtyard was silent. Dozens of mercenaries stood at attention, armored in black and steel. And at their head¡ª A man who radiated authority like a drawn blade. The Mercenary King. He was broad-shouldered, tall, with a presence too sharp to be ignored. He took one look at Reivan, at the estate, at Garm standing beside him¡ª And then, slowly, he smiled. "So," he said. "You¡¯re the one making all the noise." Reivan, who had been actively trying to stay out of trouble, inhaled deeply. "That," he said, "is a gross misrepresentation of the facts." The Mercenary King chuckled. "Is it?" he asked. "Because from what I¡¯ve seen, you built a supply network overnight, turned a mercenary company into a personal army, and outmaneuvered the nobility before they even realized they were playing a game." Reivan gave Garm a deadpan look. "This," he muttered, "is your fault." Garm grinned. "Details." The Mercenary King studied Reivan for a long moment. Then, he said, "You¡¯re the only one thinking ahead, aren¡¯t you?" Reivan froze. That tone. That wasn¡¯t a question. That was a statement. And it was dangerous.
The Kingdom¡¯s Situation ¨C A Logical Choice The Mercenary King turned, gesturing to the land beyond the gates. "This empire," he said, "is falling apart." Reivan didn¡¯t argue. Because he was right. The empire was not prepared. And everyone in power was too slow to see it. Except, of course¡ª Reivan. The Mercenary King¡¯s gaze sharpened. "You don¡¯t move like a noble," he said. "You don¡¯t act out of pride or greed. You move like a man preparing for war." Reivan inhaled slowly. "That," he said, "is an assumption." The Mercenary King smiled. "It¡¯s an observation." Reivan hated that he wasn¡¯t wrong.
The Reapers Join Him "I don¡¯t take sides," the Mercenary King said. Reivan raised an eyebrow. "You¡¯re standing on my land. I¡¯d argue that¡¯s false." The man chuckled. "True neutrality is a myth," he admitted. "And war is coming." He studied Reivan carefully. "And I don¡¯t back losing factions." Reivan exhaled. "So this is an evaluation?" The Mercenary King nodded. "It is." Reivan sighed. "And?" The man smiled. "You¡¯re the smartest choice." And with that, the Reapers swore loyalty.
Sylpkx¡¯s Backstory & Fears Sylpkx watched from the shadows. She had seen this before. A man, stronger than he wanted to be, forced into leadership. And she knew what happened to men like that. Her past was carved in blood. She had once followed a leader. A leader who had been too strong. Too smart. Too feared. And so, he had been betrayed. Power meant nothing if you weren¡¯t willing to wield it. She clenched her fists. If Reivan didn¡¯t take control soon¡­ Then someone else would take control for him. And that would be far worse.
The Nobles React By the next morning, the empire was in chaos. Some nobles wanted to ally with him. Others whispered about removing him. One thing was clear¡ª Reivan had just become one of the most powerful men in the empire.
Final Scene: Sylpkx Confronts Reivan That night, Reivan sat at his desk, exhausted. Sylpkx entered without knocking. "You can¡¯t keep running from this," she said. Reivan groaned. "I am not running. I am¡­ strategically avoiding unnecessary stress." Sylpkx tilted her head. "Are you?" Reivan sighed. "You think this will end well?" Sylpkx was silent for a long time. Then, finally, she said, "That depends. Are you strong enough to survive it?" Reivan exhaled. That was the terrifying part.
Reivan just wanted peace. Now, he had an army, an empire watching him, and a war creeping closer. And fate refused to let him go. Chapter 17: The Vultures Gather Reivan had never liked the imperial capital. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many politicians with knives hidden behind smiles. But today, as his carriage rolled through the wide, marble-paved streets, he felt particularly on edge. It wasn¡¯t just the usual noble gossip. This time, they were watching him. From the balconies of gilded estates to the street corners where merchants traded whispers like currency¡ª Reivan had become a name worth noticing. And that was a very bad thing. The imperial capital, Veydris, had always been a viper¡¯s nest. A city of high marble towers, glittering palaces, and sprawling marketplaces¡ª But beneath the surface? A ruthless battlefield where words were sharper than swords. The streets, once merely filled with gossip about royal affairs and trade routes, were now buzzing with rumors of Reivan. Some whispered that he was a hidden warlord, building an empire in secret. Others claimed he was a shadow puppet master, manipulating the empire¡¯s decline for his own gain. The truth? He was just trying to survive. Unfortunately, the nobles had decided he was worth either courting or killing. And both options involved headaches. By the time Reivan stepped into his rented estate, a mountain of sealed letters and summons awaited him. Garm, standing nearby, whistled. "That¡¯s a lot of fancy paper. You piss off the entire capital already?" Reivan scanned the letters without touching them. Some bore the wax seals of powerful families. Some were from minor nobles, hoping to ride his coattails. And some¡ª Some were traps. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. He sighed. "I¡¯d say it¡¯s about half-and-half." Sylpkx, lounging on the windowsill, snorted. "Which half wants you dead?" Reivan flicked a particularly ornate envelope. "The ones who sent poisoned invitations." Garm frowned. "Poisoned?" Reivan nodded, holding up the letter without opening it. "There¡¯s a subtle alchemical scent. The ink they used? Laced with a slow-acting nerve agent." Garm stared. "They poisoned their own invitations?" "Welcome to politics," Reivan muttered. Sylpkx grinned. "Should I eat the messengers for you?" Reivan sighed. "As tempting as that is, no. We¡¯re still playing the civilized game." For now. Later that evening, Reivan reluctantly attended a private gathering hosted by Duke Varion. The grand hall was lined with chandeliers, polished marble, and nobles wearing expressions of casual deceit. Reivan hated it already. Duke Varion¡ªa towering, broad-shouldered man with the aura of a battlefield general forced into politics¡ªgreeted him with a smirk. "Sir Reivan," he said, voice rich with amusement. "You¡¯ve caused quite the stir." Reivan smiled politely. "Unintentionally." "Ah, but intent is irrelevant. You¡¯ve drawn power, whether you sought it or not." Reivan sipped his wine. "And what do you suggest I do with it?" Varion chuckled. "The same thing every powerful man does in court¡ªsurvive." Reivan sighed internally. Not helpful. Of course, it didn¡¯t take long for someone to pick a fight. Count Estienne¡ªa noble whose family had controlled military logistics for decades¡ªclearly saw Reivan as a threat. And so, halfway through the evening, he raised his voice. "A merchant masquerading as a warlord," Estienne mused, his voice carrying across the hall. "Tell me, Sir Reivan¡ªdo you truly believe that coin can buy loyalty as well as blood?" The room went silent. Reivan exhaled. Great. This was the part where he had to play their game. So he smiled¡ªjust slightly. "Coin doesn¡¯t buy loyalty, Count," he said smoothly. "But it does buy food, shelter, weapons, and trained soldiers. And I find that well-fed, well-armed men tend to be more¡­ loyal than starving ones." A few nobles chuckled. Estienne wasn¡¯t amused. "Spoken like a man who has never bled for his cause." Reivan tilted his head. "Ah. Are we comparing scars now? Shall I strip my shirt and count the knife wounds I¡¯ve earned dodging assassins? Or would you prefer we measure battlefield losses instead?" A murmur ran through the crowd. Estienne scowled. "War isn¡¯t something one can manage like a ledger." Reivan¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver. "And yet, if you had managed your ledgers better, perhaps your last campaign wouldn¡¯t have run out of supplies before winter." The crowd laughed. Estienne¡¯s face darkened. And just like that¡ª Reivan had won the exchange. As the gathering began to wind down, Sylpkx approached him, grinning. "You pissed off the wrong noble," she said, sipping a stolen glass of wine. Reivan sighed. "I piss off every noble. It¡¯s a numbers game at this point." Garm clapped him on the back. "That was fun! You should insult people more often!" Reivan gave him a look. "That¡¯s how wars start." "Yeah, but it¡¯s entertaining." Sylpkx leaned in. "By the way, Count Estienne left early." Reivan frowned. "That¡¯s bad, isn¡¯t it?" Sylpkx grinned. "Oh, it¡¯s terrible." Because when a noble left early, it meant one thing. They weren¡¯t planning their next move. They were already executing it. Just before midnight, a letter arrived. Unlike the others, this one wasn¡¯t a noble¡¯s invitation. It was a warning. The wax seal was broken. The edges were smudged. A sign that the messenger had delivered it in a hurry. Reivan unfolded the paper, scanning the words. Then, slowly, he set it down. Sylpkx watched him carefully. "Bad news?" Reivan exhaled. "Oh," he muttered. "It¡¯s worse than bad." Because it wasn¡¯t just a political move anymore. It was an assassination order. And it had already been signed. Chapter 18: A Kingdom鈥檚 Failing Grip
Reivan had received many letters since arriving in the imperial capital. Some were thinly veiled threats. Some were bribes disguised as alliances. Some were invitations dipped in poison¡ªliterally. But this letter? This one was different. The parchment was cheap, almost rough. The ink was hurried, smudged in places. It bore no noble seal, no signature¡ªjust a few rushed words. "They have set the wheels in motion.Beware the dagger under the moon." It had been delivered in secret. No messenger had arrived. No guards had intercepted it. The letter had simply been found on his desk. Which meant whoever sent it had gotten past his defenses. And that? That was not comforting. There was only one type of group that both wanted him dead and wanted to test him at the same time. The Holy Kingdom of Saerun. Reivan exhaled slowly, turning the letter over in his fingers. The Holy Kingdom was a patient, calculating force. They didn¡¯t move rashly. If they were acting now, it meant they had already predicted several possible outcomes. They had probably funded Count Estienne¡¯s assassination attempt, but instead of simply letting it play out, they had sent this warning to see how he would react. If he ran or hid?They would mark him as weak. A minor player. If he responded too aggressively?They would frame him as a dangerous warmonger. It was a test. A political move to measure his value. Reivan sighed. He hated being tested. Sylpkx, sitting across from him, had read the letter twice. Then, she simply shrugged. "I could start biting people until we find out who sent it." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Reivan gave her a flat look. "That¡¯s not how investigations work." Garm, standing by the door, crossed his arms. "So what¡¯s the plan? Are we pretending this isn¡¯t happening, or do I get to break some skulls?" Reivan tapped the table, thinking. "We don¡¯t react directly. If we act like we know, they¡¯ll change the plan." Sylpkx grinned. "So we walk into the trap." Reivan nodded. "But on our terms." The attack came at midnight. Reivan had anticipated poison¡ªso he didn¡¯t eat or drink anything after sunset. He had expected hired killers¡ªso Garm¡¯s men had reinforced the estate¡¯s defenses. But the assassins still found a way in. It was silent. Efficient. The first sign of trouble was the sharp scent of alchemical smoke seeping through the windows. Then¡ª A knife buried itself in the wall next to Reivan¡¯s chair. Reivan turned, calm despite the very clear murder attempt. A hooded figure stood in the dim light, a curved blade glinting in their hand. "How dramatic," Reivan muttered. "You know, most people just say hello." The assassin lunged. And then, the ceiling collapsed. The assassin barely had time to react before a giant of a man dropped through the rafters like an angry bear. Garm. In full armor. With a steel gauntlet the size of a dinner plate. The assassin, to their credit, dodged at the last second. They still got hit hard enough to crash through a bookshelf. Garm dusted off his hands, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "See?" he said. "Told you reinforcing the beams was a bad idea." Reivan sighed. "That¡¯s not what I¡ªnever mind. Just don¡¯t let them escape." The fight didn¡¯t last long. The assassin was fast, but Garm was relentless. Every time they tried to maneuver, Sylpkx cut off their retreat. Eventually, the assassin made a fatal mistake. They tried to escape through the window. Sylpkx caught them midair with a tail whip that sent them crashing into a table. The assassin groaned. Reivan calmly walked over, crouching beside them. "Now that we¡¯ve gotten past the awkward introductions, shall we talk?" The assassin didn¡¯t break immediately. They were trained, disciplined. Not just some hired thug. Which meant they weren¡¯t working for Estienne directly. Reivan had already suspected it, but this confirmed it. Count Estienne had wanted him dead. But someone else had given the actual orders. Someone who wasn¡¯t afraid to lose an asset just to test him. And that led to only one answer. The Holy Kingdom had used Estienne as a puppet. This wasn¡¯t just an assassination attempt. It was a power move. Reivan leaned back, thinking. They had tested him. Which meant he needed to respond. Not with brute force. Not with immediate retaliation. No. He needed to make them regret testing him at all. And for that¡ª He would play the long game. By dawn, Reivan had already drafted several letters. It simply said: "I understand the game you are playing. I wonder if you understand mine." No threats. No direct accusations. Just enough to make them wonder. And that? That was the first step in turning the game against them. Chapter 19: The Church Makes Its Move Reivan had barely slept since the assassination attempt. Not because he was worried about dying¡ªthough, admittedly, that was an issue¡ªbut because the implications were worse. The Holy Kingdom of Saerun had moved. They hadn¡¯t just tried to kill him; they had tested him. And when powerful forces tested someone, it meant they were deciding whether he was a threat or a tool. Now, they had chosen their next move. The morning was quiet. Too quiet. His estate, usually filled with the murmurs of his mercenary allies, the occasional laughter of Garm¡¯s men, or the sharp conversations between nobles trying to worm their way into his influence, was still. Reivan stood by his window, watching the capital wake up. The streets of Veydris were as lively as ever¡ªvendors shouting, noble carriages rolling past, beggars trying their luck at another day¡ªbut there was a shift in the air. It was subtle. A slight hesitation in the way people spoke, an extra glance thrown over their shoulders. The whispers were louder today, yet somehow also more secretive. He exhaled. So, the rumors had started. Garm entered without knocking, as usual. "You¡¯re getting a reputation, boss," he said, holding out a letter. Reivan didn¡¯t take it immediately. He gave the mercenary a tired look. "Good or bad?" Garm grinned. "Depends on who you ask. The nobles? Half of them think you¡¯re a genius. The other half think you¡¯re a dangerous lunatic." Reivan sighed. "Sounds about right. And the Church?" "Ah." Garm dropped into a chair. "That¡¯s the fun part. They¡¯re sending envoys." Reivan finally took the letter. It was sealed with the emblem of the Holy Kingdom. A sunburst wrapped around a sword. A symbol of righteousness. Or, in this case, righteous interference. "Let me guess," Reivan muttered. "They want to discuss ¡®faith¡¯ and ¡®moral integrity¡¯ and probably ¡®the will of the gods¡¯?" Garm chuckled. "Word is, they¡¯re also asking about your soul." "Lovely." Reivan broke the seal and read through the letter. Polite, formal, full of empty words. The envoys weren¡¯t coming for diplomacy. They were coming to size him up. Sylpkx appeared at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with something sharp. "So, we¡¯re dealing with the Church now?" A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Reivan looked up from the letter and studied her expression. He wasn¡¯t surprised that she didn¡¯t hide her distaste. Sylpkx had always been wary of the Holy Kingdom. No¡ªwary wasn¡¯t the right word. She despised them. And it made sense. Reivan had always known what she was¡ªhalf-beastman, half-human. A bastard of royal blood. Her father had been a noble from the empire. Her mother? A princess from the northern beastkin tribes. A woman who had been taken, married for political gain, and then discarded the moment she became inconvenient. Sylpkx had been born between two worlds, belonging to neither. To the empire, she was a reminder of a broken alliance. To the beastkin, she was too human to be trusted. And to the Holy Kingdom? She was an abomination. Reivan could feel her bloodlust crackling in the air like a brewing storm. It wasn¡¯t the wild rage of a berserker¡ªSylpkx wasn¡¯t reckless. It was controlled. Cold. The kind of hatred that never faded, only waited. Reivan folded the letter and placed it on the desk. "Don¡¯t kill anyone yet," he said dryly. Sylpkx scoffed, but he could see her fingers twitch. "I make no promises." By midday, the envoys arrived. They came in plain but elegant robes, gold embroidery woven just subtly enough to remind everyone of their power. Two men and one woman, all carrying themselves with the calm confidence of people who believed the gods were on their side. Reivan met them in his study, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "Sir Reivan," the eldest envoy greeted him, a man with steel-gray hair and eyes that belonged to a man who had judged others for decades. "Cardinal Alden," Reivan replied, matching his tone. "An honor." The Cardinal smiled, though it was more polite than warm. "The honor is ours. We have heard¡­ much about you." "I hope most of it was good." Alden chuckled. "Faith is a complicated thing. Some believe you to be a rising force of stability. Others¡­" He paused, gaze sharp. "Others whisper of dangerous ideologies." Reivan already knew where this was going. "¡®Dangerous ideologies¡¯?" he repeated. "I