Reivan stepped out of the carriage, stretching his legs as the cool air of the capital wrapped around him. The streets were alive with the usual symphony of merchants hawking their wares, nobles pretending they weren’t gossiping, and the occasional guard who looked two reports away from quitting his job. Nothing seemed out of place, except for one minor detail—people were staring at him.

  More than usual.

  He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, what rumor am I dealing with this time?"

  Sylpkx, who had been unusually quiet on the ride back, glanced at him, her tail flicking absentmindedly. "Would you like the dramatic version or the short version?"

  "Neither. Just tell me how much of a headache it is."

  She smirked. "On a scale of one to you’re officially too powerful to ignore? About an eight."

  Wonderful.

  Garm, walking beside them, let out a chuckle. "Boss, you gotta start controlling your legend. Every time we leave a city, people rewrite history. Apparently, you took down Lord Cedric by just looking at him."

  Reivan groaned. "I need to start suing people for defamation."

  The issue was, this was entirely predictable. The political landscape of the empire was about as stable as a three-legged table missing two legs. The moment someone like him—an outsider who wasn’t playing by their rules—started gaining traction, the nobility scrambled to categorize him. They didn’t know whether to fear him, use him, or eliminate him. So instead, they whispered. And whispers, in a world like this, were sometimes more dangerous than an army.

  He had no intention of playing their game. At least, not in the way they expected.

  Instead of reacting, he turned his attention to something far more important—securing his trade routes. Political power was temporary. Trade? Trade was the foundation of real control. People could argue about crowns and thrones all they wanted, but when winter came, they’d still need grain, wool, and salt.

  Reivan was going to make sure they had to get it from him.

  That meant dealing with the Merchant Guild, or more specifically, the High Council of Trade—a collection of influential merchants who had been running commerce in the empire long before any noble even learned how to spell the word "economy." These were men and women who didn’t care about titles, alliances, or royal decrees. They cared about profit.

  Unfortunately, they also cared about stability.

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  And Reivan, in their eyes, was the least stable person in the empire.

  The meeting was held in one of the guild’s private chambers—a lavish but practical space, filled with expensive furniture that subtly reminded visitors who actually held the power. The air smelled of ink, parchment, and wealth.

  "Sir Reivan," one of the older merchants greeted, his voice the kind of smooth that came from decades of negotiating deals that left the other side thinking they had won. "It seems your reputation has outgrown you."

  Reivan smiled pleasantly, taking a seat. "Oh, it tends to do that. I assure you, I’m far less impressive in person."

  "So you would have us believe." The merchant leaned forward. "Let’s not waste time. Your recent activities have made certain parties… uneasy."

  Reivan tilted his head. "Ah. And by ‘uneasy,’ you mean they’re worried I’ll somehow topple the empire by selling grain at reasonable prices?"

  A few of them smirked. At least some of them had a sense of humor.

  "They’re worried about unpredictability," another merchant said. "You refuse alliances, yet gain influence. You reject noble titles, yet hold the loyalty of an army. You claim to be a merchant, yet you maneuver like a kingmaker. That makes you a risk."

  Reivan steepled his fingers. "That makes me a necessity."

  Silence.

  "You’re businessmen," he continued, his voice calm. "You know better than anyone that power shifts. Wars come and go. Nobles rise and fall. But trade? Trade is the one constant. And in uncertain times, the smart ones don’t invest in stability." He let the weight of his words settle before delivering the final blow. "They invest in the ones who can adapt to instability."

  One of the merchants, a shrewd-looking woman who had been watching him closely, finally spoke. "You believe you’re the best bet in uncertain times."

  "No," Reivan said, smiling slightly. "I know I am. Because while your other ‘partners’ are busy debating their next move, I’m already controlling the board."

  Another long pause.

  Then, a chuckle. "I see now why the nobles are afraid of you."

  "I’d prefer if they were grateful, but I suppose that’s asking too much."

  The meeting continued for another hour, filled with careful negotiations, unspoken threats, and the occasional jab at the nobility’s incompetence. By the end of it, Reivan had secured what he needed—continued control over his trade routes, preferential partnerships with key merchants, and most importantly, a reinforced perception that he was the future of commerce in the empire.

  As he stepped out into the afternoon sun, Sylpkx finally spoke up, her voice quieter than usual. "You know, you’re going to make real enemies soon. Ones that won’t play by the rules."

  Reivan glanced at her. "You mean the ones who try to kill me in alleys? Been there, done that."

  She shook her head. "Not like that. I mean the ones who don’t need to try." Her gaze was distant, troubled. "The ones who already know how this game ends."

  That was the first time she had referenced the game world in a way that sent a chill down his spine. He had knowledge of what should happen, but Sylpkx? She was starting to suspect something deeper.

  Reivan sighed, shaking off the thought. "Well, if they know how it ends, then I suppose I’ll just have to rewrite the ending."

  Sylpkx looked at him for a long moment before smirking. "Cocky as ever."

  "Always."

  She nodded, but her smirk didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Come on, merchant king. Let’s see if you really can control the board."

  As they walked away, the weight of the future pressed down on Reivan’s shoulders. He had stabilized his position—for now. But stability was an illusion, and in this world, illusions never lasted long.

  And deep down, he knew one thing for certain.

  Someone else was already making their move.