The massive caravan slowly approached the castle.
And the castle gates creaked open, heavy and deliberate. This time, the leading carriage belonged to Fauriel.
A long, wide stone path stretched toward the castle. The stones were cracked in places, with thin blades of grass sprouting between them. On either side of the road, dry, yellowed grass and leafless trees stood in eerie silence. When the wind blew gently, brittle leaves rustled across the stones.
But the strangest thing of all was the white-clothed table, set right in the middle of this desolate scene. Beside the table stood a servant and a butler.
One was an old man with long white hair cascading over his shoulders. He held an ornate parasol in his hand. The weather was neither hot nor rainy, yet he gripped the parasol tightly. The other was young, his gaze fixed on the ground, expressionless.
A few meters away from the table stood a massive, square structure, five meters high, concealed by an enormous curtain. No one looked at it. Or perhaps, they chose not to.
As the caravan moved forward, the air filled with a metallic scent. The stench of blood and rotting flesh intermingled. Some of the soldiers noticed it, but none spoke. One of them wrinkled his nose slightly and muttered under his breath:
"It must be the blood of the villagers…"
None of them realized they were hoping this thought would bring them comfort.
And finally, all eyes turned to the man at the head of the table.
His crimson hair cascaded over his shoulders, swaying gently in the breeze. He leaned back, exuding an air of ease and absolute confidence. Not a single scar marred his flawless skin.
His eyes were deep and piercing. Anyone who met his gaze felt both admiration and an unsettling sense of unease gnawing at their insides.
Standing just behind him, his elderly butler, Jiho, silently held the ornate parasol over him.
Some soldiers swallowed hard. A few leaned toward each other, whispering in hushed voices.
"This man truly looks like a noble…"
"More than a noble… There's something strange about him. Look at his eyes…"
But Yosukez was different from the other soldiers. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. He had seen many handsome and imposing men before.
The only thing that piqued his interest was the mysterious curtain behind Ravien.
The carriage rolled closer to the table. The doors opened, and out stepped a towering man, two meters tall, with a massive, round belly. He wore extravagant clothes, his thick purple hair styled meticulously. His guards followed closely behind him as he approached the table.
Stopping before it, he gave a slight bow and spoke:
"I offer my greetings. I am Fauriel, one of the finest merchants of the Western City. I have brought the goods you ordered."
(POV: Ravien)
So, they've finally arrived.
My eyes swept over the fat man from head to toe. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I looked at him.
"Welcome. Please, have a seat."
I turned to Haldvir, who was standing beside me.
"Go bring some tea."
Haldvir bowed his head and left.
As he watched him walk away, Fauriel spoke.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you something. That old man standing behind you… Is he your butler?"
Fauriel's sharp eyes shifted to Jiho. He was good at assessing people instantly, and seeing a butler like Jiho here was certainly strange.
I met his gaze and answered,
"Yes. He has been serving me for five years."
Fauriel touched his cheek, smiling faintly.
"I see."
With artificial smiles, we chatted about trivial matters.
At one point, Fauriel's gaze flickered toward the massive, veiled structure behind me. His brows furrowed slightly, but he quickly regained his cheerful expression. Then, almost as if it was an afterthought, he asked in a tone so casual it could've been lost in the conversation:
"By the way… What is that big thing behind you? I couldn't help but be curious."
I took a sip from the glass of water on the table, my expression unchanging, before offering a slight smile.
"Oh, that?"
I tilted my head slightly, as if I had forgotten it was even there, and gave the veiled structure a passing glance.
"We're doing some renovations on the castle. Since I knew you were coming today, I wanted to receive you in a more presentable setting. That's why I had a table brought here and had everything prepared. You don't like it, perhaps?"
Fauriel quickly waved his hands, the fake warmth in his smile intensifying.
"Oh no, not at all! Not a problem in the slightest!" he said. "On the contrary, it's truly admirable how much thought you put into receiving your guests. Really… impressive hospitality."
His eyes flickered toward a small gap beneath the curtain, where a faint shadow moved.
Something was there.
Or perhaps there was nothing.
For a moment, he thought he heard the deep sound of someone taking a breath.
His brows furrowed. Am I imagining things?