thought I was merely a merchant." The younger envoy, a sharp-eyed woman named Sister Elira, gave him a small, unreadable smile. "That is precisely what we wish to understand." Reivan leaned back slightly. "Then please, enlighten me. What concerns you?" Alden studied him for a moment before answering. "You¡¯ve gained an army without swearing fealty to the Emperor. You manage trade routes as if you govern your own territory. And most concerning of all, you have rejected offers of alliance from noble families in favor of¡ª" he gestured vaguely, "¡ªa different kind of power." "A different kind of power," Reivan echoed. "You mean efficiency?" Alden smiled, but it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "Perhaps." Reivan could feel the unspoken accusation in the room. The Holy Kingdom thrived on order. On hierarchy. On control. And Reivan? He was not part of their system. They didn¡¯t like that. Sylpkx, sitting nearby, was watching the envoys like a predator studying prey. Her pupils had sharpened slightly, a faint reminder of her beastkin blood. Reivan didn¡¯t miss how Elira noticed. He also didn¡¯t miss how the envoy¡¯s fingers curled slightly, tense, as if Sylpkx¡¯s presence alone was offensive. "Let¡¯s speak plainly," Alden finally said. "We are concerned that your¡­ influence may lead people astray from their faith." Reivan raised an eyebrow. "By ensuring they eat and live in peace?" "Faith is not only about survival," Elira countered smoothly. "It is about obedience to divine will." Ah. There it was. They weren¡¯t just testing him. They were setting up a narrative. If he pushed back too hard, they would call him a heretic. If he submitted, they would bind him to their influence. Reivan smiled faintly. "The will of the gods is a complex thing, isn¡¯t it? But I¡¯m a simple man. I deal in tangible solutions, not divine mysteries." "That is precisely why we worry," Alden murmured. By nightfall, the rumors had already begun. Reivan sat in his study, Sylpkx standing by the door. "They¡¯re calling you godless now," she muttered. "Let them." "And what will you do?" Reivan tapped his fingers on the desk. "I¡¯ll remind them that gods do not govern trade, nor do they control war." He smiled. "Men do." Chapter 20: A House Divided The first sign of trouble came in the form of silence. Not the expected, calculated political silence where nobles schemed in hushed whispers, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. No, this was an unnatural quiet, a space where words should have been exchanged but weren¡¯t. Reivan noticed it the moment he stepped into the noble quarter. The usual greetings¡ª**forced pleasantries and shallow flattery¡ª**were absent. Conversations hushed when he passed, and the ever-present court gossips whispered behind fans with pointed glances in his direction. The rumors had done their work. The Holy Kingdom¡¯s envoys had only just left, but already the damage was spreading. Some nobles had openly distanced themselves from him, while others lingered in indecision, waiting to see which way the wind blew. And then there were those who were actively pushing the whispers forward. Reivan resisted the urge to sigh. He hadn¡¯t even done anything yet, and already they were trying to exile him from polite society. He caught Garm¡¯s bored expression as they made their way through the palace corridors. ¡°So, do I get to punch someone yet, or are we still playing nice?¡± ¡°We¡¯re still playing nice,¡± Reivan muttered, though he felt the same way. Garm grumbled something about "cowards in silk robes" under his breath but otherwise kept his complaints to a minimum. Sylpkx, walking just a step behind, was unreadable. She always was in places like this¡ªwhere her half-beastkin blood was scrutinized, even if never mentioned aloud. But Reivan knew she noticed the shift as much as he did. Her golden eyes scanned the nobles like a predator sizing up prey. ¡°Give me a name,¡± she murmured low enough that only Reivan could hear. ¡°Someone is moving against you faster than the rest.¡± He already had a few names in mind. That was the problem with power¡ªit attracted those who either wanted to claim it or destroy it. The meeting with the Emperor¡¯s war council had been planned days ago, but now it felt like a battlefield before the first strike. By the time they entered the hall, the tension was thick enough to cut with a blade. Duke Varion was already there, his sharp gaze flicking to Reivan with something unreadable¡ªapproval, amusement, perhaps both. Count Estienne, however, was practically radiating smugness. That was never a good sign. The war council was a collection of some of the most powerful figures in the empire¡ªdukes, military generals, high-ranking nobles. Men and women who controlled armies, trade routes, and influence. For Reivan to be invited at all was a sign of his growing power. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. For half the room to now see him as a liability was a sign of a different problem. The Emperor was not present¡ªhe rarely was for these initial debates. But his absence didn¡¯t make the stakes any lower. Varion was the first to speak, leaning forward in his chair with the ease of a man who had spent his life navigating both war and politics. ¡°Reivan,¡± he said, his voice calm but carrying across the hall, ¡°you¡¯ve been quite busy lately.¡± Reivan smiled faintly. ¡°Not by choice.¡± ¡°Perhaps. But the rumors surrounding you have become¡­ concerning.¡± Estienne scoffed, barely waiting for his turn. ¡°Concerning is an understatement. A merchant playing at war, allying with mercenaries, gaining unnatural influence over the army¡ªand now whispers of heresy? Tell me, Reivan, how long do you intend to pretend you¡¯re not a threat to the empire?¡± Reivan took a slow breath. He had expected this¡ªbut expecting a dagger didn¡¯t make it sting any less when it was plunged in. There were many ways to handle this. He could argue¡ªbut that would mean acknowledging the accusations. He could threaten¡ªbut that would only prove their point. Or he could do what he did best. He could make them regret underestimating him. He tilted his head slightly. ¡°Tell me, Count Estienne, are you still overseeing the empire¡¯s grain supply?¡± The question caught the noble off guard. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The grain supply,¡± Reivan repeated, as if he hadn¡¯t just shifted the conversation entirely. ¡°I only ask because I heard there was¡­ an issue.¡± A few heads turned at that. Estienne¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°There are no issues.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a relief,¡± Reivan said pleasantly. ¡°Because if there were, say, a shortage caused by mismanagement, and the empire suddenly needed alternative supply routes¡­ Well, that could be quite the scandal, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± A flicker of hesitation. And just like that, he had control of the room again. Estienne wasn¡¯t stupid. He knew exactly what Reivan was implying. If he kept pushing too hard, Reivan would push back in a way that actually mattered. Varion¡¯s mouth twitched, as if holding back amusement. The rest of the nobles were watching carefully now. Reivan continued, his voice even. ¡°I have no intention of playing politics for the sake of politics. My concern is simple¡ªstability. If the Holy Kingdom¡¯s interference is left unchecked, the empire weakens. And if the empire weakens, so does your power.¡± That got their attention. Because at the end of the day, nobles cared about one thing above all else. Their own survival. Silence stretched before one of the older generals spoke, rubbing his chin. ¡°So you suggest we do what? Ignore these rumors?¡± Reivan let out a quiet chuckle. ¡°Ignore them? No. That would be a waste of an opportunity.¡± Now he had them. Let them think he was desperate to defend himself. Instead, he was about to weaponize their own fears. He leaned forward. ¡°Let the rumors spread. In fact, encourage them.¡± Estienne frowned. ¡°You expect us to fuel accusations of heresy?¡± Reivan smiled. ¡°No. I expect you to let those who are spreading the rumors reveal themselves. People who whisper behind backs always want something. Some are doing it because they¡¯re loyal to the Church. Others? Because they¡¯re being paid to.¡± Another pause. Another calculated silence. The realization settled over them. If they let the rumors run their course, they could trace them back to their source. Varion exhaled. ¡°You¡¯re proposing a trap.¡± Reivan shrugged. ¡°I prefer to call it strategic patience.¡± There was a shift in the air. Nobles loved traps¡ªas long as they weren¡¯t the ones caught in them. Estienne¡¯s expression was still dark, but he wasn¡¯t arguing. He couldn¡¯t. Not without revealing his own involvement in pushing the rumors forward. The meeting ended soon after, with uncertain tension but a lack of immediate action. Which meant, for now, Reivan had won. As they left, Sylpkx was silent for a long time before finally speaking. ¡°You could have crushed him,¡± she said. Reivan sighed. ¡°And then what? Another noble takes his place? No, I need him exactly where he is¡ªangry, but not desperate enough to act recklessly.¡± She studied him, something unreadable in her gaze. Then, finally, she smirked. ¡°You¡¯re learning.¡± Reivan snorted. ¡°I don¡¯t have a choice.¡± The game wasn¡¯t over. It was just beginning. Chapter 21: The First Skirmish The problem with war was that it never asked for permission before arriving at your doorstep. Reivan had been dealing with rumors, noble politics, and the Church¡¯s meddling when word arrived. A border conflict had broken out¡ªmysteriously, suddenly, and in a way that was far too convenient to be anything but deliberate. Reports were scattered, but the general picture was clear: a group of armed forces, supposedly bandits, had attacked a trade route along the Holy Kingdom¡¯s border. But the thing about "bandits" was that they usually weren¡¯t well-funded, well-armed, or suspiciously well-positioned to attack at a moment when Reivan¡¯s influence was under scrutiny. The timing was too perfect. The empire had sent word¡ªsince it was his mercenaries protecting the trade routes in that region, he was expected to deal with the problem. The message had been polite but firm. "This will be a test of your capabilities." That was noble speak for "If you fail, we¡¯ll strip you of power." So now, instead of resting, Reivan was riding towards a battlefield he hadn¡¯t chosen, trying to prevent a manufactured conflict from spiraling into something worse. He had brought Garm with him, obviously. Because if anyone enjoyed a fight a little too much, it was Garm. The mercenary was grinning as he rode beside him. "You look like you¡¯d rather be anywhere else." "I would," Reivan said dryly. "Come on, this is your first real fight! I mean, your first official one. The one where people expect you to do leader things." "Leader things?" "You know, wave your hand and say something inspiring before the battle. Maybe throw in a speech about honor." Reivan sighed. "I¡¯ll pass." Garm chuckled. "Fine, fine. I¡¯ll do the yelling. You do the smart parts." The camp was already being set up when they arrived. His mercenaries¡ªthe Red Fang and the newly absorbed Reapers¡ªwere organized into rough formations. Unlike imperial soldiers, mercenaries didn¡¯t waste time on ceremony. They prepared because they had to survive. Garm strode in like he owned the place, which he partially did. The men greeted him with respect, and even the newer recruits followed his orders without hesitation. Reivan watched from the edge of the camp, noting the preparations. The "bandits" had already attacked once, but they had retreated quickly, almost like they had been testing the defenses rather than actually trying to break through. That only confirmed his suspicions. This wasn¡¯t some random raid. This was a staged event, and they were waiting for his response. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Sylpkx stood next to him, arms crossed. "You¡¯re thinking too much again." "It¡¯s a bad habit," Reivan muttered. She smirked. "So? What¡¯s your read?" "It¡¯s obvious," he said. "This isn¡¯t a real conflict. It¡¯s a probe." "From the Church?" "Or someone else trying to force my hand," he said. "Either way, they want a reaction. They want me to look like a warlord overstepping his place. If I handle this wrong, the nobles will finally have their excuse to strip me of power." Sylpkx¡¯s eyes glinted with something sharp. "So handle it right." Easier said than done. By the time the enemy made their next move, Garm was already in position. The attack came at dusk¡ªtypical for mercenaries and "bandit" forces, but a poor choice if your opponent was expecting it. And Reivan? Reivan had been expecting it. Garm led the front charge with his usual enthusiasm, bellowing like a man who had waited too long for a good fight. His forces met the enemy head-on, but that was never the real battle. Because while the enemy was focused on the mercenaries in front of them, Reivan had already sent a second force through the ridgeline. A group of Reapers, led by veterans who didn¡¯t believe in fair fights. So when the "bandits" realized they were surrounded from both sides, they hesitated. And that was all it took. Garm never wasted a chance. The moment the enemy faltered, he pushed hard, breaking their formations. The Reapers collapsed from behind, cutting off their retreat. It wasn¡¯t a battle. It was a massacre. By the time the fighting stopped, the enemy had lost half their forces. The survivors surrendered quickly. Garm wiped a bit of blood off his gauntlet and looked back at Reivan. "So. Was that good enough for your leadership test?" Reivan exhaled. "It¡¯s not over yet." Because this fight wasn¡¯t the real battle. The real battle was figuring out who sent them. The captured men were too well-equipped to be bandits, but none of them would talk. At least, not yet. Reivan studied the battlefield, his mind already shifting to the next step. Sylpkx walked up, kicking one of the discarded weapons. "This is imperial steel." Reivan¡¯s eyes narrowed. That meant the weapons came from inside the empire. Which meant this wasn¡¯t just the Holy Kingdom¡¯s doing. Someone inside the empire had helped stage this. He turned to the captured commander. The man was young, barely out of his twenties, but his posture was too disciplined for a normal mercenary. "Who do you work for?" Reivan asked. The man didn¡¯t answer. Reivan sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look. I don¡¯t enjoy torture." The man visibly tensed. "Not because it¡¯s cruel," Reivan continued, "but because it¡¯s messy." He looked at the prisoners. "And really, I don¡¯t have time for messes right now. So let¡¯s make this simple." He crouched down, keeping his voice level. "You¡¯re not a mercenary. You¡¯re not a bandit. You¡¯ve been placed here to create a conflict that doesn¡¯t exist. If I had to guess, you were given just enough orders to believe this was a real job, but not enough to question the people paying you. Am I right?" The man flinched, just slightly. That was all Reivan needed. He smiled. "Good. That means you¡¯re not beyond saving. So let¡¯s try this again. Who sent you?" The man swallowed. His eyes darted to his own men, some of whom were already looking uncertain. Doubt. That was Reivan¡¯s opening. "You think your employers are going to protect you?" Reivan asked. "Because I have bad news. The moment this plan failed, you were already dead to them." The man hesitated. Then, finally, he spoke. "The Church," he whispered. "And¡­ a noble. But I don¡¯t know who." Reivan exchanged a glance with Sylpkx. There it was. Proof that someone inside the empire was working with the Holy Kingdom. This skirmish had been a setup. But instead of trapping him, they had handed him a weapon. Reivan stood, looking over the battlefield, then back to the prisoners. He had won the battle. But now, he had the means to win something bigger. Because if there was one thing nobles feared more than war, it was being caught. And Reivan was going to make them regret playing this game. Chapter 22: The Man in the Shadows Reivan was beginning to suspect that fate had a personal grudge against him. It wasn¡¯t just the assassination attempts, political sabotage, or fabricated wars¡ªthough those were, admittedly, annoying. No, what really convinced him that the universe was out to get him was the fact that every time he thought he had a moment to breathe, something even worse fell into his lap. This time, it was a letter. Or rather, the second letter. The first had warned him of an assassination attempt, which had turned out to be a test from the Holy Kingdom. Now, after crushing a so-called bandit army that was secretly backed by both the Church and someone within the empire, he received another. It was left in his tent, despite the fact that Sylpkx had personally chosen the guards. Despite the fact that Garm had sworn on his oversized sword that no one was sneaking past them again. Reivan held up the parchment, turning it in his fingers. Unlike the first letter, which had been rushed and smudged, this one was pristine. Thick, high-quality paper, sealed with black wax¡ªwhich was a nice way of saying "This is either a very important message or an elaborate death threat." Sylpkx leaned over his shoulder, staring at the letter. "You know, I¡¯d say I¡¯m impressed that someone got past the guards again, but at this point, I think you¡¯re cursed." "That makes two of us," Reivan muttered. Garm crossed his arms. "You think it¡¯s a trap?" "Oh, definitely," Reivan said, carefully breaking the seal. "But since everything in my life is a trap these days, we might as well see what kind of trouble it is." He unfolded the parchment, expecting vague threats, cryptic nonsense, or maybe a demand to stop existing. Instead, the message was short and precise. "Meet me at midnight. The Black Alley. Come alone. Or don''t come at all." There was no signature. No name. Reivan sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Okay. So¡­ someone who knows how to set up a dramatic meeting wants to talk. Any bets on whether I die the moment I show up?" Sylpkx smirked. "You? Probably not. Everyone