Ethan decided that he wanted to send letters to the remaining three: Ducart, Kinsey, and Lykren. He didn’t want to meet them himself. The only reason he’d come to meet Hector was that Theodore had some feelings—nasty feelings regarding the man and he needed to deal with that to scratch an itch he didn’t know he had. For the others, letters would suffice. He wouldn’t even detail everything, just simple normal stuff. All that would in turn make the three men paranoid as fuck to the point they’d keep thinking about the potential dirt Ethan might have on them—dirt he didn’t mention in the letters.

With a practiced hand, Ethan dipped the quill in ink and began to write. He started with pleasantries, but slowly aimed at Lord Kinsey’s meticulously cultivated public image. Then, the bait:

“...It’s regrettable that the recent import of exotic nature nearly reached the wrong hands. A rather influential journalist with a penchant for exposing aristocratic improprieties expressed a keen interest in the sudden influx of ornamental dancers from Xarth (the Beastkin continent). It seems her suspicions were piqued by the rather… generous ‘donations’ your esteemed charity made to the orphanage bordering the docks just before the shipment arrived. Hmm, I wonder if there’s something more to it than meets the eye? I find myself getting interested in that journalist. She is a woman hungry for opportunity, too...”

But by leaving it vague, he planted a seed of doubt in Kinsey’s mind. Did Ethan know the exact details of the donation and the benefiting orphanage? Or was this just a well-placed jab? The uncertainty would gnaw at Kinsey, forcing him to consider the possibility of a deeper leak. After all, the man took his public image seriously.

Ethan continued:

“...Now, I wouldn’t want your tireless work for the betterment of the community tarnished by a misunderstanding, would I, Lord Kinsey? Perhaps a… continued collaboration on some of my future endeavors, ones that remain discreetly philanthropic of course, could ensure such a regrettable incident never comes to light? My proposal is rather simple: I want you to be an investor and distribute my soap to the public. Give it away as well, of course. Philanthropy is always good, wouldn’t you agree? Obviously, through anonymous channels that I would be deciding...”

For a minor lord in Norich, Ducart, the approach was different. Ethan detailed a series of “unfortunate accidents” that plagued Ducart’s mines with disturbing regularity. The letter outlined the suspiciously convenient timing of these collapses, always timed right before a hefty insurance payout. Obviously, it appeared that the handlers of said insurance payout were also involved and were equally corrupt. Not to mention Ducart’s involvement with Kinsey... and Kinsey’s involvement with the orphanage suspiciously close to the docks. Ethan made sure to hint at the recent import. The Ereg merchant, Lykren, received a different treatment yet again. That man was directly involved with Beastkin imports, and Ethan didn’t plan on letting his operations run free. The letter danced around the edges of Lykren’s involvement, leaving enough room for plausible deniability but slamming the door shut on any chance of denying it altogether. Regardless, Ethan made sure to attach some evidence to all the letters. Each letter ended with the same message—copies existed, safely tucked away, waiting to be unleashed upon the world if their recipients did not comply. Ethan offered them a face-saving alternative—an “investment” in his endeavors. He promised handsome returns, a chance to turn a tidy profit while keeping their little secrets buried deep.

But Ethan wasn’t going to do that.

He was already planning on a way he could use these three men to slam down on the Beastkin import. Slavery was a festering wound on the continent—a stain on humanity’s supposed moral compass. Ethan couldn’t stomach the thought of innocent beings ripped from their homes, treated as mere property. The Beastkin deserved better than to be chained and traded like livestock. While he understood that the ones participating in this sick act were a minority, and that the Beastkin weren’t any better, that couldn’t be an excuse to let something running. Regardless, he was keeping himself and his reaction in check. He wasn’t stupid. He knew these three were mere cogs in a much larger, more insidious machine. Ducart and Kinsey were likely just low-to-mid-level players profiting off the misery of others. Lykren, however, was likely closer to the source. He was someone that could prove to be a vital link in the chain. But targeting the underlings wouldn’t dismantle the whole operation—it’d be like swatting at flies.

