“And why, would any of us trust an usurper like you?” Lev Reznik, master of the merchant’s guild, said to Alex from across the conference table as he narrowed his already beady eyes into what looked like silts. “Especially on the matter of keeping a promise on something this unprecedented?”

  Despite the recent upheavals, the room was still rather well furnished, if still looking more than a little disheveled. The rest of the building for that matter as well, though the same could not be said for its late and unlamented inhabitants…

  “Well then, don’t.” Alex replied deadpanned. “What you gonna do, hand me over to the king on a silver platter?” He narrowed his eyes in return. “But you already know the reward for loyalty over there do you?” News of the execution of Rostov had made the rounds already, as expected of such events worthy of gossip.

  He hoped the merchant master didn't realize his naked bluff, for narratively speaking slimy scumbags like those of the merchant's guild are basically guaranteed to live and prosper, and as silly as believing in some barely remembered superstitious shit like that so far things seemed to have played out about in that direction.

  After all, for all that being a treacherous shtibag, he himself is doing rather well. At least he wasn’t hung by a thin wire, swinging around, trousers falling down in a last humiliation. He shoved the R18G thoughts aside. Dwelling on those things is not going to be productive. He has to focus, to hope.

  To dare to hope.

  “Humph.” Lev snorted. “You do have a point. Still-” he continued, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion, “- what is that you’re after?”

  “What do you mean?” Alex asked back.

  “I’m not seeing what you have to gain from dealing with us.” Lev said. “Handing over power to someone else, and so quickly?”

  “That’s the point.” Alex replied. “I’m not here to replace the parts of the system, but the system itself.”

  “Wha-” Lev uttered in confusion before Alex cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  “Trust has to start somewhere, and I chose here and now.” He simply said with a cheesy dramatic flourish as he got up from the table.

  Ironic, as he hasn’t been completely forthcoming with all the details of his mind. They wouldn’t understand, or worse, they would, and nip that in the bud before it could get off the ground. He could only trust them to be predictable, nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

  Hammering out a new government, or what passes for one, was not exactly simple. The same rage that gripped the mob at the capitol had found more success here, though with similarly grisly results: He had thought he was used to heinous atrocities, but the sight and smells of hundreds of corpses strung up around the town square. Not just the local aristocracy, but their families, servants, casual acquaintances, anybody and anything that can be remotely linked. Not even the pets were spared.

  And the sounds too, for the crows and the vultures have been eating good, and proclaiming their good fortunes for all around. As always, the only unambiguous winners of any wars, anywhere, anytime.

  Grim displays of revenge aside, the mass killings of the entirety of the local ruling class and their support has led to some practical difficulties, namely how to fund a war effort. The peasants in the outlying villages are doing just fine: for their only dealings with the local lord was during the looting that is called taxation and the rape of their maidens when the lord asserts prima nocta. The city dwellers are doing fine too, being mostly in the same lot as their rural counterparts.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The problem comes with supplying an army and a war effort: That still requires a bureaucratic institution of some sort.

  Thus this devil of a deal to elevate the merchant’s guild into some sort of government, a compromise for them as well for they would have to contribute in an earnest fashion if they don’t fancy being strung up by somebody or another.

  Like those previous luckless fools.

  “Ah, captain. It’s good to see you in good health.” An oddly familiar voice greeted Alex as he stepped outside of the door of the conference room.

  “Oh- um Minaev, same to you too.” Alex slurred out the greeting in return, trying to hide his almost forgetting of the old quartermaster’s name. “Caught me in the middle of some thinking.”

  “Reading over your tarot cards again?” Minaev asked nonchalantly. Alex shook his head.

  “No, but now that you mentioned it…” He said as he swirled his right in a pattern, having long since stopped bothering to explain what those shipment cards actually are. “Although I don’t see-” He suddenly stopped in mid sentence as the ghostly images manifested themselves in front of him.

  It’s a different deck, in fact it’s a very different deck than the one he had previously. A lot more aggressive, of a “hail mary” vibe. A lot more close up and to the knife.

  If he hadn't lost his faith a long time ago he might even have believed it to be a sign to hurry up. That time’s running out. But time had already run out a long time ago, yet here they are still.

  Alive. Defiant. A pain in the arse of the natural order of things.

  God is not watching, just beings higher up on the power scale order. Scumbags they all are too, for how could they be anything else and tolerate a hellish world such as this?

  “Ahem, are you not feeling well?” Minaev asked, a look of concern on his face. Alex shook his head.

  “I’m fine enough.” He muttered, before returning to his normal tone of voice. “Well, I think you can already guess it, but I’m bringing you back on, this time as my chief logistician.”

  “I assume that’s a promotion from quartermaster.” Minaev said dryly, as if fishing for something else instead.

  “Yeah, something like that.” Alex confirmed. “More things to handle and deal with. We’re not just a rabble of murder hobos this time around. At least not if we want to have a chance of staying alive.”

  “Then I believe I do have good news for you, if you’ll follow me.” Minaev said with a chuckle as he gestured to the other man to follow him.

  “Well, I’m grateful for anything, but unless it’s some deus ex machina I don’t think-” Alex began before Minaev cut him off.

  “It’s a big thing alright.” He assured him cryptically before seemingly abruptly changing the topic. “Do you remember the times you wondered about where all the taxes from the peasantry were going?”

  “Yeah, and?” Alex shrugged, as they descended into the first of the underground level of the massive building. From the looks of it, it was some kind of root cellar, the contents of which had been looted clean. Completely unsurprising of course, though it would still be completely inadequate to deal with the famine levels of starvation that’s the natural state of the peasantry.

  “And you are about to have your answer to that.” Minaev simply said as he opened a rather large trapdoor from an otherwise nondescript section of the floor, revealing another subterranean level of storage.

  A much larger floor, if the echoes of sounds made it rather obvious. Visually it’s hard to tell however as everything is filled with wooden crates as far as the eyes could see.

  “What am I looking at?” Alex asked as he narrowed his eyes. Clearly the answer should be obvious as Minaev wasn’t the type to be coy about matters.

  Minaev took a deep breath before he spoke again. “Storage of foodstuff and other materials in a magically induced state of stasis. Now you know where all those centuries of oppressive taxes have gone to.”

  “Oh.” Was all Alex could respond as his mind pondered on. “Why?” He then asked aimlessly, to no one in particular. The fundamental question has not been answered.

  “That I do not know.” Minaev shrugged. “But that aside, there’s enough stuff stored here to fund the war effort, and much more. It’s basically a cornucopia down here, and probably in all the rest of those places too.” He said the last part in a much lower voice, in an almost whisper.

  “Well then,” Alex sighed in relief, as if a massive weight had been taken off his shoulders, “that settles it. Мы выходим на рассвете.”

  “Да. Minaev nodded in acknowledgement. “Будет сделано.”