"I'm surprised you trust them," Welf whispered when the priest and the executioner left.
Konrad scoffed.
"If they try something, I'll make them burn bright enough to distract the guards." He pointed into the darkness as it swallowed them. "The stables are at the back. Once the fireworks start—"
"Got it," the blacksmith nodded, "give me twenty minutes, and I'll wait for you here."
Then, with a running start, he disappeared into the night, his red hair hidden beneath his hood.
Now it was Konrad's turn to act. With his home advantage, he wasn't too worried about patrolling grunts. But Eyna at his side couldn't stop fidgeting with her silvery hair.
He squeezed her arm, trying to comfort the girl with a smile.
"Won't let anyone kidnap you again," he whispered, but the result wasn't what he expected.
She clung to him so tight, his breath hitched.
"I thought about how you might've spent your life here, Master," she said with a smile, her soft skin warm against his. "I'm not going to let you down again, I promise."
"Y-you never did, Eyna," Konrad gulped, pointing at a gap in the wall. "Let's go."
Finding the merchants wasn't difficult.
When he was born, Haiten was nothing more than a footnote on Kasserlane's maps. But thanks to his logistics expertise, it became a bustling trading hub—busy even this late at night.
He was about eight when they built the Traders' Inn, the largest structure in the village.
As the name implied, peddlers traveling through Halaima's pass spent their night there.
Rounding them up without drawing the guards' attention took only a few minutes.
"Konrad? It's him. Haiten's Prodigy is back."
Once they were no longer groggy with sleep, the merchants greeted him like an old friend.
He knew almost everyone by name, but even those he didn't, recognized him.
He felt like a celebrity, but he wasn't here for the pleasantries.
"I'm sure you've noticed how much things have changed since I left Haiten," he took a deep breath. "With nobody to oppose them, the Church took over everything."
"And here we thought Father Alastair was greedy," one of them scoffed.
"They demand twice the price for our 'protection.' And we no longer get your insights."
"I know," Konrad nodded. "But that'll change today."
He unrolled the parchment—his copy of the Halaima Code of Conduct—and showed it to the peddlers. Even nomads or travelers from other countries must've recognized the king's seal.
"This is a letter from Kasserlane's ruler," he claimed, "recognizing me as an heir to the Halstadts."
The merchants buzzed with anticipation, voices overlapping in their excitement.
"It gives me the right to collect taxes and handle trade in this region. But there's a catch—"
The murmurs died down, every eye fixed on his face.
"The Inquisitor, Otto Ostfeld, wants those taxes for himself. They tried to imprison me—and even your old friend, Alastair, but as you can see, I'm not taking it lying down."
That might've backfired, the traders seeming nervous.
Konrad cleared his throat.
"What I'm offering are my usual insights and the standard tolls—no extra fees, no extortion. All you have to do is avoid the Church's establishments between the pass and the capital."
There was no cheering like he had hoped.
"So, you want us to piss off the Inquisitor? After he threw you in his prison?"
The boy held his arms up.
"The Church is greedy, but not stupid," he said, trying to calm the peddlers down. "They won't risk disrupting trade—it's their main income, and the king wouldn't allow it."
"What about the protection? I hear the mountain tribes grew restless—"
"I'm the new chieftess of the Black River tribe," Eyna stepped up, bowing her head.
That introduction surprised even Konrad—let alone the traders. It wasn't anything new to him, but when she always acted as a lowly servant, calling him Master—
And her people were almost wiped out, branded as bandits.
"Like his ancestors, Lord Konrad could unify the tribes under his banner. The Blood Moon tribe supports him as well." Okay, she might've overdone it, but the murmurs were promising.
Father Alastair and Sister Stella chose that moment to crash their assembly.
"Here's the ledger, and the note we found you with," the priest panted, the executioner crossing her arms. Their arrival completely confused the merchants. "They didn't suspect a thing."
At least they behaved, then. Konrad pinched his nose.
"Right, as I said, Father Alastair no longer serves the Church, and Miss Stella here—"
He faltered, searching for words, then glanced at the note—its script unfamiliar.
Eyna peeked over, humming in approval.
"Ser Alastair remembered the prophecy right," she nodded, straightening her back, and smiled.
The boy was losing track of what was happening, and worse, he had gotten stage fright.
"A-anyway, this is the main ledger, so we're taking over the business here," he said, then corrected himself. "Well, not here, somewhere, soon. You'll have to avoid Haiten from now on."
"That's unlike you, Konrad, being so vague," a peddler noted.
"How will we find you again? And what guarantees do we have?" another demanded.
Right. Where could he send them? How'd they tell him apart from the Church?
His head snapped at the priest.
"What was the Halstadts' coat of arms?"
"Uh, a sleeping fox with a watchtower," Father Alastair mumbled.
"A fox, huh?" Konrad pondered. "And my mother was from the Two-Tailed Dog tribe?"
Foxes and tails. Wasn't there a mythical creature like that in the world he came from?
"A kitsune," he yelled, met with confusion. "A seven-tailed fox will be the insignia to look for."
He summoned the image above his palm, the illusion surprising the peddlers.
"As for guarantees," Konrad found his voice again. "I'll destroy the relay station, and—"
Now that got the hall buzzing, and he couldn't even finish.
Logistics was his strength. Dealing with people? Less so.
"Master, before you do that," Eyna whispered, her voice soft in the din. "We should reroute any food shipments to the Tribal Council. They're starving—this might sway them to your side."
"Great idea," Konrad nodded, raising his hands, unable to quell the merchants' panic.
The traders demanded answers, but they were too loud to hear them.
"Calm down, I'm not going to leave you without a penny," he tried to take back control. "I'll compensate you in pure adamantite—it's worth ten times its weight in gold at the capital."
"More like twenty," Stella scoffed, leaning against the wall. Trying to help was unlike her.
The boy revealed his ten pounds of ore, and the merchants almost started to drool.
"This'll prove my strength and credibility. And you can demand compensation from the Church, too. Win-win. But if they refuse, go to the capital and file a complaint with the king."
He opened the ledger, running through the wares, splitting the adamantite pile.
"I'll buy the food and pay double," he promised, and a few merchants rubbed their hands.
"Let me lead them to the Council," Eyna bowed, eager to prove herself. Konrad nodded.
"If anyone else wants to opt out, you can leave—for the rest, prepare for the fireworks."