The young man, a stranger to the town and the casino workings alike, had gambling skills that could only be described as utterly chaotic. It didn't take long for the local sharks to fleece him, effectively enforcing a self-ban on his gambling habit.
To survive in this faraway land and complete his mission, he started taking odd jobs at the docks during the day, earning his keep by lugging heavy loads, only tending to his actual duties come dusk.
Under the strain of this grueling labor, his life was on the verge of getting back on track.
Then he got arrested.
Having finished recounting his tale, the man shot a glance at the Duke, his posture screaming 'kill me if you will, I've bared my soul.'
The Duke inwardly breathed a sigh of relief; had his wild theories been voiced, the man across from him would be a dead one.
Looking down at the man awaiting his fate, the Duke inquired, "Your boss, that Mister Ash-whatshisname, does he do big business?"
With earnest eyes, the man replied, "Massive. He's bigger than all other merchants in the City of Gath put together."
The Duke twirled his grizzled beard. "He deals in everything?"
"Yes, just about anything you can think of in daily life, you can get it from him."
"Excellent," said the Duke, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "I'll let you go back. Ask your master if he's interested in a big deal. If so, we could discuss it further."
Seeing his fortunes inversely spiraled, the man hastily nodded, "Understood, I'll make sure your proposal reaches him."
The Duke nodded, and with a wave of his hand and a flash of light, the ropes binding the man were seamlessly cut.
Stiff from the long restraint, the man hobbled toward the cell door.
"Wait." The stern voice froze him in place, his knees trembling involuntarily.
"Your name," the Duke demanded, "you'll mediate the negotiations."
The man's face was awash with cold sweat. Upon realizing he was only being asked his name, he stooped even lower. "Albert, I'm but a lowly commoner."
With no immediate response, Albert eventually dared to look up. He caught the Duke entranced by the flames in a corner of the cell. So, he tip-toed out, in search of the stairs leading from the dungeon.
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Kingdom highways radiated out from the capital, which left only a patchwork of minor trails from Rofca City to the City of Gath.
Albert settled up his dockworker earnings and, with provisions bought and noted in his ledger, left the city.
Given the distance between City of Gath and Rofca, if Albert were to trudge back on foot, he'd find the world quite changed upon his return.
What's more, south of Rofca lay a mountain trek too treacherous for horses.
It took Albert two days to cross the mountain, arriving at a small town on the other side named Horse Town—for obvious reasons.
With a familiarity bred from routine, he made a beeline for a newly-opened tavern with an attached stable.
He swung the door open and plonked himself at the bar. Despite it being daytime, the place was milling with travelers.
"What can I get you?" grumbled the bartender, evidently disgruntled at his daytime duties.
"A dark ale, squire," Albert said, slipping into the agreed code. "Ever heard of Gath General Goods?"
The bartender, surprised, glanced up at Albert. "The best around, sir. Right this way."
Nodding towards the kitchen, the bartender signaled Albert to follow with his drink in hand.
This newfangled tavern was one of Alaric's ventures, a central hub where his agents from across the western towns converged and fetched horses for swift travel.
Since Alaric's crew didn't all know each other and carrying openly identifiable signs was risky, Alaric's numero uno bootlicker concocted a code—simple, but something nobody but insiders would say.
Behind what seemed an expansively sized kitchen laid a divided space; ignoring the cooking area, Albert knocked on a separated room's entrance.
"Come in," a weary voice called out.
Inside was an accountant buried in ledgers and numbers.
Albert pulled out his dossier and introduced himself with his full name as he handed it over.
The accountant sifted through the report and checked a list of agents for Albert's name.
After a moment, pushing his slightly askew spectacles up his nose, he bristled, "You're early. Why are you here?"
Albert matched his gaze, "Got nabbed by the good Duke of the West."
The old accountant practically choked on his own breath, hands clutching his chest. "Warn the others, we need to move, now!"
"Hold your horses," Albert interjected, downing a gulp of his ale. "He let me go. Said he wants to talk big business with Mr. Alaric."
The old man's expression softened, tinged with disdain. "A deal? You struck a deal?"
"Indeed," Albert boasted without a flush of shame. "There I was, captured, but bravely, I stood my ground, argued the hell out of him and...”
"Cut the bull," the accountant cut him off, uninterested in the young man's tall tales, waving him off. "You want a horse, right?"
"And ten days' rations and water," Albert added.
"Got it." The accountant handed him a small scroll. "Pick it up in the kitchen and stable."
Riding back towards the City of Gath, Albert chewed on his hardtack, oblivious to the rich life of the Duke. He pondered what could the Duke possibly want to buy from Alaric.
"Could it be those legendary crystals?" Albert mused to himself.
It was rumored that Mr. Alaric's windfall came from a mysterious cache of crystals sold exclusively to nobility, offering vistas unparalleled in splendor.
For someone lowly like Albert, it was a pipe dream to even glimpse such riches. Especially since the price of those not-so-pretty crystals could keep him living off the cold wind for a decade.
Days into his journey on the dusty trail, Albert stumbled upon a familiar face.