Rumors travel fast.

  What started as gossip in the backrooms of merchant guilds had reached the halls of noble estates—and not just any estates, but those of the empire’s most powerful figures.

  At a grand banquet in the capital, Duke Reinhardt, a man known for his political cunning and ruthless efficiency, swirled his goblet of wine as he listened to the latest ridiculous report from Duskwatch.

  "You expect me to believe this nonsense?" Reinhardt asked, raising an eyebrow at his informant.

  The noble across from him, a lesser lord eager to impress, nodded eagerly. "I swear it’s true, Your Grace! The man abolished taxes, abandoned bureaucratic oversight, and let the people govern themselves—and yet, Duskwatch is flourishing!"

  Reinhardt leaned back in his chair. "So the peasants are running a county on goodwill alone? Do you take me for a fool?"

  The noble swallowed nervously. "N-No, Your Grace. But the reports are consistent. The merchants are returning, trade is stabilizing, and even the bandits are… cooperating?"

  Reinhardt frowned. That last part caught his attention.

  "Bandits do not ‘cooperate.’ They take advantage. Which means either Duskwatch has an iron grip on them… or something else is at play."

  He glanced at a younger noble seated to his right—Lord Cedric Vale, one of his most trusted envoys.

  "Cedric, gather information. I want to know what kind of man this ‘Lazy Lord’ truly is."

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  Cedric smirked. "Shall I send spies?"

  Reinhardt swirled his wine. "Naturally. But be discreet. If Veilwood is truly incompetent, he will collapse on his own. If he isn’t… well, then he is a potential problem."

  Cedric stood and bowed. "I’ll send my best."

  Lucian was attempting to nap in his office when Dorian stormed in, waving a letter like a battle flag.

  "My lord! We have a problem!"

  Lucian groaned. "We always have a problem, Dorian. It’s tradition at this point."

  Dorian slapped the letter onto the desk. "Word of Duskwatch’s growth has spread. The nobility is noticing."

  Lucian blinked. "…Okay?"

  Dorian looked like he was about to strangle him. "Not ‘okay’! This is a disaster! If powerful nobles see you as a threat, they won’t just ignore us!"

  Lucian sighed, sitting up. "Fine. Who’s coming to kill me?"

  "No one. Yet."

  "Encouraging."

  Dorian exhaled sharply. "We’ve had… unusual visitors lately. Strangers in the market asking odd questions. Unfamiliar faces in the tavern, listening too closely."

  Lucian frowned. "Spies?"

  Dorian nodded grimly. "Most likely. Nobles want to know what’s happening here. And if they think you’re actually competent—"

  Lucian pointed at himself. "Me? Competent?"

  Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. "That’s the problem! They think you’re some kind of genius!"

  Lucian groaned, slumping back into his chair. "Fantastic. So what do we do?"

  Dorian hesitated. "We need to be careful. If spies are watching, we can’t afford to look weak—or too strong. We have to strike a balance."

  Elaine, who had been listening from the doorway, smirked. "You mean we let them think Lucian is a strategic mastermind while we just keep doing whatever it is we’re doing?"

  Dorian hesitated. "I… suppose?"

  Lucian waved a hand. "Great. Plan settled. Now, let’s not overreact. If we just act normal, maybe they’ll get bored and leave."

  A cloaked figure skulked through the streets of Duskwatch, silently observing the town. He had expected a backwater disaster—instead, he saw commerce thriving, people smiling, and a militia drilling in the square.

  "Fascinating," he muttered. "Perhaps this Lord Veilwood is more than he appears."

  From the rooftop above, Elaine smirked, resting a hand on her sword.

  "Took you long enough to show up."