Korvossa did not look like a city strained by war.
Its gates stood open. Markets functioned with orderly impatience. Ledgers moved from table to table with the confidence of men who believed arithmetic could survive politics. The conflict between County Kyrthar and County Celandra remained confined to daylight engagements and negotiated pauses.
Distance softened consequences.
Old Dornelis did not enjoy such insulation.
Bradley rode through Korvossa without escort. A second son of a minor frontier house did not command attention unless he had failed publicly.
He intended not to.
The Merchant Association Hall stood near the inner square. Its doors were heavier than the aesthetics required. Its windows are narrower than comfort suggested. Prudence had architecture.
Herrik Vane did not rise when Bradley entered.
"You have come to sell something," Vane said, closing a ledger with deliberate calm.
"I have come to secure a purchase," Bradley replied.
"Of what?"
"Goblin corpses."
A pause—not shock, but recalibration.
"The southern forests have grown active," Vane observed. "Livestock losses. Caravans reconsidering routes."
"Patrol density is reduced," Bradley said evenly. "Baronial forces are deployed elsewhere."
"That is a matter between Kyrthar and Celandra."
"It is a matter that affects trade corridors."
Vane's gaze sharpened.
"You wish the Association to purchase what you do not yet possess."
"I wish you to purchase what I will deliver."
"And on what assurance?"
"Regularity."
The merchant leaned back.
"Goblins do not adhere to schedule."
"No," Bradley agreed. "But incentives influence behavior."
Vane opened another ledger and rotated it slightly. Columns of figures filled the page.
"Salvage value fluctuates. Mana sacs intact fetch more. Burned remains fetch little. Damaged torsos reduce usable extraction. We do not pay for optimism."
"You will not receive burned remains," Bradley replied.
"You intend to instruct hunters in restraint?"
"I intend to instruct them in profit."
A thin, reluctant curve touched Vane's mouth.
"The Association will purchase salvage-grade goblin corpses," Vane said. "Condition-based appraisal. No fixed minimum beyond usable value. Payment after inspection. Transport is your responsibility. No advance."
"I expected as much."
"You will pay hunters before you are paid."
"Yes."
"With what treasury?"
"House Tatume capital."
Vane studied him more carefully.
"Your father authorized this?"
"He authorized outcomes."
"And if this structure resembles militia under alternate terminology?"
"It will not."
"If it does," Vane said quietly, "Korvossa will respond differently."
Bradley held his gaze.
"Understood."
Vane closed the ledger.
"Deliver clean bodies. We pay fairly. We do not subsidize speculation."
"Nor do I."
The road back felt narrower.
Not because of terrain.
Because three Gold Sol now sat allocated in Bradley's ledger as advance capital.
Enough for six goblins at fifty Silver each before strain emerged.
If none were delivered, the coin would stagnate uselessly.
If too many were delivered poorly, capital would erode.
Calibration would determine survival.
Old Dornelis rose from the forest edge in muted stone. Nearly two thousand square kilometers stretched beyond its walls—woodland dense enough to conceal movement, migration, and negligence alike.
Seventy-six guards could not monitor that expanse indefinitely.
The old tavern in the southern quarter still carried the scent of prior misjudgment.
Bradley stood at its threshold briefly before entering.
Ulric looked up from a corner table.
"You went to Korvossa."
"Yes."
"And?"
"They will purchase it."
Maelor glanced over from a whetstone.
"At what margin?"
"Condition-based appraisal. No guaranteed floor beyond salvage value. Payment after inspection."
Ulric exhaled slowly.
"So we advance the coin and hope."
"We advance coin and demand standards."
Maelor slid his blade into its sheath.
"And if the merchant undervalues?"
"Then we renegotiate with evidence."
Ulric's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You negotiate with men who count for sport."
"Yes."
Bradley removed the tavern's weathered sign and replaced it with a plain board above the entrance.
ADVENTURERS GUILD
Under Authority of House Tatume
No crest.
No embellishment.
Inside, shelves were cleared. A long table set centrally. A ledger placed on the counter.
Another board mounted against the wall.
Standing Notice — Forest Subjugation
Goblin (salvage-grade body) — 50 Silver Sol advance
Final settlement after merchant appraisal
20% Guild commission on total sale
Condition affects value
Delivery within one day of kill
Ulric read it twice.
"Fifty is generous."
"It compensates for the risk."
"And if a merchant pays sixty?"
"Guild absorbs difference."
"For how long?"
"For as long as reliability requires."
Maelor leaned back.
"You stake House coin on hunters."
"I stake coins on the structure."
Deorwine, leaning against a beam, spoke without looking up.
"You once staked a coin on ale."
"That model lacked durability."
A faint silence followed—not hostile, merely measured.
Bradley did not summon a crowd.
He did not climb onto crates.
He spoke once in the square.
"The Adventurers Guild is open. Fifty Silver advance for intact goblin salvage. Terms are posted."
A farmer frowned.
"Fifty?"
"For usable bodies."
"And escort?"
"Separate contract."
Two retired guards exchanged glances.
"Twenty percent commission?" one asked.
"For verification, transport, negotiation, and record," Bradley replied.
"And if it fails?"
"Then it fails publicly."
That answer carried more weight than optimism.
No applause followed.
But no laughter either.
By evening, one name appeared beneath the Guild header.
Deorwine Averille.
He set the quill down and met Bradley's eyes.
"If no one else joins?"
"We begin with one."
"And if we return empty?"
"Then the board remains."
Ulric approached slowly.
"I will observe."
"Reasonable."
Maelor gave a short nod.
"Bring one clean. Others follow."
