"This is one of the many estates established during the Great War period, later occupied by some Guerreterrarian nobles until it was claimed back by the Claudins, but today it serves as a building of diplomacy and, on rare occasions, an open museum," Slacume explained during the tour.

Paintings filled the walls of past lords and their families, only to make room for pompous figure statues of themselves and trophy cabinets to the high ceiling displaying swords, pikes, and even cannons. Slacume did not bother to mention that some of the trophies were not from Albion or should be there. The local premium wood floor was spotless as the group's steps echoed in the hallway, but anyone who knew the castle's history could still see the foreign blood on them.

"Of course, the castle has gone through many restorations and expansions over the years. We still like to leave as much of the original structure as we can, but time does take a toll on everything. Thankfully these pieces of art, weapons, and armor have miraculously survived through the centuries."

A wide smile escaped onto the freckled face of the otherwise submissive and jittering Slacume, a rare moment of joy in his servitude. His glasses shone like twinkling stars as he knew this was a rare chance to tell everything that he liked about it, which was almost everything. While others may have only seen the stone, iron, and wood, he saw history, culture, and past splendor, only to be shackled by his duty that would otherwise not give time for guided tours.

"Will we meet the Duke?" Norman asked.

"Lord Lionel has an arranged meeting with a fellow Duke. You shall be briefed by the head of staff instead."

After some explanation, endless corridors, and a couple of stairs, they arrive at two decorated doors. The servants open the doors before them to the decorated room. The furniture was out of various types of wood, seemingly handcrafted with precise detail. Windows revealed the magnificent scenery of the lake, while the chairs and sofa sat in the center of the room around a low table made from a humongous trunk. Countless tree rings formed a hypnotizing pattern on it, while the varnish made it smooth and dazzling. As the three sat down, the servants slowly backed out of the room.

"You just wait here when I tell Gotthold of your arrival. Would you want something to drink? Gaunnes is renowned for its herbal tea." Slacume queried as he held the doors slightly ajar.

"Yes, please," Orel said.

"Oh, good. The servants will serve them to you shortly." Slacume said from between the closing doors.

The three were left alone in the room. No one, except Norman, had a good idea of how to act in the scenario appropriately. Orel tried his hardest to be formal and polite but lacked any experience, while Ándras decided that it was best for everyone that he would rather keep his mouth shut. They fiddled their thumbs until the doors opened again. Neatly dressed servants came in with a tea set and small silver domes on a trolley. They poured and served the tea without saying a word, opened domes revealing various types of sweets, bowed, and exited the room. Norman was the first to grab the teacup and take a sip. Orel and Ándras followed as if seeing an instruction video.

"Mmmm, just my type of tea. Strong, yet sweet." Norman smacked his lips.

"Like tree sap." Orel was surprised.

"Not bad," Ándras said.

Delicious as they may seem, Orel and Ándras had to see how Norman enjoyed the sweets before bearing to lay their hands on them. There were brown biscuits, strawberry shortcakes, wavy pastries, and some odd yellow candy. Norman collected one of each kind onto his plate while Orel hastily took a single candy. Pinching it, he noticed that it was bouncy but solid. He tasted it but felt his teeth couldn't get a piece bitten off. Orel chewed on the candy with no progress as rigorously as he could. The gummy treat had a refined taste, but it would take a while until he would be done with it. Ándras kept his composure and nibbled on the treats instead of hogging them down in a single bite.

They enjoyed the meal as the door opened again. In came a tall woman dressed in a dark green suit without a single evidence of joy on her long bony face. She was a secretary that took her job as seriously as one would offer their life. She took a look at the trio that had paused their tea time with scorn and discipline that of a drill sergeant.

"How was the tea?" Gotthold looked down along her pointy nose.

"Delightful, thank you," Norman answered.

The woman gave a sneery sniff. None of the three enjoyed her company, even for how brief it had been. After circling the table, the woman spoke again.

"Kiku Gotthold," Gotthold introduced herself as she sat down opposite the three. "I assume you are the group we hired?"

"Um, yes, we are here for the job," Orel replied.

"We are the Voyagers," Norman added.

"I do not care what you are called." Gotthold frowned. "As I was about to say, you are now under my responsibility and shall obey my rules."

Gotthold took a file and pictures out of her notepad. There was a geographical map, mostly forest and hills, and some notes containing witness reports. The trio leaned over to take a better look, though none dared to touch any of the documents.

"The reports of the beast center around this part of the forest on the outskirts of Bertim." Gotthold tapped the map with her long nails." We have arranged a local guide from the town, and your mission is to investigate the phenomenon. Report to me anything and everything, though I wouldn't expect you to find anything more than a feral wolf scavenging the nearby farms." She gave a degrading smile.

