The atmosphere in Marienburg's banquet hall was lively, as the wealthy merchants gathered to discuss how to teach the rebellious Knight King a harsh lesson, making sure he remembered it well.
From the perspective of these merchant princes, Ryan's biggest mistake was not borrowing money from them when he needed it but instead circumventing them with his Eight Peaks Mountain bonds. Not only did he tap into the savings of the common citizens using Marienburg's channels, but he also cut them out of any profits. Worse yet, Ryan hadn't allowed them to handle the spoils of the expedition nor given them a share of the profits. This left the merchant princes of Marienburg fuming with resentment.
Ordinarily, large expeditions like this were meant to be mutually profitable—everyone would share the wealth. But by issuing bonds and bypassing them, Ryan had crossed a line. In short, he had "poached on their turf."
As the group fervently debated how to strike at the Eight Peaks Mountain bonds and pressure the Bretonnian royal family into submission, Viscount Casanova, the head of the Gentlemen's Alliance, began to feel uneasy.
In the luxurious Coburg banquet hall, with its golden decorations, a series of lavish dinners, balls, and parties were in full swing. Marienburg's wealthy merchants, artists, nobles, socialites, poets, and academics attended these events, socializing, dining, and discussing avant-garde art, fashion, and the latest news from the Old World. All dressed impeccably, they indulged in wines and delicacies that most commoners couldn't afford even after a year's hard labor. The attendees reveled in the opulence of Viscount Casanova's estate.
After briefly discussing their plans to manipulate the bond market and force the Bretonnian crown to bow, Viscount Casanova retreated to his private office. Sitting in his opulent office, overlooking the dancers below through his gold-framed windows, he couldn't shake a nagging feeling that something wasn't right.
But what exactly was off?
Casanova, not yet fifty, had inherited a vast fortune from his father, Caballero, and had expanded it further. As one of Marienburg's wealthiest merchants, he had amassed tens of thousands of gold marks. His business interests touched every corner of Marienburg and extended throughout the Empire and Bretonnia. He even held trade contracts with the High Elves.
Sitting at his luxurious mahogany desk in a leather chair, Casanova mulled over the situation. Was it Van Hughmans?
No, the Jutten Trading Company, once royalty of the ancient Kingdom of Jutten, had always been power-hungry and driven by greed. After being conquered by Emperor Sigismund II over 2,000 years ago, Jutten was absorbed into the Empire, and since the Three Emperors' War, Marienburg had increasingly distanced itself from Imperial rule. While they might no longer dream of restoring their kingdom, their determination to maintain independence and amass wealth was unparalleled.
Could it be Adabe the Charming Thief?
Unlikely. Casanova knew Adabe's ambitions well. He had long coveted Queen Sulia. Though others might be unaware, Casanova had deep insight into Adabe's actions and character.
So where exactly was the problem?
"President, here's the guest list for tonight." Casanova's secretary, a statuesque blonde with long legs, came forward with a seductive smile. She wore a white blouse, red jacket, and a pencil skirt that accentuated her figure. Her honey-colored curls framed a beautiful face. "Would you like to review it?"
"Hand it over." Casanova smiled, taking the list. The secretary leaned in, intentionally lowering her neckline to give him a glimpse while lightly brushing his hand with her fingers—a silent invitation Casanova was well familiar with.
It was a code. Casanova smiled knowingly and shook his head. "Not tonight."
Disappointed, the blonde secretary reluctantly accepted his decision and swayed her hips as she left the room.
Watching her leave, Casanova chuckled to himself. This secretary, like the ten before her, was little more than a personal indulgence. Each of his secretaries believed they could rise to become his wife, but none had lasted past the age of twenty-four.
This one was nearing her limit too. It was time to have Johannes, his steward, find a new one.
Wait! Suddenly, Casanova realized something. He snatched the guest list and scanned it closely.
Of course! Duke Schultz hadn't come. He wasn't attending the banquet!