else in the alley? Maybe." "Reassuring," Reivan deadpanned. Garm scratched his chin. "Could be a noble. Could be someone working against the Church. Could be a ghost." The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. "Why would it be a ghost?" Garm shrugged. "Dunno. Feels like the kind of thing that happens to you." Midnight arrived, and Reivan, despite his deep, deep reservations about walking into an obvious trap, made his way toward the Black Alley. He didn¡¯t bring Garm or Sylpkx¡ªpartly because the note said to come alone, but mostly because he didn¡¯t feel like listening to Sylpkx¡¯s running commentary about how many ways this could go wrong. The Black Alley wasn¡¯t marked on any official maps, but everyone in the capital knew it existed. It was the kind of place where people exchanged secrets, illegal goods, and occasionally severed heads. Which meant whoever had set this meeting up wasn''t playing around. Reivan stepped into the dimly lit alley, taking his time. He wasn¡¯t about to look nervous, even if his every instinct told him that this was a terrible, terrible idea. The man was already waiting. Cloaked in shadows, standing perfectly still, his posture relaxed but too controlled to be normal. He wasn¡¯t some back-alley informant¡ªhe was someone who knew how to disappear. Reivan stopped a few steps away, raising an eyebrow. "I assume you¡¯re the one sending me letters? You¡¯ve got an interesting way of getting my attention." The man chuckled. His voice was low, smooth, and dangerously amused. "And you have an interesting way of handling assassination attempts." "Well, when you get enough of them, you start treating them like minor inconveniences." The man stepped forward just enough for the dim torchlight to reveal part of his face. Not enough to be fully seen, but enough that Reivan caught a glimpse of sharp features and eyes that had seen too much. "A name would be nice," Reivan said. "Names are dangerous," the man replied. "But you can call me Lazar." Reivan sighed. "Of course you have a name that sounds like something out of a bad novel." Lazar laughed quietly. "You¡¯re not what I expected." "I get that a lot." There was a pause, a shift in the air. The humor faded, replaced by something heavier. "You¡¯ve been fighting battles you don¡¯t fully understand," Lazar said. "The Church. The nobles. You think you see the whole board, but you don¡¯t. Not yet." "Enlighten me, then." Lazar tossed him a small scroll. "Inside is a record that doesn¡¯t exist. A history that was erased. Read it. Then we¡¯ll talk." Reivan unfolded the scroll and skimmed the contents. Then he stopped. Read it again. And for the first time in a very, very long time¡ªhe was actually surprised. According to this, the Holy Kingdom hadn¡¯t just been meddling in imperial politics. They had helped shape the imperial throne itself. Decades ago, the Church had engineered a succession crisis, ensuring that the current imperial line was dependent on their support. The Emperor¡¯s family owed their power to the Church. Which meant¡ª Which meant if the Church decided to withdraw that support, the empire itself could collapse. Lazar watched him. "Now you understand why they aren¡¯t afraid to move against you." Reivan closed his eyes briefly. "This¡­ changes things." "It does," Lazar said. "So, tell me, Reivan¡ªwhat are you going to do with it?" He could expose it. If this information got out, the empire would turn on the Church. The balance of power would shift overnight. But that also meant war. Real war. Not just backroom deals and small skirmishes. A war that could shake the foundations of the empire. Or he could keep this knowledge hidden¡ªuse it as leverage, play the long game. Lazar was watching him carefully, waiting for an answer. Reivan exhaled, rolling the scroll back up. "I think," he said slowly, "that I need a drink." Lazar snorted. "Fair enough." There were too many pieces on the board now. Too many ways this could spiral. For now, he had a choice to make. And whatever choice he made, there was no going back. Chapter 23: The War Council鈥檚 Gamble Reivan had seen many bad ideas in his life. Walking into a noble¡¯s assassination trap? Bad idea.Taking on mercenary armies while still pretending he was a merchant? Also a bad idea.Agreeing to meet a mysterious informant in a dark alley? Potentially the worst idea yet. And now, he was walking into a room filled with people who would rather see him dead than in power. Truly, his streak of fantastic decision-making was unstoppable. The letter had arrived the day before¡ªan official summons to a secret war council meeting. The wording was polite, neutral, and completely full of thinly veiled threats. The empire had noticed him. Not as a problem to be ignored or a merchant playing at war, but as a factor they now had to acknowledge. Which meant they either wanted to control him or remove him. Sylpkx had been unimpressed when she heard. "Sounds like a setup." Garm had been far too excited. "Oh, this¡¯ll be fun. I love watching nobles squirm when they realize they can¡¯t just stab their problems away." Reivan had no choice but to go. The moment he ignored an imperial summons, he would be marked as an outsider, a rogue element. So here he was, stepping into the heart of the empire¡¯s war strategy, walking a very fine line between ally and threat. The council chamber was grand, lined with banners of the empire¡¯s military legions. Unlike the usual noble meetings¡ªfilled with silk-clad politicians¡ªthis room was split between men who commanded armies and men who paid for them. Which meant they all thought they were the most important person here. Reivan immediately disliked the atmosphere. Duke Varion sat near the center, his sharp eyes watching everything. Count Estienne was also present, looking far too smug for Reivan¡¯s liking. Several imperial generals, high-ranking noblemen, and a few unnamed advisors were gathered, discussing what was clearly already a debate in progress. Reivan barely had a chance to sit before someone spoke. "Sir Reivan," one of the older nobles said, his tone dripping with forced politeness. "You¡¯ve caused quite the stir." Reivan gave his best innocent merchant smile. "I have no idea what you mean." Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Varion let out a soft chuckle. Estienne, on the other hand, was clearly not amused. "You¡¯ve been raising armies, controlling trade, and now interfering in imperial conflicts. All without an official title. Tell me, Sir Reivan, do you even recognize imperial authority?" Ah. There it was. The accusation was not about what he had done. It was about what he refused to do. Because he had played the game without following their rules. Reivan tilted his head slightly, feigning curiosity. "I wasn¡¯t aware responding to an attack on imperial lands required permission." A few generals visibly approved of that statement. But Estienne leaned forward, his voice sharp. "You do not speak as a mere soldier. You act independently, without oversight. That is dangerous." "Independence is only dangerous if it threatens something," Reivan said smoothly. "And I wonder, Count Estienne¡ªwhat exactly do you feel is being threatened?" Estienne¡¯s jaw clenched. Varion was openly smirking now. Another noble cleared his throat, drawing attention away. "The war council has convened today because the Emperor¡¯s advisors have discussed the matter. A solution must be found." And there it was. They weren¡¯t here to discuss him. They were here to decide what to do with him. Reivan sat back, waiting. And then the offer came. "Sir Reivan, we propose an official military position within the imperial army. Your forces would be granted status as an official legion. You would be given authority¡ªbut under imperial command." It was spoken as an honor. A prestigious offer. In reality? It was a leash. If he accepted, he would no longer be independent. He would owe loyalty to the Emperor, be bound by orders, and have every move scrutinized. Which meant he had to refuse. But refusing outright would paint him as an enemy. So he smiled. "I am honored by the offer." Silence. "But I must decline." The room tensed. Reivan continued, his voice casual, almost friendly. "It would be irresponsible of me to take such a position without first stabilizing the regions under my care. If my forces were drawn into an official imperial role, who would handle the ongoing trade operations? Who would ensure the refugees displaced by war are supported? Surely the empire would not wish to abandon them?" The trap snapped shut. Because now, if they insisted he accept, they would be the ones admitting they were neglecting parts of the empire. Varion let out a quiet chuckle. "A clever response." Estienne looked murderous. One of the generals, clearly frustrated, cut in. "Then tell us plainly, Sir Reivan¡ªwhat exactly is your goal?" Reivan exhaled, meeting the man¡¯s gaze directly. "My goal is simple: stability." There was something dangerous about those words. Because it didn¡¯t align with any noble faction. Not "power," not "loyalty," not "imperial interests." Just stability. Which meant he was not playing by the empire¡¯s game. And that made him the most unpredictable piece on the board. The war council eventually adjourned. Varion approached him on the way out, looking amused. "You just avoided being pulled into the imperial fold. That makes you a bigger threat than ever." Reivan sighed. "Fantastic. That¡¯s exactly what I wanted." Varion smirked. "Careful, Sir Reivan. You¡¯re making enemies faster than you¡¯re making friends." "I know." "And yet, you seem entirely unfazed." Reivan smiled faintly. "I¡¯m getting used to it." He left the chamber, feeling the watchful gazes of nobles who now saw him as something dangerous. This was no longer just about political games. This was about power, control, and survival. And the empire had finally realized that Reivan was not a man they could ignore. Chapter 24: The Price of a Name Reivan was beginning to think that Sylpkx had the right idea about avoiding her past. It wasn¡¯t because he particularly cared about where she came from¡ªno, it was because every single time someone from her past showed up, they arrived with enough baggage to crush a castle. This time was no different. The problem walked into his office in the form of a beastkin noble, dressed in a carefully measured blend of imperial fashion and tribal accents, the kind of look that said, "I understand civilization, but I could also rip your throat out if necessary." The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp golden eyes that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Sylpkx¡¯s own. His furred ears twitched slightly as he surveyed the room, his gaze finally settling on Reivan like he was sizing him up for a fight. Reivan, who was still debating whether today was a sit down and think day or a get stabbed and deal with it later day, sighed internally. The man spoke first, voice deep and steady. ¡°I am Lord Khaedros of the Ironfang Clan. I come seeking the half-blood.¡± Sylpkx, who had been leaning lazily against the bookshelf, froze. Just for a second. Just long enough for Reivan to catch it. That was never a good sign. Reivan steepled his fingers, keeping his expression neutral. ¡°That¡¯s an interesting way to start a conversation.¡± Khaedros didn¡¯t look amused. ¡°I did not come for wordplay.¡± ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate. It¡¯s my best skill.¡± Khaedros growled¡ªan actual growl. Not the metaphorical kind Reivan was used to from angry nobles, but a deep, rumbling warning sound. The kind that said, "You are currently alive, but that can change." Sylpkx, to absolutely no one¡¯s surprise, looked more entertained than concerned. Khaedros¡¯ eyes snapped to her. ¡°You do not seem surprised to see me.¡± Sylpkx smirked. ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m not.¡± Reivan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Should I be?¡± Sylpkx shrugged. ¡°Depends. Do you like dealing with beastkin succession disputes?¡± There was a long pause. Reivan closed his eyes briefly. ¡°I hate my life.¡± Khaedros crossed his arms. ¡°You speak as if this is a joke. It is not.¡± ¡°Oh, trust me, I know,¡± Reivan muttered. He glanced at Sylpkx. ¡°Explain.¡± A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Sylpkx sighed dramatically. ¡°Fine, fine. You already know my mother was a princess of the Northern Tribes, right?¡± Reivan nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Well,¡± she said, stretching slightly, ¡°turns out my mother¡¯s exile wasn¡¯t entirely accepted by everyone. Some people still think she¡ªand by extension, me¡ªhave a claim to certain things.¡± Reivan stared at her. Then back at Khaedros. ¡°This is a succession dispute.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a succession question,¡± Sylpkx corrected. ¡°Nobody¡¯s fighting. Yet.¡± Reivan massaged his temples. ¡°And what, exactly, does Lord Khaedros want?¡± Khaedros¡¯ expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°To know if she will claim her birthright.¡± Sylpkx let out a barking laugh. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s rich. No.¡± Khaedros¡¯ ears flicked slightly, but his face remained impassive. ¡°You refuse without hearing what it entails.¡± ¡°I refuse because I don¡¯t care,¡± Sylpkx said. ¡°Whatever you¡¯re offering, I don¡¯t want it.¡± Reivan had a very, very bad feeling about this. Because Sylpkx was always confident. Always cocky. But this? This wasn¡¯t bravado. This was avoidance. Which meant whatever she was running from, she didn¡¯t want Reivan to know about it. Khaedros turned to him instead. ¡°She may not care, but you should.¡± Reivan sighed. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. But explain it to me anyway.¡± Khaedros nodded. ¡°The Northern Tribes remain divided. Some have fallen in line with the empire. Others resist. The Ironfang Clan is among those who resist.¡± Reivan already saw where this was going. Khaedros continued. ¡°A ruler with both imperial and beastkin blood could unite the factions. Could provide a bridge.¡± His gaze flicked toward Sylpkx. ¡°That is why she is important.¡± Sylpkx scoffed. ¡°No. That is why I¡¯m inconvenient.¡± Reivan wasn¡¯t sure what was more surprising¡ªthe fact that she had an actual claim to tribal rule, or the fact that she was completely against it. And that raised the real question. What had she left behind? Khaedros turned back to Reivan. ¡°You are a strategist. A man who deals in advantage and leverage. You know what an alliance with us could mean.¡± Oh, Reivan did. Having the loyalty of the beastkin clans would shift the balance of power entirely. He had been fighting nobles and religious forces alone¡ªbut with a tribal faction behind him, he would no longer be someone who could simply be pushed aside. But there was a problem. Sylpkx did not want this. And Reivan had spent too long trusting her instincts to suddenly ignore them. He leaned back slightly, measuring his words carefully. ¡°This is a compelling offer.¡± Sylpkx shot him a sharp look. He ignored it. Khaedros nodded. ¡°Then you accept?¡± Reivan smiled faintly. ¡°I said it was compelling. I didn¡¯t say I agreed.¡± Khaedros frowned. ¡°You would deny your own ally the chance to claim her birthright?¡± Reivan glanced at Sylpkx. ¡°Do you want it?¡± She snorted. ¡°No.¡± He turned back to Khaedros. ¡°Then that¡¯s my answer.¡± The beastkin noble looked genuinely surprised. Like he had expected Reivan to leverage this as a political move¡ªwhich, to be fair, he normally would have. But not when it came to his people. Not when it came to her. Khaedros studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. ¡°You are an unusual man, Reivan.¡± ¡°I hear that a lot.¡± Khaedros¡¯ expression was unreadable, but he didn¡¯t argue further. Instead, he turned to Sylpkx. ¡°You are making a mistake.¡± Sylpkx smirked. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be my first.¡± Khaedros studied her once more, then nodded. ¡°Then this is farewell. For now.¡± He left without another word. Silence settled in the room. Reivan let out a long breath and turned to Sylpkx. ¡°You have got to stop hiding life-altering political problems from me.¡± She grinned. ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Reivan rubbed his temples. ¡°Do I even want to know why you don¡¯t want this?¡± Sylpkx¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°You don¡¯t.¡± And just like that, he knew. There was more to this than she had let on. And eventually, it was going to catch up to them both. Chapter 25: An Unwanted Alliance Reivan had gotten very good at handling bad news. He had received assassination threats over breakfast, watched nobles try to ruin him with words sharper than knives, and narrowly avoided being dragged into a civil war twice. But even he needed a moment to process the latest disaster sitting across from him. Because the Mercenary King of the Reapers was asking for a favor. And that was never a good thing. The man himself¡ªCassian Veyre, leader of the Reapers¡ªlooked exactly as Reivan had imagined. Broad-shouldered, effortlessly confident, and carrying the casual menace of someone who had survived far too many battles. He sat in Reivan¡¯s office like he owned the place, legs crossed, one arm draped over the chair as if this was a meeting between old friends. Which it absolutely was not. Reivan gave him a flat look. ¡°You want what now?¡± Cassian smirked. ¡°A favor.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have to be more specific,¡± Reivan said dryly. ¡°Because I have a long list of people trying to drag me into their problems, and I need to know where you rank.¡± Garm snorted from the corner of the room. ¡°Oh, he¡¯s near the top.¡± Cassian ignored the remark and leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. ¡°It¡¯s a simple job.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what everyone says before they ask me to do something insane,¡± Reivan muttered. Cassian chuckled. ¡°Fine. It¡¯s not simple. But it is important.¡± Sylpkx, sitting lazily on the windowsill, raised an eyebrow. ¡°Important for who?¡± Cassian¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t falter. ¡°For me. And if you¡¯re as smart as people say, for you as well.