"What about in case it truly is Bargest?" Orel asked.

Gotthold grimaced like a gargoyle. "No such creature exists. Don't you understand? You are only hired as cheap expendable labor, which we couldn't spare ourselves to investigate some hysterical reports about wolves in the middle of nowhere. Still, if such a beast would appear by a slim chance, you are to report back to me immediately to arrange its extermination by the Magistrate. Any false reports will be coming out of your pockets. In any case, your payment shall be 1500 Qit."

"Fifteen hundred? For all of us?" The price didn't seem fair to him.

"Yes." Gotthold nodded. "For each of you."

Norman leaned in to whisper. "Orel, Qit has six times the value of Eer."

The candy almost fell out of Orel's gaping mouth. He didn't even need to calculate it, even the near estimates were more than enough.

"Does that suffice?" Gotthold asked. "Guild does take 40% off your profits, meaning you will be paid approximately 900 Qit per person."

"Y- yes, it'll do." Orel nodded as he snapped back to reality.

"Your work starts immediately. Slacume, who you have already met, will be your escort. Within certain limits, he will try to appease your needs. If there is a time that he is not present, call this number." Gotthold wrote a number on the paper with a carved wooden pen.

In the middle of writing, she stopped to press her earpiece. After a second of listening, she stood up.

"That is all the time I have for you." Gotthold made a beeline to the doors. "Slacume!" She yelled.

"Yes, ms. Gotthold?" Slacume opened the door.

"The Duke summons me. You must handle the rest." Gotthold ran out.

"A-alright." Slacume's glasses fogged up.

Gotthold disappeared to the other side of the doors. Slacume looked over into the room, where the trio was observing the encounter. After closing the door behind him, Slacome walked towards the table, fixing his waxed hair.

"Tea?" Orel held the pot.

"Oh, yes, please." Slacume sat down, exhausted like an office worker after hours of overwork.

"She seems a rather strict boss," Norman said.

"You wouldn't know the half of it. She's especially tough on recruits like me. If I do this job right, I might get a promotion, but it's all up to her." Slacume sipped the tea.

"Dessert?" Norman raised the plate.

"No, thank you. I'm not big on sweets." Slacume held back. "You seem a rather nice lot for outsiders."

"Um, thanks, I guess?" Orel answered.

"Orel, was it? And you were..."

"Tobias Norman."

Slacume made a face." Norman?! You mean Tobias Norman the"

"Could you not make such a fuzz about it?" Norman cut him off.

"Bu-What are you doing here? Do they know who you are?"

"I am here for my amusement." Norman was not amused. "What does it have to do with you?"

"Oh, gee, sorry." Slacume turned red.

Slacume changed the subject by looking at Ándras. "Umm, what was his name again?"

"He's Ándras. A friend and an adventuring partner." Norman explained.

"I see. Does he speak?" Slacume asked, slightly frightened by the strong-looking fellow.

"You can speak, Ándras," Orel reassured while still chewing on the treat.

Ándras' face relaxed. "Um, can I get another cookie?"

"Oh, take as many as you want." Slacume sighed with relief that he was not a tough muscle man.

Meanwhile, a meeting was being held on the castle's top floor—a peculiar location. Instead of a closed room, it was more like a luxurious terrace on the roof. Apart from the gilded wood, spiraling vines grew on the railings and carved statues of fairies. On the other sides of a small table were two neatly dressed men. A brawny man with long wavy hair and braided sides stretched in a flower-patterned green suit. Opposite him hunched a man with dark laid-down hair dressed in black garb and a ceremonial red shawl. The hunched man observed the other Duke from under his long hair. Only two seats were prepared, while the servants stood behind them like a miniature army.

"Your hospitality is top-notch, Sir Lionel," Fynn finished his cup of tea.

"What can I say? I aim to please. Now, what gives me the pleasure of being the first to meet the so-called black-blooded Duke?"

"I would kindly ask you to not call me that yet I digress. There's a business plan I would like you to listen for."

"Awfully sorry, but we're not interested in producing handles for your shovels or rakes." Lionel smiled smugly.

"No, there's no need for that." Fynn played it off. "We've expanded on a different industry."

"Oh? Then I am all ears." Lionel leaned closer.

"With the help of Tuathheim's industrial equipment, we've mined the northern mountains and discovered a land richer in pure prisms than anywhere in the kingdom."

Lionel took a minute to ponder his next move. "You must be joking?" He decided to ask.

"Here's the contract and assurance from Sir Lotgause. We'll have full control of the distribution with a majority share of the profits once the loaned equipment gets paid off." Fynn gave a copy of the contract over the table.

