“I need to deal with the Gostave family. Who’s with me?”

  “No.”

  “I refuse to take part in this madness of yours.”

  “What do I gain from this?”

  “Why? This region is prosperous, peaceful, and free from conflict. Why wage war against the Gostave family?”

  “Jeffrey Gostave. That bastard has lived far too long, and I’m sick of him! He needs to die!”

  “Romio! Have you lost your mind? Have demons taken hold of you? We, the grandmasters of the thieves' guild, won’t support this insanity. If you start a pointless war, you’re on your own.”

  “Count me out.”

  “I’ll ask again: what’s in it for me?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll decide after hearing everything Romio has to say.”

  Romio, the grandmaster of the thieves’ guild in Eldoria City, stood before the others. A striking figure for his sixty years, his long ginger beard and ponytail gave him an imposing presence, while his piercing blue eyes seemed to cut through the room.

  His face, unlike the smooth, unmarked faces of his fellow grandmasters, was covered in scars, though his attire and equipment were anything but typical for a thief. A small ceremonial dagger, the symbol of his rank, hung from his belt, while a massive shield rested on his back, and a greatsword leaned against his chair—strange choices for someone of his station.

  He surveyed the room, his voice heavy with rage. “Jeffrey Gostave killed my brother! Many years ago, I tried to avenge him, but I failed. The fire of hatred hasn’t faded. I want him dead. Once he’s gone, we’ll install a puppet in his place—someone we can control. The region will remain stable, and we’ll reap the benefits. I give you my word.”

  The room fell silent as the grandmasters mulled over his words. Finally, Jacanov, the master with short blue hair, broke the silence. “Profit, you say. A puppet could indeed give us control. But Jeffrey Gostave has brought prosperity to this region. He’s made it what it is today. Replacing him might ruin it—or worse, leave it stagnant.”

  Romio looked at Jacanov and said, “I’ll personally take control of the region. I’ll make it flourish. All of you keep your profits, and I take Jeffrey’s head. That’s it. Why has this suddenly become so arduous? We’ve done this before.”

  Tamsin, the master of the Cerulea City thieves’ guild, spoke up. “Yes, after losing a lot of people. We’ve done it eight times. Half didn’t work out, and the other half took years before showing any profit.”

  Stern, master of the Black Cloud guild, added, “We at Black Cloud don’t get involved in petty personal vendettas. If you have a problem, solve it yourself. Besides, we already have a history with the Gostaves.”

  Romio smirked. “You mean the one who burned half your guild, beat your guards, and humiliated you? That one?”

  Stern glared at him, gripping his axe. “That foul tongue of yours should be cut off. The more you talk, the worse the stench gets.”

  Before things escalated, Tamsin interjected, “I didn’t come all the way from Cerulea to watch you two tear each other apart!”

  Everyone turned to him as he continued, “Do what you want, Romio, but give us three weeks. We’ll pull out our investments and people, clearing the way for your war.”

  “So, no help?” Romio asked, his tone cold.

  The masters shook their heads and began to leave. As Jacanov passed, he gave Romio a sly smile but said nothing.

  Romio turned away, pulling up his hood. He left with his thieves, disappearing into the shadows of the night.

  Meanwhile, at Eldoria's Gostave residence, the night was calm but bitterly cold, with strong winds sweeping through the streets. Though the weather urged simple folk to seek refuge in the warmth of their homes, figures could still be seen entering the merchant's guild. Work never truly ends, does it?

  Back at the mansion, Joe sat in his study, reading through documents his father, the noble of the region, had left to him to decide where the next investments will take place.

  For the past few months, Joe had worked as his father’s merchant and advisor. With his extensive knowledge of trades, businesses, and various professions, Joe could recognize opportunities and decide when it was safe to invest.

  But it was a temporary role. The contract was for one year only. After years spent on the road, enduring its hardships and freedoms, Joe knew he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—stay in a noble’s house. He longed to return to the life he was accustomed to.