¡± Reivan sighed. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s hear it.¡± Cassian¡¯s eyes gleamed with something sharp. ¡°There¡¯s a contract I need completed, but my hands are tied. If the Reapers take it, it¡¯ll start a war we can¡¯t afford. If you take it, well¡­¡± He spread his hands. ¡°It¡¯s just another day in your complicated life.¡± Reivan narrowed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to take a job that could trigger an international conflict.¡± Cassian tilted his head. ¡°Not necessarily.¡± This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°That means yes.¡± Cassian¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°You¡¯re catching on.¡± Reivan leaned back, rubbing his temples. ¡°Alright. Details.¡± Cassian nodded. ¡°There¡¯s a noble from the Kingdom of Nivaris. High-ranking. Powerful. He¡¯s been making moves that threaten certain¡­ business arrangements.¡± Reivan already didn¡¯t like where this was going. Cassian continued. ¡°The client wants him gone. Cleanly, quietly. The problem is, if the Reapers do it, it¡¯ll be seen as a declaration of war. But if someone else¡ªsay, an independent force¡ªhandles it¡­¡± Reivan exhaled. ¡°Then it¡¯s just another assassination.¡± Cassian nodded. Sylpkx let out a low whistle. ¡°You do know who you¡¯re asking, right?¡± Cassian¡¯s grin didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Of course I do.¡± He turned back to Reivan. ¡°You¡¯re in a unique position. Not bound to the empire, not fully aligned with any one faction. That makes you useful.¡± Reivan tapped his fingers against the desk. The logic was sound. But that wasn¡¯t the problem. The problem was what saying yes meant. Up until now, Reivan had avoided stepping too far into international matters. He had been playing a careful game, managing nobles, mercenaries, and trade. But taking this contract? That changed everything. It meant accepting that he was now a player in wars beyond the empire. It meant choosing to be more than just a survivor. Garm, watching him closely, spoke up. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about it.¡± Reivan sighed. ¡°Unfortunately, yes.¡± Sylpkx studied him. ¡°You realize what this means if you accept.¡± ¡°I do.¡± Cassian watched him with quiet amusement. ¡°And?¡± Reivan let the silence stretch for a moment before he finally spoke. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± Cassian¡¯s grin widened¡ªbut before he could speak, Reivan held up a hand. ¡°But on my terms.¡± The amusement in Cassian¡¯s eyes sharpened. ¡°Go on.¡± Reivan leaned forward. ¡°First, I choose how the job is done. If I take it, it¡¯s my operation, my plan, my execution.¡± Cassian nodded. ¡°Reasonable.¡± ¡°Second,¡± Reivan continued, ¡°this isn¡¯t a favor. It¡¯s an exchange. If I take this risk, I expect something in return.¡± Cassian chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re already thinking ahead. I like that. What do you want?¡± Reivan smiled. ¡°Loyalty.¡± Cassian¡¯s smirk faltered for the first time. Reivan continued. ¡°I don¡¯t mean blind obedience. I mean when things get difficult, when lines are drawn, I need to know the Reapers aren¡¯t going to turn on me.¡± Cassian was silent for a long moment. Then he let out a slow laugh. ¡°You¡¯re bold.¡± ¡°I have to be.¡± Cassian nodded, considering. Then he extended a hand. ¡°Fine. You have a deal.¡± Reivan shook his hand. And just like that, he had crossed another line. This wasn¡¯t just another job. This was the beginning of something much bigger. The moment Cassian left, Sylpkx groaned and flopped onto the couch. ¡°You do realize you just signed up for a very complicated future.¡± Reivan sighed. ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡± Garm smirked. ¡°At least it¡¯ll be fun.¡± Reivan gave him a tired look. ¡°That is not the word I¡¯d use.¡± Sylpkx raised a hand. ¡°For the record, I would¡¯ve just killed Cassian and avoided this entire problem.¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure that would¡¯ve solved everything,¡± Reivan said dryly. Sylpkx shrugged. ¡°Would¡¯ve been satisfying.¡± Reivan wasn¡¯t sure what frustrated him more. The fact that she was probably right, or the fact that he had just committed to a path with no way back. Because now, he wasn¡¯t just a thorn in the empire¡¯s side. Now, he was a factor in international war. And that meant the real games were only just beginning. Chapter 26: The Mercenary King鈥檚 Gambit Reivan had agreed to far too many things in his lifetime, but this? This was probably one of his dumber decisions. "Remind me again why I¡¯m doing this?" he muttered, adjusting the high collar of his traveling coat as he stepped out of the carriage. Beside him, Sylpkx smirked. "Because you have a chronic inability to say no to interesting problems." "Ah. Right. My tragic flaw." Garm, stretching after the ride, let out a deep chuckle. "It¡¯s not that bad. At least this time, we¡¯re getting paid for the stupidity." That was debatable. The favor Cassian had asked for was supposed to be simple¡ªtake out a noble in the Kingdom of Nivaris, a political headache that the Reapers couldn¡¯t afford to assassinate themselves. Except, of course, nothing was ever that simple. Because the noble in question wasn¡¯t just any noble. Lord Cedric Vael was a well-connected diplomat with enough ties to Nivaris¡¯ ruling elite that killing him would be like throwing a torch into a dry forest. It wouldn¡¯t just remove an obstacle. It would ignite an entirely new war. Reivan had no intention of being the idiot who started an international incident. So, instead of silently killing the man, he was doing something far riskier. He was going to outmaneuver him politically instead. Which was why he was now in the capital of Nivaris, dressed as an official trade envoy, walking straight into the heart of noble politics for a kingdom that wasn¡¯t even his own. Truly, his ability to make fantastic life choices was unparalleled. The palace of Nivaris was beautiful, in the way that only places built with an excessive amount of money and questionable priorities could be. Everything was ice-blue stone, silver accents, and banners that gleamed under the flickering glow of mage-lights. And more importantly¡ªevery noble in sight looked like they wanted to stab someone. "Feels like home," Sylpkx muttered, eyes flicking across the crowd. Reivan sighed. "Unfortunately." Their first challenge arrived within minutes. A familiar voice called out from across the hall, loud and completely lacking the subtlety required for politics. "Well, well, well! If it isn¡¯t the legendary Sir Reivan himself!" Stolen novel; please report. Reivan froze. Sylpkx raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have fans now?" Reivan very much did not. Turning slowly, he found himself face-to-face with one of the game¡¯s minor NPCs. A blond-haired man in overly extravagant noblewear, his expression caught somewhere between genuine excitement and absolute mischief. Elias Greythorne. In the game, Elias was a mid-tier noble with way too much free time and an obsession with finding ¡°interesting¡± people to befriend. And Reivan? Reivan had just been added to his list. "Sir Elias," Reivan said carefully. "A pleasure." Elias grinned. "Oh, the pleasure is mine! I must say, I never expected to meet the man behind so many delightfully scandalous rumors!" Reivan¡¯s entire soul sighed. Sylpkx, of course, was smirking. "Scandalous, huh?" Elias nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Why, just last week, I heard that you personally took down an entire mercenary army with nothing but a knife and a bottle of expensive wine!" Reivan blinked. "¡­What?" Elias sighed wistfully. "Ah, you¡¯re being modest. But don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t pry." That was not what was happening here. But before Reivan could correct him, Elias continued, far too cheerful for someone discussing assassinations. "Anyway! You must allow me to introduce you to some important people. After all, one doesn¡¯t simply walk into Nivaris without making a few strategic friendships, yes?" Reivan, internally, was debating whether to flee. Unfortunately, Elias was already dragging him deeper into noble society before he could escape.
The night was both a success and a disaster. On the positive side, Reivan had managed to gather useful information about Lord Cedric Vael. Which meant Reivan had an opening. On the negative side¡­ Elias had somehow managed to make Reivan the center of attention. At one point, a drunk noble started calling him ¡°The Ghost of the Eastern War,¡± which was horrifying because that was not a title he had ever claimed. Sylpkx, of course, was having the time of her life. "Who knew you were such a legend?" she teased as they left the ballroom. "I didn¡¯t!" Reivan hissed. Garm, who had somehow acquired a massive roast turkey leg from the banquet table, took a thoughtful bite. "Y¡¯know, I think you should lean into it. Act mysterious. Maybe start wearing a hood all the time." Reivan glared at both of them. They were not helping. But at least now he had a plan.
The next day, Reivan set things into motion. Instead of assassinating Cedric, he would break him politically. Cedric¡¯s power relied on his unshakable reputation. So all Reivan had to do was make that reputation collapse. Step One: Expose his illegal funding.Step Two: Spread rumors that he was losing favor with the nobility.Step Three: Force him into a political misstep he couldn¡¯t recover from. It would take subtlety, patience, and careful planning. ¡­Or, alternatively, one well-placed lie in the right noble¡¯s ear. Reivan preferred efficiency. And so, with the help of Elias, an overly dramatic misunderstanding, and a particularly aggressive game of political manipulation¡ª By the end of the week, Cedric was finished.
Cassian met them outside the city after the chaos had settled. The Mercenary King looked genuinely impressed. "You took him down without a single drop of blood. I gotta say, I didn¡¯t think you had it in you." Reivan sighed. "I try to avoid unnecessary murder." Sylpkx smirked. "I don¡¯t." Cassian chuckled. "Well, either way, I owe you one." Reivan raised an eyebrow. "You owe me? I was under the impression I was repaying a favor." Cassian¡¯s grin widened. "That¡¯s the thing about power, Sir Reivan. Once you prove you can do something, people start asking for more." Reivan sighed deeply. Of course they did. Because nothing was ever simple. Chapter 27: The Art of Making People Owe You Reivan stepped out of the carriage, stretching his legs as the cool air of the capital wrapped around him. The streets were alive with the usual symphony of merchants hawking their wares, nobles pretending they weren¡¯t gossiping, and the occasional guard who looked two reports away from quitting his job. Nothing seemed out of place, except for one minor detail¡ªpeople were staring at him. More than usual. He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, what rumor am I dealing with this time?" Sylpkx, who had been unusually quiet on the ride back, glanced at him, her tail flicking absentmindedly. "Would you like the dramatic version or the short version?" "Neither. Just tell me how much of a headache it is." She smirked. "On a scale of one to you¡¯re officially too powerful to ignore? About an eight." Wonderful. Garm, walking beside them, let out a chuckle. "Boss, you gotta start controlling your legend. Every time we leave a city, people rewrite history. Apparently, you took down Lord Cedric by just looking at him." Reivan groaned. "I need to start suing people for defamation." The issue was, this was entirely predictable. The political landscape of the empire was about as stable as a three-legged table missing two legs. The moment someone like him¡ªan outsider who wasn¡¯t playing by their rules¡ªstarted gaining traction, the nobility scrambled to categorize him. They didn¡¯t know whether to fear him, use him, or eliminate him. So instead, they whispered. And whispers, in a world like this, were sometimes more dangerous than an army. He had no intention of playing their game. At least, not in the way they expected. Instead of reacting, he turned his attention to something far more important¡ªsecuring his trade routes. Political power was temporary. Trade? Trade was the foundation of real control. People could argue about crowns and thrones all they wanted, but when winter came, they¡¯d still need grain, wool, and salt. Reivan was going to make sure they had to get it from him. That meant dealing with the Merchant Guild, or more specifically, the High Council of Trade¡ªa collection of influential merchants who had been running commerce in the empire long before any noble even learned how to spell the word "economy." These were men and women who didn¡¯t care about titles, alliances, or royal decrees. They cared about profit. Unfortunately, they also cared about stability. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. And Reivan, in their eyes, was the least stable person in the empire. The meeting was held in one of the guild¡¯s private chambers¡ªa lavish but practical space, filled with expensive furniture that subtly reminded visitors who actually held the power. The air smelled of ink, parchment, and wealth. "Sir Reivan," one of the older merchants greeted, his voice the kind of smooth that came from decades of negotiating deals that left the other side thinking they had won. "It seems your reputation has outgrown you." Reivan smiled pleasantly, taking a seat. "Oh, it tends to do that. I assure you, I¡¯m far less impressive in person." "So you would have us believe." The merchant leaned forward. "Let¡¯s not waste time. Your recent activities have made certain parties¡­ uneasy." Reivan tilted his head. "Ah. And by ¡®uneasy,¡¯ you mean they¡¯re worried I¡¯ll somehow topple the empire by selling grain at reasonable prices?" A few of them smirked. At least some of them had a sense of humor. "They¡¯re worried about unpredictability," another merchant said. "You refuse alliances, yet gain influence. You reject noble titles, yet hold the loyalty of an army. You claim to be a merchant, yet you maneuver like a kingmaker. That makes you a risk." Reivan steepled his fingers. "That makes me a necessity." Silence. "You¡¯re businessmen," he continued, his voice calm. "You know better than anyone that power shifts. Wars come and go. Nobles rise and fall. But trade? Trade is the one constant. And in uncertain times, the smart ones don¡¯t invest in stability." He let the weight of his words settle before delivering the final blow. "They invest in the ones who can adapt to instability." One of the merchants, a shrewd-looking woman who had been watching him closely, finally spoke. "You believe you¡¯re the best bet in uncertain times." "No," Reivan said, smiling slightly. "I know I am. Because while your other ¡®partners¡¯ are busy debating their next move, I¡¯m already controlling the board." Another long pause. Then, a chuckle. "I see now why the nobles are afraid of you." "I¡¯d prefer if they were grateful, but I suppose that¡¯s asking too much." The meeting continued for another hour, filled with careful negotiations, unspoken threats, and the occasional jab at the nobility¡¯s incompetence. By the end of it, Reivan had secured what he needed¡ªcontinued control over his trade routes, preferential partnerships with key merchants, and most importantly, a reinforced perception that he was the future of commerce in the empire. As he stepped out into the afternoon sun, Sylpkx finally spoke up, her voice quieter than usual. "You know, you¡¯re going to make real enemies soon. Ones that won¡¯t play by the rules." Reivan glanced at her. "You mean the ones who try to kill me in alleys? Been there, done that." She shook her head. "Not like that. I mean the ones who don¡¯t need to try." Her gaze was distant, troubled. "The ones who already know how this game ends." That was the first time she had referenced the game world in a way that sent a chill down his spine. He had knowledge of what should happen, but Sylpkx? She was starting to suspect something deeper. Reivan sighed, shaking off the thought. "Well, if they know how it ends, then I suppose I¡¯ll just have to rewrite the ending." Sylpkx looked at him for a long moment before smirking. "Cocky as ever." "Always." She nodded, but her smirk didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. "Come on, merchant king. Let¡¯s see if you really can control the board." As they walked away, the weight of the future pressed down on Reivan¡¯s shoulders. He had stabilized his position¡ªfor now. But stability was an illusion, and in this world, illusions never lasted long. And deep down, he knew one thing for certain. Someone else was already making their move. Chapter 28: The Ruler Reivan had faced many things in his life¡ªmercenaries trying to kill him, nobles trying to outmaneuver him, merchants trying to scam him¡ªbut standing outside the imperial throne room, he had to admit that this was on an entirely different level of bad ideas. "Remind me why I agreed to this?" he muttered to Sylpkx, who was leaning against the marble wall beside him, inspecting her claws with a boredom that was definitely faked. "You didn''t. They summoned you." She smirked. "And ignoring an invitation from the Emperor is generally considered an express route to an unfortunate accident." "Ah, right. The ever-popular ''mysterious disappearance'' strategy." He exhaled. "You know, this throne room was a cutscene in the game. Back then, I could just watch from a safe distance. Now? Not so much." "You''ll be fine. Just don¡¯t accidentally declare war." The doors creaked open before he could respond, and a royal attendant motioned him forward. Swallowing the urge to flee, Reivan stepped into the throne room. The chamber was massive, an architectural masterpiece of marble, gold, and red banners hanging from towering pillars. It was designed to make anyone who entered feel small, insignificant. A constant reminder that the man who sat on the throne was absolute. And speaking of the man himself¡ª The Emperor of the Valerian Empire, Lucien Thorne, was not what Reivan had expected. Most rulers in stories or games tended to fall into certain categories¡ªold and wise, young and reckless, or sinister and cunning. Lucien was none of those. He was in his early fifties, broad-shouldered but lean, with sharp features and tired, intelligent eyes. He looked like a man who had seen too much and had learned to carry it without complaint. His presence filled the room, not with overbearing authority, but with the quiet certainty of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be obeyed. And worse? He looked amused. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "Reivan, isn''t it?" The Emperor¡¯s voice was calm, level. Not a question, but a statement of fact. Reivan gave the required bow¡ªlow enough to show respect but not so much that he looked subservient. "Your Majesty. An honor." "I imagine so," Lucien mused. "I''ve heard quite a bit about you." Reivan resisted the urge to sigh. "Hopefully some of it is accurate." "Some. The rest is... fascinating fiction." The Emperor studied him like one might study a particularly interesting puzzle. "A merchant who controls military forces but refuses official command. A strategist who claims no political ambition but outmaneuvers nobles effortlessly. A man who, despite holding no title, is feared by both the aristocracy and the Holy Kingdom alike." Reivan sighed internally. "When you put it that way, it does sound dramatic." Lucien smiled faintly. "And yet, I suspect you do not see yourself as a threat." "A threat implies I want something, Your Majesty. I mostly just want to keep breathing and avoid paperwork." A chuckle. From the Emperor. That was either very good or very bad. "You have a habit of turning problems into advantages. That makes you dangerous, whether you intend it or not." Lucien leaned forward slightly. "So tell me, Reivan, what do you intend to do with the power you¡¯ve gathered?" Now that was a loaded question. Reivan carefully measured his words. "I don¡¯t seek power, Your Majesty. But I do believe in stability. And right now, too many factions are pushing for chaos. That seems... inconvenient." The Emperor was silent for a moment, then nodded. "A reasonable answer." That should have been the end of the conversation. It wasn¡¯t. "You remind me of someone," Lucien continued. "A man who built power without seeking it, who reshaped the board simply by existing." Reivan didn¡¯t like where this was going. "And what happened to him?" Lucien¡¯s expression was unreadable. "He learned that the strongest rulers are not the ones who move first, but the ones who move last." That sent a chill down Reivan¡¯s spine. Because that wasn¡¯t advice. It was a warning. He wasn¡¯t just being acknowledged. He was being measured. The Emperor studied him for another moment, then gestured. "That will be all." Reivan, taking the hint, bowed again and left as quickly as dignity allowed. Outside, Sylpkx was waiting, arms crossed. "Still breathing?" "Barely," Reivan muttered. "Good news: I don¡¯t think he wants me dead. Yet." She raised an eyebrow. "And the bad news?" Reivan exhaled. "He¡¯s watching. Closely." Sylpkx whistled lowly. "Well, that¡¯s fun." "Oh, thrilling." Reivan ran a hand through his hair. "This game just got a lot harder." Because now, he had confirmation of something he had always suspected. The Emperor wasn¡¯t just some passive ruler. He was a player, too. And Reivan had just been added to the board. Chapter 29: The Price of Stability Reivan had long since accepted that the universe had a personal vendetta against him. It wasn¡¯t enough that he had somehow turned from a simple merchant into an unwilling power broker; now, his so-called allies were starting to make demands. Worse, Sylpkx had vanished without a word, and that was always a bad sign. He sat in his study, sipping tea that was only slightly poisoned¡ªhis taste testers assured him it was nothing fatal¡ªwhile staring at the latest set of letters from noble houses who either wanted him dead, indebted, or deeply entangled in their affairs. The one in front of him was from Lady Isolde, a noblewoman with the kind of reputation that made lesser men break into cold sweats. ¡°I assume I¡¯m about to be offered something terrible disguised as a generous opportunity,¡± he muttered to Garm, who was lounging against the wall like an overpaid guard dog. Garm grinned. ¡°You say that like it¡¯s a bad thing.¡± Reivan exhaled and read the letter again. Isolde wanted his support against Count Estienne. In return, she¡¯d shield him from the worst of court politics. He tapped his fingers against the table, considering the implications. On the one hand, Estienne was already a problem. On the other, being ¡®shielded¡¯ by Isolde meant owing her something, and he really, really hated owing people. Before he could make up his mind, Sylpkx still hadn¡¯t returned, and that was starting to gnaw at him. She never disappeared without warning¡ªnot unless she had a reason. ¡°Garm, did she tell you anything before leaving?¡± ¡°Nah. Just took her sword and vanished like a ghost. Said she had to check something.¡± ¡°Why do I get the feeling I¡¯m going to regret this?¡± Garm shrugged. ¡°Because you have common sense?¡± Reivan pinched the bridge of his nose. First, he had to deal with Isolde. Then, he had to figure out where his trusted assassin-turned-bodyguard had gone before she did something completely irreversible. Which, knowing Sylpkx, was very, very likely. Lady Isolde¡¯s estate was as extravagant as expected. The woman had a taste for dramatic architecture, and Reivan was certain half the reason she hosted meetings in her personal garden was to remind visitors that she could afford imported flowers from six different continents. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. She was already waiting when he arrived, seated elegantly under a pavilion with tea prepared. Isolde was the kind of noblewoman who could kill someone with a smile and convince the court it had been a tragic accident. ¡°Sir Reivan,¡± she greeted, voice smooth. ¡°I was beginning to think you¡¯d avoid this meeting.¡± ¡°Oh, trust me, I tried,¡± he said, taking a seat. ¡°But unfortunately, curiosity got the better of me.¡± She smirked. ¡°A dangerous trait. I assume you¡¯ve read my proposal.¡± ¡°I have. And I have some questions.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Reivan leaned back slightly. ¡°Why me? If you¡¯re moving against Estienne, there are more¡­ traditional allies you could call on.¡± Isolde took a slow sip of her tea before answering. ¡°Because traditional allies are predictable. I need someone who understands leverage, not just politics.¡± ¡°So, you need me to play dirty.¡± ¡°Would you prefer I call it ¡®efficient¡¯?¡± Reivan exhaled. ¡°You want my support in taking him down. What exactly do I get out of this?¡± She smiled. ¡°Protection.¡± He laughed. ¡°Lady Isolde, with all due respect, the court is a snake pit. Being shielded by one faction just means the other factions sharpen their knives.¡± ¡°And yet, you continue to play the game.¡± He met her gaze. ¡°Not by choice.¡± She tilted her head, studying him. ¡°You¡¯re sharper than most men in court, Reivan. That¡¯s why I¡¯m offering this. Estienne sees you as an obstacle, not an ally. If you don¡¯t take a side soon, he¡¯ll ensure you don¡¯t have the option.¡± He hated that she wasn¡¯t wrong. But committing to this meant stepping deeper into noble conflicts, something he had tried to avoid. He had to think long-term. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it,¡± he said finally. ¡°I expected no less.¡± By the time he returned to his estate, he had a new problem waiting. Sylpkx had returned¡ªcovered in dust, slightly bruised, and looking entirely too smug for his comfort. ¡°I don¡¯t like that look,¡± he said as soon as she walked in. She plopped into a chair, stealing the tea Garm had abandoned. ¡°Good news and bad news.¡± ¡°Start with the bad.¡± ¡°I may have irritated some people in the underworld.¡± Reivan closed his eyes. ¡°Sylpkx.¡± ¡°Oh, come on, you¡¯ll like the good news.¡± ¡°Fine. What¡¯s the good news?¡± ¡°I found out who¡¯s been pulling strings behind the mercenary groups trying to disrupt trade.¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°Who?¡± She leaned forward, grin sharp. ¡°Count Estienne.¡± Well. That changed things. He had been prepared to stall on Isolde¡¯s offer, but if Estienne was actively working against him, neutrality was no longer an option. If he wanted to keep his trade empire intact, he had to strike first. He sighed, rubbing his temples. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think I should¡¯ve just stayed a normal merchant.¡± Sylpkx snorted. ¡°Please. You were never going to be normal.¡± Garm chuckled. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s fun watching you get dragged into messes.¡± Reivan sighed again. ¡°Fun for you. A lifetime of headaches for me.¡± But, as much as he hated to admit it, it was time to play offense. If Estienne wanted a battle for control, Reivan would show him exactly why merchants made the best warlords. Even if he really, really didn¡¯t want to. Chapter 30 : Whispers in the Wilds Reivan hadn¡¯t planned on spending his evening tracking down his closest¡ªand most annoyingly secretive¡ªally, but here he was, ducking through side streets like some second-rate rogue. Sylpkx had vanished earlier that day, slipping away with the kind of subtlety that suggested she didn¡¯t want him following. Which, naturally, only made him more determined to do exactly that. The problem with spending too much time around him was that she should have known better. He was nothing if not persistent. His first lead had been an informant who had required a small bribe. The second had required a significantly larger bribe. By the time he reached the abandoned section of the city where she was holed up, he was out of patience and rapidly losing faith in his personal finances. He found her inside a dimly lit warehouse, sitting across from a cloaked figure whose posture suggested the kind of cautious wariness that spoke of old grudges and unfinished business. Reivan considered his approach carefully. He could charge in dramatically, making his presence known and probably ruining whatever subtle plan she had. Or, he could wait, listen, and gather information before making his move. He chose a third option: loudly kicking the door open. ¡°Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you got lost. Or worse¡ªforgot to invite me to whatever illegal meeting this is.¡± Sylpkx turned, her golden eyes flashing with something between annoyance and amusement. ¡°I was going to tell you.¡± Reivan tilted his head. ¡°Were you?¡± She exhaled through her nose, which he knew was as close as she¡¯d get to admitting guilt. The cloaked figure¡ªwho was rapidly trying to gauge whether Reivan¡¯s arrival meant they were about to be arrested or stabbed¡ªstayed silent, watching the exchange unfold. Reivan turned his attention to them. ¡°And you are?¡± The figure hesitated before speaking. ¡°A friend.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°See, that¡¯s the kind of answer that makes me more suspicious, not less,¡± Reivan said, stepping forward. ¡°Try again, but this time, with more specifics and fewer ominous undertones.¡± The stranger hesitated again, then glanced at Sylpkx, who gave them a barely perceptible nod. They removed their hood, revealing sharp beastkin features similar to Sylpkx¡¯s own, though weathered by age and experience. ¡°I am Loryn,¡± the figure said. ¡°I serve the Ironfang Clan.¡± Reivan sighed. ¡°Of course you do. And let me guess, you¡¯re not here for casual conversation?¡± Loryn¡¯s gaze flicked between them. ¡°I came to deliver a warning.¡± Sylpkx¡¯s expression darkened, and Reivan felt the weight of something unspoken between them. He wasn¡¯t going to like this, was he? ¡°Khaedros isn¡¯t trying to make Sylpkx a ruler,¡± Loryn continued. ¡°He¡¯s trying to remove her as an option altogether.¡± Well, fantastic. Reivan ran a hand through his hair. ¡°Okay. Let¡¯s go ahead and skip the part where we pretend to be shocked. Why?¡± ¡°He sees her as a problem,¡± Loryn said simply. ¡°A living remnant of a past that should have died out. If the clans unite under his leadership, the empire will have no choice but to recognize them as a force of power. If Sylpkx remains, her bloodline is a challenge to his legitimacy.¡± Reivan let that sink in before turning to Sylpkx. ¡°So, just to clarify: he doesn¡¯t want you to rule, he wants you to disappear. Would¡¯ve been nice to know that before I started turning down diplomatic alliances in the name of personal loyalty.¡± Sylpkx smirked. ¡°You love it.¡± ¡°I hate it. Deeply. Passionately. With every fiber of my being.¡± Loryn¡¯s lips twitched, but he didn¡¯t comment. Instead, he stood, pulling his hood back up. ¡°You should both be careful. If Khaedros has set his sights on removing threats, he won¡¯t stop with Sylpkx.¡± Reivan nodded. ¡°Yeah, I got that part. Thanks for the ominous warning, truly. Very helpful.¡± Loryn gave Sylpkx a look that seemed to carry an entire conversation¡¯s worth of unspoken words before slipping into the shadows and disappearing from view. Reivan crossed his arms. ¡°You want to tell me why you thought running off alone to meet an informant with ties to a guy who wants you dead was a good idea?¡± Sylpkx rolled her eyes. ¡°I can handle myself.¡± ¡°I know. I¡¯d just rather not have to avenge you because of an unnecessary risk.¡± She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. ¡°Fine. Next time, I¡¯ll tell you first.¡± Reivan clutched his chest dramatically. ¡°You mean it? You really mean it? I¡¯m touched. Emotional, even.¡± Sylpkx snorted. ¡°I take it back.¡± Reivan grinned, but the weight of what they had learned lingered. Khaedros wasn¡¯t just a political opponent now¡ªhe was an active threat. And that meant they needed to start planning their next move before he made his. Chapter 31: Gold Rush Reivan leaned back in his chair, staring at the neat rows of parchment in front of him, each detailing yet another bulk purchase of wool, dyes, and fine cloth. By now, the sheer volume of his transactions was enough to make an entire guild of tailors collectively weep with joy. Or confusion. Likely both. Across from him, Sylpkx was sprawled over the couch, lazily tossing a coin in the air. "So, let me get this straight. You''re buying wool?" She caught the coin mid-spin and gave him a flat look. "Wool. Like the stuff peasants wear before they figure out that linen exists?" Reivan sighed. "Sylpkx, let me ask you something. What do you think happens when a war breaks out?" She tilted her head. "People die?" "Yes, very insightful. But economically?" "Uh... people also die, but more expensively?" Garm, who had been standing off to the side polishing an axe, snorted. "Not wrong." Reivan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, logistics in war is a nightmare. Armies march, trade routes collapse, local industries crumble. And in the original timeline, the wool trade exploded. Prices tripled because everyone suddenly realized they needed warm, durable fabrics for their soldiers." Sylpkx raised a brow. "And you''re planning to hoard it all before they figure that out?" Reivan grinned. "Exactly. And while they laugh at me for buying ¡®peasant fabric,¡¯ they''ll be crying into their empty treasuries when they realize they need it." The plan was deceptively simple. Buy up as much stock as possible while it was still cheap, wait for war to kick supply shortages into high gear, then sell¡ªnot at a one-time premium, but under long-term contracts that would ensure the nobles and merchants couldn¡¯t undercut him even if they wanted to. Of course, getting there was half the battle.
The problem with making a smart investment ahead of time was that everyone around you inevitably thought you were a complete idiot. ¡°You¡¯re stockpiling... wool?¡± Count Estienne drawled, swirling a glass of expensive wine as he tried (and failed) to suppress his amusement. "Really, Sir Reivan, I thought you were shrewder than that." Another merchant snickered. "Perhaps he''s planning on opening a chain of peasant fashion boutiques." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Laughter rippled through the hall. Reivan, ever the gracious target of mockery, merely smiled. "Well, you know how it is. One must always think ahead." Lady Isolde, one of the few nobles who didn''t actively hate him, gave him a curious look. "You truly believe there''s profit in textiles?" Reivan nodded sagely. "Lady Isolde, let me ask you something. If war breaks out, where will you buy uniforms for your soldiers?" "From the usual suppliers, of course." "Ah, yes. And what happens when half their supply is cut off due to disrupted trade routes? And what happens when the Holy Kingdom, who conveniently owns many of those trade routes, decides to double their export taxes?" Her expression stiffened slightly. She wasn''t a fool. She was already connecting the dots. Reivan pressed on. "What happens when nobles, scrambling for military supplies, suddenly realize that someone already controls most of the existing stock?" Silence. Then, from one of the younger nobles: "That''s absurd. That kind of economic shift would take¡ª" "A month." Reivan smiled, lifting his glass. "Maybe less." More laughter, but now tinged with uncertainty. They could mock him all they wanted. Soon, their coffers would be his coffers.
A month later, war officially broke out. Reivan watched, entirely unsurprised, as the price of wool skyrocketed overnight. Merchants who had laughed at him weeks ago were now sending frantic letters, begging to renegotiate trade deals. The best part? He didn''t have to sell immediately. He could have cashed out for an easy profit, sure, but that wasn¡¯t the smart move. Instead, he structured long-term supply contracts¡ªessentially forcing entire guilds and noble houses to rely on him for steady shipments. He wasn¡¯t just selling wool. He was selling security. "And just like that," Sylpkx muttered as she flipped through one of the contracts, "you turned the noble class into your tenants." Reivan smirked. "Long-term stability is worth more than a quick payout. Now they have to play by my rules." Garm let out a low whistle. "Gotta admit, boss. That¡¯s devious." Reivan grinned. "Oh, Garm. This isn¡¯t devious. This is just business."
