The early afternoon sun bathed the city of Eldham in a soft, golden hue, casting shadows across its cobbled streets. Rhaenor walked briskly, his mind already turning to the next steps for his burgeoning business. He had secured the perfect location, a two-story building with a basement near the river, and now it was time to assemble a team. The building alone was not enough—he needed skilled workers to bring his vision to life. Not just anyone would do; they had to be reliable, resourceful, and—most importantly—natives of Midgard. Unlike travelers, natives held no ulterior motives or commitments to distant guilds. They were part of this world and understood its nuances in ways travelers could not.

Rhaenor turned down a narrow alley, where the scent of various herbs and concoctions wafted from a nearby alchemist's shop. He stopped outside the small establishment, recognizing that an alchemist would be a key part of his new venture. Inside, raised voices could be heard.

"I swear, I didn't make that mess!" a man’s voice pleaded. "Someone else sabotaged the equipment. I was framed!"

Rhaenor peeked through the slightly open door and saw a young alchemist being shoved out into the street by two burly shop hands. The man, wearing a dirt-streaked apron and with desperation in his eyes, clutched a bag of supplies as he was thrown to his knees.

The shop owner, a tall, broad-shouldered man named Daelus, glared down at the alchemist. "Enough, Carus. We have no room for mistakes, and certainly no more funds to keep you around. Get out, and don’t come back!"

Carus remained on his knees, his voice cracking as he spoke. "But I didn’t do anything wrong! I’ve been nothing but loyal to this shop, and I’ve brought in more business than anyone else! Someone is setting me up!"

Daelus snorted, crossing his arms. "Loyal or not, you’re a liability. And as for your business claims, maybe you just got lucky. We can’t afford another 'mistake' like this one."

Rhaenor watched the scene unfold, noticing the sharp contrast between the two men. Carus was younger, perhaps in his late twenties, with the nervous energy of someone unjustly accused. His hands trembled slightly, not from fear but from frustration. Daelus, on the other hand, stood with the arrogant confidence of someone who knew exactly how to manipulate a situation to his advantage. Rhaenor quickly realized what was happening—Carus was more skilled, more knowledgeable, and Daelus felt threatened. This wasn’t a matter of funds; it was a calculated move to eliminate competition.

As Daelus turned back towards the shop, leaving Carus in the street, Rhaenor stepped forward. "Is this how you treat talent?" he said, his voice calm but sharp enough to make Daelus pause.

Daelus glanced over, his eyes narrowing. "And who are you to lecture me about talent?"

Rhaenor ignored the question, instead helping Carus to his feet. "You don’t deserve this. Why beg for scraps here when you could work for someone who actually values skill?"

Carus looked at Rhaenor, surprise flickering in his eyes. "You’re offering me a job?"

"Not just a job," Rhaenor replied. "An opportunity. I’m starting an alchemy-based business, and I need someone who knows what they’re doing—someone who isn’t afraid to push boundaries."

For a moment, Carus seemed unsure, his pride still wounded from the public dismissal. But as the reality of the situation set in, his expression changed. "When do we start?"

"Meet me at the riverside building this afternoon," Rhaenor said, handing him the address. "We’ll discuss the terms there."

As Carus nodded and walked away, Daelus glared at Rhaenor. "You’ll regret this," he spat, his voice low and filled with malice. "You’ve made an enemy today."

Rhaenor simply smiled. "We’ll see."

With Carus secured, Rhaenor continued his search, knowing full well that Daelus wasn’t just posturing. The shopkeeper had orchestrated the entire scene to rid himself of a competitor, and now, Rhaenor had become a target. But he wasn’t concerned; he had faced bigger challenges before, both in Midgard and in his previous life.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Rhaenor’s next stop was the local guardhouse, a squat, fortress-like structure near the city’s marketplace. Inside, he was greeted by the sharp clink of armor and the sound of swords clashing during training drills. He approached the front desk, where a grizzled guard captain sat, flipping through a ledger.

"Looking for someone to guard a building," Rhaenor said.

The captain raised an eyebrow. "Plenty of guards for hire in Eldham. What’s special about your place?"

Rhaenor crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "It’s discreet, and I need someone I can trust. Not just any sellsword off the street."

The captain closed the ledger and looked Rhaenor up and down. "I might have someone in mind. But if you want the best, you’re looking at him."

Rhaenor blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You?"

The captain chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. "Name’s Emar. Been guarding this city for twenty-five years. But I’ve given the city everything I have, and it’s time for a change. I want something quieter, something where I’m not chasing thieves down alleys every night."

Rhaenor considered the offer. Emar was older, but his experience was undeniable. He could tell by the captain’s stance and the worn look of his armor that this man had seen more battles than most. "Meet me this afternoon," Rhaenor said. "We’ll talk terms."

Emar nodded, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. "I’ll be there."