Schultz's absence made sense, as Ryan had used his channels to issue the Eight Peaks Mountain bonds. Marienburg's ruler had to maintain the appearance of neutrality. Despite the fearmongering and panic being spread across the city about the bonds, Schultz had remained silent.
The merchants all believed Schultz's silence was merely an attempt to avoid any conflicts of interest. But Casanova had a hunch that there was more to it.
Schultz's silence might not be about avoiding conflict at all.
"Someone! Get me a carriage to the Marienburg City Council Hall immediately!" Casanova shouted, standing up abruptly.
"But, sir, the banquet is still going on," his steward Johannes said, entering the room, surprised by the command.
"Didn't you hear my order?!"
"Yes, sir! I'll have it prepared right away."
Without another word, Casanova left his lavish estate, while the grand banquet carried on in his absence, slipping into the quiet night.
About twenty minutes later, in Marienburg, on Amber Avenue, at the Marienburg City Council Hall:
Grand Duke Vanderkoop-Schultz, who had ruled Marienburg for thirty years, sat in his opulent office, twirling a golden key in his hands.
This was no ordinary key. It was the "Key to the Marienburg City Council Hall," blessed by Hendrick, the god of wealth of the High Elves, Manann the sea god, and the Lady of Wealth of humanity. This key granted both great power and supreme authority over the city of Marienburg.
"Casanova? What a surprise. Shouldn't you be hosting a banquet at your estate? What brings you here?" Schultz said, leaning back in his chair. His desk was adorned with ornate decorations, and he wore a luxurious silk suit draped with a fox fur cloak, a deep, knowing smile on his face.
"The banquet got a bit dull, so I thought I'd drop by," the head of the Gentlemen's Alliance replied, casting his gaze over Schultz's desk. In addition to the usual decorations of skulls, Fleur-de-Lis, and double-headed eagles, Casanova noticed some new figurines.
One depicted a winged female warrior in gleaming golden armor, her sword raised high as she soared through the skies, burning her enemies in holy fire. Her face radiated devout fervor, and strangely, there was an iron halo behind her head.
Casanova thought with amusement that if Adabe saw such a sanctified woman, he'd probably be unable to control himself.
The other figurine was of a man in blue plate armor, crowned with laurels and wielding a flaming greatsword. He stood proudly, exuding both handsomeness and a commanding presence, clearly a warrior of some renown. His sea-blue armor was adorned with gold eagles, and his pauldrons bore a large "U" symbol with a ribbon beneath it. Casanova squinted, trying to read the lettering but didn't dare get too close. "I didn't know you were into these... figures. What are these, chess pieces? Some nobleman's game?"
"Chess pieces? In a way," Schultz replied with a smile, noticing Casanova's interest in the figurines. "It seems you're curious about Saint Celestine and the great Guilliman? Unfortunately, I can't give them to you—they were a gift."
"Saints? Great leaders? I've never heard of them," Casanova dismissed, hiding his curiosity. "Why would I care about obscure figures like Celestine and Guilliman? They don't exist in Imperial history, at least not that I know of."
"Hahaha, you should read more, young man," Schultz chuckled, his eyes flashing momentarily as he rose from his desk. He retrieved two wine glasses and a bottle of Paravon brandy from his cabinet. "Casanova, we've known each other for nearly forty years. You were just a boy of ten then. Shall we have a drink?"
"Of course. Good wine is always divine," Casanova replied, accepting the glass. "You look the same as you did forty years ago."
"Hahaha," Schultz laughed, clinking his glass with Casanova's, and both men took a sip before sitting down.
Moonlight streamed into Schultz's office, casting shadows across Casanova's back. The two influential men of Marienburg stared at each other in silence—Schultz calm and patient, while Casanova carefully observed his every move, searching for any hint of weakness. Yet the grand duke remained unreadable, betraying nothing.
Casanova knew the extent of Schultz's power. His father, Caballero, had warned him on his deathbed: never fully challenge Schultz, and if conflict is inevitable, always leave room for negotiation.