Of course, the moment nobles started realizing just how deep they''d been played, the complaints came rolling in. Count Estienne, now considerably less smug than before, practically stormed into Reivan¡¯s office. "You can''t do this." Reivan leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Do what, exactly?" "Price gouging! This is extortion!" "Extortion? Count, I¡¯m merely providing a service in a time of great need. You did sign the contract." The count ground his teeth. "This is ridiculous. You can¡¯t just own the wool market." "Ah, but you see," Reivan gestured to the meticulously stacked contracts on his desk, "I do own the wool market. Well, at least the parts that matter. Unless, of course, you¡¯d prefer to buy from the Holy Kingdom? I hear their prices are quite... unforgiving." Count Estienne turned a lovely shade of red. "This isn''t over." Reivan smiled. "Of course not." The count left in a huff. Sylpkx, still perched on his couch, let out a low whistle. "You enjoy this way too much." Reivan sipped his tea. "If they¡¯re going to insist on playing politics, I¡¯m just going to play better politics." She snorted. "And the next step?" Reivan smiled. "Oh, Sylpkx. We''re just getting started." Chapter 32: The Monopoly Play Reivan had never considered himself a farmer. In fact, his knowledge of agriculture was limited to whatever side quests and supply management systems he had encountered in the game. But as it turned out, when you placed a medieval economy in front of someone with a basic grasp of supply chains and modern logistics, you suddenly became the smartest person in the room. His latest venture had started when he realized just how utterly inefficient noble estates were when it came to food production. The aristocrats loved to brag about their vast lands and rolling fields, but when it came to actually running them, they relied on generations of tradition rather than, you know, logic. For starters, half of them still thought letting rats nest in grain silos was just part of nature¡¯s cycle. And don¡¯t even get him started on how they stored grain¡ªsometimes in damp cellars, sometimes in sacks left out in the open, and in one particularly horrifying case, inside an old temple because ¡°the gods will protect it.¡± Spoiler: they did not. And that was just storage. Farming itself was a disaster. Crop rotation? Practically nonexistent. Soil management? What was that? Oh, and let¡¯s not forget the noble custom of throwing extravagant feasts while their peasants starved because ¡°a lord must demonstrate his wealth.¡± Reivan had seen enough. If these people wanted to be stupid, that was their problem. If they wanted to pay him to be smart, that was his opportunity. The first step was easy¡ªbuy up as much grain as possible. The moment he saw signs of a bad harvest coming (and by signs, he meant actual farmers grumbling about unusual weather patterns), he made sure every last bit of surplus grain was in his warehouses. He even secured cheap stocks from neighboring regions, knowing full well that when the inevitable shortage hit, everyone would come running. The second step? Storage. Using the most basic modern knowledge, he introduced standardized grain storage techniques¡ªsealed containers, raised platforms to keep things dry, and even a rudimentary ventilation system to prevent rot. When he suggested these ideas to the local nobility, they laughed. Why waste money on storage when you could just grow more next season? Oh, how he looked forward to their inevitable panic. Then came the masterstroke. He didn¡¯t just hoard grain¡ªhe structured exclusive contracts with key trading houses. If you wanted access to his stockpiles, you had to commit to long-term agreements, ensuring that he wouldn¡¯t just make a single killing but a sustained fortune over the next few years. It worked beautifully. The bad harvest struck like an executioner¡¯s blade. The smaller landowners, who had once mocked his investments, found themselves without enough grain to feed their people. The larger noble estates had stockpiles, but mismanagement and spoilage meant their reserves were dwindling fast. And just like that, Reivan wasn¡¯t a mere merchant anymore¡ªhe was the grain supplier. The complaints were, of course, immediate and endless. Noblemen whined about the prices, accused him of hoarding, and grumbled that a mere merchant shouldn¡¯t have this much control over their economy. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Reivan smiled through all of it. ¡°Of course, my lords. You are always welcome to find alternative suppliers.¡± They had none. His warehouses were full. Their silos were empty. So they paid. And paid handsomely. Even Count Estienne, who would rather be caught in peasant rags than admit Reivan was smarter than him, was forced to buy grain from him at inflated prices. And oh, the satisfaction of watching his reluctant signature land on those contracts was worth more than gold. The profits were obscene. Reivan reinvested quickly¡ªbuying better warehouses, expanding distribution networks, even hiring competent administrators to ensure efficiency. Because unlike these bumbling nobles, he wasn¡¯t about to let a sudden windfall go to waste. But of course, just when things were going perfectly, the Emperor had to get involved. The summons came at an inopportune time¡ªright as Reivan was enjoying a particularly excellent meal. He stared at the sealed letter, sighed, and pushed his plate away with a deep sense of loss. ¡°I¡¯m guessing ignoring this isn¡¯t an option?¡± he asked, already knowing the answer. Sylpkx, lounging in the corner, snorted. ¡°Sure. If you want to wake up mysteriously dead.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Reivan groaned, standing up. ¡°Let¡¯s go see what his imperial majesty wants.¡± The Imperial Palace was just as intimidating as last time¡ªan architectural wonder designed to remind visitors just how insignificant they were in the grand scheme of things. Reivan wasn¡¯t intimidated. He¡¯d already survived one meeting with the Emperor. This time, he just had to make sure he didn¡¯t accidentally get labeled an economic threat. The throne room was just as grand as before, and the Emperor himself¡ªLucien Thorne¡ªwas waiting with that same unreadable expression. ¡°Reivan,¡± he greeted, voice measured. ¡°You have been busy.¡± Reivan gave a polite bow. ¡°Your Majesty, I assure you, everything I do is for the prosperity of the empire.¡± Lucien¡¯s lips twitched slightly, just for a moment. ¡°Prosperity is a useful word. Some might say you have made yourself indispensable.¡± ¡°I prefer ¡®efficient,¡¯ Your Majesty.¡± Lucien studied him for a long moment. ¡°There are those who feel your influence is growing too quickly. That a single merchant should not have so much control over essential supplies.¡± Reivan feigned concern. ¡°I would be the first to agree, Your Majesty. But surely, the problem lies with those who failed to prepare?¡± A beat of silence. Then, a quiet chuckle. From the Emperor. Lucien leaned back slightly. ¡°Tell me, Reivan. What is your endgame?¡± Reivan chose his words carefully. ¡°To keep things running, Your Majesty. If food shortages lead to riots, if trade collapses, the empire suffers. I simply¡­ ensure things remain stable.¡± Lucien¡¯s gaze sharpened. ¡°And yet, those who hold stability in their hands often find themselves shaping the world itself.¡± Reivan smiled. ¡°I prefer to think of it as making suggestions to those in power.¡± Lucien exhaled, something almost amused in his expression. ¡°You walk a dangerous path.¡± ¡°I walk a profitable one, Your Majesty.¡± The Emperor considered him for a long, weighted moment. Then, he nodded. ¡°Very well. See to it that your influence remains¡­ beneficial. We will speak again.¡± Reivan knew a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed again and left, feeling Sylpkx¡¯s amused stare burning into him. ¡°Well?¡± she asked once they were outside. Reivan exhaled. ¡°I think I just convinced the Emperor that I¡¯m not too dangerous. Yet.¡± Sylpkx grinned. ¡°Great. So when¡¯s your coronation?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t even joke.¡± She laughed. ¡°You do realize what¡¯s happening, right? You¡¯re not just making money anymore. You¡¯re shaping the entire kingdom¡¯s economy.¡± Reivan sighed. ¡°Yes. And that¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m worried.¡± Because this wasn¡¯t just about grain. This was about control. And everyone in power was starting to realize that Reivan might just be holding more of it than they did. Chapter 33: coin & crown Reivan had expected many things after cementing his hold over trade¡ªjealous nobles, cutthroat competitors, maybe even another assassination attempt (though, honestly, he was getting bored of those). What he had not expected was to become a problem for the imperial treasury itself. For the first time in history, someone was making too much money, and apparently, that was his problem now. It started with a simple observation. Most nobles ran their estates like drunken sailors gambling with their last coin¡ªexcessive spending, ridiculous debts, and zero understanding of how money actually worked. Meanwhile, Reivan had single-handedly transformed the empire¡¯s economy. Through grain storage monopolies, textile control, and now luxury goods, he had maneuvered himself into a position where, if anyone wanted anything of value, they had to deal with him. And that was when the problems began. A few nobles started whispering that his financial control was ¡°concerning.¡± Then those whispers turned into murmurs. And then, before Reivan could blink, some bureaucrat had written a very polite letter stating that the empire would be ¡°reviewing all large-scale trade operations to ensure economic stability.¡± Ah. So this was what being a financial superpower felt like. He handed the letter to Sylpkx, who read it over before giving him a slow, amused look. ¡°Congratulations. You¡¯ve officially made too much money.¡± Reivan sighed, rubbing his temples. ¡°I should¡¯ve stuck to selling turnips.¡± Garm, sitting across from them and munching on roasted meat, grinned. ¡°Nah, this is way more fun. Besides, what¡¯s the worst they can do? Tax you into oblivion?¡± Reivan stared at him. ¡°Yes. Exactly that.¡± Because that was the real issue. The empire needed noble taxes to function, and with Reivan essentially controlling trade, he had inadvertently disrupted their taxation model. The Emperor himself wasn¡¯t the type to panic, but his advisors? The treasury officials? The ones who liked their gold flowing in neat little streams? They were undoubtedly sharpening their bureaucratic daggers, preparing to carve a sizable chunk out of his earnings. Reivan had two options. One, pay the taxes and let the empire tighten its grip on him. Two, break the taxation system itself. Obviously, he was going with option two. Which meant he needed leverage. His first move was to preemptively control how he was taxed. If they wanted a cut of his wealth, they¡¯d have to play by his rules. So he called in every merchant under his influence and proposed something radical: a banking system. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Not the crude moneylending the nobles were used to, where debts were enforced with swords and intimidation, but an actual structured financial institution. Merchants could deposit their wealth for safekeeping, nobles could borrow in structured loans, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªtaxes would now be filtered through his system first. The merchants loved it. The nobles were suspicious. And the treasury? They were about to have an aneurysm. By the end of the month, half the noble houses had borrowed from his bank rather than liquidating their own assets to pay the empire¡¯s seasonal tax. Why sell your family¡¯s land when you could get a loan at a reasonable interest rate? That was when the real panic started. Because now, Reivan wasn¡¯t just controlling goods. He was controlling debt. Which meant he controlled power. The treasury officials, now fully alarmed, began pushing for an emergency tax reform. They wanted to implement direct taxation, bypassing nobles entirely. It was, on paper, a good idea¡ªexcept for the fact that most nobles were already too deep in debt. If the empire forced direct taxation, half the aristocracy would collapse financially. And that was when the Church got involved. Because, of course, when money was involved, so was morality. Reivan had been expecting this move. He had disrupted trade, restructured wealth, and now, he was threatening centuries-old financial traditions. So it was only natural that the Church began pushing the idea that ¡°excessive profit¡± was a sin. That his control over the economy was not just dangerous but immoral. It was a clever move. The commoners were already wary of merchants growing too powerful. A little propaganda, a few well-placed sermons, and suddenly, Reivan was the villain. Not the nobles hoarding wealth. Not the Church itself, which sat on untaxed land and collected donations like a bottomless pit. No, he was the problem. Which meant he needed a new strategy. So he did what any good businessman would do. He bought public favor. The next morning, across the empire, a series of charitable donations were announced. The Reivan Trade Fund for Agricultural Development. The Merchant¡¯s Endowment for Public Works. The Economic Stabilization Grant for War Widows. Every major city woke up to find that, somehow, money had been set aside for infrastructure, food programs, and farming initiatives¡ªfunded by the Reivan-led banking system. And just like that, the narrative changed. If the Church wanted to claim he was too powerful, they now had to explain why they weren¡¯t the ones feeding the poor. Why they weren¡¯t the ones repairing roads, funding orphanages, or stabilizing the economy. Suddenly, nobles who had been whispering about him started defending him. Because if the empire shut him down, they would lose access to their loans. If the Church undermined him, commoners would start asking why they weren¡¯t providing financial security. And that was when Reivan knew he had won. The empire couldn¡¯t afford to crush him. The nobles couldn¡¯t afford to betray him. And the Church? They had overplayed their hand. A week later, an imperial decree was issued¡ªReivan¡¯s banking system would not be dismantled. Instead, it would be regulated by an imperial financial council. Which, conveniently, he already had half the members in his pocket. Sylpkx, reading the decree, let out a low whistle. ¡°So, you¡¯re officially running the empire¡¯s economy now?¡± Reivan sighed. ¡°I really did just want to sell turnips.¡± Garm laughed. ¡°Yeah, but now you own the whole damn farm.¡± Reivan rubbed his temples. ¡°This is fine. Everything is fine. As long as I don¡¯t get any more problems¡ª¡± A knock at the door. A royal messenger entered, bowing deeply. ¡°Sir Reivan, His Majesty requests your presence at court.¡± Sylpkx grinned. ¡°Oh, this is going to be good.¡± Reivan exhaled. ¡°Fantastic.¡± Because if the Emperor was personally calling him in, it meant one thing. He had just gone from being a merchant to a threat. And now, the real game was beginning. Chapter 34: The Bank Reivan had long since accepted that his life was just a series of increasingly ridiculous power struggles. First, it had been survival. Then, it had been trade. Now? Now he was apparently going to take over the empire¡¯s financial system. Lovely. Just lovely. The issue had started, as all things did, with nobles being incompetent. The empire¡¯s taxation system was outdated, inefficient, and full of corruption. The treasury was bleeding money, and yet, somehow, the noble houses were still lining their pockets. War had only worsened things, and Reivan had begun noticing a pattern¡ªthe empire¡¯s economy was starting to wobble. And an empire with shaky finances? That was an empire waiting to collapse. So, naturally, Reivan decided to do something about it. Not out of the goodness of his heart, of course. No, Reivan had no intention of saving the empire for free. But what he did want was control. Because as long as the empire dictated taxation, they dictated how much power merchants like him could have. The only way to even the playing field was to control the banks. It started small. Just a few trusted merchants pooling their wealth for loans, keeping their excess gold stored in secure locations instead of vaults that could be seized by nobles on a whim. Then, he introduced promissory notes¡ªpieces of paper that represented stored value, allowing traders to conduct business without the need for heavy chests of gold. Naturally, people thought it was insane. ¡°What sort of fool would exchange real gold for a piece of paper?¡± a noble had sneered at one of Reivan¡¯s earlier demonstrations. Reivan had simply smiled. ¡°The kind of fool who doesn¡¯t want to be robbed on the road.¡± Slowly, but surely, the idea caught on. Merchants, who were always the first to embrace practicality, began using the system. A silk trader could now carry thousands of gold coins in value without the risk of losing everything to bandits. A grain supplier could guarantee payment without ever touching physical gold. Then, the nobles came sniffing around. Not out of trust, mind you. No, they came because they were desperate. Count Halvor was the first to break. He had suffered a bad harvest, over-invested in mercenaries, and had the financial acumen of a turnip. He needed a loan, but the imperial treasury was offering outrageous interest rates. Reivan, being the ever-so-helpful businessman, offered him a much more reasonable deal. ¡°It¡¯s just a simple loan,¡± Reivan had assured him. ¡°With reasonable repayment terms. And in return, I¡¯ll hold some of your land as collateral.¡± The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Halvor had scoffed at the idea at first. But when it became clear that his choices were either deal with Reivan or declare bankruptcy and lose everything to debt collectors, he relented. And then, just like that, the dam broke. One noble borrowing money from Reivan was an embarrassment. Two was a curiosity. Three? A trend. Suddenly, everyone wanted in. Not just for loans, but for security. Nobles began depositing their wealth in Reivan¡¯s system rather than keeping it in personal vaults, where it could be seized during political turmoil. It was beautiful. Unfortunately, not everyone was pleased. The imperial treasury was starting to feel the heat. It was one thing for a merchant to be wealthy. It was another thing for that merchant to become the de facto source of loans for the empire¡¯s noble class. Then there was the Church. ¡°This is heresy,¡± Bishop Gregor had declared in one of his infamous public speeches. ¡°Money should not breed money! Usury is a sin! The faithful must reject such corruption!