Damien had to hand it to Viscount Flemming; he'd done his homework. Damien had focused most of his research on his [Neophyte Tailor] class, and hadn't adequately appreciated the difficulties facing Lana and Greenhair. For example, while dragon scales could certainly be used by Lana, they couldn't be forged traditionally; they didn't soften at high temperature. Working them was so time-consuming that she'd completely lose the advantage of the higher tier when maximising experience earned per day. On top of that, it was impossible to recycle the scales into new items after they'd been used once, unlike regular metals.

The result was that he'd vastly underestimated the amount of dragon the merchant would get, a fact that Viscount Flemming must have known from the beginning. No wonder he'd turned up to deal with it personally! Far from the stripped carcass Damien was expecting, it took a mere ten-minutes before he'd negotiated with Fleta for half the meat—much to Shigeo's disapproval—and two-thirds of the scales.

Lana would use nothing but the tier eight adamantite, and none of the dragon materials. The remaining third of the scales Shigeo planned to use to commission new equipment for himself and Fleta, while the bones would go to Greenhair, assuming they could find some way to grind them into powder without the aid of William. Damien hoped that Shigeo could use his usual method of punching them very hard.

Given the large supply of dragon scales, Lord Flemming's eagerness made far more sense. It was well worth the loan of an item bag. It would have been worth giving away the item bag. If he was correct in his guess that Damien was going to wind up dead, he may never need to supply enough materials to pay back the value of the scales, either. Despite Lord Flemming's claim not to want to gamble on this deal, Damien felt gambled against.

The fact that Lord Flemming promised the first delivery would be full of tier seven materials somewhat mollified Damien, though. 'Ruthless in business, but always honest', was how Fleta had described the merchant, and Damien couldn't help but agree. He'd always considered merchants to have an us-versus-them mentality, trying to wring as much money from their customers as possible, while giving away the bare minimum to keep them coming back. Perhaps that wasn't a completely inaccurate description of Lord Flemming, but given his stated goal of keeping enough goodwill with Damien to get his hands on any produced goods, he wasn't going to try ripping them off.

Or maybe he would, but he'd always do it in such a way that they felt they were getting a good deal.

"So, before we sign the contract, I assume you know about the various attempts to exploit Damien to control us?" asked Fleta.

"Of course. Two attempts, both defeated rather soundly, as far as I'm aware."

"The palace is attempting to exploit those attacks, 'offering' us shelter and protection in the capital."

"Hmm... That is indeed inconvenient. The prices I've set assume logistics are trivial. It shouldn't be much more effort to transport to the capital, given that we're using item bags, but I'm concerned about moving them through the land of Marquess Langhyme. His border guards are sure to take interest in an item bag amongst my caravans, and he'll soon start poking around. Given the bloodied nose you gave him, once he finds out it's for you..."

"Obviously, we don't want to move. Damien framed the 'offer' as an attempt by the palace to sabotage your attempt to get hold of dragon materials, and of course, they wouldn't admit to the real reason. They'll likely make some token effort to avoid looking like it's an attack on you."

Lord Flemming pondered for a while, before smiling. "The only worthwhile concession they could make to me would be to remove the taxation powers of Marquess Langhyme for my caravans crossing his land. Sorry, but if they offer me that, I'm not going to fight them. However, I think it's vanishingly unlikely."

"Me too," agreed Damien. "I may not have a lifelong experience of politics, but even I know that pissing off a marquess whose territory covers almost a quarter of the border of the capital would cost them more than having my parents move to the capital would gain. But if you come to collect your dragon scales in person tomorrow at first light, I think it's likely you'll get to find out for certain."

The group signed the contract and returned home, where Damien began fashioning dragon leather into tier seven bracelets. Surprisingly, using the dragon leather turned out to be easier than the practice cotton, the stiffer material being easier to hold in place while he threaded strips into complex knots.

Lana, meanwhile, was unable to work the adamantite. The temperature required to make it malleable meant that a heated ingot burnt her by its mere proximity, and her hammer was too heavy to wield even with her enchanted anklet. She couldn't even get the lumps of raw adamantite into or out of the furnace, which was magically enchanted to produce and hold the heat, since no natural fire would burn hot enough nor any material withstand the required temperature.

