The first floor of the Black Grit building basically served as the run-of-the-mill tavern. Tables and chairs were scattered, some still bearing the remnants of half-eaten meals and overturned mugs. Men, both standing and sat, turned to her, conversations stilled. She met their stares head-on, daring anyone to challenge her presence. None did. At least, not yet.

  She walked with slow, deliberate steps to the bar, where a burly man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw was cleaning a glass with a white rag. He grunted as she approached, but didn’t avert his gaze. Good. That meant he wasn’t entirely spineless.

  Sic and some other man were off to the side, speaking in hushed tones. Their discussion came to an abrupt halt the moment they noticed her staring. Sic’s eyes darkened with something between resentment and calculation. Still, he approached her nonetheless.

  "I have gathered everyone here as you have asked," he said through clenched teeth.

  Nessa swiveled around, counting the heads present. There were about thirty-eight all around, and not one of them possessed a mana heart. A room full of unblessed, unable to retaliate, unable to fight back should she decide to purge them right here. The weight of her presence alone kept them subdued, wary, and watching her every move.

  Nessa snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the ground beneath her trembled. A spire of rock lurched upward, sending her a few feet off the ground. Gasps and murmurs filled the room as the men recoiled, some instinctively reaching for weapons they knew would be useless.

  Standing atop the newly formed pillar, she looked down at them all. Was this how His Majesty felt whenever he sat upon his throne, staring down at those who sought an audience with him? It was almost intoxicating. All that was missing was a throne to sit on and she'd be considered the Monarch of Scum.

  She placed a hand on her hip and grinned. "Now, now, don’t look so scared. I’m not here to smite you… yet." She wiggled her fingers dramatically. "But I do like to keep my options open."

  A few men shifted nervously, while others remained frozen in place, their wide eyes locked onto her. She sighed theatrically. "Come on, lighten up! If I wanted you dead, do you really think I’d go through all this trouble? I’d just—" She clapped her hands together loudly, making several men flinch. "—squash you like that. But that would be boring, wouldn’t it?"

  Sic scowled. "Get to the point."

  Nessa pouted. "Straight to business, huh? No one here knows how to have fun." She rested her chin on her hand as if considering. "Well, for starters, I want you to stop looking at me like I’m about to eat you. I much prefer adoration over fear. But fear will do for now."

  "We get it. You’re powerful. Just tell us what you want."

  "Fine, fine, since you’re so eager. You work for me now. Easy enough, right?"

  "And if we refuse?"

  She gasped, placing a hand over her heart. "Refuse? After all the fun we’ve had? That would just break my heart. You wound me, Sic!"

  "Bah, this playful act of yours is getting old," Sic muttered, his frustration slipping through. "We all know who and what you really are, Royal Knight Nessa. One of Emperor Johan's many lapdogs. Does your master know one of his own is making deals underneath his nose? What would the masses think of one of their precious protectors dealing with the likes of ours?"

  Nessa tilted her head. "Well, that's none of your business now is it? His Majesty is perfectly aware of my location and what I am up to. For the masses, if you're thinking about spreading rumors about this, then by all means, go ahead. Not like anyone will believe criminals over us. And also, you seem to be under a misconception."

  She spread her arms wide, as if she was about to bask in the rays of the sun. "Your words earlier lead me to believe that you are most likely not the only one Scourge has interacted with. You are one of many groups tasked with delivering orphans to these messengers you speak of. That means you are dispensable, and I will ensure you understand just how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things."

  The tension in the room thickened, suffocating. Sic’s face twisted in anger, but deep beneath it, she saw the flicker of realization. He knew she was right.

  "Now, are we going to continue this little charade of acting tough in front of your buddies, or will you accept your new reality?"

  Sic’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he seemed ready to snap back with another sharp remark. But the weight of Nessa’s words settled over him like an iron chain. He exhaled sharply through his nose, lowering his head just slightly.

  Nessa’s grin widened. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? I knew you’d come around. And don’t worry, Sic, you’ll find that working for me can be quite... rewarding." She turned toward the rest of the men in the room, her playful expression never faltering. "As for the rest of you, get used to my face. You’re mine now. Follow orders, and you’ll prosper. Step out of line..." She gestured at the spirits hovering around her.

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  The men muttered among themselves, still stiff with hostility. Fear still clung to them, but beneath it, she could sense something else—reluctant acceptance. If their leader accepted Nessa's command, then so would they. There was no choice, after all.

  After a brief silence, Nessa spoke again. "Sic, be a gentleman and explain to these men what they should expect moving forward. It’s only fair they know how much fun we’re going to have." Her smirk was laced with amusement, but her eyes gleamed with something far sharper.

  The man slowly turned to face his men. "We follow her orders now," he said begrudgingly. "That means we wait for her command, we listen, and we do what needs to be done. No one acts without her say-so. Understood?"

  A few hesitant nods followed. Nessa clapped her hands together. "Oh, wonderful! I knew we’d all get along so well. Oh, but you forgot one thing. Now that Horoh is gone, I, Royal Knight Nessa, will now reform Black Grit to my liking. That means after your meeting with the messengers, you all will no longer be in the kidnapping business and whatever nefarious schemes you've been running."