Lionel closely inspected the document and called in Gotthold. If all of this was true, there was room for him to make a profit. Though the idea interested him, he decided to amuse himself in another way.

"I was wondering, or not just me. What exactly happened to your brother in Alanland?" He asked.

"I'd rather not talk about it." Fynn grimaced. "He got beaten by a couple of punks; a mage and a monster."

"How could Sir- I mean Daniel to be done in like that?"

"They played dirty, those maggots. Especially that mage." Fynn gripped his fists.

"Slow down. I got it. No need to row to the sea. Was he someone important?"

"I don't care about his name, but yes, he's one of the bigger ones in Zabad," Fynn remembered.

"Then don't bother. Your family has enough problems already." Lionel leaned back.

"Oh, there she is!" Lionel saw Gotthold enter from the door. "Take this paper to be authenticated."

"Yes, sir." Gotthold left.

"So, what does this have to do with me?" Lionel continued the discussion.

"I'd ask you to do some cooperation."

"And what sort of cooperation would that be?"

"We're planning on starting manufacturing magic items."

"Interesting. Who might be enchanting those items?"

"You and I both have...Connections to them." Fynn felt sick even trying to mention them.

"Earlake. True, it requires a certain type of person to ask for assistance from them." Lionel stroked his chin. "But I guess it wouldn't be that outrageous with your connections."

"I guess there's use for every connection. With this, we can also help recover their reputation so we wouldn't need to be ashamed of our roots." Fynn explained.

"Since when have you or I cared about the Du lacs? Or is this your other side talking?" Lionel smirked.

"I don't care a rat's ass about them like anyone else. You of all people should get the most use out of this."

"Back to the point." Lionel turned serious. "Do you have a deal for me to consider?"

"Fine," Fynn said. "Give me permission to ship your wood to our factories, and I'll give you a share of the business."

"And what might be the percent you are suggesting?" Lionel raised his fuzzy brow.

"For the sake of our family connections, how about fifteen?"

Lionel leaned back and covered his mouth. Fynn observed with a serious frown. Even with his best efforts, Lionel couldn't hold his laughter, slamming his hands against the arms of his chair. Fynn knew what was coming.

"Hahahahah, what do you take me for, Sir Fynsworth?" Lionel could barely manage to accuse in between his breaths.

He violently slammed his fist on the table. While Fynn paid no mind, his servants became more than anxious about the negotiation.

Lionel smiled, but not in an infectious way like before. He had a menacing grin that the pumping veins on his forehead were desperately trying to extinguish. What Fynn saw was a lion staring down at him.

"Your family has no bargaining chip against me, and yet you can confidently ask me for that? What makes you think that? Are you daftly naive? Or is this just you following your brother's plan with no mind of your own? What makes you this confident? Did you think that being a Duke changes anything? The title is nothing on its own! A paper crown on a jester! Are you worthy of it, or are you still the same cowardly lord that I saw during your mother's funeral?"

The once boastful voice of a calm father had turned to beatdown, yet instead of fists and a belt, it was the nastiest words he could form. The spew of aggressive questions like knives shot out of Lionel's mouth. Their stabs were precise, aiming right where it would hurt him most.

"What is it then?" Lionel stood up. "Tell me, Fynsworth!"

Fynn's servants became cautious and rushed forward to protect him. Even if they did not entirely trust him, it was their duty to watch the Duke, even at the cost of their lives. While they looked harmless, each one was equipped with a concealed weapon to use in desperate situations.

Before they could take a second step, Fynn raised his hand. They stopped, as it was an order of the lord.

Biting his lip, Fynn stood nervously from his chair but kept his composure. He sighed a deep breath, inhaled sharply, and exhaled slowly. Fynn could hear his heart beating like it would jump out. He clenched his shivering fists and resisted the urge to escape. He kicked the table over and ran towards Lionel.

"It's sir!" He performed a splendid uppercut.

Staring down at him to the last moment of impact, Lionel took Fynn's punch straight on. His servants jumped and prepared to protect their lord. Fynn's men were shocked and feared the worst. What once was a peaceful negotiation had devolved into a fistfight, and if it escalated any further, it could cause serious political instability.

Lionel stood in awe. His eyes were wide open, and his mouth slightly ajar. After a moment of pure awe, his expression changed. His lips curled up, and he started giggling. Lionel raised his hand and called off the servants from attacking.

Meanwhile, Fynn gripped his fist. It was still aching as if he had hit a brick wall. He didn't seem to have made a dent in Lionel's face, even when using Pierce.