  The work was manageable but tiresome, especially when dealing with noblemen—a kind of people he’d rather avoid. On most days, they were the sort he’d punch or ignore altogether.

  Joe glanced at the window overlooking the dark night and murmured, “I think it’s time for me to stop. Next month, we’ll invest in spices again. Those things can make a fortune. That’s why Yory held onto them for so long—he knew their worth.”

  He tossed the documents onto the table by the bed and collapsed onto it, covering himself with a blanket. After a moment, his gaze returned to the window. “Did I shut it properly? It feels cold,” he muttered.

  A fleeting memory of Lana smiling while holding his hand surfaced in his mind. On his other side, Tyva was clutching his other hand. Joe spoke softly, almost to himself, “I’ll be in the capital next week for that doctor. I should bring a gift for Lana and meet Tyva on the way. I have to.”

  Meanwhile, in the thieves' guild of Eldoria City, Romio was in conversation with a female thief. She had jet-black hair and faint scars on her crimson lips. Standing taller than the average man, she carried small axes strapped to her back and daggers on both sides of her belt. Her dark eyes held an enigmatic allure, making her both intimidating and captivating.

  She eyed Romio and asked, “Why not just storm the mansion, kill everyone, and finish the job?”

  Romio shook his head. “Not until all the masters pull their investments and people. You heard their orders—they’re final… to an extent.”

  The woman nodded thoughtfully. Romio added, “Janiver, you know what to do. Leave traces of yourself everywhere.”

  “Isn’t that what makes a thief terrible at their job?” Janiver teased with a smirk.

  Romio chuckled. “In this situation? No.”

  Janiver pulled up her hood, disappearing into the shadows. Romio turned to another figure—a tall, emaciated man. His protruding bones and gaunt frame made him look as though he hadn’t eaten in years. He had short blonde hair and bulging red eyes that seemed ready to pop from their sockets—a bizarre and unsettling appearance, even for a thief.

  "Rak, head to the capital and carry out the tasks. When my signal appears, start without hesitation," Romio ordered. Rak gave a silent nod before vanishing into the shadows.

  The following morning, as expected, snow began to fall. Children laughed and played, their joy lighting up the streets. Many townsfolk shared in the happiness, though a few merchants sighed, dreading the inevitable challenges snow brought—the slippery roads, delayed travel, and increased risk of raids. Others simply embraced the season, finding solace in the beauty and the opportunity for some winter fun.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  In Pirogovo Town, Yory finished loading his cart and checked on Boris, ensuring everything was in order. As he turned, he saw Con approaching with a large cake in hand. "Yory, I pray for your safe journey," Con said warmly.

  Yory smiled, placing the cake carefully in the cart before pulling Con into a hug. Con returned the gesture, his embrace full of warmth. "Don't forget to visit, my friend," Con added with a grin.

  Yory patted his head lightly. "Of course, Con. Thank you for being a true friend. I wish you a long and happy life."

  Con smiled at the heartfelt words. "And the same to you, Yory."

  Once he left the town, Yory travelled at a slow pace. The next town was a day’s journey, and the snow steadily blanketed the roads, transforming the landscape from lush green to an unbroken expanse of white.

  Wrapped in his thick coat, Yory resisted the urge to use magic. He was painfully aware that he was being watched, and for a long time now, he’d been concealing his magical abilities. The effort was exhausting and often tested his patience, but he endured it silently.

  Yet, Yory wasn’t entirely alone. He glanced toward the back of his cart and called out, "Are you comfortable back there, lads?"

  Rory, the elf, and a human merchant were seated on a large, warm carpet. Rory smiled faintly, her hood pulled low to shield her face. "Thank you, Yory, for letting us ride with you. The snow could have been a real problem for us," she said appreciatively.

  The human merchant nodded with a smile. "Are you sure you won’t accept payment? I have coins to repay your kindness."

  Yory shook his head and said with a wry grin, "If the day ever comes when I’m on the road with nothing to my name, I’ll count on you to help me out."