¡± Reivan had, of course, expected this. The Church thrived on controlling economic dependency through religious donations and forced tithes. If he was the one loaning money instead of them, they lost power. So he simply did what he did best¡ªargued them into a corner. ¡°Ah, but Your Holiness,¡± Reivan had said with an easy smile, ¡°isn¡¯t tithing essentially a mandatory tax on the faithful? One that must be paid, no matter their financial situation?¡± ¡°That is entirely different,¡± Gregor had huffed. ¡°Is it?¡± Reivan had tilted his head. ¡°If a poor farmer is struggling to survive, yet still must pay a tithe to the Church, are you not demanding wealth from the weak? At least I only offer loans to those who voluntarily accept them.¡± The gathered nobles, many of whom owed him a lot of money, had muttered in agreement. Victory. And then, of course, the Emperor summoned him. Sylpkx had laughed herself half to death when she heard. ¡°I think this is a new record,¡± she had snickered. ¡°From ¡®upstart merchant¡¯ to ¡®economic threat¡¯ in less than a year.¡± Reivan groaned. ¡°I don¡¯t even want power. I just don¡¯t want to get crushed under someone else¡¯s stupidity.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that.¡± The meeting with the Emperor was surprisingly casual, if not for the gargantuan tension in the air. ¡°You have done something remarkable,¡± Emperor Lucien had admitted, sipping his wine. ¡°You¡¯ve made the nobility dependent on you without holding a single official title.¡± Reivan nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a talent.¡± ¡°But you must realize this cannot continue indefinitely.¡± The Emperor studied him carefully. ¡°The empire itself is not built to allow a private merchant to become its banker.¡± ¡°Then maybe the empire needs to change.¡± Lucien exhaled slowly. ¡°You are a frustrating man.¡± ¡°I hear that a lot.¡± There was silence for a long time before the Emperor finally spoke again. ¡°You¡¯ve created something dangerous. But also¡­ useful. You will continue your operations.¡± Reivan blinked. ¡°¡­I will?¡± Lucien smiled faintly. ¡°Yes. But on my terms.¡± Which, frankly, was the best outcome Reivan could have hoped for. Because at the end of the day, it didn¡¯t matter who was officially in charge. As long as everyone needed his system, he had already won. And so, Reivan the Merchant became something even greater¡ªReivan, the Empire¡¯s Banker. Chapter 35 :The Forgotten Relic Reivan had experienced many things in his past life as a Korean gamer¡ªendless grinding, rage-inducing gacha pulls, and PvP betrayals that still made him question his faith in humanity. But if there was one universal truth about games, it was this: random NPC dialogue was never truly random. So when he overheard a drunken old man at a dusty tavern muttering about an ¡®ancient vault where kings lost their crowns,¡¯ Reivan didn¡¯t dismiss it as a senile rambling. No, his gamer instincts flared like a siren. In the game, this particular event had been nothing but background lore, a half-forgotten mystery that most players ignored. But Reivan? He had scoured the game forums years ago and found an obscure post where one player¡ªonly one¡ªhad discovered the truth behind it. A legendary relic, available only before the war broke out. If he didn¡¯t get it now, it would be lost forever or worse¡ªfall into enemy hands. That wasn¡¯t happening. Reivan had spent years gaming for useless achievements. Now, he was going to game for survival. The first problem was the location. The Vault of Ashes was buried in the shattered ruins of an old fortress deep in the western wastelands. In-game, this had been a mid-to-endgame dungeon¡ªplayers only ventured there after grinding for weeks, decked out in enchanted armor with entire party formations backing them up. Reivan, in contrast, had a group consisting of himself, Sylpkx, Garm, and a handful of mercenaries who were about to start questioning their career choices. They arrived at the ruined fortress after three days of grueling travel through cracked stone paths and desolate plains filled with eerie silence. The air here felt wrong¡ªlike the land itself had been burned in a fire so hot that it left permanent scars. Even the wind howled unnaturally, a hollow echo that seemed to whisper things that shouldn¡¯t be understood. Sylpkx crouched by an old stone marker, running a claw over the surface. ¡°Boss. These ruins? They don¡¯t feel right.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because they aren¡¯t,¡± Reivan muttered, scanning the broken structures ahead. ¡°In the game, this place had a death counter of over ninety percent.¡± Garm, who had been chewing on dried meat like this was just another day, finally took interest. ¡°Ninety percent?¡± ¡°Ninety,¡± Reivan confirmed. ¡°That means nine out of ten players who entered died within five minutes.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. One of the mercenaries visibly paled. ¡°Are you serious?¡± Reivan didn¡¯t answer. He just kept walking forward. The entrance to the vault was buried under centuries of rubble. It took them nearly an hour of digging, pushing aside broken slabs of stone before they uncovered a rusted metal door¡ªengraved with symbols that had long since faded. Reivan knew better than to touch it immediately. ¡°Everyone step back,¡± he ordered. Garm blinked. ¡°Why? It¡¯s just a¡ª¡± Reivan threw a rock at the door. The moment it made contact, an explosion of blue fire erupted outward, instantly incinerating the rock into dust. The flames burned unnaturally, consuming nothing but still roaring like a forge. Garm whistled. ¡°Huh. That would¡¯ve been bad.¡± ¡°No kidding,¡± Reivan muttered. He pulled a vial from his pouch¡ªa liquid concoction made from crushed frost-lilies. He tossed it at the door, and the moment it shattered, the fire extinguished instantly. The mercenaries stared at him. Sylpkx grinned. ¡°He does this a lot.¡± Reivan simply shrugged. ¡°I do my research.¡± Once they got inside, the real problems started. The vault wasn¡¯t just a storage room. It was a burial ground of old kings. And the kings did not like being disturbed. The first trap was a pressure-plate death corridor. The moment they stepped inside, the ground shuddered, and a row of spears shot from the walls, barely missing one of the mercenaries by a hair. Reivan didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe grabbed the man by the back of his collar and yanked him back just as the second wave of spears lunged forward. ¡°That,¡± Reivan said, still gripping the now hyperventilating mercenary, ¡°is why we don¡¯t rush in like idiots.¡± Sylpkx knelt by the floor, tracing the faint engravings between the cracks. ¡°It¡¯s a pattern. The triggers are old, but they¡¯re still active.¡± Reivan nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll need to step exactly where I say. One mistake, and we¡¯re all shish kebabs.¡± Garm grinned. ¡°Sounds fun.¡± It was not fun. Navigating the spears took nearly twenty minutes of absolute precision. One of the mercenaries lost his nerve halfway through and nearly got impaled, but Sylpkx grabbed him at the last second, flipping him onto her back like a sack of grain before continuing on. When they finally reached the end of the corridor, the vault chamber awaited them. The relic was there. A small, golden pendant, resting on an altar. Reivan did not immediately grab it. He knew better. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± he muttered, scanning the room. He turned to the mercenaries. ¡°Do not touch anything. Do not breathe too hard. If your nose itches, suffer through it.¡± Garm squinted. ¡°Aren¡¯t you being a little paranoid?¡± Reivan picked up a rock and lightly tossed it toward the altar. The moment it crossed an invisible threshold, the walls screamed. Not normal screaming¡ªtormented wails. Ghostly, shrieking voices filled the chamber, and suddenly the shadows twisted, rising into the forms of long-dead warriors clad in decayed armor, their swords gleaming even in death. One of the mercenaries did the logical thing and immediately fainted. Reivan swore. ¡°Knew it. Shadow Guardians.¡± Sylpkx, who had drawn her claws in an instant, glanced at him. ¡°Any brilliant ideas, genius?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Reivan muttered. ¡°Run.¡± And they ran. Chapter 36 :The Warden鈥檚 Oath Reivan sat in his study, staring at the artifact on his desk. The Warden¡¯s Oath, an unassuming metal band with faded engravings, hardly looked like the legendary relic it was. If he hadn¡¯t known better¡ªif he hadn¡¯t played the game obsessively enough to recognize its hidden potential¡ªhe might have tossed it aside like countless other players did in his past life. It was, at first glance, a disappointment. No fireballs, no stat boosts, no godlike abilities. Just a defensive relic that improved perception and resisted mental interference. Most players went for swords that could cut through mountains or gauntlets that let you punch through castle walls. Who cared about heightened awareness when you could kill your enemies before they even got close? But that was the thing about The Warden¡¯s Oath. It wasn¡¯t an immediate power boost. It was an investment. Reivan had risked his life retrieving it, barely surviving the Tomb of the First Sentinel¡ªa dungeon infamous for its brutality. And unlike in the game, where death was just a respawn away, here? One mistake would have left him bleeding out on ancient stone, food for whatever horrors lurked in that forsaken place. He flexed his fingers, recalling the sheer number of times he¡¯d almost died getting this thing. The collapsing bridge? Nearly broke his spine. The shadow wraith ambush? If Sylpkx hadn¡¯t reacted in time, he¡¯d have been missing a lung. The maze of shifting corridors? He was still nauseous thinking about how space itself had twisted around them. And, of course, the Sentinel¡¯s Trial. A fight against an ancient, spectral warrior whose movements were beyond human reflexes. It hadn¡¯t been about power¡ªit had been about survival. Staying on his feet long enough for the Warden¡¯s Oath to recognize him. Because that was its secret. The artifact wasn¡¯t a static item. It grew with its wielder. It recorded every battle, every enemy faced, every moment of survival. And slowly, subtly, it adapted. The first time he¡¯d worn it, the effect was barely noticeable¡ªan odd tingling at the edge of his perception. But after a day, he found himself reacting faster. Not supernaturally so, but just enough to dodge a falling book before it hit his head. After three days, he caught himself sidestepping a drunk noble¡¯s stumbling attempt to spill wine on him before the cup had even tilted. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. And now? Now, he could feel things before they happened. It wasn¡¯t precognition¡ªnot exactly. But the longer he wore it, the more he could sense when someone was about to move. When a hostile gaze lingered too long. When an attack was coming even before the attacker fully committed. And that made it one of the most broken artifacts in the game. In the late stages of the war, high-level players who had underestimated it regretted everything. By then, it was too late. The dungeon had collapsed, lost to time, and no one else could obtain it. Those who had it became legends. Reivan planned to become one of them. Sylpkx entered the study, her keen eyes flicking to the artifact. ¡°You¡¯ve been staring at that thing for hours. Are you expecting it to start talking?¡± He smirked. ¡°No. Just contemplating how absurdly overpowered this is.¡± She raised an eyebrow. ¡°All I see is a glorified anxiety detector.¡± Reivan chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what everyone else thought.¡± He picked up the band and slipped it onto his wrist. ¡°The longer I wear it, the better it gets. It doesn¡¯t just improve reflexes¡ªit learns. It remembers every fight, every ambush, and helps me react faster next time.¡± Sylpkx¡¯s expression shifted. ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is... it¡¯s making you paranoid?¡± ¡°Exactly! But in a useful way!¡± She groaned. ¡°Fantastic. Because you weren¡¯t already paranoid enough.¡± Reivan ignored her, already thinking of how to use this. He had been playing the empire¡¯s economic game, securing trade and finance. But war was coming. That was inevitable. And when it did, raw wealth wouldn¡¯t be enough. The Warden¡¯s Oath meant he wouldn¡¯t be blind going into it. It meant assassins would have a much harder time sneaking up on him. It meant political backstabbings would be slightly less successful. And most importantly¡ªit meant that by the time the war reached its peak, he would already be ahead of everyone else. But there was one problem. He wasn¡¯t the only one after it. The game lore had mentioned something¡ªthat certain factions would eventually come looking for the relic. And if he had it now, that meant those factions would soon start moving. Sylpkx must have caught onto his expression. ¡°You look like someone just handed you a live bomb.¡± He exhaled. ¡°Because I might have just painted a target on my back.¡± Her grin widened. ¡°Oh, good. I was starting to get bored.¡± Reivan leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He had expected to control the economy, play politics, manipulate trade. Now, he was accidentally stepping into a battlefield that had been hidden in the game¡¯s code. And worst of all? He couldn¡¯t even sell this thing. The Warden¡¯s Oath had already bound itself to him. It wasn¡¯t going anywhere. He sighed deeply. ¡°Well, I suppose it¡¯s time to start preparing for people to try and kill me. Again.¡± Sylpkx patted his shoulder. ¡°Look at the bright side. At least this time, you¡¯ll see them coming.¡± Reivan groaned. He had so many regrets. Chapter 37: Blood Ties Reivan had a rule about unexpected encounters on the road: if someone jumped out in front of his caravan, it was either a merchant looking for a deal, a noble looking for trouble, or someone looking to kill him. The problem was that today, it was none of the above. Beastkin warriors stepped into the path, weapons drawn, eyes cold. There were six of them, and they looked like they had been waiting. That was never a good sign. Reivan sighed, nudging Sylpkx. "Friend of yours?" Sylpkx, uncharacteristically silent, just crossed her arms. That was even worse. Then, from behind the warriors, Khaedros emerged. He wasn¡¯t in imperial fashion anymore¡ªthis time, he wore the hardened leather and steel of a warleader. His golden eyes locked onto Sylpkx with something between irritation and determination. "The time for running is over," Khaedros said, voice like gravel. "You will come back, or the war will decide for you." Reivan held up a hand. "Okay, first of all, dramatic much? Second, I¡¯m gonna need more context before we get to the whole ¡®dragging Sylpkx away by force¡¯ bit." "This does not concern you, merchant." "Oh, buddy, that was the wrong thing to say to me." Reivan dismounted, dusted off his coat, and casually stepped forward, hands in his pockets. "See, I love when people say things like that. It¡¯s like a free invitation to ruin their plans. So go ahead, explain. What exactly do you want from her?" Khaedros exhaled through his nose, clearly restraining himself. "Her claim cannot be ignored any longer. The clans are gathering. Some will follow the empire. Others will fight. And the Ironfang will not stand divided." Sylpkx finally spoke, her voice dry. "Oh, how noble of you. Let me guess, the second I step back into the clan, I get ¡®politely¡¯ removed from the board?" Khaedros¡¯ jaw tightened. "You do not understand¡ª" "No, I understand perfectly. The second I exist within reach, I become a problem. The empire might start looking at me as a useful puppet, and your rivals might decide I¡¯m worth keeping alive as a counter to you. You¡¯d rather I just conveniently disappear, wouldn¡¯t you?" The warriors around them shifted slightly, but Khaedros didn¡¯t deny it. Reivan tilted his head. "So, let me get this straight. You don¡¯t actually need Sylpkx for the political game, but the mere fact that she¡¯s around messes up your plans. Sounds to me like the simplest solution is to¡­ not acknowledge her at all. But you¡¯re here, making a big scene. So that tells me something interesting." Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Khaedros¡¯ gaze flicked to him. "And what is that?" Reivan smirked. "You¡¯re afraid she might actually take the throne." Silence. Then Sylpkx blinked. "Wait, what?" Reivan casually strolled forward, gesturing lazily. "Think about it. If Sylpkx was really just some half-blood mistake, you wouldn¡¯t even need to deal with her. But instead, you come all this way. You challenge her in front of your warriors. You create a spectacle. That¡¯s not what you do to an exile you want forgotten. That¡¯s what you do when you¡¯re laying the groundwork for eliminating a rival." Khaedros¡¯ expression didn¡¯t change, but Reivan could see the calculation behind his eyes. Sylpkx groaned. "Great. So I could be a tribal queen, but only in the ¡®everyone wants me dead¡¯ kind of way. Fantastic." "You mock serious matters¡ª" "Oh, you must be new here," Reivan cut in. "Mocking serious matters is our entire thing." Khaedros exhaled, stepping forward. "She must return. If you stand in the way¡ª" "Yeah, yeah, I know. ¡®Blah blah, you¡¯ll regret it.