As Rhaenor left the guardhouse, his mind turned to the other positions he needed to fill. A receptionist, a head clerk—people who could handle the day-to-day operations of the business while he focused on the alchemical work. He wasn’t sure where to find such candidates, but as luck would have it, the answer found him.

"Rhaenor!"

He turned to see Adon jogging toward him, a wide grin on the boy’s face. "I’ve been looking for you," Adon said, slightly out of breath. "I want to work for you. And I’ve got a friend who really needs a job, too."

Rhaenor raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what does your friend do?"

"Her name’s Cala," Adon said eagerly. "She’s an orphan like me, but she’s smart. She earned a free scholarship to the Royal School of Normalities. She’s good with numbers, administration, all that stuff."

Rhaenor’s interest piqued. "A clerk, then?"

Adon nodded enthusiastically. "She’s really good, Rhaenor. You’ll like her. And I could help out too, with deliveries and things."

"Bring her to the building this afternoon," Rhaenor said. "We’ll discuss wages."

Adon grinned. "Thanks, Rhaenor! You won’t regret it!"

By the time the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, Rhaenor stood in the middle of his newly acquired building, waiting for his recruits to arrive. The renovations had already started—workers bustled about, reinforcing the walls and repairing the flooded basement. It was a promising sight, the foundation of what would soon become a thriving business.

Carus arrived first, carrying a satchel filled with alchemical supplies. He looked more relaxed now, though the tension of the morning's confrontation still lingered in his eyes. "Ready to get started," he said, offering a tentative smile.

Next came Emar, the grizzled guard captain, who walked in with a quiet confidence. He surveyed the building with a practiced eye, already mentally mapping out security measures.

Adon appeared last, accompanied by a young woman with sharp eyes and an air of quiet intelligence. Cala was tall and slender, with short-cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. She introduced herself with a firm handshake, her gaze steady.

Rhaenor gathered them together and outlined his vision for the business. "We’ll be focused on alchemy, but I need more than just potions and compounds. I need security, administration, and most of all, trust."

He then turned to the most important topic: wages. "Each of you will start at one gold per day," he said, watching their reactions closely. Adon’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Cala looked equally stunned. Even Emar raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

"One gold per day?" Cala asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Rhaenor nodded. "Except for you, Carus. You’ll be handling the bulk of the alchemy work, so you’ll start at five gold per day."

Carus blinked, his face a mixture of shock and gratitude. "Five gold...?"

"I expect results," Rhaenor said, his tone firm but fair. "You’re all skilled, and I’m willing to pay for that skill. But we need to hit the ground running."

As the group absorbed the news, Rhaenor couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. He had assembled a team, a group of people who would help him transform this fledgling operation into something greater.

After their brief conversation about the plans for tomorrow, Rhaenor watched as his new recruits dispersed into the city. Carus headed back to gather his remaining belongings, Adon eagerly ran off to scout the streets for potential suppliers, and Cala and Emar shared a quiet exchange before parting ways. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in shadows, Rhaenor felt a weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. The future of his business, his survival in this world, now hinged on their collective efforts. But there was something else he needed to do before the night was over.

He descended into the cool, damp basement of the building, his mind focused on a singular goal—gold. The space was quiet, illuminated only by a single flickering lantern that cast faint, dancing shadows against the stone walls. Rhaenor drew a deep breath, clearing his mind, and prepared for the grueling task ahead. Gaseous Transmutation, while an incredibly powerful skill, demanded a significant amount of mana and concentration. Over the next four hours, he worked tirelessly, transmuting gas into gold, each process leaving him more exhausted than the last. His mana reserves slowly drained, but with methodical effort, he managed to create a total of 120 gold coins. The golden light from the coins glinted in the dimly lit room, a small fortune now resting at his feet.

Exhausted and mentally drained, Rhaenor decided it was time to call it a night. He grabbed a small handful of gold, enough to cover his immediate expenses, and headed toward one of the more distant taverns, known for its decent meals and quiet atmosphere. As he walked through the now-deserted streets of Eldham, the cool night breeze provided some relief from the heat of the day. At the tavern, he ordered a modest meal—roast meat and bread—and washed it down with a cup of warm ale. As he ate in silence, his thoughts drifted back to the day's events. His business was just starting, and though there were risks, he felt confident that with his new team and his growing wealth, success was within reach.

After finishing his meal, Rhaenor returned to the building he now called home. The soft creaking of the floorboards greeted him as he stepped inside. Climbing the stairs to the modest room he had chosen for himself, he felt the weight of fatigue settling in. Tomorrow would be another long day, filled with more work, more challenges, and undoubtedly more surprises. But for now, he needed rest. Rhaenor lay down on the simple bed, his mind already planning the next steps in his venture, and soon drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, readying himself for the opportunities and obstacles that awaited him with the dawn.