Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 456

The night air was cool against Nick’s face as he slipped away from the Massey townhouse.

He had the proof, but it was merely a tool, one that could be countered with enough bribes. To break the Valerius Consortium’s shadow embargo, he needed a hammer, and he knew exactly where to find one.

Nick headed toward eastern Floria, arriving at the polished timber facade of The Gilded Stag. It was the town's finest inn, a place where the few wealthy visitors they received had once rented entire floors to conduct their business away from the dust of the frontier.

Now, it hosted the only two merchants who could help him.

In time, they too would live in manors, but there were only so many townhouses available for sale, and most local residents were too attached to their homes to consider selling, even for a great sum of coin.

Well, not all of them. I know of at least a few families who sold everything and made a killing, but now they have to settle for homes on the outskirts. All that gold isn’t very useful when the market is so thin that they can’t buy what they want.

Still, it wasn’t his business. Not even House Crowley’s, really. As long as every transaction was fair and fully understood, they had no standing to stop the residents from raking in the cash from their sudden change in fortune.

If it had been him, he would have held onto those homes for dear life. The prices might have been enticing now, but they would only keep rising for the foreseeable future, and living in the center was just much nicer for a family.

Wrapped in the [Mire], Nick slipped past the night watchmen and scaled the ornate trellises, stepping silently onto the third-floor balcony. He drifted through the plush, carpeted hallways until he reached the corner parlor's door.

The scent of spiced wine and expensive smokeleaf seeped through the cracks. Inside, two men were engaged in a low conversation that might have sounded friendly if he couldn’t sense the venom being spat into the ether, only concealed by their skill.

Fortunately, this door wasn’t spelled shut or guarded, so he didn’t even need to break out his bag of tricks to slip in and settle in a dim corner.

Seated at a circular table were the representatives of the two most prominent merchant houses operating in Floria, directly beneath the Valerius Consortium in wealth yet entirely equal in ambition.

On the left sat Silas, the lead agent of the Polliver-Bolliver Conglomerate. He was a fat, aggressive man with a reputation for absorbing successful businesses and driving competitors into the dirt. Opposite him sat Emile of the Dunstonburough family, a striking young man with long hair and a tailored coat, who carried himself with aristocratic ease despite lacking noble blood.

He knew they were bitter rivals, having long fought over the southern trade, but the way they were dissecting a dispute over lumber routes with polite, if cutting, remarks made it hard to tell.

“Your new wagons tear up the paving stones faster than we can lay them, Silas," Emile was saying, taking a sip from a crystal goblet. "It is only fair that your Conglomerate shoulders a heavier toll. We cannot be expected to subsidize your lack of refinement, especially if you insist on sending those monstrosities everywhere.”

“Ah! You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Since the new transports have been so successful in surviving the wilds, you must be gnawing your fingers raw,” Silas countered, his voice rougher, lacking the noble cadence. "We have been responsible for moving the iron that builds the town. If you want refinement, deal in silk. If you want material the town actually needs, my wagons will be necessary.”

Having heard enough to know he wouldn’t learn anything particularly interesting by hiding any longer, Nick let the murky waters of the [Mire] recede, letting the room’s ambient light catch his form.

Silas flinched, his hand darting instinctively toward a hidden dagger in his coat. Emile merely paused, his goblet hovering an inch from his lips, though his eyes sharpened with sudden interest.

"Lord Nicholas," he greeted, lowering the glass. His voice remained perfectly smooth, betraying none of the shock that he felt seeing him materialize from thin air. "It is late for a social call, and rather improper to enter without knocking.”

"I prefer to skip the pleasantries," Nick said, pulling out a chair and sitting directly between the two rivals. "I come bearing an opportunity that requires both of your houses to seize it.”

Silas slowly sat back down, though his hand remained hidden in his coat. Nick wasn’t particularly worried. He could tell the weapon was enchanted with sharpness, but he also knew it would do nothing against his magic.

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"The Dunstonburough family and the Conglomerate do not share opportunities, my lord. We’re competitors,” the heavyset man grumbled.

“Yes, I’ve seen you compete over scraps while the Valerius Consortium tries to steal the entire feast," Nick corrected, resting his elbows on the table.

That immediately caught their attention. In the merchant world, information was currency, and Nick had just placed a heavy coin on the table.

“Explain, if you will, my lord,” Emile invited, steepling his fingers.

"As of this morning, the Consortium has begun paying exorbitant bribes to every hired mage in Floria to halt our expansion," Nick laid out the situation plainly. "They are attempting to strangle the refugee housing projects to force House Crowley to grant them a monopoly on Green Ocean exports in exchange for returning the mages to work.”

Silas’s eyes narrowed, the annoyance evident in the tightening of his jaw. “Something I imagine you are moving against. But proving a bribe is difficult. Without a paper trail, the Crown's trade charters will protect them, and mages, once spooked, have a bad habit of fleeing. Far too many are willing to take them in with few questions.”

Nick reached into his ring and withdrew the leather-bound ledger. He made it appear in the center of the table with a resounding thud. "I have the names, the dates, and the exact sums paid, recorded by their own clerks. We have the proof, gentlemen. But while we could make it a fight, my family desires discretion, and we do not want to involve the royal courts and freeze our own town in litigation for months.”