¡¯ Very scary. Except, tiny problem¡ª" Reivan tapped his temple, smirking. "I have a really bad habit of not regretting things." Khaedros took another step forward, but then it happened. A pressure settled over the air, thick and heavy. The beastkin warriors flinched, their ears flicking as their bodies tensed. Sylpkx¡¯s eyes narrowed, and even Khaedros paused. Reivan smiled. The Warden¡¯s Oath hummed against his skin. He could feel it¡ªhostile intent, like invisible heat radiating off his opponents. He didn¡¯t see it, not in the traditional sense, but his instincts sharpened, movements slowing to a perfect, controlled rhythm. Then Khaedros moved. It wasn¡¯t an attack. Not exactly. But it was fast, a flicker of motion as he closed the gap between them¡ªtesting, challenging. And Reivan dodged. Not consciously. Not even fully aware of how he did it. His body simply reacted, stepping just slightly to the side at the perfect moment, avoiding Khaedros¡¯ advance with infuriating ease. Khaedros stopped short, golden eyes narrowing. "That was not luck." Reivan grinned. "Oh, you have no idea." The warriors were tense now. Reivan could feel them assessing him, reassessing the balance of power in the conversation. And more importantly? Khaedros was, for the first time, hesitating. Sylpkx stepped beside Reivan, tilting her head. "So, what now, warlord? You¡¯ve got your ultimatum. We¡¯ve got our answer. You really want to turn this into a mess? Because I promise you, it¡¯ll be so much worse than you think." Khaedros looked at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "This is not over." "It never is," Reivan said cheerfully. "Now run along, you¡¯ve been very scary, good job." Khaedros turned and left, his warriors following. When they were gone, Reivan finally let out a long breath. Sylpkx nudged him. "You dodged Khaedros. Do you even realize how ridiculous that is?" Reivan smirked. "Nope, but I intend to abuse it mercilessly." Sylpkx was quiet for a moment. Then she looked at him, something different in her expression. Not amusement. Not exasperation. Something warmer. "Thanks, Reivan." He blinked. "For what?" "For not making me do this alone." Reivan scratched his neck, suddenly awkward. "Yeah, well. You¡¯d do the same." She grinned. "Obviously." And just like that, things were different. Not in a grand, dramatic way. But in the way that mattered. Because now, Sylpkx wasn¡¯t just following him. She was staying because she chose to. Chapter 38: The trial The journey north was inevitable, but that didn¡¯t mean Reivan had to be happy about it. Sitting inside the carriage with Sylpkx, he exhaled dramatically, arms crossed. "So, just to be clear¡ªagain¡ªwe¡¯re doing this because the alternative is what? Getting ambushed every single day until they drag you back anyway?" Sylpkx, staring out the window, didn¡¯t answer immediately. That was already suspicious. "Oh, come on," Reivan pressed. "I¡¯ve seen you turn a man¡¯s ribs into a decorative arrangement just for insulting your boots. And now you¡¯re letting these guys dictate your schedule?" Sylpkx finally sighed. "It¡¯s different. They aren¡¯t just some random noble idiots. They¡¯re my people. If I don¡¯t go willingly, they¡¯ll keep sending warriors. And the next time, they might not care about casualties." Reivan groaned. "Right. So because they refuse to mind their own business, we have to be responsible? I hate this already." "Welcome to my world," Sylpkx muttered. "Besides, Khaedros isn¡¯t wrong. If the tribe is preparing for war, they need an answer. Either I come back as part of them¡­ or I don¡¯t come back at all." That didn¡¯t sit right with him. "So what, you¡¯re just accepting this as fate? Since when do you do what other people want?" Sylpkx turned to face him, arms crossed. "What¡¯s the alternative, Reivan? Keep running? Pretend I don¡¯t exist? If I don¡¯t handle this now, I¡¯ll never be free of it. I need to end this." Reivan studied her. She wasn¡¯t scared. If anything, she looked¡­ resigned. "Alright," he said, leaning back. "But just so we¡¯re clear¡ªI¡¯m not letting them pull some ¡®trial by execution¡¯ nonsense. You know how these warrior types love their dramatic, archaic traditions." Sylpkx snorted. "Oh, trust me. I know." The carriage hit a bump, and Reivan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I really hope they have decent food up there. If I have to sit through political nonsense and eat terrible rations, I¡¯m going to be unbearable." "You already are." "Rude." The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. She smirked slightly. "But seriously. Thanks. For coming with me." Reivan smirked right back. "Hey. You¡¯d be lost without me." The moment Reivan and Sylpkx stepped onto the Ironfang Tribe¡¯s land, the air itself felt different. It wasn¡¯t just the bitter, northern cold¡ªit was the weight of expectation. The kind that came from people who had already decided your fate before you even opened your mouth. Reivan hated those kinds of people. He pulled his cloak tighter as he followed the warriors leading them. The Ironfangs weren¡¯t subtle about their power. They wore thick pelts, walked with the confidence of men who had survived things most wouldn¡¯t, and carried weapons that had clearly seen battle. The entire tribe was built around the idea that only the strong deserved to exist. He could already tell they weren¡¯t going to like him. They arrived at what could only be described as a very large, very ominous gathering hall, built from ancient wood and reinforced with metal and carved stone. Inside, the Elders of the Ironfang Tribe were waiting. Old warriors, shamans, and political figures who had likely shaped the tribe for decades. Khaedros stood in the center, arms crossed, golden eyes sharp. He was in his element now. Reivan could tell Sylpkx wasn¡¯t nervous, but she wasn¡¯t smirking, either. That meant something. Khaedros spoke first. "You are back, Exile." Sylpkx clicked her tongue. "Not by choice." The largest of the elders, a man who looked like he could bench press a horse, leaned forward. "Then you understand why this must happen." Reivan, who had been quiet up until now, raised a hand like he was in a classroom. "I do not understand. And since I apparently wasn¡¯t invited to this conversation beforehand, someone please explain why we¡¯re acting like a dramatic stage play." One of the smaller elders narrowed his eyes at him. "Who is this human?" "Ah, so glad you asked." Reivan clapped his hands together. "I¡¯m Reivan. Merchant, strategist, and, at the moment, the only person who thinks throwing Sylpkx into a death match is a bad idea." "She was exiled," another elder said gruffly. "Her mother was banished for defying the Rite of the Blooded." Reivan looked at Sylpkx. "...The what now?" Sylpkx sighed. "The Rite of the Blooded is a tradition. Every heir must complete a trial to prove they deserve to lead the tribe. My mother refused." Reivan blinked. "And instead of, I don¡¯t know, changing your traditions, you all just¡ª" "She was given a choice," Khaedros interrupted. "She chose exile. And now, her daughter must either complete the trial... or be cast aside like she was." Reivan took a deep breath. "Right. So just to be clear, if Sylpkx loses, she dies?" A few elders nodded, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Reivan turned to Sylpkx. "You know, I joke a lot, but your people really need a new hobby." Sylpkx smirked despite herself. "Yeah, well. They¡¯re consistent." Reivan exhaled. "Alright. Fine. Let¡¯s say we do this stupid trial. What exactly is the challenge? Are we fighting to the death? Wrestling bears? Solving math problems? Please tell me it¡¯s the math one." The largest elder scowled. "Three trials. A test of strength, a test of cunning, and a test of spirit." "Okay, okay. That¡¯s... actually more reasonable than I expected. Still stupid, but at least you included a brain activity." Sylpkx cracked her knuckles. "Let¡¯s get this over with." Chapter 39: The Three Test The Ironfang elders had no intention of making this easy. Reivan stood at the edge of the ceremonial grounds, looking at the gathered warriors, shamans, and spectators surrounding the large arena. The northern winds howled, carrying whispers of old traditions and even older grudges. There was something deeply primal about this place, something that made it clear this was more than a political power play. Sylpkx wasn¡¯t just fighting for leadership. She was fighting to prove she had the right to exist. The elders stood in a semicircle, their expressions carved from stone. Khaedros stood just behind them, his arms crossed. He didn¡¯t look smug. That, more than anything, made Reivan uneasy. The man expected Sylpkx to survive this. That meant whatever came next wasn¡¯t just a test of skill¡ªit was a test designed to break her. Reivan exhaled, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. ¡°Alright. We all know the script here. Big scary elders declare some ancient trials, we prove you¡¯re worthy, and then I get to gloat about it later. What¡¯s first?¡± The largest of the elders, a beastkin with thick grey fur and scars across his chest, stepped forward. ¡°The Trial of Strength. No ruler can command warriors if they themselves are weak.¡± Sylpkx rolled her shoulders. ¡°That¡¯s the easiest one. Who do I have to kill?¡± The elder¡¯s lips curled in the barest hint of amusement. ¡°No killing. Not yet. You must break your opponent¡¯s will, not their body.¡± Reivan glanced at Sylpkx. ¡°They do realize you break people both physically and emotionally on a regular basis, right?¡± Sylpkx smirked. ¡°Don¡¯t think they got the memo.¡± A massive warrior stepped forward. Reivan immediately dubbed him ¡®Too Much Muscle, Not Enough Neck.¡¯ The beastkin was built like a fortress, his hands the size of Reivan¡¯s entire torso. His fur was streaked with white¡ªsignifying experience. He had fought in real battles. Sylpkx sized him up. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s make this quick.¡± The elder raised a hand. ¡°Begin.¡± The warrior lunged at her with terrifying speed. To an untrained eye, it looked like an unavoidable charge, but Reivan knew better. This wasn¡¯t just brute force. This man knew how to fight. He was her hardest opponent yet. Sylpkx dodged left¡ªthen immediately reversed, sliding under his arm and slamming her knee into his ribs. The impact sent a shockwave through the arena. The warrior grunted but didn¡¯t stagger. Reivan sighed. ¡°Of course. The ¡®I have more health bars than you¡¯ strategy.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The fight was brutal. The warrior adapted quickly, forcing Sylpkx to dodge relentlessly. He swung like a living battering ram, every movement designed to trap her. But she was faster. Then, she switched tactics. She let him grab her. The moment his hands locked onto her arms, she twisted, using his momentum against him. She swung herself up, wrapped her legs around his head, and with an explosive motion, drove him face-first into the ground. Silence. Then a low murmur rippled through the crowd. The elder nodded. ¡°She passes.¡± Reivan clapped. ¡°See? That wasn¡¯t so bad. No one died. Well, except maybe his pride.¡± The warrior groaned from the dirt. The elders moved on. ¡°The Trial of Cunning. Strength is not enough. A leader must think beyond the battlefield.¡± Reivan perked up. ¡°Oh, good. My turn.¡± Sylpkx elbowed him. ¡°No. I have to pass.¡± Reivan wagged a finger. ¡°Ah, but what is cunning if not knowing when to use outside help?¡± The elders didn¡¯t object, which meant he was right. They were led to a maze¡ªone that shifted, filled with illusions and hidden dangers. It was designed to test not only intelligence but also instincts. Normally, it took warriors hours to navigate, if they made it through at all. Reivan walked inside with Sylpkx, casually cracking his knuckles. ¡°Alright, Warden¡¯s Oath, do your thing.¡± His artifact flared. Immediately, he could see the malice hidden in the maze¡ªthe traps, the shifting walls, the invisible pitfalls. What was supposed to be a mind-breaking labyrinth became a mildly annoying stroll. Sylpkx noticed his lack of hesitation. ¡°...You can see the way, can¡¯t you?¡± Reivan grinned. ¡°Sure can.¡± They made it through in ten minutes. By the time they emerged, the elders actually looked unsettled. Khaedros, however, had narrowed his eyes. He knows I have something. Reivan gave him a cheeky wave. ¡°You all really need to update your security.¡± ¡°The Trial of Spirit,¡± the elder intoned, moving swiftly. ¡°A leader is not merely body and mind. They must have the soul to lead.¡± This was the one that worried Reivan. The elders handed Sylpkx a bowl of ancient herbs, a vision-inducing mixture meant to force a connection with her ancestors. It wasn¡¯t just a hallucination¡ªit was a direct test of will. Reivan watched her drink it, his fingers twitching slightly. Then she stiffened. She wasn¡¯t moving. Her breathing slowed. Reivan took a step forward, but an elder raised a hand. ¡°Do not interfere.¡± ¡°She¡¯s struggling.¡± ¡°She must face this alone.¡± Reivan clenched his jaw but held back. Minutes passed. Then, Sylpkx¡¯s body jerked violently. She sucked in a breath, her golden eyes glowing. For a moment, she didn¡¯t look like herself. Then, slowly, she focused. Reivan was at her side immediately. ¡°You okay?¡± She swallowed. ¡°I saw my mother.¡± Silence. One of the elders nodded solemnly. ¡°She has passed.¡± Reivan squinted. ¡°Wait, that¡¯s it? No follow-up? You¡¯re just fine with this?¡± The largest elder shrugged. ¡°She saw the truth.¡± Reivan grumbled. ¡°Fantastic. Love the vague mysticism.¡± The trial was over. Sylpkx had won. The tribe, however, wasn¡¯t celebrating. Because while she had proven her right to exist, the real question remained: Would she stay? Khaedros approached, his expression unreadable. ¡°You have passed. But this is not the end.¡± Sylpkx locked eyes with him. ¡°No. It¡¯s not.¡± Reivan rolled his shoulders, watching the power struggle unfold. He wasn¡¯t sure where this would go next, but one thing was clear: This wasn¡¯t just a trial. This was a declaration of war within the Ironfang Tribe. And Reivan never backed down from a fight. Chapter 40: Power The gathering hall was quieter than before, but not out of peace¡ªno, this was the silence of tension, the kind that hung in the air before something snapped. The three trials were over. Sylpkx had won. And yet, instead of relief, Reivan felt like he had just stepped into a bigger problem. Khaedros was staring at Sylpkx, his golden eyes unreadable. The Elders, despite honoring their traditions, still looked dissatisfied. It was clear that while Sylpkx had proven herself, the result was not what they wanted. Reivan, as usual, was going to make things worse for them. ¡°So, now that we¡¯ve established that Sylpkx is indeed not a weakling and you¡¯ve wasted everyone¡¯s time, what exactly happens next?¡± he asked, leaning against one of the massive wooden pillars. One of the older Elders narrowed his eyes at him. ¡°She is to take her place in the tribe.¡± Sylpkx scoffed. ¡°Like hell I will.¡± Khaedros exhaled sharply. ¡°You cannot keep running, Sylpkx. The tribe needs a leader of both beastkin and imperial blood.¡± Reivan nodded. ¡°Right. Totally understandable. Very compelling argument. Quick question, though¡ªdid you ask her if she even wants that?¡± Silence. One of the younger warriors shifted uncomfortably. Khaedros clenched his jaw. ¡°This is not a choice. It is duty.¡± Reivan smiled. The exact moment he was waiting for. ¡°Ahhh, duty. That wonderful, vague word people love to throw around when they want someone else to sacrifice everything for them.¡± He clapped his hands together. ¡°Love that. Huge fan.¡± Khaedros bristled. ¡°You mock our traditions.¡± ¡°I mock stupid traditions,¡± Reivan corrected. ¡°You know, the ones that require people to suffer for no reason.¡± One of the Elders growled, but another, older and far sharper-looking, raised a hand. ¡°Then tell us, outsider. What would you have us do? Abandon our ways? Become weak?¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Reivan sighed dramatically. ¡°You people have the same obsession with strength that nobles have with bloodlines. And you know what they all forget?¡± He let the silence stretch, until he was sure everyone was paying attention. ¡°Strength is not about holding power. Strength is about knowing when to let go of it.¡± Khaedros flinched. Reivan took a step forward. ¡°You keep talking about war. About preparing. You want Sylpkx to take charge, but what you really want is a figurehead you can control. Someone who can rally the tribe, make you stronger, and lead you into whatever conflict is coming.¡± The Elders stiffened. Sylpkx blinked at him, then smirked. ¡°I really do love it when you piss people off.¡± Reivan kept going. ¡°You think forcing her into a leadership role will magically solve your problems? No. If you force her, you¡¯ve already lost. You don¡¯t want a leader. You want a pawn who looks like one.¡± The large Elder growled, but the older one¡ªthe real power in this room¡ªnarrowed his gaze. ¡°You speak well, outsider,¡± the Elder murmured. ¡°Too well. Do you intend to take our traditions and reshape them?¡± Reivan¡¯s smile turned sharper. ¡°Not at all. I intend to exploit them.¡± Sylpkx actually laughed. ¡°Oh, this is going to be good.¡± Reivan spread his arms. ¡°I get it. You want a strong leader. You want a warrior who can lead you through war. But tell me this¡ªwhen was the last time a warlord ruled and the tribe didn¡¯t end up bleeding for it?¡± Silence. Reivan took another step. ¡°Strength is useful. But intelligence? Cunning? Foresight? Those are rare. And you have the only person in this entire tribe who has all three.¡± Khaedros¡¯ fists tightened. ¡°And if she refuses?¡± Reivan¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Then you have nothing.¡± Sylpkx raised an eyebrow at Khaedros. ¡°You sure you want a reluctant leader? Because let me tell you, I¡¯d be awful at it.¡± Khaedros exhaled sharply. He turned to the Elders. ¡°You see? This is why we cannot let her leave. She does not take this seriously.¡± Reivan clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°Khaedros, buddy. You lost. Take it like a man.¡± Khaedros shoved his hand away. ¡°This is not over.¡± Reivan smirked. ¡°Oh, I hope not. I¡¯d get bored.¡± The older Elder finally nodded. ¡°Then it seems we are at an impasse. The traditions have been met. She has passed the trials. And she does not wish to stay.¡± His sharp gaze flicked to Sylpkx. ¡°Then tell me, daughter of the exile. If not with us, then where?¡± Sylpkx paused. Then, she looked at Reivan. And for the first time, she actually looked certain. ¡°Wherever I damn well please.¡± The Elders muttered, but the decision was made. The trials were done. They could not force her. They could not take back the victory. Reivan leaned toward her and whispered. ¡°You totally stole my dramatic exit line.¡± She grinned. ¡°I learn from the best.¡± As they walked away, Khaedros called out. ¡°Then let it be known¡ªwhen war comes, do not expect mercy.¡± Reivan did not turn around. ¡°Buddy, I never do.¡±