The slums of Est Provés were filled with whispers and uncertainty tonight. Recent events had shaken up the neighborhood, with a new rival, a foreign gang, carving up other gangs’ turf and poaching members of defeated clans and Demihuman orphans. More and more [Mercenaries] from the Diamond Shore are patrolling Est Provés without the approval of the young [Lord], blatantly claiming a part of the Contiearl’s city.

The boss of the new gang was Raudaeiz, now residing in the tavern named Rtcas’ Place, the same place where Rhmarha killed a [Head Smuggler] affiliated with the Diamond Shore. He knew that getting this place would paint a target on him, so he had his men place many of the members of the new gangs around it as guards in the surrounding houses and new magical defenses in the form of common charms strung in hidden corners and runes carved in crannies. Raudaeiz knows it will get raided at some point; however, he is prepared to escape when needed. The main advantage of this place is that this is the lynchpin when he begins his smuggling operation on behalf of the Gildin Brothers or otherwise.

The portion he and his gang had taken from robbing the wagon carrying the bribes for the temple was also stored within the secure, hidden basement of the building.

A young man who belonged to the slums of Est Provés had approached Raudaeiz and whispered news through his ear.

“The trial is delayed?...” Raudaeiz uttered, his voice trailing behind him as he descended from one of the tavern’s rooms. “Send this letter to the Gildins.”

He handed the boy a wrapped letter, bound tightly in rope and unassuming leather so it couldn’t be easily opened. Soon, this letter will be delivered to Gildin Trading's headquarters, where the Gildin brothers will receive the news of the new acquisition. Before he could count the profits they made, a dagger was caressing his throat.

“Where is the book?” A silky voice spoke echoed from somewhere. Suddenly, five figures made themselves known from within the corridor, as if they were always there, with one of them holding a worn cup-shaped candle holder bearing an effulgent yellow flame pointing towards Raudaeiz—a magic item that guided them to their objective, operating with the assumption of information their employer had purchased from an associate with the Role of [Fortune Teller].

“I do not know what you are talking about. Ledgers?”

“A brown book. A Book of Paths.”

A flash of the past sparked within Raudaeiz’s memory. Numisley had entrusted him with hiding a book bound in cloth and leather. He had never seen the book because he never opened it. He thought that it was a journal a ledger of sorts, or even a spellbook. A Book of Paths, however, is a different matter. He knew that every major guild and clan, and especially nobility and royalty, had some sort of document on procedures and rituals for gaining the right Roles and Feats related to their current field. There are rumors of powerful abilities and knowledge about them that are hoarded by them are kept secret among those groups. If this was this kind of book, then he could either sell it for thousands of gold pieces or use it for himself.

“You must be crazy or high if you think someone like me has it.”

He tried to figure out who was in front of him, but it was obscured by something like his facade was blurred by oil and shadow, or ink and mist. He was all too familiar with identity-obscuring Feats and Spells that he had started to feel the illusion that was laid upon his eyes. This might be a person who either is a member of a larger syndicate or an Assassin Guild.

“Lies.”

“If I had those kinds of paper, I would be rich by now! You got the wrong person.”

“This candle’s witching flame still points to you.”

“That means you got swindled by some one-trick-trickster.”

Before the person holding the candle could pop his claws out, one of the mysterious figures got stabbed. Raudaeiz saw Rhmarha dodge a swipe of the candle holder’s claw.

“Here! Your boss is in danger!”

That was the loudest Rhmarha had shouted aside from the torturous training she had gone through during her earliest days as an [Enslaved Assassin], and even now, she can feel the cold chains and constricting collar of her former [Slaver] in front of her. At first, the holder of the candle didn't recognize her. In fact, the faces of the [Slaves] and indentured peoples had only been vague features for him, for they are merely fodder to be raised into disposable [Assassins]. However, he would remember the ones who survived a dozen assassinations or those who he often gave orders.

“You…” The [Assassin] holding the candle remembered that he had sent her to deliver a message to the late Contiearl back then. More people, armed with clubs and knives, now surrounded the five assailants. However, before a scuffle broke out between them an explosion shook the entire tavern.