  Once those last words stirred within their thick skulls, the room fell into an eerie silence. Some men clenched their fists, others exchanged uncertain glances. Nessa waited, tapping her foot against stone in mock impatience.

  "Oh, don’t tell me you’re all mourning the loss of your little crime ring already," she cooed. "Come now, change is good for the soul! I promise you’ll grow to love this new arrangement."

  One man next to Sic, muttering under his breath. Nessa’s eyes flicked toward him, her playful expression never faltering. "Oh? Something to share with the class?"

  The man hesitated, but under her unwavering stare, he finally blurted, "And what exactly do you expect us to do instead?"

  "Oh, I’m so glad you asked!" Her grin turned sharp. "From now on, Black Grit will serve a new purpose. You’ll still be useful, but in ways that don’t involve snatching orphans and terrorizing townsfolk. Think of it as... a career shift."

  "You’re all experienced in navigating the underbelly of society, aren’t you? Smuggling, espionage, information gathering? Why waste such talent on petty crime when you could be part of something greater? How does the idea of working for the crown sound? Well, not directly the crown, but for me instead, who is very much a part of the Imperial Court and thus a representative of His Majesty."

  Sic scowled, shaking his head. "And you expect us to believe that? Why would we work for the crown?"

  "I'll just throw you all in cellars and be done with you," she said matter-of-factly. "Seriously, why are we still having a conversation about this? You have no choice. Either adapt, or rot in the dungeons."

  Silence fell over the room. The weight of her words, the finality of them, left little room for argument. Sic exhaled, glancing at his men. One by one, they nodded. Wary, bitter, but compliant.

  Nessa clapped her hands together, beaming. "Perfect! Now, let’s make some things clear—a long list of rules and expectations, if you will. First, no more of this orphan trade nonsense. If I even hear a whisper that one of you is involved in that filth, you won’t have to worry about the dungeons. You’ll have to worry about your final words when facing Absolute Judgement in the afterlife."

  She continued her rambling, lifting her fingers as each rule rolled off her tongue. Nessa spoke of structure, discipline, and, most importantly, her new vision for Black Grit. They would become an intelligence network, a shadow arm of the Imperial Court, feeding her crucial information from the underside of society. No more petty crime, no more reckless violence—everything they did from now on would serve a greater purpose, one dictated by her.

  While faint, she had a gut feeling that Scourge would—and already is—be a huge problem if left alone. Not only that, but their secrecy entailed that gouging information out of them would be difficult. So, it was her job to strengthen her intelligence network. She would serve as the spider monarch while Black Grit was one leg.

  Through this tactic, she could weave a web vast enough to catch even the most elusive prey, ensuring that no whisper of conspiracy or rebellion escaped her grasp. Scourge had done well to hide itself thus far, but even the most cunning were bound to slip up.

  Sir Geroth and Othelia were to remain in the capital while Captain Kalavan is to investigate suspicious nobility. Finally, Heade was to corroborate with branch leaders and trusted lords. If Scourge were to somehow bypass that flow of information, then the only workable solution was that a deity itself was shielding them from view.

  Nessa finished her rambling—omitting details they shouldn't be aware of—and locked eyes with everyone else. As she expected, everyone gawked at her, dumbfounded. Then, after a few seconds passed, someone in the back snickered, which grew into a cackle as more men joined in. Before long, the room erupted into hysteric and a lot of backslapping and tears.

  "Aye, is she serious?" one of them roared, slamming a fist onto a table.

  Another howled. "Petty crime, she calls it! If forsaking a job is petty, then so be it. Ha!"

  Sic was one of the few not laughing. He nervously glanced up at Nessa's calm face and gulped.

  Nessa sighed dramatically, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her shoulder. "I see we still have some doubters in the room. This is your chance to turn over a new leaf. You will also not be doing this for free. What if I were to tell you that those who do what I say are paid handsomely? I'd give you double of what you currently earn."

  This quieted down the laughter. One by one, the men stopped, staring at her. Their eyes gleamed, and Nessa recognized an unavoidable sin that all men possessed—greed. When promised coin, even the most stubborn would listen so long as the price is right. Sic wouldn't be paying these guys much, so double their current pay was probably more money than they'd ever dreamed of.

  Her generosity would be the final nail in the coffin, ensuring their compliance. To be perceived as authoritative and powerful, while also being generous, is what His Majesty believes a ruler should embody.

  "Let's see a show of hands: who's up for making a quick, ethical profit?"

  A slew of hands shot upward, even Sic's, and some even rose so high that they were on the verge of falling off the table. She counted thirty-eight, all eager to get on her good side. The man next to Sic was the last to rise, but his face still carried a hint of defiance. She'd have to keep tabs on him as well.

  Nessa disregarded it for the time being and eagerly rubbed her hands together. "Today, you have made an excellent decision! Henceforth, the Black Grit shall be transformed to serve the empire. Now that we have settled that, we can finally begin the preparations. I am truly intrigued to meet these messengers from Scourge."