The Empty Manor was located a few hours out of the city. Vyn had proposed hiring a cart or just horses, but Sunday had no patience for frivolous spending and no desire to learn horseriding for such a short distance

The coins he had were reserved for drinks and shelter, with the occasional necessary purchase such as the dark blue coat he had gotten on the way. It was light, made to last against rain, and, by Sunday’s request, the tailor had added a bunch of pockets and straps on the inside.

Watching the craftsman work had been a treat in itself. The smooth movements, the speed of his hands, the absolute apathy when the needle passed through a finger or two. Undead seemed to be quite the free-spirited bunch, unbothered by trivialities maybe because they hadn’t spent years stuck in a swamp with nothing but ghouls.

Sunday’s pockets were currently mostly empty, but he had acquired two small flasks to keep some liquor in, and some empty pouches. He still carried some coin tucked into his boot. He was not planning to give anyone trying to take his money a chance, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

‘A pile of dog shit with money is a person! A person with no money is a pile of dog shit!’ Old Rud had lectured.

It was an insane thing to constantly remind a bunch of children, but the disillusioned and cynical part of Sunday somewhat agreed. At least in his old life money equaled power. It remained to be seen how the all-powerful instrument of greed would deal with when met with reality-altering magic. Probably not too bad, knowing people.

The walk through the city refreshed his mind. It helped him make a better sense of things and get acquainted with daily life and the environment and also allowed him to ask questions when the need arose.

The Manor kids presented an opportunity. What he needed was to understand how to make the best use of them. And for that to happen, he wanted to know all facets of the city.

The illustrious Arcanum would cement his position and hopefully give him access to all he needed to progress as a mage while pissing off some small-time thugs and teaching them a lesson sounded like a good way to acquaint himself with the darker side of Blumwin.

He was worried his confidence would soon make him bite off more than he could chew, but being away from the swamp and having dealt with both Jishu and the hound made Sunday feel like nothing was impossible to the current him.

He took a small sip of the dull alcohol in his flask. It was a liquor made for human consumption – the cheapest of the bunch. However, after drowning a black moth in the bottle Sunday had created a potent vile liquid that could rival even Old Rud’s two-day ‘Blaster in a carton’ – a mixture of strong yeast, sugar, and whatever fruit juice the old bastard could find.

The amount of essence in the liquor acted as a refreshment to him. He wasn’t sure that ‘essence’ was the correct term anymore, as his spell’s energy behaved much differently than the traces of essence he could feel in all the alcohol made for the undead he had tried. The best part about it was that despite its dull taste, it could be used as an emergency ‘health potion’ if the moth’s effect lasted. Sunday hoped it would, as his plans depended on that.

The walk ended up uneventful. No monsters came for them from behind the trees, and no spells dragged away Sunday’s attention. It was a strange thing not seeing a single one after being surrounded by them in the swamp, but he supposed it had to do with the proximity to Blumwin.

The Empty Manor itself was a sight worthy of a painting. It was quite well hidden between a few of the smaller hills bordering the side of Blumwin opposite the swamp and what Sunday’s talent called the Spine of Thorad – the large mountain range that stretched like a giant snake through the horizon.

The manor grounds were surrounded by a not-very-dense forest, with a few older trees towering high above their brethren.

Vyn and Sunday passed through what had once been a stone fence – now just a bunch of rocks that whispered of past glory. It still held a hint of beauty, even if only because of all the foliage that covered it, giving a whole new meaning to it.

Beyond it, remnants of fountains and statues half buried in mud added to the scenery and mystique of the place. A bit further down the path was the Manor, which looked like a giant doll house that had been left out in the garden for too long.

Its best characteristic was its size and shape, as it curved slightly leaving enough room for carts of nobles and kings to drop off their esteemed baggage just at the steps of the entrance before moving on.

The walls were covered in climbing plants that seemed to have pushed through a few of the windows too, conquering both the outside and inside of the place. There were almost no windows left, and the few remaining ones were caked in dirt and cracked.

“Damn, that’s a steal,” Sunday whistled. He was quite impressed.

“What do you mean? We didn’t steal it.” Vyn asked with raised brows.

“That’s not what I mean. It’s large, secluded, and seems to offer quite a lot of space. All for no rent. It also doesn’t look like it would be too much work to fix it up. How long have you guys made use of it?”

Vyn shrugged, “People come and go. It’s sort of a temporary home for those who need it… Koberic and Safie have been here for a few years at least. We met shortly after my sister disappeared and I lost the house.”

“I see. What do they do for money?”

“Money?”

Sunday raised an eyebrow. “People need money, especially humans. I can see how an undead might survive just by not needing food and drink, but they’re human. So, what do they do?” Not banditry, most definitely. Are they pickpockets? God, that brings me back. I hope it’s not drugs or kidnapping.

Stolen novel; please report.

“I… don’t think they do anything. I’m not sure why you even wanted to see this place to be honest.”

Sunday grimaced. “Seriously?” What a waste. With how this world works they could set up quite a few things around here. I’m thinking of a brewery… A special kind of brewery only I can run.

Rule number one of setting up illegal operations that could potentially lead to high profits was making yourself indispensable. People were ambitious, and the higher one climbed the more one wanted. Fortunately, he had just what he needed.

Koberic and Safie greeted them at the door. Both looked to be quite nervous because of Sunday’s presence and that same nervousness seemed to have spread through the rest of the inhabitants of the manor. There were no undead among them, and most were around the young adult age, with only a few being younger teens.

Sunday walked around greeting everyone and trying to ask around about hobbies and passions, but all he was met with was one-word answers, silence, and a general sense of fear. The inhabitants were a sad and aimless bunch that seemed to just wait for time to pass. He was quite certain a few of them were under the influence of something.

