Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak!
The sound of knuckles rapping against polished mahogany echoed through the ornate meeting chamber, bouncing off marble columns and heavy velvet curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. A bead of sweat trickled down Count Geob Von Era's temple as he observed the Marquis with growing irritation.
"Can you stop knocking on the table, Marquis Steven Von Ford?" Count Geob's voice was controlled but strained, his fingers tightening around the gilded quill in his hand.
Slam!
The Marquis's fist crashed onto the table, causing goblets to rattle and several nobles to flinch. His face had flushed a deep crimson that nearly matched the royal tapestries adorning the walls.
"Isn't it bothering you, Count Geob Von Era? Am I the only one who is about to lose my mind here!" The Marquis's voice rose to a near shout, his carefully groomed mustache quivering with each word. "These merchants grow bolder by the day while we sit idle!"
"Take it easy, Marquis." A soft voice cut through the tension as Duke Ravenhill entered through the heavy oak doors. His silver-trimmed cloak whispered against the marble floor as he approached, the emblem of House Ravenhill gleaming on his breast. "Let's wait for the king. I'm sure he will find a way out of this dilemma."
Around the grand table, the atmosphere was thick with unease. Some nobles muttered complaints behind jeweled hands, while others maintained a dignified silence, though their white-knuckled grips on armrests betrayed their inner turmoil. The scent of beeswax candles mingled with expensive perfumes and the faint musk of fear—a peculiar fragrance unique to powerful men facing the prospect of diminished influence.
After what seemed an eternity, the double doors swung open with a resonant creak. Guards in polished armor snapped to attention, the sunlight from the hallway windows glinting off their spears as they announced in perfect unison: "His Royal Majesty, King Alistair of Zoliland!"
Every noble rose immediately, the scraping of chairs against stone creating a brief cacophony. Silks rustled and jewelry clinked as they bowed in practiced unison.
The king entered with measured steps, his crown of gold and sapphires catching the light from the high windows. His face, though lined with the worries of ruling, maintained the serene confidence expected of Zoliland's monarch. A heavy ermine cloak draped from his shoulders, and beneath it, his doublet bore intricate embroidery depicting the kingdom's storied history.
The king raised his palm, the royal signet ring gleaming. "Thank you all. I'm pleased to see you gathered here." His voice filled the chamber without effort—a voice trained from birth to command. "However, what's the problem that has brought you together with such grave expressions?"
"Your majesty, allow me to speak." Marquis Von Ford stepped forward, the sunlight from a nearby window illuminating the dust motes around him like a halo of anxiety.
The king nodded, settling into his ornate chair at the head of the table. "Go ahead, Marquis Von Ford."
"As you can see, your majesty," the Marquis began, his voice steadier now in the royal presence, "the merchants' influence is growing at an alarming rate. While they remain nominally under our control for now, their wealth increases exponentially with each passing season." He paced as he spoke, his boots clicking rhythmically on the stone floor. "In the near future, their coffers will outshine our own, leaving us nobles beneath them in all but title. Not only will we lose our reputation, but we may soon find ourselves seeking their favor if this continues unchecked."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the assembly like wind through summer wheat.
"I agree wholeheartedly, your majesty," added Baron Lorenthal, his aged voice carrying the weight of three generations of nobility. His gnarled fingers tapped against the table as he spoke. "The merchants' reserve of silver grows astronomically, leaving our ancient houses struggling to maintain appearances. We cannot accept lowly merchants becoming wealthier than us; it will erode our authority before our people's very eyes."
The king stroked his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully, the silence stretching as he considered their words. The only sound was the distant call of birds in the royal gardens and the occasional creak of armor as the guards shifted their weight.
"Hmm," the king finally spoke, his voice resonating with thoughtful authority. "So it wasn't only I who observed their concerning rise to prominence." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, fingers forming a steeple before his chin. "However, have no fear. I shall dispatch an epistle to every sovereign on our continent, and together we will address this mercantile threat."
He rose from his seat, moving to the large map of the realm that adorned one wall. With one finger, he traced the borders between kingdoms. "I received correspondence from the Kingdom of Azuria not a fortnight ago, suggesting we enact similar laws to strengthen our collective grasp on our dominions. We shall arrange a summit with the other monarchs within the next three months."
The king turned back to face the assembly, his expression resolute. "I have no doubt they too face these same challenges with their merchant classes. So, prepare proposals that will demonstrate our kingdom's wisdom and foresight when we meet with our royal peers."
"That's a brilliant strategy, your majesty," Count Geob said, visibly relieved. "With unified royal action, no merchant would dare consider emigration to neighboring realms, even when faced with more stringent regulations."
As the meeting continued, none of the assembled nobility noticed the servant who slipped quietly from the chamber, memorizing every word to report to his true master.