Going in guns blazing, exposing everything at once, would be a fool’s errand. This intricate web likely stretched far and wide, protected by powerful figures with deep pockets. A frontal assault would only scatter the cockroaches, leaving the nest untouched. Patience was his only option for now.

He needed to strike at the heart of the beast, after all.

Ethan wasn’t above using these men for his own ends. They were merely tools, albeit useful ones. He’d need [Oaths] riddled with loopholes—after all, he was a modern man who’d had to sit and read through the unnecessarily complicated jargon that was legal contracts. These weren’t the short and sweet pacts of legend etched in blood on parchment and held in the name of honor. No, these were legalese landmines bristling with obscure clauses and enough “whereases” and “hereins” to make your head spin. Regardless, Ethan had read enough that he could add clauses so cleverly disguised they’d appear innocuous.

The beauty of this plan was its delayed gratification.

Regardless, it’s time to leave. With Hector scrambling to please Ethan and the like, Ethan could now start mass-production, quite easily. Thus, it was time to return to Holden. There was one thing, however: Jack...

The information the man had provided Ethan was… extensive. Too extensive. With evidence that appeared to be nigh-impossible to get. It went beyond simple gossip or whispers in the marketplace. The details on Kinsey’s charitable donations, the suspiciously convenient timing of Ducart’s mine collapses along some of his other dealings, even the inner workings of Lykren’s Beastkin imports—it was all so... intricate, verifiable intel. Information like this shouldn’t have been readily available to someone like Jack. He wasn’t nobility, nor did he appear to have connections in the criminal underworld.

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So—

—Ethan felt uneasy.

After getting transmigrated, Ethan had tried to control everything. He’d changed and done things he’d never even think of doing. All so he could maintain any semblance of control over his own life—something he’d lacked in his last life. And Jack... he made Ethan uneasy. Why would a seemingly ordinary [Necromancer] dedicate himself so wholly to Ethan’s cause? Was it genuine altruism, a burning desire to see Beastkin slavery eradicated? Or was there something more, something Jack was hiding? Why would Jack risk to be potentially exposed?

Ethan replayed their earlier interactions in his mind. Jack’s never mentioned his past, his occupation, or even where he hails from. He’s almost like a blank slate. The more I think about it, the more the inconsistencies...

Ethan didn’t like that. He didn’t like not knowing. Regardless, Ethan wouldn’t confront Jack directly, not yet. Trust was a delicate thing. If Jack was extending what he assumed to be trust, Ethan would do the same. One thing was certain: Jack was playing a deeper game.

The question was, who was Jack playing for?

And was he a friend or a foe cleverly disguised in the cloak of an ally?

***

When Ethan returned back to Holden, there were two notable things: one, the waterwheel should be done, and two, Wynd was excited as fuck to see him. Ethan obviously cared more about the latter than the former. So, when he returned to his manner and was tackled by Wynd to the point he stumbled and landed on his bed, Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle and grab the wolf and rub his belly. Wynd loved the hell out of being a dog sometimes, not that Ethan blamed him. Wynd lacked intelligence yet.

“Who’s a good boy?” Ethan muttered and kept rubbing. “Oh, yes you are. Such a good boy.” Ethan knew Wynd wouldn’t understand his words, but his tone, his diction, and his intonation did matter. Speaking slowly and gently in a cheerful manner should make him receptive and happy.

After playing around with Wynd for a while, and then, as the wolf settled beside him, Ethan relaxed his muscles.

Raising his hand, he tried to recall the air rune he’d seen that woman—Amber, was it?—use in the battle against the boar.

His fingers drew the rune in the air, though it remained nothing more than the sketching. He just wanted to make sure he was visualizing the rune properly. Let’s give it a try, shall we?

Thinking so, Ethan exhaled and pushed his mana out through his hands, using [Basic Rune Creation] to will the rune into existence.

It started small in his hands, and then, upon Ethan focusing his mind on it and visualizing it better for the upcoming minutes, the magic solidified into a shimmering rune in the shape of a swirl of wind and hovered.

With his palms and fingers, he rolled the little rune around like a baseball.

