The Golden Rose brothel was exactly what I had expected—a gaudy display of wealth built on the misery of others. Red velvet curtains hung from every window, and the sound of drunken laughter echoed from within. The establishment catered to nobles and wealthy merchants who wanted to indulge their vices without worrying about their reputations.
Perfect cover for a man trying to disappear.
Luna and I had separated after leaving the prison, but she had given me a small silver whistle—a signal device that would summon her if needed. For now, I preferred to handle Lord Thornwick personally. This was about more than just eliminating a loose end; it was about sending a message.
I had changed into the clothes of a wealthy merchant, complete with a false beard and colored contact lenses that turned my distinctive crimson eyes brown. The system's analysis function had identified the optimal disguise for infiltrating the Golden Rose without raising suspicion.
The bouncer at the door was a mountain of muscle with scars across his knuckles and a bored expression that suggested he'd seen everything. He looked me up and down, calculating my worth based on the quality of my clothes and the heaviness of my purse.
"First time at the Rose?" he asked, his voice like gravel.
"Business associate recommended it," I replied, slipping him a gold coin. "Said you provide... discrete entertainment."
He pocketed the coin with practiced ease. "Discretion is our specialty. Enjoy your evening."
The interior of the Golden Rose was a maze of private rooms, gambling tables, and shadowy alcoves where men conducted business they couldn't afford to have exposed. The air was thick with perfume, wine, and the unmistakable musk of desperation.
I made my way through the crowd, using the system's enhanced perception to locate my target. There—in a corner booth, surrounded by empty wine bottles and the remnants of an expensive meal. Lord Thornwick looked exactly as pathetic as I had imagined.
He was a thin man in his fifties, with thinning hair and the soft features of someone who had never known real hardship. His clothes were expensive but wrinkled, and there was a nervous twitch in his left eye that suggested he wasn't as confident in his safety as he pretended to be.
Two prostitutes flanked him, both young women who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. They were doing their best to appear interested in his rambling stories, but I could see the professional detachment in their eyes.
"...and then Blackwater said the assassin would never be able to identify me," Thornwick was saying, his words slurred with wine. "Said I was completely safe as long as I stayed hidden for a few weeks. Genius plan, really."
One of the prostitutes nodded absently. "Very clever, my lord."
"Exactly! See, most people don't understand the complexity of high-level politics. You have to think three steps ahead, anticipate your enemies' moves..."
I approached the booth with the confident stride of a successful merchant. "Lord Thornwick? What a pleasant surprise!"
He looked up at me with bleary eyes, trying to focus. "I'm sorry, do we know each other?"
"Marcus Goldweaver," I said, extending my hand. "We met at the Autumn Harvest Festival last year. You were telling fascinating stories about your work with the Royal Treasury."
His face went pale. Even drunk, he wasn't stupid enough to miss the implication. "I... I think you have me confused with someone else. I'm just a simple merchant—"
"Of course you are," I said, settling into the booth uninvited. "My mistake. Though I must say, you bear a striking resemblance to a certain lord who's been making quite the impression in political circles lately."
The prostitutes exchanged glances, sensing the shift in atmosphere. One of them started to rise, but I placed a gentle hand on her arm.
"Please, don't leave on my account. I'm sure Lord Thornwick enjoys your company. After all, a man in his position must get lonely, hiding away from his responsibilities."
Thornwick's eye twitched more violently. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you? That's disappointing. I was hoping you could tell me about your recent business dealings. Particularly the ones involving faked deaths and embezzled funds."
The system screen appeared:
[PSYCHOLOGICAL PRESSURE ANALYSIS]
[TARGET STRESS LEVEL: 87%]
[PROBABILITY OF CONFESSION: 92%]
[OPTIMAL STRATEGY: CONTINUE INDIRECT THREATS]
I leaned back in my seat, projecting casual confidence. "You know, I've always admired men who can think on their feet. Take you, for example. When you realized that your gambling debts were going to destroy your family's reputation, you didn't panic. You found a creative solution."
"I don't gamble," he said weakly.
"Of course not. And you certainly didn't owe fifty thousand gold crowns to some very unpleasant people. And you definitely didn't agree to help embezzle treasury funds to pay off those debts."
Thornwick's hands were shaking now. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"I'm someone who appreciates talent," I said. "And I'm someone who believes in giving people choices. You have a choice to make tonight, Lord Thornwick. You can continue this charade, pretending to be a simple merchant while your co-conspirators decide whether you're worth protecting. Or you can be smart and align yourself with someone who can actually guarantee your safety."
"My safety is guaranteed," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. "Blackwater promised—"
"Blackwater is currently reconsidering his priorities," I interrupted. "Along with his loyalty to certain business partners. You see, the political landscape has shifted rather dramatically in the past few hours."