"Then we bring one clean," Bradley said.
Dawn came without fanfare.
Bradley and Deorwine crossed beyond the eastern boundary stones alone.
No escort.
No audience.
The forest did not announce hostility.
It simply absorbed sound.
Deorwine moved with the economy.
Bradley did not attempt to match pace beyond capacity.
His shoulder still protested from prior engagements. His breathing tightened sooner than he preferred.
Constraint acknowledged.
Maelor's earlier reports suggested increased goblin clustering near shallow ravines.
They found tracks within an hour.
Fresh.
Small.
Numerous.
Deorwine crouched.
"Three. Maybe four."
Bradley nodded.
"Likely scouting."
They moved carefully.
A rustle ahead.
Deorwine's bow lifted.
Two goblins broke from brush—not charging, but repositioning.
Testing.
Bradley stepped to block the retreat path rather than pursue.
Deorwine lost one arrow.
Clean strike.
The second goblin darted toward the thicker brush.
Bradley moved to intercept.
He misjudged footing.
His boot slid on damp leaves.
The goblin's blade caught his forearm lightly before Deorwine's second arrow felled it.
Bradley exhaled sharply.
Blood—not deep, but visible.
Deorwine approached.
"You misstepped."
"Yes."
"And?"
"I adjusted late."
He wrapped the wound quickly.
Minor.
But instructive.
They recovered the bodies carefully.
Intact torsos.
Minimal damage.
No burning.
Transport proved heavier than expected.
Bradley felt strain in his shoulder with each shift of weight.
Distance extended longer on return.
Reality rarely matched projection.
At the tavern, Ulric stood as they entered.
He examined the corpses closely.
"Clean," he admitted.
Maelor checked limbs and torsos.
"No burns."
Bradley nodded once.
"Log them."
Advance issued: one hundred Silver total.
Guild retention recorded pending final appraisal.
Two farmers drifted near the doorway.
"Already?" one murmured.
"Two," Ulric corrected.
Not triumph.
Proof.
The trip to Korvossa the following morning was less comfortable.
Transporting bodies drew attention.
Inspection occurred in a side chamber.
The merchant's appraiser worked silently.
Measured incisions.
Checked organ integrity.
Weighted usable components.
Vane observed without comment.
"Eighty-five Silver per body," the appraiser concluded.
Bradley performed the arithmetic quickly.
Advance paid: one hundred Silver total.
Final sale: one hundred seventy Silver.
Guild commission at twenty percent: thirty-four Silver.
Net surplus after advances: thirty-six Silver.
Marginal.
Sustainable.
But not abundant.
Vane folded his hands.
"You delivered intact."
"Yes."
"Consistent delivery will influence price stability."
"That is the objective."
"And if your hunters grow careless?"
"They will be replaced."
Vane studied him.
"Structure replacing enthusiasm."
"Yes."
"Ambition replacing improvisation."
"No," Bradley corrected evenly. "Constraint replacing collapse."
Vane's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You assume collapse."
"I account for it."
Payment transferred.
Ledger marked.
The model had functioned once.
Once did not equal durability.
Back in Old Dornelis, the news traveled quickly.
Two goblins.
Clean.
Paid.
Three additional names appeared on the Guild ledger before dusk.
Halric.
A retired spearman named Toren.
A trapper from the northern fields.
Ulric finally signed.
"Observation phase concluded," he muttered.
Guild count: five active.
Advance capital remaining: two Gold and sixty Silver.
The burn rate increased.
Confidence increased.
Risk increased.
That evening, Oswald entered the tavern.
"You succeeded."
"Yes."
"And now others will follow."
"Yes."
"And if ten bodies arrive next week?"
Bradley paused.
"Then capital compresses."
"And?"
"Then structure strains."
Oswald folded his arms.
"You escalated economic exposure."
"Yes."
"For marginal gain."
"For measured expansion."
"And if a failed delivery costs a house coin?"
"It will."
Oswald studied him.
"You accept that?"
"Yes."
A faint tension moved across Oswald's jaw.
"You are gambling House reserve."
"I am investing in House resilience."
Silence.
"Those are not synonymous."
"No."
Oswald stepped closer.
"If this fails publicly—"
"It fails transparently."
"And Father?"
Bradley met his gaze steadily.
"He approved the results."
Oswald exhaled quietly.
"Then produce them."
Night settled over Old Dornelis.
The new Guild sign shifted slightly in the wind.
Inside, five names now sat beneath the header.
Advance fund recalculated.
Merchant sale confirmed.
Structure tested.
Bradley reopened the ledger.
Two deliveries within the first cycle.
Capital intact.
Confidence rising.
Which meant expectations were rising.
Expectation was heavier than doubt.
Because doubt asked nothing.
Expectation demanded continuation.
Tomorrow, five hunters will enter the forest.
More bodies.
More advance payments.
Greater exposure.
If merchant appraisal dipped—
Margins narrow.
If one team returned empty repeatedly—
Confidence fractures.
If one team returned burned remains—
Reputation suffers.
Ink had been written.
Coin allocated.
Names recorded.
Structure declared.
Now repetition would determine legitimacy.
Outside, beyond the eastern fence, something shifted faintly in the treeline.
Not close enough to alarm.
Not distant enough to ignore.
Five hunters meant five movements into the forest.
Five movements meant increased noise.
Noise attracted a response.
Bradley closed the ledger slowly.
The Guild now existed beyond wood and ink.
Which meant failure would no longer be private.
And success—
Would no longer be quiet.
Tomorrow would not test courage.
It would test volume.
And volume, unlike arithmetic, multiplied risk.