The cobblestone streets of the merchant quarter bustled with afternoon activity as Jasper and his companions made their way through the crowd. Vendors called out their wares, the aroma of street food mingled with the earthy scent of livestock, and apprentices rushed between shops with deliveries and messages.
Walking alongside Jasper, his undisclosed representative Robben could barely contain his excitement. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his new doublet—finer than anything he'd worn before, yet deliberately modest enough not to draw unwanted attention.
Jasper placed a firm hand on Robben's shoulder, feeling the man's trembling beneath his grip. "Just calm down," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the market's clamor. "Don't show them how excited you are, Robben. I won't be showing myself with you often. I don't want anyone to connect us."
"Don't worry, Boss." Robben's voice cracked slightly before he cleared his throat and continued more steadily. "No third person will know about our deal."
Jasper and Ivar exchanged meaningful glances, their expressions causing Robben to backtrack hastily.
"Cough—no fourth person will know," Robben amended, his eyes darting between the two men.
"We still have partners," Ivar said coolly, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. The sunlight glinted off the small scar above his right eyebrow as he studied Robben's nervous face.
"No fifth...? No..." Robben sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Never mind. No one besides me and your cohort will know about this arrangement. I swear it."
"That's for the best." Jasper nodded, satisfied with the man's capitulation. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery as they paused at a crossroads. "From now on, Ivar will be your contact and will provide you with all necessary details. You'll meet regularly, so the tavern where we found you will serve as an appropriate location." He glanced up at the position of the sun. "Now go. We have our own business to attend to. The goods will reach you within two weeks at best, or a month at worst."
Robben nodded eagerly, his new boots barely making a sound as he hurried away toward the imposing structure of the Merchant Guild. Its facade of imported stone and stained glass windows marked it as one of the wealthiest establishments in the city.
Jasper and Ivar turned in the opposite direction, making their way toward the Mercenary Guild. The streets grew narrower and less kempt as they left the merchant quarter behind, the sweet smells of commerce gradually replaced by the earthier, more pungent odors of the working district.
As they rounded a corner, they encountered a grisly sight. A group of haggard mercenaries struggled to control a cart loaded with monstrous carcasses. What caught Jasper's eye, however, wasn't the grotesque cargo but the mercenaries themselves. Their armor was dented and splashed with dried blood, their faces gaunt with exhaustion. Several looked ready to collapse where they stood, clutching wounds hastily wrapped in bloodied bandages. Beside the monsters, wrapped in stained cloth, lay the unmistakable shapes of their fallen comrades.
"Must have been quite a hunt," Ivar murmured, his hand instinctively moving to the knife at his belt.
Jasper nodded grimly. "And not worth the cost, I'd wager."
The Mercenary Guild loomed before them, a sturdy stone building marked by weathered banners and the unmistakable scent of leather, sweat, and weapon oil. Inside, the air was cooler but heavy with the same smells, along with the metallic tang of blood from the dissection rooms in the back.
Jasper approached the reception desk, where a scarred man with calculating eyes assessed him immediately. "I need fresh Horned Rabbits' hides," he stated without preamble.
The receptionist nodded and disappeared into a back room, returning moments later with several pelts. He laid them out for inspection, the distinctive bronze horns still attached to some.
"These are all we have that meet your standards," he explained as Jasper examined them with expert fingers, testing thickness and flexibility. "The rest are either damaged or poorly preserved."
Seeing Jasper's hesitation, he leaned forward slightly. "Do you want to offer a request for more Horned Rabbits' hides? I can guarantee delivery within a few days."
Jasper looked up, his fingers still absently stroking the soft fur. "And how much would it cost me to make such a request?"
"It depends on the quantity you require," he replied, reaching for a ledger bound in worn leather.
"Hmm, how about fifty hides?"
He made some quick calculations, her quill scratching against the parchment. "Let me see... That would cost approximately 100 silver."
"That's quite the expense," Jasper mused, his mind already calculating potential profits. "But not a bad investment. Very well, prepare to announce the quest." He leaned forward, his voice becoming more authoritative. "But note this clearly: I need the hides within two days of slaughter. If delivered a day faster, I'll add 10 silver as a bonus." He continued detailing his requirements for quality and preparation, the receptionist noting everything with practiced efficiency.
"Certainly, sir. You'll need to sign here," he pushed the ledger toward him, "and pay half now, with the remainder due upon delivery of the goods."
"That's acceptable." Jasper nodded, retrieving a small pouch from his inner pocket. The coins clinked softly as he counted out five gold pieces. "Notify me promptly when everything is ready."
"Of course, sir."
As he turned to leave, a commotion erupted from the dissection room at the back of the guild. A voice rang out, filled with unmistakable excitement:
"IT'S A MONSTER'S CORE!!!