"Is this a factory or a pub?" I asked, taken aback by the chaotic scene before me.

Finnan, equally baffled, stammered in response, "I... I assure you, it's a textile factory, lord. There must be some misunderstanding... and mismanagement."

I raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by his explanation. The scene before me was anything but the well-run and efficient textile factory I had imagined. Workers were huddled together, some laughing and chatting, while others seemed to be dozing off on piles of expensive-looking fabric. A few of them were even vomiting on the materials. It was a far cry from the organized and productive environment one would expect from a successful business.

“This is fucked up.” I muttered, nudging my cane on the floor as I limped forward, scanning the faces of the intoxicated men. "Where is the manager?" I spat, anger flaring.

Finnan looked around, clearly at a loss for words, until finally, a man in his thirties, wearing disheveled clothing, stumbled toward us, trying to maintain his balance. His bloodshot eyes met mine, and he attempted a feeble smile.

"Ah, Lord Arwan," he slurred, "wonderful to see you grace us with your presence."

I scowled at his lack of respect, both for me and the business. "What the hell is going on here?" I cried; my voice sharp.

The man seemed to struggle to find his words. "We... uh... we are just taking a little break, lord. You know, to lift our spirits during these tough times."

"Lifting your spirits by getting drunk on the job?" I snapped, disbelief and anger washing over me.

He waved a hand dismissively. "It's just a small indulgence, lord. We work hard, and this helps us relax."

"This is not relaxation; it's incompetence!" I retorted, my frustration growing. "A business like this cannot run on such reckless behavior."

He seemed taken aback by my stern tone, but then his face twisted into a mocking smile. "What do you know about running a business?" he sneered. "You've never been interested in these matters. Don't try now. Just find a whore and join us… you will also have…"

Before the man could finish his slurred sentence, I drove the handle of my cane into his face with a swift and precise strike. A sickening crack echoed through the hall, and the man's jaw dislocated on impact. He stumbled back, collapsing to the floor with a loud thump, groaning in pain.

“No….” Finnan cried, lunging for the man. And as he checked his condition and looked back at me, I realized the whole hall had fallen into utter silence, every eye now fixated on me and the cane I held in my hand.

The drunken revelry had come to an abrupt halt as all the intoxicated workers and half-sober ones gazed at me with expressionless faces, their surprise evident. But as I gradually faced them, anger still coursing through my veins and obvious on my face, they quickly returned to their drunken stupor. The sober ones became extremely drunk, and the intoxicated ones fell asleep immediately.

Fear really is the mother of foresight! I scorned inwardly, realizing the power I held over them in this moment of authority. Refocusing my attention on Finnan, I sought to understand the ramifications of my actions.

"What are the consequences for me if I kill a man?" I asked, my tone serious and demanding.

Finnan paused, contemplating for a moment before answering, "Right here and now… Well… you will have to compensate the man's wife and children. Atone for your sins in church. And if after all that, the King takes interest and proves you guilty, you might be sentenced to death or banished forever."

That's too much for a justified murder in the medieval world. Even if I was royally pissed, my rationality hadn't died down. I needed to act accordingly.

"But only if you kill an innocent, and witnesses verify you guilty," Finnan added with a wicked grin. "In this case, we have no innocent..." He scanned our surroundings to find no one paying attention. "...nor any witnesses. So..." His grin widened.

"You are a smart guy, Finnan." I remarked, mirroring his grin, and feeling a sense of relief. I had let out my frustration, but also managed to maintain control over the situation and avoid unnecessary consequences. For now, at least.

Leaving the man, I walked outside slowly, feeling the weight of the situation still lingering in the air. The drunken workers observed my departure through their half-open eyes, and I could sense a mixture of fear and confusion among them. After inspecting the room, Finnan followed suit, and as we stood in the open area, a man in his late fifties came running from around the corner.

"Forgive me for my late arrival, lord," he said, bowing profusely.

I turned to Finnan for an explanation. "Who is this?" I asked.

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"He is Roland, lord. The man who currently manages Seiren Textiles." Finnan informed.

"So, a trusted guy!" I affirmed, my eyes drifting back to the open doors where a small group of people had gathered by now. Most of them sped away after realizing the mess inside, but a few stayed behind, seemingly curious about the situation.

"Yes, lord. Absolutely," Roland nodded, his eyes also glued on the slowly raising commotion.

"Replaceable or irreplaceable?" I inquired further, resting a hand on Finnan's shoulder.

Finnan faced me with a smile. "Replaceable, easily."

Brilliant! I chuckled at the man's words. He really chose them wisely, fully aware of the situation and in line with my goal. Perfect for a henchman.

Listening to us, Roland's face darkened. "Have there been any issues, lord?" he queried with a panicked smile.

"Why don't you go look for yourself?" I suggested, pushing the man towards the gate.

