Monsieur Maron hummed happily as he strolled around Palancar, his hands behind his back. He breathed in deeply the air charged with Fire Mana, smiling widely while already imagining the profits from this venture of his. They had just arrived on the grounds of what would become the best production of distilled spirits. The merchant looked back with a satisfied expression, unable to stop himself from checking the Dark-Gold Fixer out again.

'I struck gold this time,' He thought while mentally rubbing his hands together. Maron still needed to keep his appearance as a refined person, but truly, he only wanted to do one thing: scream to the world how much of a steal he hired that man for.

'A classic mercenary hiring cost is a handful of coppers per day, while a mercenaries troupe is around a few silvers for the whole mission. The Fixers from the Cleaner's Workshop are more costly, both because they are of a higher skill, but also because the Workshop is taking a small fee from the hirer. Coppers are still quite cheap, while Silvers come for quite a good cost for their performance. They're not too incredible, but they can often take on a mercenary team alone. The Gold fixers are where the value truly is. Incredible skills are proved through challenges and combats, with a cost that is ridiculous, going from a gold to a handful, depending on the work. Compared to that, that month's revenue was around...' Maron thought, watching peacefully as the workers and mercenaries prepared their tents, which is where they'll spend their nights until satisfying facilities are built. He mentally calculated the costs of hiring the Fixers while comparing them to the price he would have to pay if the work was put on hold because of some unseen problems. A golden glint flashed through his mind and his smile grew even wider.

'But all of that is nothing compared to that guy. Bearing the reputation of a true butcher who hacked through horrible creatures one after the other, recently promoted after he managed to destroy with his team a City-level threat in the Blessed Grove... Glenn is a dark, pure-bred war-horse that came out of nowhere, and I practically bought him for bread crumbs!' Monsieur Maron chuckled, hiding his mouth with his hand. He had previously tried to hire a Dark-Gold specialist from the Workshop, only to give up woefully when he heard of their price.

Their weight in gold. That's what they asked for private requests. The worst of it?

They were right to ask for that much.

From the intelligence he gathered through the years, Maron could affirm without hesitation that the true might of the Cleaner's Workshop was in their Black-Gold and above Fixers. Ignoring the Cleaners who were an entirely different breed, the Fixers of such a high rank were very rare and very, very strong. Each of them could play with lower-ranked Fixers and was only deployed on confidential and highly risky missions. They were all, of course, extremely expensive, so it was generally impossible to hire them. They often just did their things and dealt with the dirty stuff that the higher-ups didn't want to think about.

"The grace of Plutus is with us..." He mumbled joyfully, before approaching Glenn who was staring at some other company workers doubtfully.

"They seem a bit too happy to be villagers..." The young powerful man questioned, his arms crossed tightly. Maron grabbed his shoulder from behind, a dreadful feeling suddenly washing over him. He gulped and did his best to ignore it, the feeling disappearing as soon as the Dark-Gold Fixer turned around and understood who dared to touch him.

"That's because they're not villagers. They're probably some other company's employees," The merchant forced the words out of his mouth, keeping up his poker face as best as he could. He quickly pulled his hand back, before turning back to face his workforce.

'This is dreadful. Dreadful. I need to find something to make it look like I'm busy, quickly...' Maron thought while smiling widely with white teeth. Decades of experience in King's Rise commercial world had given him the ability to sniff out the people he shouldn't annoy, while also making him strong enough mentally to resist the influence of such powerful figures, like Glenn, but that's not because he could resist them that he wasn't scared of them. He was just not pissing himself off the fear anymore.

'Well, strong or not, they're all the same in front of some clinking and glistening gold,' He breathed in deeply as he walked toward his workers, shaking off the strange sentiment.

"How is it looking, Lefeivre?" The merchant addressed a tall, muscular fellow with a balding head and a lumberjack's beard. Lefeivre was one of his most reliable employees and the foreman of the whole operation. Maron could only appreciate the man's ability to efficiently direct his subordinates to bring construction projects to a swift conclusion while retaining the versatility needed in locations different from his usual work environment. It wasn't the first time he'd called on Lefeivre and his team for an exterior wall project: there had been that pink-striped marble quarry project near Eari, or the dark steel factory at Satidipug.