Since physical abilities improved with level, Damien hoped she'd become able to work the adamantite after further practice on tin. Or, rather, iron now, since the new furnace could melt it and she could use the same mould procedure. It was only a single tier's difference, but every little helped.

Greenhair was... doing alchemy, was the best Damien could say. Shigeo had partitioned off an area of their storeroom for him to work without contaminating everything, and the last time Damien had poked his head in, he'd only managed to last three seconds before needing to flee to the bathroom and throw up.

At the next meal, Greenhair had explained that his attempts smelled worse than normal because they were failing, besides some ingredients he was using being naturally noxious. He also mentioned that to him, it didn't smell at all unpleasant. Given that some of the smell was still clinging to his clothes, the rest of the table couldn't help but feel jealous.

"Should we not visit a temple of the Dreamer?" asked Greenhair, once he'd successfully evaded Shigeo's threats to dunk him in a lake a few times before allowing him to the meal table. "I feel stronger than when we started, so we must have gained a substantial number of levels already. Or perhaps that is simply because I am eating properly for the first time in years."

"No, I feel stronger too," said Lana. "I can't imagine how quickly we must be gaining levels."

It wasn't possible to read your own status unaided. Someone with an appraisal skill could do it for you, and appraisal classes always offered a feat that allowed their targets to view the displayed status. Higher tier appraisers could even get a follow-on feat that permitted their targets to interact with the displayed status, allowing people they appraised to select new perks and feats. Alas, high-tier appraisers were in short supply. Lower tier were common enough that every major guild branch had one available, but they were there for the guild's benefit, not the general public, so they wouldn't waste a feat slot on letting their targets see their own status, nor would they read out the status of a non-guild member.

The alternative was through the aid of Murill the Dreamer. Her priests and priestesses were granted [Mindscape] as one of their default prayers, sending the target deep within their own mind, where their class and status resided. It wasn't an appraisal; the priest performing the ritual never got to see the status of their target. It simply permitted the target to know that which was already inside them.

Damien didn't much like the idea. He was worried about what else might be lurking inside his mind.

"Since we don't want to take perks until level fifty, and there's no way we're there yet, it wouldn't do anything other than satisfy our curiosity," pointed out Damien, making his excuses.

"You may not be able to select perks until after level fifty, but I am not so restricted," countered Greenhair. "Admittedly, boosting the effects of my potions will be of no aid while all my potions are failures. And stacking the perks may draw the attention of whatever attacked Illuganasis... Yes, perhaps it is better to wait."

Damien hid the burst of relief as Greenhair talked himself out of his own idea, then walked off together with Lana back towards their rooms. Nevertheless, he realised he was only delaying the problem. At some point, he'd either need to subject himself to the prayer, or find an appraiser with suitable feats.

After a full night's sleep in which he blissfully remained unbothered by any demons or otherworldly entities, Damien watched out of the window for the visitor that would almost certainly be coming. Indeed, the servant from the palace turned up very early in the morning, not long after breakfast. Not early enough to avoid their trap, though.

This time, Damien let Fleta play the role of diplomat, but still listened in from around the corner, noting with amusement that Greenhair and Lana crept up behind him together, joining in the eavesdropping.

"As promised, here is a contract with the royal seal, promising compensation should Marquess Langhyme interfere with your shipments to or from Grand Western. If you would care to sign it, we can put those unfortunate and incorrect assumptions behind us."

"Now look here," roared Shigeo, immediately shattering their plans to let Fleta do the talking. "I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I can see that's a load of bull. It specifically says 'illegal interference', which leaves him open to slapping on whatever taxes he can dream up. And saying that you'll react to illegal acts against shipments to us kind of implies that for shipments to anyone else, you won't."

"Of course—the palace can't interfere in any legal dealings between citizens. We can't promise the levels of future taxes without the agreement of Marquess Langhyme. And this is a contract for you, so naturally it doesn't name anyone else. Despite that, he will of course be punished for any illegal acts, whoever the victim. This contract isn't necessary in the first place, and is only to assuage your worries."