"What… is that?" he murmured under his breath. But then, he felt Ravien's gaze settle on him.
I smiled.
"Is something wrong, Fauriel?"
After a brief hesitation, Fauriel cast one last glance at the curtain before shrugging.
"No, nothing at all."
Just then, Haldvir returned with the tea.
As I picked up my cup, Fauriel leaned slightly closer to the table.
"Now that the tea is here, let's talk about the price," I said. "I was going to ask in Dolvano, but the connection was suddenly cut."
Fauriel responded in a friendly tone.
"Sir, you know I am a great merchant. Many people line up to buy or sell goods from me. So, occasionally, there may be disruptions in communication."
"I see… Well then, let me ask now. What is the price for all this supply?"
Fauriel put on a thoughtful expression and paused for a few moments.
I waited patiently for his answer. I knew exactly what he would do—quote an outrageously high price and insist that it was the standard rate.
Finally, he placed his hand on the table and spoke.
"The price is 1000 darik. But since this is your first major order, and I would like to do business with you long-term, I can offer you a discount of 200 darik."
I looked at him, keeping up my act of innocent naivety.
"That's a bit more expensive than I expected, Fauriel. I only have 300 dariks on hand."
Hearing this, Fauriel's smile widened slightly. He folded his hands together.
"Sir, if you don't have the full amount right now, I can take just 300 darik and leave the rest as a debt. However, there will be a 5% weekly interest. Would that be acceptable to you?"
Before Fauriel had even arrived, I had done my calculations. The total cost of the supplies should have been no more than 270 darik—150 for the goods, 50 for protection, and the rest for minor expenses and profit.
Yet, he was trying to charge me 800 more than that, presenting it as a "discounted price."
I gazed at him without narrowing my eyes.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions to clarify some things, Merchant Fauriel."
Fauriel didn't like the implication in my tone. His face tensed slightly, but he said nothing.
On the side, Yosukez was listening intently to the conversation.
Noticing his own irritation, Fauriel thought to himself, Lord Fauriel is currently annoyed. If anything happens, I need to be ready.
Yosukez lifted his hand ever so slightly—an almost imperceptible movement. But the guards noticed it immediately.
They exchanged glances before subtly shifting their positions. No one moved hastily, but they were quietly repositioning themselves around the table.
Interesting…
I scanned the guards behind him. They had all passed through the castle gate. The first stage is complete.
Now, it was Jiho's turn. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.
Receiving my signal, Jiho bowed slightly and said,
"Young Master, I will go and prepare the money."
With that, he left.
Fauriel remained silent for a few seconds before speaking again, his wrinkled face stiff.
"Of course, you may ask, Sir."
I met his gaze.
"You must have passed through the village on your way here. Did anything happen there?"
Fauriel's voice was noticeably calmer and more composed than before as he replied,
"Yes… I believe there were a few starving people. We gave them some grain. Poor things… They looked miserable."
I laughed internally.
His face bore the expression of an "honorable merchant," but his eyes told a completely different story.
His gaze shifted slightly, narrowing as he spoke—he was lying.
He leaned on the table, attempting to project an air of ease and superiority.
I had already figured out what kind of man he was the moment I laid eyes on him.
The kind who worships wealth and power, who tramples on the weak.
The kind who, despite being weak themselves, foolishly believe they are strong.
The kind who scramble for a place to hide the moment they face true power.
People always see strength the same way—they measure it in gold, in armies, in grand titles.
But real strength isn't about what you have.
It's about whether you can stand tall even after losing everything.
Men like Fauriel hide behind wealth and status, believing themselves untouchable.
But their power is not the sharpness of a sword—it's the fragility of silk.
And the moment it's pulled, it shreds apart.
The funniest part?
They are always the last to realize how weak they truly are.
My gaze turned cold and expressionless.
The fake smile on my lips slowly faded.
I leaned back, drumming my fingers against the table in a slow, rhythmic pattern.
The artificial politeness in the air was beginning to sicken me.
I took a deep breath, tilting my head slightly to the side. My voice came out with a lazy, mocking drawl:
"Hah… Tell me, pig. When are you going to drop the act? These fake smiles are starting to bore me."