All in all, it wasn't their first rodeo, and probably wouldn't be their last one. The bald man rubbed the skin under his nose, before shrugging nonchalantly.

"Well, the first thing we need to do is clear out all of that ash so that we can lay out the foundations of the distillery, and, as you can see Monsieur Maron, there's a lot of work," He gestured at the ash-covered plain with a strained face. He then pointed at the sky while sighing loudly.

"We also need to find a way to protect the building sites from the ash that's constantly falling. We can't have it mixing up with the lime mortar, but we could always switch to Roman Cement which will be faster and less straining on us." The foreman took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead with hesitation.

"...But?" Maron pressed him on, aware that there had to be some cons to the quick solution.

"...Roman cement is less breathable and can lead to moisture-related issues, which, I guess, wouldn't be the best thing for a building aiming to be a distillery, right...?" Lefeivre clasped his hands behind his back, looking at the workers who had just finished setting up their tents. The merchant rubbed his chin, deliberating for a long minute, before shaking his head.

"...Go for what you think is feasible. We don't have that much time to spare in Palancar, but I don't want my future production to be famous for its lack of quality," Monsieur Maron patted Lefeivre's shoulder, the foreman already plunged in deep thought as to how he was going to tackle these problems. The merchant turned around and sat on a nearby fallen log, looking at the sun setting in the distance, coloring the sky with purple color as the twin moons peeked out from their hiding places.

'To tell the truth, I didn't understand anything from what he told me, but I trust him to make the right decisions anyway,' Maron smiled as he took an ancient-looking silver coin, making it slip through his fingers dexterously. He looked at the coin fondly, remembering his origins, like every time he took it out.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Maron didn't start as a silver-spoon noble or the son of a merchant who already had his path paved for him. His father was a wheat farmer, while his mother was a waitress in a now-forgotten tavern. They lived outside of King's Rise in a village southeast of Munirp. He also had a brother, who sadly didn't survive his first winter. They ate mainly wheat-based products, whose production and processing costs were the lowest of all. Coarse bread, wheat porridge, pottage, and occasionally, a bit of meat. Those were some difficult times, but he had come a long way from then.

Instead of buying toys or more meat like the other families would, his father and mother invested almost everything they earned in books that they then forced him to read. He had to learn how to decrypt the letters by himself, a studious task that he would have deemed impossible if it wasn't for the continuous support of his parents. "Support" was given through boots up his ass and slaps in his face if he dared to doze off in front of the boring scriptures. Even if that might not have been the most efficient way to learn, Maron was now very grateful for his parents forcing him to go through such an ordeal.

He wouldn't have kept on teaching himself if not for his father falling sick and the family's spending unable to keep up with his mother's meager salary. He was probably around fourteen years old and had to urgently find a way to earn money. And not just some pocket money, no, he needed to make so big bucks to pay for his father's medicine. Seeing his little brother die off from a fever once had already been enough for him.

It began slowly, like all businesses. He sold the spare reserves of grain bags stored in the house for a handful of copper that he then used to buy low-quality fabric, which he then sewed up himself in barely presentable clothes. The clothes went up for a slightly higher price than what he bought the fabric for, leaving him with a little bit more money that he then reinvested in more fabric which he then used again to create more diverse pieces of clothing.

At some point, he managed to strike up a deal with the fabric manufacturer to buy a fixed amount of material every week for a lower price. He then hired for cheap a grandmother in his village who was struggling to feed her grandson, which increased the quality and speed of the clothes production. The increase in quality gave him a range of actions to raise the price, start earning real money, and afford to spend it on food and necessities.

It wasn't enough to pay for the medicine, but it was a start, so Maron kept on working tirelessly, sewing and calculating the profits, sleeping only what his body needed to survive, until his production grew so much he had to hire another employee, then another, and another. He managed to create a place for himself in the clothes market and created his brand, the Maron's brand. That didn't mean anything, he only asked to sew the name Maron on the clothes to give them some kind of unique advantage, it didn't take much time and wasn't expensive, but it created immense interest from the slightly richer masses.

One thing led to another, and he ended up dominating the cloth market, swallowing the independent productions and taking them under his name. That day, a merchant from King's Rise visited the village and was happily surprised to find excellent quality products there, trading with Maron on an equal standing.