In the end, he stayed with those he knew. Forcing himself into their tight circle wasn’t the answer. To help someone who didn’t want to be helped was a monumental task, and he had neither the time nor desire. Whoever needed a purpose would join on their own.

The group that had played bandits seemed to be the only ones still holding on to some ambition, as they welcomed him with open arms despite their discomfort. The girl, Safie, was hanging on to every single one of Sunday’s words.

Sunday saw a bit of his younger self, even if the girl was around his age when he had died, maybe only a few years younger. For all his faults Old Rud had taken him and the orphans in and given them a home. But most importantly, he had given them meaning and value and kept them clean.

Of course, it hadn’t been strictly out of the good of his whiskey-drowned heart. The old man knew how to make use of the resources at hand and made sure each of the orphans developed skills and the willingness to use them. But for all his selfishness, his methods had managed to help quite a few to crawl out of the gutters of the mind they were rolling in. It hadn’t happened overnight, nor did it always work.

“What’s up with them?” Sunday asked as the group sat on the ground in one of the larger halls that seemed to be Koberic and Safie’s group domain. There was a lot of furniture, but most was broken or too dusty to be used and what wasn’t, was used to construct beds. There was a large table in the middle propped up on a few stones. It was leaning heavily to one side.

“Pale poppy,” Safie said with a grimace that betrayed her thoughts on the matter.

“Doctors use it to numb the pain,” Vyn said.

“Vampires use it when they go overboard with their toys and also sell it on the side to get more poor souls in their clutches,” Safie added, making the mood dramatically shift.

For some reason, her words hit Sunday harder than most thing things he had seen so far. Drug dealing vampires? That sure takes me back to Earth. I should see what effects my moths have on addictions or whatever it is vamps do to their victims.

“Alright, no time to mope around,” Sunday clapped his hands. “Tell me, what do you guys want?”

Koberic and Sofie looked at each other with uncertainty, while Vyn shrugged and started cleaning his sword. He seemed content to just follow along Sunday and wait for greatness to happen. He was in for a surprise.

Safie steeled herself, just like she had done a few times before. “I… I want to have a good bed and my own horse. A cat too. And… I want no one to be able to mess with me.”

Childish, but… happiness is in the small things. Sunday nodded with enthusiasm, “Good! What about you Kob? Or you guys?” he turned to all three of the rest of the group who were milling around the room. They looked at each other in confusion. Not the most outspoken bunch then.

“I mean… good boots would be nice…” Koberic mumbled.

Sunday nodded again. “Yes, but horses and boots are expensive, and don’t get me started on cats! What do you need for all of that?”

“Money?” Safie offered.

“That’s right. Isn’t that why you all tried banditry?”

“We did it to help—” Koberic tried to protest.

“It’s all for money!” Sunday spread his arms and raised his voice, interrupting the ‘bandit leader’. “Money rules the world and makes kings out of beggars! And you guys are sitting around, wasting your youth and this wonderful space you have by not making any money. What I’m offering you is to change that. Quickly.” I don’t have time to play around. Power and wealth. If I can’t fight on my own, I’ll find people who can.

There was silence all around broken only by their breathing and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees outside, as if nature itself was laughing at them.

“How?” Vyn asked, breaking his silence. I have your attention now.

“Tell me, what’s Blumwin famous for?”

“Flowers?” Vyn offered.

“Great fried dough!” one of those in the back interjected.

“Wine,” Safie said with confidence.

“Yes! Wine! Liquors! Alcohol!” Sunday smiled at the girl. She seemed to have a fire inside of her lacking in most other inhabitants in the Manor. “However, the market is oversaturated, and unless some of you guys come from a lineage of brewers and have knowledge of secret techniques that can change the course of alcoholic history, then it would be a worthless venture in itself.”

One of the boys in the back raised a hand. He had the youngest face in the group and was dressed in a simple red shirt and gray pants.

Found your voice? “Yes? What was your name again?”

“Jerin. I worked in a brewery for a while,” the boy said. “I know how to make the simple stuff.”

“That’s great! Then you’re hereby promoted to our head brewer and it will be your job to teach everyone else what you know!” Sunday said. This is going great.

The boy smiled with pride and looked around as if expecting his friends to congratulate him. Then seemingly remembering he was confused, frowned. Then smiled again, but with less pride.

Sunday ignored him. “The rest of you will have the heavy task of procuring everything we need. Products, simple stills, and so on. In my personal experience, one can make alcohol in mere days with just an empty carton of milk, yeast, and sugar, but we’re striving to make something that won’t overcrowd Blumwin’s toilets.”

He took out two gold coins and caressed them gently before putting them on the table. All eyes instantly focused on the yellow metal as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I’ll be financing the operation, but this better be enough. And don’t waste it. You don’t want me mad,” Sunday warned. This was a gamble, but he was pretty sure their previous meetings had already created enough of an impression to stop them from trying to lie to him.

“Didn’t you just say that alcohol production is a worthless venture?” Koberic asked without letting his eyes leave the coin. Safie nodded next to him. Her gaze was like needles trying to peer into Sunday’s very soul as if she were hungry for what he was offering. He loved it. She wasn’t enchanted by two simple coins of gold. Ambition was a good thing, as long as it was measured and controlled.

“We won’t be making just any alcohol,” Sunday grinned and took out the flask from his pocket. It had been many hours now, but the liquid was as potent as ever. Then, he took the second one he had prepared – one filled with the same liquor and blessed by the touch of a white moth instead. He opened it and smelled it just in case before handing it over to Koberic who looked at it with suspicion.

“We’ll be making healing alcohol.”