Exchanging wry glances between me and Finnan, Roland hesitantly headed there. Weaving through the thin layer of the crowd, he peered inside the hall. To get a better picture, he even went inside, but came running back only a minute or two later.

Before me, the man fell to his knees, hands clasped together in a prayer-like gesture. "I... I am gravely sorry, lord," he pleaded. "Please forgive my son. He is still a child. He has much to learn."

I looked at Finnan, who raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Your son?" He asked Roland, trying to understand the situation.

"Yes, lord," Roland replied, his voice trembling with remorse. "He is a good boy, but he made a severe mistake. I will make sure he understands the consequences of his actions."

"What did he do?" I inquired, having no idea from where and how his son came into the picture.

"He... found some old wine and gave it to everyone," Roland described, his voice trembling with regret. "They should be drinking after work, but I... I don't know why they drank it now of all time..." He gritted his teeth, anger flashing across his eyes. "That idiot. I should have never..."

"Enough," I interrupted him firmly. We had our culprit, and that's all that mattered. "Gather the guards, seal the gates, and bring me his son," I ordered, and Finnan swiftly moved to carry out my command.

Immediately the heavy gates were tightly shut, and as the two dozen guards, fully armed, arrived from all around the factory, the gathering of crowd dispersed. Without any delay, the soldiers barged in through the door and dragged every single man out, throwing them at my feet.

Some of the sober workers kneeled, panic dancing from one face to another, while others, who were too intoxicated, lay on the floor, drooling and grinning.

The captain of the guards stepped forward and grabbed the man with the dangling jaw. He forced him to stand and brought him closer to me. "Nichol, lord," he said, "Roland's son."

"Really! Him…" I was astonished, honestly. I expected the man to be an incompetent moron, but I didn't anticipate him to be Roland's son and the next manager of this whole facility.

“Nichol!” Roland noticed something wrong with his son and rushed to his side. The man howled in agony as his father tried to fix his jaw, but to no avail. Blood oozed from the injured man's mouth, staining his clothes, as his eyes filled with pain and regret.

Soon, Roland faced me, his emotions a tumultuous mix of anger and concern evident in his eyes. "Forgive him, lord," he begged. "It was all but a small mishap... lord, by a child. I will see to it that this never happens again."

"Will you now?" I couldn't help but scoff at the man's attempt to downplay the incident, even going as far as calling his grownass son a child. "Finnan!" I called, and the man stood beside me. "What are the damages?"

"...Close to… Fifty thousand Niril, lord," he answered, his voice grave.

"What?" Roland cried instead of me. "It cannot be. You must be out of your mind to utter any number you please."

"You realize how much a pallet made of Muga Silk costs, right?" Finnan spat back. "Your son and his worker friends decided to indulge themselves in the only area where the costliest items and equipment were stored."

"Lord, I can…" Roland looked at me, gulping down a mouthful of saliva, his face pale with realization.

"Ten garments made of Muga silk, five of Kesmari silk, three Artenian Looms… and ten boxes of pure cotton are drenched in wine and vomit," Finnan continued, his tone heavy with the weight of the situation. “The total exceeds even our yearly maintenance cost.”

The situation was dire, and the consequences severe. I glanced at the mess of drunken workers and the room where valuable textiles were ruined by their recklessness. It was a grave offense, and someone had to be held accountable.

“A small mishap, huh…” I rubbed my forehead, thoroughly annoyed by the disaster. Here I was, planning to set the business on a profitable path, yet the management was dead set on leading it to doom. This conflict would benefit none. I must set the record straight, once and for all.

"Roland!" I called out sternly, my eyes locking with the man. "In your very watch, your son and employees have damaged this business forever. So much so that it might never recover, or would take a tremendous amount of time and effort to repair, yielding nothing but losses. Your actions not only reflect poorly on you, but also on the lords that put their invaluable trust on such a careless man, including me and the Willard family as a whole. Such behavior is unacceptable and will not be tolerated."

Nichol tried to speak on his father's behalf, but his dislocated jaw only allowed a garbled sound to escape.

"I will make this simple," I continued, my tone firm. "You and your son are no longer welcome in this facility, and will have no further involvement in the business. You are hereby dismissed, effective immediately."

The area fell silent, as everyone present absorbed the gravity of my words. Roland, his face pale with shock and shame, could only nod in silent acceptance, his eyes already down.

"But… How do we recover the losses?" I addressed the biggest question of all, and Roland raised his head, terror apparent in his eyes.

"I… I could..." He stammered, trying to say something, but the weight of his mistake seemed to suffocate him.

"I have an idea," I interjected with a smile. “How about you take full responsibility for the blunder your son committed, and repay every last Niril within a fixed amount of time. Or die, while the rest of your family repays tenfold of the amount within five years.”