  The merchant and Rory nodded with knowing smiles. Such was life—one day it showered you with blessings, and the next, it plunged you into chaos you never sought.

  Rory glanced at the cart, her thoughts veiled as she muttered to herself, *It’s filled with demon traces. This man isn’t even trying to hide it anymore.*

  Yory turned his attention to Boris, the steady steed pulling the cart. Snow covered Boris’s head and back, yet he seemed unfazed. Yory thought to himself, *I know how you endure the cold, but it’s still strange to witness.*

  He picked up a book and opened it, though his mind was too preoccupied to focus on the words. *Those two have been following me since the capital. One—or both—of them is likely a spy. Then again, they might simply be merchants.*

  His mind wandered back to when he had departed Zefa Village. Both the human merchant and Rory had trailed behind him—Rory walking near his cart while the man kept his distance.

  *Traveling alone as a trader is dangerous,* Yory mused. *A group of merchants is safer and keeps bandits at bay… for the most part.*

  He imagined the human merchant and muttered under his breath, *He could be the spy. Something about him doesn’t add up.*

  Yory’s thoughts continued. *He’s not particularly strong-looking, yet he carries a heavy backpack with ease. That’s a stark contrast to Joe, who’s well-built and taller than most guards. And he doesn’t seem to have any visible weapons—or perhaps he’s skilled in hand-to-hand combat? Even so, that’s a foolish choice when facing bandits.*

  Realizing he hadn’t absorbed a single word from the book, Yory snapped it shut. His gaze shifted to Rory as he considered her behaviour. *She carries weapons to deter trouble, always stays close to my cart, and even greets me at the town gates. She doesn’t bother hiding her presence.*

  *And yet,* Yory thought as he stared ahead at the snow-covered road, *Both of them are here. If they make the wrong move, I won’t hesitate to kill them. With snow and an empty road, blaming it on bandits would be easy enough.*

  Rory called out, "Yory?"

  Yory turned to face her. "Yes?"

  "By the way," Rory said, opening her small bag and pulling out a stack of contracts, "I sell goods contracts to merchants. If you’re interested—or know someone who might be—that would be a big favour."

  Yory nodded. "Right now, I have everything I need, but I can read through some of the contracts if you'd like."

  Rory smiled warmly. "Of course."

  Yory took a handful of contracts and began reading. After skimming through a few, he mused to himself: This kind of business is genius. No one would bother stealing a bag of papers—most bandits can’t even read or write, and those who can don’t have the skills or connections to sell these contracts. It’s a clever and safe way for merchants to protect their investments.

  Still, this method of trade only started a few years ago in my kingdom. He glanced at Rory and said, "I know a merchant—Vid, a friend of mine. He’d definitely be interested in these two contracts."

  Rory’s smile widened as she reviewed the contracts. "Where can I find him?"

  "Daekrahm City," Yory replied. "He’ll be there in about a month, and he’s willing to pay well for contracts like these."

  Rory nodded appreciatively. "Thank you."

  "Of course," Yory said with a polite smile.

  As they continued, Yory reflected silently. *How does she know about this trade method? She must either have a strong network of connections or have spent time in the demon kingdom. Either way, she doesn’t seem to hide it.*

  While Yory focused on the road ahead, Rory sat reading a book, her thoughts drifting. *He offered to take us where we need to go. Is it out of kindness? A ploy to sell us old goods he can’t offload elsewhere? Or maybe he’s helping us now to secure our help later.*

  She glanced at Yory’s back, her sharp eyes noticing the faint traces of magic he was using to suppress his aura. Even from this distance, her keen skills allowed her to see through it.