Soon Lionel's giggles turned into roaring laughter, between which Lionel was able to finally say something.

"Hahaha! That's more like it! Black-blooded Duke? More like hot-blooded, haha! I misjudged you, sir Fynnsworth. I would love for us to take a couple of strikes, but that wouldn't be proper behavior for Dukes, would it? Not that the result would be any different than last time."

Fynn sat back down and sighed, both in relief and defeat. His servants could relax. They were nothing short of absolutely astonished that the Duke took it kindly and were somewhat proud of their lord's bravery.

"You haven't changed a bit, Lionel," Fynn shook his head. "Then, how is the offer?"

"Oh, that? Hmmm. How about I give you five hundred grand for the same share, but I'll take ten percent in royalties until I've gotten my money back?"

"You're tough to deal with." Fynn gritted his teeth with a smile.

"That's what they say. I give you the money so you can get your thing going faster, which means I'll get my money faster. It's a win-win situation, don't you think?" Lionel smiled smugly.

"It would help. Indeed, I can't say no to that."

"Do we have a deal?" Lionel stretched his hand.

Fynn looked at the smiling man offering his hand. He could not make it seem that this was going as planned, but he smiled along and grabbed his hand.

"Fine." Fynn agreed.

"Then let us shake hands, not just as fellow Dukes, but business partners! "

"Sure," Fynn said.

Even something as simple as a handshake was, in secret, a way to declare supremacy. Fynn could barely keep the hands at level, but he also could feel how it was up to Lionel when they could stop. It was over in a moment, and Fynn felt like celebrating just that he got his hand back in one piece.

"Now, let us discuss business in private." Lionel looked over to his servants, who then left through the doors.

Once all had left, the two leaned on the railing and looked down to the lake. It gleamed nicely during the noon. The weather was perfect that day for a small conversation. The wind blew on the top, and one could hear the many flags fluttering against the walls and birds chirping in their many nests built in the crevices.

"Now, what is your real plan with this? You could always sell the raw materials." Lionel asked.

"Guess you'd need to know as an investor," Fynn said.

"More than that. We have blood shared between us. Take this as a chat between relatives."

"Come on. We haven't talked outside of formalities for years." Fynn smiled.

"Nevertheless, how about you tell me at least a little bit about what was the deal with your little event?"

"You and I both know I couldn't tell you, but we also know that a knight's armor is never spotless."

"Yes, the woods are a perfect place to hide." Lionel understood.

"We had a huge debt to pay, and then we heard about this priceless beast, but we barely made a profit on it."

"I see. Then, back to my first question..."

Fynn noticed a black car leaving the premises. The drawbridge rose with the rattling sound of chains after the vehicle had left.

"Did you have visitors?" Fynn looked down.

"Oh, they must be the hired hands from The Guild." Lionel noticed as well.

"What do you need a party for?"

"We got a small situation in one of the towns, so we decided just to hire someone else to do it."

"Oh. Well, it works if you have money to pay them."

"You wouldn't believe this, however. They were looking for a job here all the way from Pohjola."

"Really? What made them get the special treatment?"

"I didn't look too much into it. I think one of the members was some high-class mage or something. I don't know much. I let my assistant take care of it."

"Hmmm." The details brought bad memories into Fynn's mind.

"Is there something wrong?" Lionel noticed his sour expression.

"Nothing. There's no chance of that." Fynn took his eyes off the car.

"Don't worry about things. Say, you can say your plan when you feel like it. How about we celebrate for now?"

By the snap of his fingers, servants rushed to provide two neat glasses and a bottle of the prized Claudin home-brewed maple wine. The tops bubbled as Lionel took the cork off and poured for them. Hesitant at first, Fynn glanced at Lionel's ever such cheerful face and took the glass.

"For prospects!" Lionel raised his glass.

"And good dealings." Fynn tinged the glasses.

With that toast, the Medrawd magic item factories gained another investor. It could soon rival even Deasthir's industrial families, but how buyers would perceive this new company would be entirely different. Another threat was something that Lionel started to suspect himself, an ulterior motive. Whatever it might be, he knew the ways to turn it in his favor. Everything was as good as done, but not for certain. Fynn still had to go pay a visit to his father, which could prove the hardest challenge of all.

Meanwhile, Norman was pondering their future as well. The trio would need to complete their task and find the realm. Not counting the variables, committing to both the work and their objective made him scratch his head. He thought hard, but not too hard that he wouldn't fall asleep during the ride. While Norman slept in the front seat, Orel see a dense fog rising as they rode the road toward the town of Bertim. He thought nothing about it, but could not help but notice Slacume's dire expression as he drove them into the mist.