“What–”

A burst of flame emerged from one of the doors within the corridor of the second floor of the tavern, and both Raudaeiz’s group and the [Assassins] went still for a moment. The [Assassins] were the first to realize what was happening, prompting them to quickly shove or stab some of Raudaeiz’s men before disappearing.

Raudaeiz was the next to realize what was happening, with the report of matchlocks interrupting his brief discomposure. They were under attack.

“Evacuate! We’re under attack!”

The others immediately started to run. However, many [Mercenaries] had already kicked down the doors with their swords, axes, wands, and matchlock pistols, slaying anyone they saw as a threat. In the heat of battle, it is whoever moves away or towards them. While many of the armed [Thieves] and [Thugs] had fought back and killed a number of them, the children who had joined the gang in hopes of the coin had been unequivocally slaughtered. Even if there are no words exchanged between them, only grunts and screams, the message is clear: that this place is their turf.

Raudaeiz managed to retreat from the battle as the other gang members scattered to the four winds. He and his circle, plus Rhmarha, had managed to reach one of their hideouts: an unassuming abandoned warehouse a block over.

“Would they come back?” One of Raudaeiz’s men, Jrain asked.

“The enemy of our gang?” Raudaeiz asked.

“Both.”

“Yes and no. I do not know who had attacked us. But I bet that it was the men of that Diamond Shore [Captain]. And I’m sure that our slum boys and girls will come back to us once the heat dies down or if their coppers run out. We’ll lay low for now.”

Raudaeiz gave additional orders to the rest of his inner circle, and soon they had covertly exited the building to spread Raudaeiz’s orders to the other pockets that the [Gang Leader] controls. Only Rhmarha was left with Raudaeiz, who was chewing a wad of tobacco that he had stolen from someone within the port. The young [Assassin] decided to sit at a corner, surrounded by broken barrels and empty crates.

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“Rhmarha.” Raudaeiz broke the silence. “That guy…does he know you?”

Rhmarha didn’t answer the question.

“I know I said that I will not force you to do things. You are not a [Slave] anymore.”

“I will be there if any [Slaver] sees me. Now, they know that I’m not dead.” Rhmarha retorted.

“So listen to me first. I will not let that happen, and to do so, I need to know who our enemies are. Who are those guys?”

Rhmarha didn’t want to be reminded of her suffering. Nevertheless, there is no room for emotions if she wants to survive.

“I am an initiate from an ‘Assassin Guild’ that calls itself the ‘Cabal of Claws–’ in this land’s tongue.”

“Initiate?”

“I am one of the disposable [Assassins] within the Guild.” Rhmarha briefly explained, without mentioning how she got enslaved within the Cabal of Claws in the first place.

As someone who had immersed himself in the underworld back home, he is familiar with the rumored “Assassin Guilds,” groups of [Assassins] who had banded together and offered their services to the highest bidder, such as criminal syndicates, royal houses, and even the Corporations.

“How dangerous are they?”

“I cannot say,” Rhmarha said. “All I know is that I–we had killed [Merchants] and [Guildmasters], even small-time [Lords], but never higher, never more. We operate along the ports of this country.”

“Did you know how that magic item works?”

“I never seen it before. We weren't trusted with enchanted weapons in the first place.”

“This much is useful enough. Thank you.”

On the same night, Adriasta came to Racieros’ office within the castle at midnight after she met with the other Commerros. While the Commerros had returned to their rooms within the castle, their swiftest [Knights] who had removed their armor in favor of rugged traveler’s wear were retying saddles on their steeds as their [Servants] procured rations either from their own stores or disturbed the [Shopkeepers] who were closing shop to buy dried foodstuffs and travel supplies.

Racieros and the Gildin Brothers had just returned to the castle when they saw Adriasta waiting outside the door to the Contiearl’s office.

“What are you doing here, if I may ask?” Racieros’ fingers warily touched the handle of his sword.

“Forgive me, Lord Racieros, for disturbing your night. But I have urgent news.” Adriasta regained her posture, stiffening her back straight. “Your guests–your family is planning to assassinate your mother. Your uncle sent your mother a [Message] Spell to notify her of your coronation. Their swiftest men and women, their [Knights] disguised as [Bandits], are already heading to intercept your mother’s path to this port.”