  She thought to herself, *He’s trying to contain his power, but it’s not even that strong to begin with. The magic he’s using is weak and unnecessary. I’d tell him to stop wasting his time, but that would only draw unwanted attention.*

  Rory glanced at Yory, her thoughts racing: *Why didn’t he react to my method of contracts? He’s a demon—shouldn’t he logically question how I know about these?*

  She then shifted her gaze to her contracts and mused further: *Either he’s unfamiliar with them because he hasn’t lived in the demon kingdom for long, or he simply doesn’t want to ask unnecessary questions. In the end, he doesn’t seem like the talkative type.*

  After a day of travel, the cart finally arrived at Waldheim, where snow blanketed the forest and town, painting everything in white. The road had been treacherous, but they made it safely.

  Yory shook hands with a human merchant and said, "Eld, I wish you a safe journey, my friend."

  Eld smiled warmly. "And to you as well. Have a great journey, Yory the merchant."

  After parting ways, Yory climbed back onto his cart and glanced at Rory, who sat in the back wrapped in an extra coat. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Cold?"

  Rory smiled playfully. "With this expensive coat? Not at all—otherwise, I’d feel tricked."

  Yory grinned. "Of course. This old coat of mine has been my faithful companion every winter. Now, where to, Rory the merchant?"

  Rory paused, considering her options, before replying, "You could help me reach Giraf Village. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep travelling with you until the month's end—and I’ll pay, of course."

  Yory considered the situation carefully: *If a spy is watching me, I can use Rory to blend in. If she’s the spy, I’ll chop her head off. If a spy loses patience and attacks, I think Rory will understand. And if they’re both spies, then I won’t hold back—I’ll take them all on.*

  He turned to Rory and said, "I presume you’ll pay me two golds?"

  Rory smirked. "How did you guess?"

  Yory shrugged. "All merchants are the same."

  They shook hands, sealing the deal, and continued travelling together.

  After a long day on the road, night fell, and Yory climbed into the cart. Settling himself on the carpet, he said, "I hope you’re comfortable back there. Sorry about the goods—they take up so much space."

  Rory shook her head. "Taking me along is more than enough. Besides," she added with a small smile, "I actually love tight spaces."

  Yory smiled. "Why? Were you raised in a small house?"

  "No," Rory replied, her eyes drifting to the ring on her finger. "I grew up in a merchant family. But as a kid, I loved hugging my siblings and sleeping between them. I guess I was a weird child, but I found it comforting—peaceful, you could say."

  Yory nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like you had a good family."

  Rory smiled softly. "Yes, a great one."

  After sharing a few more laughs and stories, Yory wrapped himself in a blanket and drifted off to sleep, a dagger gripped tightly in his hand. Across the cart, Rory settled herself between the goods, her own daggers within easy reach.

  Unlike the horrors of the war 300 years ago and the nightmares it left behind, the war eventually ended, and Rory returned home.

  Exhausted and covered in scars, she could barely sleep during her journey back. As she passed familiar faces and exchanged brief greetings, she finally arrived at the farm where she was born and raised.

  Before she could set foot on the land, her father appeared, waiting for her under the blazing sun. She smiled through her pain, limping toward him as he rushed to embrace her. Tears welled in his eyes as he welcomed her home.

  He shouted for the others, and soon everyone poured out of the house. The younger ones ran to Rory, surrounding her with hugs and laughter.

  Back in the present, Rory smiled as a tear slipped down her cheek. She kissed her ring, then glanced at Sebastian, who slept peacefully beside her. Her voice was barely a whisper as she said, "Good night, Sebastian."

  Meanwhile, at Eli's Tavern, the night was quiet, and everyone was fast asleep—except for Foty. She sat in her closet, crying silently as Lana knelt beside her, gently patting her back. Foty’s left eye was swollen, evidence of a harsh blow, while Lana sported a faint bruise on her cheek.

  Lana wiped away a tear and spoke softly. "Sister?"

  Foty held back her sobs for a moment before choking out, "From now on, if they hurt you, I’ll hurt them. I’m sorry for being a bad sister!"

  Lana embraced her tightly, and the two sisters sat together in silence, tears streaming down their faces in the small, dark closet—the only place that felt safe.