Emile leaned forward, staring at the ledger. The aristocratic mask slipped just enough to reveal the predatory intellect beneath. Though his fingers twitched with desire, he didn't reach for the book. Instead, he looked at Nick, dissecting the proposal.

"If Valerius is vulnerable, why bring the prize to us?" Emile asked softly. "You could crush them yourself. Lady Crowley has been careful to avoid giving us too much power. This seems to go against that principle.”

"Because removing an entity as large as the Valerius Consortium leaves a vacuum, and vacuums breed chaos," Nick answered, meeting the merchant's gaze evenly. "House Crowley provides the safe environment, the laws, and the protection for any enterprising man to establish themselves, only holding onto our stake in the extraction of natural resources. We need capable hands to manage the trade. If you pool your resources, wield your own contracted mages, and resume building our eastern district by tomorrow, the Valerius Consortium will be shut out of the frontier by their own hands.”

He was making it seem easier than it would be. Neither of the two men before him was a wastrel, and they were already working their mages hard. But they only needed to make it look like they broke the strike, perhaps for a few days alone. Once Valerius realized their actions weren’t doing anything, they could be brought to the negotiating table.

The two merchants before him were experienced and cunning enough to realize that, and he suspected they were already thinking of ways to make this chance count, sweeping as much business into their hands as possible and perhaps even poaching mages from those less willing to strike.

He wouldn’t begrudge them. That was simply the cost of doing business.

"An alliance of convenience is a bridge built on rotten wood, Lord Nicholas," Emile noted, testing the waters. "What happens when the river swells? Why should we trust this joint monopoly when you yourself made it clear you wouldn’t want an imbalance of power?”

"Because you will be too busy making a fortune to care," Nick replied. "House Crowley will grant the Conglomerate and the Dunstonburough family favored tariff rates on all timber and alchemical exports for the next five years. It won’t be forever, so we’ll keep to our principles and come down harshly on any attempt to force other businesses out. But it is a golden opportunity that will never come again.”

Silence fell upon the parlor. The math was simple, and the potential profits were staggering. If they worked together to break the strike, they would essentially inherit Valerius’s share of the market overnight.

It did come with the consequences of making such a powerful enemy, but business was its own war.

Emile smiled, a disarming expression that subtly brightened the room, and Nick felt a subtle pressure wash over his mind. It wasn't a spiritual attack, as [Blasphemy] did not trigger, nor was it any form of mental magic.

For once, the answer was already known to him. This was the effect of someone with a high Charisma stat putting all their attention on you.

The air in the parlor grew sweet. A profound sense of compliance and trust pressed against Nick's thoughts, urging him to lower his guard, be agreeable, and accept whatever counteroffer the handsome heir was about to propose.

Such an insidious little thing. It doesn’t really alter my thoughts, nor does it force me to do anything, but my disposition suddenly becomes more amenable. If I hadn’t already been fooled once by such a thing, by that old crone who gifted me Semreh’s Chronicles, I’d be hard-pressed to recognize it.

"Five years is a generous term, my lord," Emile said softly, as if to a friend. "But importing more mages on such short notice is a terrible expense. We would need a full exemption from the eastern road tolls to justify the risk.”

Immediately, Silas chimed in, his own aura flaring to complement his rival's efforts, proving that when there was blood in the water, even bitter enemies could synchronize. "And an exemption from sales tax on monster cores harvested by your local adventurers. We’d need something to entice guards powerful enough to protect us from retaliation, you see.”

A lesser man would have eagerly signed away the town just to please them, entirely convinced it was a brilliant deal. Charisma worked by convincing the victim that yielding was their own idea.

Nick simply smiled back, letting his spiritual weight bleed outward, crushing the persuasive aura without effort.

Both merchants stiffened. Their smiles dropped as their attempt was abruptly canceled by a superior force.

"The terms are exactly as I stated," Nick said, for once without charm. "Standard tolls will apply, as will standard market rates. You will receive the favored tariffs and the satisfaction of watching the Valerius Consortium pack their bags. Do not try to haggle and risk offending me.”

Emile cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his coat, as a faint sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. "Very well," he conceded, as if he hadn’t just tried to bewitch him. He picked up his goblet, swirling the wine. "But before we shake hands, a word of caution, as a friendly favor between new partners.”

Nick tilted his head, waiting.

"The Valerius Consortium does not rely on coin alone," Emile warned smoothly. "They have deep ties to the capital's upper echelons. They enjoy favor with a renowned wind mage known as the Freezing Gale, who is rumored to be among the kingdom’s greatest elementalists. They also keep a Prestige shield-master on permanent retainer, the Iron Aegis. If you push Valerius too hard, they will retaliate.”

It was a valuable piece of intelligence and something of an apology for the ill-advised attempt.

Nick hummed but didn’t let the knowledge shake him. If that had been enough, he would never have left for the dungeon in the Green Ocean, much less braved the Tower while it was under demonic incursion. “We will take that into consideration, but you shouldn’t worry too much. House Crowley has its own resources to draw on if things degenerate that far.”

His piece said he stood from the table, ensuring they understood exactly who was dictating the terms. "My brother will expect you both at the manor in the afternoon to sign the official charters. See that your mages are already breaking ground by the time you arrive.”

"The Conglomerate will deliver," Silas promised gruffly.

"As will we," Emile agreed, raising his goblet in a silent toast.