Murphy wasn't merely painting grandiose plans for Alaric. After giving it some thought, the promise of protection was merely convenient for him — because the bionic legion was almost through with their training.
He had high praise for Byron and Brue's efficiency; the timing of the lords was impeccable. According to intel from Sam and Alaric about the factions and disgruntled upper crust within the City of Gath, significant movements were expected in the lower city within a week.
Murphy had great confidence in the combat ability of the bionic legion and was convinced they’d teach a hard lesson to those who dared to stir up trouble.
After departing from 2 Clyster Street, Alaric was back before the break of dawn, flourishing a freshly drafted business contract. Dispensing with formalities, the contract stipulated that the Viscountate of Reed would supply the Western Frontier with a month's rations for fifty thousand people at a rate 30% above market price as soon as the conflict began.
The quantity of food was calculated precisely by Alaric’s people. Even though taxes had gotten steeper annually under the previous count, Heracles Kingdom had been peaceful for years, and average families still had some surplus grain.
Thanks to the former count’s excellent habit of hoarding wealth, the castle’s coffers and granaries were brimming with assets. Alaric proposed buying up the surplus grain from his citizens at an irresistible price. It was a plan that killed two birds with one stone: it garnered the capital needed for trading with the West and allowed for the spread of positive propaganda about the new Viscount’s benevolent governance.
Murphy perused the contract and found no significant issues, so he simply added a clause regarding the intention for continued cooperation.
Meeting Alaric's puzzled look, Murphy said with a chuckle, "The saying is true, Mr. Alaric; he who has nothing fears nothing. It's those with everything who ponder over every step. Take a look in the mirror, you're now the very image of a worried rich man."
Alaric bowed his head, somewhat abashed, "I'm not cowardly, Mr. Murphy. It's just that the Viscountate of Reed has very few products to offer, besides grain. I don't have many other resources to barter with the Duke of the West. That's why I hoped to make a quick deal under Lord Toras’ protection and then lay low."
Murphy shook his head, "Maybe not now, but according to intelligence from the demons' side, that will change soon, so I've included this provision, to facilitate unfolding future plans. Do you understand?"
Alaric's face showed surprise, "Could it be related to what happened a few days ago?"
"You’ll know soon enough." Murphy neither confirmed nor denied, responding with equanimity.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
With Murphy's tacit approval, the seller's name in the business contract was promptly penned in as Seth Reed by no other than the chairman himself.
Why did Alaric feel bold enough to sign someone else's name to the contract? Well, this contract wasn't ratified under the world’s will, making it merely a private agreement, not an official accord.
Nobody would be foolish enough to use a notarized contract when supplying the enemy; that would just leave a paper trail. A high-ranked cleric or the priest who officiated the contract could easily unearth evidence from such indiscretions.
Imitating his lord’s signature was no moral burden for Alaric. He not only considered Seth an accomplice but also felt it perfectly normal for the person with a status to be the fall guy in the team. Alaric believed Seth would agree.
---
As Alaric was shamelessly passing the buck without permission, the oblivious Seth was elsewhere, mentally preparing for his impending ennoblement ceremony the next day.
Residing in the royal hostel, Seth experienced a life of luxury he never knew before — the bustle of the capital, the opulence of the hostel, and the ubiquity of the upper crust. That was the essence of the capital.
Though he was no spring chicken, Seth had never seen such grandeur. The upcoming ceremony filled him with a mix of anticipation and fear: while bursting with joy for fulfilling his lifelong ambition, he also worried about being mocked for his age or naïveté by the capital’s nobility.
To ease his nerves, Seth was strolling down the capital's main thoroughfare.
Observing carriages emblazoned with noble crests pass by, Seth murmured, "Hmm... that crest belongs to an earl’s family. This one, not so familiar; probably minor nobility..."
In this land where every inch was worth its weight in gold, Seth could probably hit someone of higher status by merely throwing a stone. In the crowd, this thought brought a sense of wistfulness.
The city was abuzz that night, and Seth, not one for crowds, progressed with the throng, looking back at the ever-distancing hostel. He ducked into an unlit, deserted alley in hopes of a shortcut back for some rest.
The alley felt worlds apart from the main street — absent of light and life, bringing a chill breeze.
Seth turned several corners in the labyrinthine backstreets.
"Crack! Thud!" Two abrupt sounds broke the alley's silence ahead.
Seth, instantly vigilant and seeing no one around, crouched into defensive mode.
After another left turn, he saw a collapsed figure in black, by a rubbish heap, knocked out cold with a roof tile from a nearby building.
Seth wasn’t a saint nor a heartless beast. Bending down, he reached for the dagger at his belt with his right hand while checking the unconscious man's breath with his left.
Assured the man was still alive, Seth attempted to rouse him.
He wasn't a cleric capable of healing spells nor a wizard of light. To wake the fainted man, Seth resorted to a simple and efficient tactic.
"Smack! Smack!"
Following two sharp slaps, the man's eyes fluttered open to see a gentleman well into his fifties looming over him.
"Did... did you save me?" the man gasped, weakly.
"No. I merely tried to wake you up, and look, it worked," Seth answered impassively.
The man extracted a small object from his chest; in the dark alley, Seth could just make out it was a badge of sorts.
"I'm a secret agent directly in the service of His Majesty. Please find my superior..." Before the man could finish, Seth straightened in solemnity, gripping the spy's bloodied hand as he answered with resolve, "I am about to be conferred as a Viscount of the kingdom. It's my duty to assist you. Rest assured, with me here, you won’t die on this night."