The meeting concluded with a sense of purpose, and we immediately began our preparations. The air inside the inn buzzed with activity, the faint aroma of roasted Lamb and baked bread wafting in from the kitchen as the sound of boots scuffed against the wooden floors. The sun's glow filtering through the windows gave the room a yellow colouring, adding a sense of warmth to the otherwise busy scene.

Abda and Ruslan volunteered to renew the trading license. As they departed, I couldn’t help but notice the determined set of Abda’s jaw. She had a way of carrying herself that exuded quiet confidence. Ruslan, meanwhile, seemed eager to contribute, though I caught a glimpse of nervousness in his expression. “It’ll be fine,” I reassured him before they left, my words accompanied by a firm pat on his shoulder. He nodded, giving a small smile before following Abda out into the city's bustling streets.

After a while, they returned along with the renewed licence which left us with the rest of the preparations.

Like usual Nathanos and Leon took charge of training and relaying the information to the troops, their voices echoing from the inn’s courtyard. The rhythmic clash of wooden practice swords and the sharp bark of commands punctuated the otherwise steady hum of the city. Nathanos’s discipline was evident in the way the soldiers responded to his instructions, their movements precise and deliberate. Leon, on the other hand, brought a certain energy to the drills, his enthusiasm contagious as he worked alongside the men. Even from a distance, I could see the camaraderie forming among the ranks.

Meanwhile, Silvana, Abda and I set out on a different mission. Our goal was to acquire goods directly from the artisans. The streets of Onira were alive with activity, with vendors calling out to passersby to sample their wares. The scent of fresh olives mingled with the tang of iron from a nearby smithy, while the clatter of a pot or pan being struck added to the city’s symphony. Silvana walked beside me, her sharp eyes scanning the stalls and workshops with the precision of a hawk.

“This one,” she said, stopping abruptly in front of a weaver’s shop. The artisan, an older man with calloused hands, greeted us with a wary smile. “Show us your finest linens,” Silvana demanded, her tone firm but not unkind. The man hesitated for a moment before pulling out a roll of fabric, the intricate patterns woven into it catching the light.

We struck a deal, and soon the first of many purchases was made. As the day wore on, our presence did not go unnoticed. Other traders began to eye us with suspicion, their whispered conversations growing louder as we moved from one artisan to the next. By the time we reached a pottery workshop, a group of them had gathered outside, their expressions anything but welcoming.

“You’re wasting your time,” one of them sneered, stepping forward. He was a stout man with a ruddy complexion and an air of arrogance. “No one in the trader’s association will buy these goods from you. You’re new here, so let me give you some advice: stick to the rules.”

Silvana stepped in before I could respond, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We’re aware of the rules,” she said, her gaze icy. “And we’re also aware that there’s a demand for these goods elsewhere. So if you’ll excuse us, we have work to do.”

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The man’s face reddened, but he said nothing further. With a huff, he turned and stalked off, his companions following close behind. I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease, though I quickly pushed it aside. “They won’t take this lying down,” I muttered to Silvana and Abda as we continued our rounds.

“Let them try,” Silvana replied, her tone as sharp as the dagger she kept at her side.

By the end of the day, we had amassed a respectable collection of goods: fine linens, pottery, and a small quantity of olive oil. Each item had been carefully chosen for its high demand in the Northern Empire, ensuring that even if the merchants here tried to sabotage us, we would have a market elsewhere. The plan was to travel to Myzea, a city in the Northern Empire, where these goods would fetch a fair price. However, our first stop would be Syronea, a border town in the Southern Empire.

Syronea was renowned for its velvet weavers and silver workshops. The city, governed by Clan Julios under the leadership of Baranor, was a hub of industry. Baranor was a shrewd man who had transformed Syronea from a military-focused town into an industrial powerhouse. His efforts had been documented in a book he had authored himself, a text that scholars like Sora found endlessly fascinating.

As we prepared for our journey, the inn buzzed with activity. The scent of roasted lamb and spiced vegetables filled the air as the innkeeper and his staff worked tirelessly to feed the bustling crowd. The sound of clinking tankards and hearty laughter echoed through the common room, a stark contrast to the quiet resolve of our group as we finalized our plans.

The next morning, we gathered in the courtyard, the chill of the early hours biting at our skin. Our wagons were loaded with goods, the horses ready and restless. Abda and Silvana declared, that the goods were already loaded. “It’s done,” Silvana announced.

“Good work,” I said, nodding in approval. “Now let’s move. We’ve got a long journey ahead.”

The road to Syronea stretched out before us, a winding path that cut through rolling hills and dense forests. The scent of pine hung in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of moist soil. The clatter of wagon wheels against the uneven terrain added music to our conversations.

Syronea was renowned for its silverware and velvet industries, a reputation we kept in mind while selecting our trading goods in Onira. Instead of overloading on miscellaneous items, we focused on purchasing food and linen goods, ensuring we conserved enough denars to invest wisely in Syronea. Our primary strategy was to trade goods that were in high demand but scarce in the mountainous regions of the Northern Empire.

As we travelled, Sora rode up beside me. “Baranor’s methods are impressive,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “Transforming Syronea like that? Is it really that Impressive.” I asked

“Impressive, yes, but it’s also left the city vulnerable. The civil war has stretched their resources thin. We’ll need to be careful.”

Silvana who was riding nearby nodded, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Careful is one thing we know how to be.”

By the time Syronea’s walls came into view, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city. The sight was both inspiring and humbling, it was a testament to human ingenuity and resilience. As we approached the gates, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

At the time, I had no way of knowing that the battle ahead wouldn’t be a traditional clash of swords and shields. Instead, it would be a contest of cunning, veiled threats, and even the shadowy danger of assassinations.