That day was the day he earned his first silver coin, and coincidentally, the day he became of adult age. He kept the silver coin previously through the rest of his life, that first silver acting as proof of his hard work. With the rest of the profits, he finally was able to gather enough money to pay for the precious medicine, but it was too late. Even with the gradual increase in his family's quality of life thanks to the money he kept on bringing, his father was still touched by the sickness, and the moment he took the medicine, his pain was finally alleviated.

Only for his soul to depart for wherever it's supposed to go the following morning.

That was a hard-earned lesson for Maron, who then swore to himself he would become rich enough to never need to care about money. He then rose to his current position, the Maron's Company being one of the most successful companies in the Northern Town and already having footsteps in the other towns of the Fringe. He only needed one last opportunity to back him in his climb toward the top of King's Rise, and that opportunity was Palancar.

"...What a jump in the past," He said aloud, slipping the coin back into his breast pocket. Maybe it was the travel that tired him, or simply the ruined village that made him think back to that time, but what truly mattered now was the present.

'It's not the time to linger on. I still need to plan out the patrols with the Dark-Gold Fixer alongside the mercenary leader...what was his name again? Doman, Dolan...' Maron winced as he searched through his memory for the name of the mercenary leader. He had hired the company for the first time because the one he usually took was already on a request, so he wasn't familiar with all of them yet.

"Doran!" A woman in leather armor and with a long saber on her waist passed by him and joined a stern man with a battle axe strung on his back. Maron flicked his fingers together as his eyes lit up.

'Right, Doran! I knew I wasn't too far from it,' He stepped toward the mercenary leader with swift steps.

"Monsieur Maron? Can I help you?" The man politely asked, his wife stepping away to let them talk. The merchant nodded before crossing his hands behind his back.

"Yes you can, Mr Doran. I need a quick overview of how your men will protect the construction site, to get an idea of how you'll coordinate with the Fixers," Maron quickly explained, inviting an understanding nod from the mercenary leader.

"No problem, so what we will do..." The man quickly explained the layoff of how the mercenaries would be positioned. The main priority was to signal for any danger to alert the powerful Fixers which would then come and deal with the threat. If said threat was weak enough to be dealt with only by the mercenaries, it wasn't much of a threat to begin with. But since the outside of King's Rise was reputed to be quite dangerous, they still chose this system to allow for more versatility.

Maron was quite satisfied and decided to wrap up the day. The real work would begin the following morning, and he was only doing the preparations in advance out of excitement. He couldn't help but feel this way each time he created a successful business.

'Hopefully, it won't be a dud...It won't be, I know it!' The merchant pressed his hand on his breast, where the precious coin was safely stored. He went to sleep inside the tent the workers set up for him and prepared himself to go to sleep. He'll have to be awake early tomorrow to monitor the construction site.

"...I love being rich..." He whispered with a wide grin, before putting himself to bed and falling asleep.

The night went on without any events, but when he woke up in the morning, something terrible had happened.

Ever since he became "rich," Maron enjoyed counting the coins he owned every time he woke up, finding satisfaction in the routine. So, as he took his breakfast with sleepy eyes, some roasted sausages alongside a bowl of porridge, he plunged his hand into his dimensional pouch that stored his pocket money and nudged at it with his mind to have the inventory of the storing space.

'Alright, so, if I did my calculations correctly, I should have a hundred and fifty-six gold coins, alongside three-hundred and thirty-two silvers. For the coppers, I think I was around the five-hundred and twelve marks, but it's true I gave quite a bit of money away when we traveled through the Sewers, so I should be more around four-hundred and twenty...Wait..?'

The numbers in his mind didn't add up to what he had currently stored. More particularly, twelve gold coins had gone missing during the night!

An absolute, impossible, criminal thing had happened. His blood froze in his veins and his stare became hard and cold. Maron tightly clenched his fist as he went through the content of the dimensional pouch again in spite, a mix of anger and disbelief flashing on his face, before quickly disappearing back under his poker face.

'Impossible, I already dealt with the coin thief many years ago!' He screamed in his mind, his face peaceful in appearance. He touched his breast pocket and silently sighed in relief when he found the lucky coin still in its place.

The coin thief was back. And there was only one man who would be able to deal with him.

Maron himself.