“Interesting,” Ethan mumbled, feeling the rune connecting with his being in a way that fire and water were connected to him.

Just as he felt that, he pushed mana into it and created a ball of condensed air—but it sputtered out within seconds. He tried again, only this time, instead of condensing the air, he just tried to move it.

At first, nothing happened. Then, a gust of wind spread around in all directions from him. He felt his clothes fluttering. Wynd bolted up and started moving around the bed excitedly. Oh, Wynd’s chasing wind. He cringed at the pun, then tried to condense the air once more—like how he’d tried to do earlier. This time, the air exploded outward, forcing him back.

“Daaaamn!” Ethan blurted, covering his face.

Regardless, he could use wind now, too. Which was nice. He could now manipulate three elements. Now that I think about it, water had been harder. Somehow. Hmm. Is it ‘cause water’s the opposite of fire? And I had fire in the first place. But fire and water don’t oppose air or wind, earth does, in a way.

That meant he was about to have a damn hard time getting a hang of earth rune. That is, if and when I can get my hands on any earth-related rune.

Content with his progress so far, a satisfied sigh escaped Ethan’s lips as he sprawled back on his bed. The wolf’s happy whines vibrated against Ethan’s chest, the sound pure contentment. He scratched behind Wynd’s ear and the scratches sent the wolf into a blissful state. Just a little longer, Ethan thought, just a few more moments of this blissful oblivion before—

A knock fell on the door.

Ethan sighed. “Enter.”

Cedric walked in, then bowed his head lightly. Wynd lifted his head, ears perked. Ethan sent Cedric a questioning glance.

“There’s… something you need to see, Lord Theodore,” Cedric said.

Ethan sighed before urging Wynd off, much to the wolf’s whines. With a resigned sigh, Wynd hopped off the bed and settled at Ethan’s feet, his amber eyes switching between the two men.

“The soldiers sent to deal with the bandits discovered the main lair of the bastards—deep inside the Deadwoods.” Cedric said, and Ethan grew serious. Cedric appeared to be quite grim at the moment, so Ethan followed behind the man.

“And?” asked Ethan.

“Unfortunately, they were all killed.”

“All dead?” Ethan paused.

Cedric grimaced. “Yes. They let one survivor return.”

“Survivor,” Ethan said, suspicious. “Why not just kill him?”

“A warning,” Cedric confirmed his suspicions. “The man is no longer sane.”

Ethan’s frown deepened. “He’s not sane?”

Cedric nodded. “He… he’s rambling, bordering on incoherent. Talks of an undead horde, a tide of the dead, sweeping across the land.”

“What?” Ethan blinked once, and once again. “You’re not suggesting...”

“There is only one possibility. They have a [Necromancer] who has summoned a true horde. And I don’t think they are stopping.”

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped Ethan’s lips. Ethan thought he could enjoy this small reprieve from the chaotic last few days. But it seemed not.

“Any merit to that possibility? What about the bandits’ plans? They’re likely backed by someone.”

“My guess would be as good as any, my lord, but there is something else,” said Cedric, stopping in front of a door. Cedric stepped aside and gestured to the room. Ethan entered first, followed by Cedric. Inside, a young woman who was likely a [Cleric] or a [Healer] tended to a man who appeared to be quite injured. No, not just injured, he was rotting.

No way...

A possibility struck him just then. The sudden outbreak of the Blight when Ethan had arrived, the creature that injured Wynd’s mother—the wolves—and the reason so as to why the Blight was intentionally spread, the reason behind why Sir Thomas kept his mouth shut.

They want to raise an undead army, and the Blight is the perfect way to do it. Starting with Holden. This...

Cedric opened his mouth and said just as Ethan had come to that realization: “Yes, my lord. We believe the bandits are behind the Blight. And we also have enough reason to believe they’re about to use Holden so they can add numbers to their undead army.”

“...” Ethan refrained from sighing once more. Fuck my life. Just let me live, damnit.

Regardless of everything, it was time to unleash his first product, his masterpiece of a soap—as quickly as possible. And that means I need to get started. Right now.