After a moment of silence, Casanova spoke. "Have you heard about the recent developments?"
"Yes, I've heard," Schultz nodded.
"And what about the Upper Council?"
"I know all about it," Schultz replied smoothly. "Out of a sense of neutrality, I've remained silent. After all, Marienburg is a free trade city. People here have the freedom to make their own choices. As long as what they do is within the rules, I won't oppose it.
We're all adults, after all. They have the right to do as they please, whether they support or oppose the bonds."
"I see," Casanova nodded, standing up. "I apologize for disturbing you so late."
"It's no bother," Schultz rose to see him off, but Casanova gestured that it wasn't necessary. The wealthy merchant quickly left the office and exited the council hall.
Watching Casanova's carriage roll away, Schultz smirked. "Caballero raised a good son."
In the carriage, Casanova furrowed his brow. He sat in silence, deep in thought. After a long while, he called out to his steward. "Johannes, how much have the Eight Peaks Mountain bonds dropped?"
"They've dropped drastically, sir. The first issue of bonds is in shambles, and now the second and third issues are being dumped all over the city. Many are desperate to sell but can't find buyers," Johannes replied, still unsure why Casanova was asking. "Originally valued at ten gold marks, they're now being sold on the black market for just six."
"Six gold marks? Johannes, here's what I want you to do. Take 5,000 gold marks and quietly buy up the Eight Peaks Mountain bonds. Offer five gold marks per bond. Buy as many as you can, but do it discreetly."
"Five gold marks, sir? But why would you...?" Johannes hesitated.
"Just do as I say. Five thousand gold marks is a trivial amount," Casanova insisted.
"Understood. I'll start tomorrow."
"Make sure it's done in secret. Slowly and quietly."
"Yes, sir."
… [Slow Acquisition Divider Line] ...
A week later, in the Old World, Bretonnia, at the royal palace in the Duke's Castle of Mousillon, residence of the king and queen:
Queen Sulia, the Lady of the Lake's sorceress Morgiana, and Duke François of Winford sat together, discussing the organization of reinforcements.
Morgiana had received a divine command from the Lady of the Lake, asking François to assemble a new army. Though the force didn't need to be large, its presence needed to make a big impact. François quickly understood Ryan's plan and began mobilizing troops. The duchies of Bastogne and Winford, which had provided the most elite soldiers for the expedition, had reaped the largest share of the spoils, and the noble coffers were overflowing with gold, silver, minerals, and rare treasures looted from the greenskins. François and his fellow knights were more than willing to support Ryan in continuing the campaign.
When François issued his call for troops, knights from all over Bretonnia eagerly answered. The enormous profits of the expedition had caught their attention, and hearing that more soldiers were needed, they rushed to join. François carefully selected 800 knights and over 2,000 knight-errants, forming a force of around 3,000 men, ready to depart.
"The larger the spectacle, the more helpful it will be for Ryan and Belagar," Sulia said, seated at a white marble table. Dressed in a sharp riding outfit of a blouse and breeches, she spoke earnestly to her father. "Whether or not you actually aid them is less important. You can afford to take your time."
"Hahaha!" François, now a peak Saint-level warrior, laughed heartily as he stroked his goatee. "I understand, Sulia. You don't need to remind me. Don't underestimate your father."
"It's not underestimating you, Father. The expedition has no way out now. They can only move forward," Morgiana said with a frown. "I still feel that I should personally go to the front lines, but Ryan refuses to let me."
"I want to fight beside Ryan in the Badlands too, but the best way we can support him now is by keeping the kingdom stable, Lady Morgiana," Sulia replied, for what felt like the hundredth time, patiently and with a touch of amusement.
As the three continued their discussion, Sylvia, the palace head maid, entered the room.
"Your Majesty, Lady Morgiana, Duke François, we have a visitor. Adabe Hensman, the well-known Marienburg merchant and de facto leader of several guilds, is outside the castle. He wishes to see you."
"He wishes to see me?"
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