The restaurant was far too small for comfort.
That was Kleber's first thought the moment they sat down — and the second, when every other patron in the building seemed to leave.
"You should really put a more welcoming face," Kleber muttered, glancing around as a family near the corner whispered hurriedly, paid, and exited through the back door. "You're scaring them off, my lord. Look — even the cook's hiding behind the counter."
"Their prejudice for face is not my concern," Logos replied, tone flat as a blade.
"And what about that mana of yours?" Kleber asked, lowering his voice. "You do know how ominous it feels, right? Like a thundercloud about to burst."
"I've been concealing it for a long time," Logos said, unfazed. "Some relaxation is in order."
Another customer left — hurriedly.
Kleber sighed, propping his chin on one hand. "Sure. Scaring the city half to death is how most people relax."
Logos ignored him, eyes drifting to the faint dust motes twisting through the window light.
"So," Kleber said finally, waving his spoon, "how are we going to find these merchants you're after?"
"Who said we're going to find them?" Logos asked.
Kleber blinked. "Then… what? You expect them to come to you?"
"Yes."
Kleber threw his hands in the air. "How?! Are you secretly charming? Did I miss that day?!"
Logos tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Tell me, Kleber — what are my most striking characteristics?"
Kleber didn't even hesitate. "Haunting voice. Creepy smile. You act like you already know how everyone dies. Oh — and you look like a villain in a play about cursed dolls."
"Exaggeration," Logos murmured, "but fine."
"Believe me, it's not," Kleber sighed. "Go on then, genius. What's the plan?"
"It's written in history," Logos said. "Curiosity is a powerful force. Merchants thrive on risk. Information brokers even more so."
"So you're baiting them," Kleber muttered.
"I'm presenting opportunity."
Before he could reply, the restaurant door creaked open.
A man stepped in — silks, rings, and the hesitant grin of someone realizing too late he'd entered a lion's den. His eyes met Logos's across the room, and his breath hitched audibly.
He sat down. Immediately.
The server tried to bring menus but caught Logos's gaze and promptly vanished back into the kitchen.
Then the door opened again.
Then again.
Three more men entered — separately, pretending to be strangers, each pretending not to notice the others.
Kleber watched, expression flat. "You've got to be kidding me…"
Soon, the small restaurant was nearly empty except for their group — and four very nervous merchants trying to look casual as food was hastily served on a long, uneven table.
The silence felt ceremonial, like the prelude to a signing or a duel.
Then the one in silks spoke, fingers tapping the table. "Baron Laos. Philip Branta, of Branta Caravans. We move grain, steel, and small arms. There's talk of your… work. We came to assess your needs."
A thin man beside him leaned forward. "Edmond Pilgrim, Pilgrim Caravans. Rumors move faster than wagons, my lord. We bring offers."
The woman, broad-shouldered and blunt, nodded once. "Ursa. Bear Merchants. We carry heavy loads, secure routes. Names mean coin, Baron. I'll be direct — what do you want?"
Finally, the youngest — a jittery man in crimson silk — cleared his throat. "Thomas. Red Silks. Cloth, dyes, whatever you require, my lord."
Logos watched them all without speaking, as still as the air before lightning.
When he finally did, his voice cut clean through the tension.
"None of those things."
Four sets of eyes blinked.
"None?" Thomas repeated, fingers tightening around his wine glass.
"You expect us to be insulted?" Philip said, tone cautious but probing. "A lord without need is a lord without coin."
"Let me finish," Logos said evenly. "I do not wish to buy your wares. I require contracts."
"Contracts?" Ursa's eyes narrowed. "For what?"
"For trade. Why else?"
That single word trade — so simple, so ordinary — hung in the air like a blade.
Kleber groaned inwardly. Here we go.
"Another failure, I guess," Logos murmured to himself.
"Pardon?" Edmond asked.
"Don't mind him," Kleber said quickly. "My lord isn't exactly fluent in jokes."
"Moving on," Logos continued, tone clipped and precise. "Your networks reach the central duchies, yes? I require steady supply chains — materials, documentation, discretion. I will pay in coin, but more importantly…" His eyes darkened, sharpening with predatory focus. "…I offer something else."
The merchants exchanged glances.
Edmond smirked faintly. "Surely you know your exo-harnesses are considered outdated by central standards."
"The only thing outdated here," Logos said, "is your information."
Philip leaned in. "We can beat your current suppliers tenfold — in quality and volume."
"I think you misunderstand," Logos replied. "I am the source."
Ursa frowned. "You mean to say… you make your own components?"
"Yes."
"Without external tech guilds?"
"Yes."
A moment of stunned silence passed.
Thomas finally burst, incredulous. "You expect us to believe that? Exo-harness production is reserved for royal foundries! Even dukes outsource! A baron manufacturing full systems independently is—"
"—an absurd idea," Logos finished for him. "Apparently."
Kleber rubbed his temple. "This is where it gets fun."
"I suppose proof is required," Logos said calmly.
He reached into his coat and placed something on the table.
A small, black sphere — no bigger than a coin. It pulsed once, a faint hum trembling through the wood. Violet runes flickered across its surface, alive and complex, the energy restrained yet undeniable.
The merchants leaned forward, captivated despite themselves.
"Is that—" Philip began, unable to finish.
"A mana-crystal lattice," Logos said. "One of the core components of the harness system. Self-stabilizing. Efficient. A single lattice can power a frame for a year — perhaps longer."
Silence again.
Outside, the faint hum of black exo-harnesses echoed like the heartbeat of some unseen beast.
Every merchant in that room had heard the stories — the Crawlers, the Red Tide, the boy who held the walls while dukes fell. But rumor and presence were different things.
And now, sitting across from Logos Laos, they understood.
The silence broke with Ursa's voice, low but steady.
"What are your terms?"
Logos smiled — faint, precise, terrifying.
"Simple," he said. "Spread my trade routes. Secure my supply lines. Deliver my goods across the duchies. And in return…" He tapped the black sphere. "You will sell the future."
Kleber leaned back with a sigh. "See? Told you they'd come to you."
And as the merchants leaned in, captivated by a boy who looked like death but spoke like destiny, one truth became clear:
The rumors about Baron Logos Laos hadn't exaggerated enough.