“Garrenno? That damned–”

Racieros held back his sharp tongue tinged with hatred, knowing that anger wouldn't help him this time.

“What’s your motive? Why are you telling me this?”

“Like I said before, my House would like to remain amicable with yours. And to be honest, I am only here by the orders of our patriarch. I would rather see these two arrested by the end of the trial…” Adriasta pointed to Numisley and Cultrost. “But since they are allies of yours, they will be spared, for now. In short, what we want is to allow our House, or at least [Traders] from our territories, to trade within your port.”

“But we had already allowed your [Traders] to sell and buy here.”

“Let me reiterate. Give us at least a dock reserved for us. Our House asks for only one of your docks, and we will buy at whatever price you will set, without coercion of any kind, even with Feats. We will also pay for building a galleon. Do this, and I will send my fastest [Riders] at them.”

“I accept! I accept. I’ll set the price, so just save my mother…”

Everyone in the room was surprised that Racieros accepted so readily. Especially Numisley, who had a hunch that whoever had employed this person was desperate. Everyone within the office heard Racieros’ unspoken “please”, for the young noble was trying, but failing to hold back his desperation.

“Good. I was afraid that my [Knights] wouldn’t catch up if you made your decision tomorrow.” Adriasta said. However, she saw the dew coalescing in Racieros’ eyes, despite his best attempts to hide it. As nobility, she understood his pain. She understood the trappings of the responsibility of their caste. “You’re a good son.”

Racieros looked up at the older [Lady].

“But a bad ruler. Next time you talk to another noble, hide your feelings better. It would be best if you let your mother take over as county regent until you are ready.”

After her parting words, she disappeared.

“Are you okay?” Cultrost asked.

“Yeah, Cultrost. Don’t worry about me.” Racieros took a few steps closer to his desk. “So, Numisley, Cultrost, how much coin should I charge them?”

“To be honest, we’re never been near the ocean most of our lives until our father died, so we have no idea how important docks are. But I could guess. Give me the highest price you can think of.”

Racieros was surprised by Numisley’s honesty.

“Ten thousand torosi. Though my father would probably charge double. ”

Ten thousand gold coins. Nearly twice more than the bounty placed on them back when they were hunted in Libertalia. Numisley and Cultrost thought that regardless of the exchange rate, that is a lot of money, more than whatever they can imagine.

“Your father’s price…can you double that? Do nobility spend that much?” Cultrost was bewildered by the answer.

“Well, yes. In times of plenty.” Racieros said nonchalantly.

“They better hold the end of the deal,” Numisley interjected. “And Racieros, mind if I use your ink, quill, and seal? I’ll write a letter and have one of our men to deliver it. I’ll write to my…’ uncle’.”

“Sure.”

For Numisley, it felt weird to refer to a total stranger as an “uncle”, even if they are technically blood-related. For him, the only family they had is their father and the company he used to manage. And he still wonders if they would accept Cultrost, even with his idea in mind.

“Is there any… specific address I need to keep in mind for him?”

“Try ‘Your Grace.’ or ‘Your Lordship’. ”

“I like the last one,” Cultrost interjected. “Would stroke the ego.”

Numisley sat on Racieros’ chair, grabbed one of the papers piled up on the desk, dipped one of the quills on the still-wet inkpot, and began to write:

Your Lordship.

I am writing as Numisley Naveirei. Racieros Commerro is on trial with the charges of high treason and patricide by his own family. Regardless of your position on this matter, I invite you to support Lord Racieros. I had struck a deal with him: should you support his case during the trial, you shall gain access to a significant share of Ovespuerte’s annual income.

This shall be my first duty as a member of your House.

On that night, Palden had received this letter, and without hesitation, he had rode towards the Naveirei estate.

Later that night, when Numisley was still in the Gildin Trading headquarters after seeing Palden off, a letter had just arrived from a child of the streets. He instantly knew who sent him as he saw the same peculiar knot tied across the leather wrapping. When Numisley unfurled it, he saw the portentous message within:

Hideout attacked. Assassin Guild knows about the brown book. Laying low. Do not initiate contact.