"Actually, it's a contract for Viscount Flemming," pointed out Fleta. "It's his trading company that's providing the transportation, after all, so it's him who needs to sign. Fortunately for you, that means you don't need to convince my husband of anything."

The palace's servant gave a melodramatic sigh. "If you don't want to accept our offer of shelter, just say so; making excuses is completely unnecessary. It will be a pity if anyone gets hurt as a result of Earl Gretton's poor policing of his territory, but it's not my place to force you, and I am hardly going to trouble the viscount to pander to your theatre."

"Oh, it would be no trouble, I assure you," said Viscount Flemming, poking his head out of the staircase down to the storeroom. Damien, having got a good look at the palace stooge's face as he realised the viscount was right there, hurriedly withdrew, bent over double and wheezing with the effort of not laughing.

Shigeo didn't even bother trying to hide it.

"Here, let me see that," said the ruthless merchant, snatching the contract from the stooge's hand before his brain finished rebooting.

"Why are you here?" he asked, still flustered.

"I was hardly going to sign a contract for sixty platinum coins' worth of dragon scales without personally inspecting the merchandise," replied Viscount Flemming, as if it was completely obvious. He had, in fact, been hanging around in the basement for an hour waiting, having been shown in via one of the secret escape tunnels to avoid any unfriendly eyes. Yes, he'd inspected the dragon scales very carefully, but that had only taken ten minutes.

He glanced down at the paper, and his expression switched to one of disgust. "This is pathetic. Along with the two points raised by Shigeo, I would also like to point out it fails to mention the value of any compensation. By this contract, Marquess Langhyme could burn an entire caravan, and the palace could fulfil its obligations by paying out a single bronze coin. This sheet of paper is the real theatre here."

"My apologies, Lord Flemming. I wasn't expecting your presence here," said the servant, reaching to take back the paper. Viscount Flemming casually evaded the grasping hand, neatly folding the contract and tucking it into a pocket. "Let me reassure you that I was merely trying to clear up the misunderstanding of this family's child, and certainly meant no offence to you," he continued, as if nothing had happened.

"That's good, because you just said that Marquess Langhyme will be punished for all illegal acts. It just so happens that thugs operating under his direct orders recently stole an item bag of mine, worth twenty-five platinum coins, and brought harm to a local citizen of this fine town in the process. Yet, so far, despite the perpetrators being caught red-handed, nothing has been done about the incident. Yes, Shigeo here was thankfully able to retrieve my property quickly and without the loss of the contained goods, but that hardly diminishes the severity of the crime."

"I must apologise again, but I do not possess any information on what punishments our king does or does not intend to hand down."

"Then how can you claim that all illegal acts will be punished? Since when have the servants of the palace been so dishonest? Be assured, I will be spreading news of this attack and the palace's inaction throughout the merchant's guild, and when the supply contracts I have with the palace come up for renewal, I will be mentioning you by name."

Damien felt some mild surprise at that. The stooge had a name? Sure, logically he must have one around somewhere, but he'd never introduced himself and no-one had ever mentioned it. Yet, despite it never coming up before, the viscount somehow knew it. The man really had done his research.

Or maybe that was a bluff, too? Damien was finding it hard to tell.

The open threat left the servant floundering a bit more, but there was no way he could counter anything Viscount Flemming had said without saying the quiet part out loud, that really, all anyone wanted was to bring Shigeo and Fleta under their control. He ended up uttering more empty apologies and platitudes before leaving.

"I've been meaning to ask," commented Damien, once he'd gone, "but did you give me that item bag knowing I was about to get abducted?"

"No, that was a complete coincidence. A damn satisfying one, though. It's not like the palace will pass any legal restrictions on tax gathering from merchants entering and leaving fiefdoms, but once this tale gets out to the merchants' guild, they'll be forced to do something to reassure everyone that the kingdom is safe to conduct trade in. And who knows, maybe I'll even get something for the 'theft' of my item bag."

Damien just shook his head before turning to Grace, who was still standing primly by the front door. "I think you'd better get Dad a glass of water before he laughs himself to death."