I pulled out a small leather portfolio and placed it on the table. "These are copies of financial records from the Royal Treasury. Very interesting reading. They show a pattern of fund transfers that correspond exactly with your gambling schedule."
Thornwick's face went white. "That's impossible. Those records are sealed."
"Are they? How unfortunate for you that they're not as secure as you believed." I opened the portfolio, revealing pages of detailed financial analysis. "Would you like to see the specific entries that detail your involvement? Or perhaps you'd prefer to see the correspondence between you and certain underground moneylenders?"
He grabbed for the papers, but I closed the portfolio smoothly. "Ah, ah. These are copies, of course. The originals are in a very safe place, along with several other interesting documents."
"What do you want?" he whispered.
"I want you to understand your situation," I said. "You're not protected. You're not safe. You're a liability that your former associates will eliminate the moment it becomes convenient. Your only chance of survival is to place yourself under the protection of someone who has a use for you."
"And that's you?"
"That's me." I signaled the bartender for another bottle of wine. "I represent certain interests that would benefit from your cooperation. In exchange, I can offer you something that Blackwater never could—genuine protection."
The system screen flickered:
[RECRUITMENT ATTEMPT IN PROGRESS]
[TARGET: LORD THORNWICK]
[FEAR LEVEL: 94%]
[COMPLIANCE PROBABILITY: 89%]
"What kind of cooperation?" he asked.
"Information. Access. Your signature on certain documents when required. Nothing too demanding, and certainly nothing that would put you in direct danger."
"And if I refuse?"
I smiled, and let just a hint of my true nature show through the merchant's disguise. "Then you'll discover that your former associates aren't the only ones who know how to make people disappear."
Thornwick stared at me for a long moment, then reached for his wine glass with a trembling hand. "What do you need me to do?"
"Smart choice. First, you're going to write a letter to Duke Ravencrest. You're going to express concerns about the security of your operation and request a private meeting. You're going to suggest that some of your associates might be compromised."
"That... that will make him suspicious."
"That's the point. A suspicious Ravencrest is a predictable Ravencrest. He'll want to consolidate his position, eliminate potential threats, secure his assets. All of which will require him to take actions that expose his network."
I pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. "Write the letter. Now."
As Thornwick began writing, his hands shaking with fear and wine, I reflected on how perfectly this was falling into place. The original Aldric had been a brute, using fear and violence to get what he wanted. But I was learning that fear was just one tool among many.
Information was power. Leverage was control. And psychological pressure was often more effective than physical force.
The letter was clumsy but effective. Thornwick's genuine terror came through in every word, making it utterly convincing. Ravencrest would read it and see exactly what Thornwick wanted him to see—a frightened subordinate who needed reassurance.
"Excellent," I said, taking the letter. "Now, you're going to return to your rooms and wait. You will not contact anyone. You will not leave the brothel. You will not do anything except wait for further instructions."
"For how long?"
"Until I tell you otherwise." I stood up, leaving a generous tip for the prostitutes. "Oh, and Thornwick? If you're thinking about running, don't. I have people watching every exit from this establishment. And trust me, you don't want to meet them in a dark alley."
As I walked away, I could hear him calling for more wine. Let him drink himself into oblivion. Fear was an excellent motivator, but it was even better when combined with the helplessness that came from drowning one's sorrows.
Outside the Golden Rose, I found Luna waiting in the shadows, her violet eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"Perfectly. Thornwick is now a willing participant in his own destruction. He'll send a letter to Ravencrest that will set the entire network on edge."
"And then?"
"Then we sit back and watch them tear each other apart. Ravencrest will start eliminating potential threats, which will create more fear, which will cause more people to make mistakes. By the time he realizes what's happening, his entire organization will be in chaos."
Luna smiled. "I like your style. Very... artistic."
"Destruction is an art form," I agreed. "But we're not done yet. We still need to secure Blackwater's records and establish our own network of informants. The real work is just beginning."
The system screen appeared:
[NETWORK INFILTRATION: 45% COMPLETE]
[ASSETS SECURED: 2/7 MAJOR PLAYERS]
[DUKE RAVENCREST THREAT LEVEL: ELEVATED]
[NEW MISSION AVAILABLE: ESTABLISH SAFE HOUSE NETWORK]
As we walked through the darkened streets, I couldn't help but feel satisfied with the night's work. In the span of a few hours, I had recruited an assassin, turned a minister, and terrified a lord into complete cooperation.
But this was just the beginning. The corruption network that had seemed so powerful this morning was now riddled with cracks. And I intended to keep applying pressure until the whole structure collapsed.
The original Aldric had been feared for his strength. But I would be feared for something far more dangerous—my intelligence.
And tomorrow, the real game would begin.
[CHAPTER END]
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE MASTERY LEVEL INCREASED]
[THORNWICK'S FEAR LEVEL: MAXIMUM - COMPLETE COMPLIANCE ACHIEVED]
[NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW: "THE SPIDER'S WEB"]