Kenric

  "This is the Maintenance Stipend," I explain. "We are offering each of you a monthly retainer. Five hundred gold crowns. Each."

  The silence in the room is absolute. Five hundred crowns is more than Tolly makes in two years of shaking down turnip carts.

  "In exchange," I continue, "you do three things. One: You fill the potholes. Two: You patrol your sector of the road and hang any bandit you find. Three: You wave every wagon with the Silver Tree sigil through your lands without stopping."

  "And if we refuse?" Tolly asks, though his hand is already clutching the gold tight. "If we decide to just... take the toll anyway? She’s a foreigner, Kenric. We hear stories. They say she’s a witch. The Church might not look kindly on a witch running the roads."

  The room goes cold. Tolly is smiling, but it’s a dangerous smile. He is threatening to play the superstition card. He thinks that if he screams "Magic!" loud enough, the mob will come with torches, and he can loot the wreckage.

  I lean forward. I do not smile.

  "Tolly," I say softly. "You are confusing 'magic' with 'mercenaries'."

  I take a sip of ale.

  "My wife is not a witch. She is a banker. And bankers are far more dangerous than witches. A witch might curse your cows. A banker buys the mortgage on your castle."

  Polder flinches.

  "I have checked the rolls in the capital," I lie smoothly, or perhaps not so smoothly, as Gerhardt likely has checked. If he hasn't, Olin has. One thing my wife is good at is hiring incredibly competent people. She claims she can smell them, literally. "You owe the Crown four thousand crowns, Tolly. You haven't paid your scutage tax in five years."

  Tolly’s face loses some of its color.

  "If you block this road," I explain, "she won't chant a spell. She will simply buy your debt note from the King. When you can't pay it, she will foreclose on your lands. And then she will hire Torvald’s crew, five hundred men with sledgehammers, to come down here and dismantle your keep stone by stone to use for road gravel."

  I look around the table.

  "She doesn't need magic to destroy you, gentlemen. She has gold. And she has the King's favor. If you try to start a panic about 'witchcraft' to cover your greed, she will just pay the Bishop to excommunicate you for heresy."

  I stand up.

  "I am here," I say, gesturing to the gold, "because I am a man of Centis. I believe in the peerage. I believe that a Lord should be paid for the security he provides. I am trying to save you from becoming a line item in her ledger."

  "Save us?" Polder whispers.

  "She wanted to build a new road," I say. "Through the marsh, five miles east. It would bypass your lands entirely. Your villages would die. Your tolls would vanish. I convinced her that the local Barons were men of honor. I told her that you were knowledgeable local men who could be useful."

  I check my gloves.

  "So, the choice is yours. You can be the Wardens of the Gold Road, rich and respected. Or you can be... obsolete."

  Tolly looks at the gold. He looks at me. He realizes that I am not threatening his soul; I am threatening his wallet. And in Centis, the wallet is far more sacred.

  "Five hundred a month?" Tolly asks. "Guaranteed?"

  "As long as the road is open," I promise. "And I will even provide the gravel for the repairs."

  Tolly grabs the bag. "Where do I sign?"

  Two Hours Later

  I walk out of the inn. The contracts are signed. The "Gold Road" is secure.

  The Sergeant falls into step beside me.

  "That went well, My Lord," he notes. "Tolly looked ready to polish your boots by the end."

  "Greed and fear, Sergeant," I say, mounting my horse. "The two wheels that move the world."

  "You handled the witch talk well," the Sergeant adds quietly. "It’s bubbling up in the villages. People are nervous."

  "Let them be nervous," I say. "As long as they are paid, they won't light any fires. Men don't burn the hand that feeds them gold."

  I look down the muddy road toward Varpua.

  "I am organizing the messy parts of the kingdom, Sergeant," I say. "Someone has to knit this country together while Víl? is busy dazzling it."

  "And when do you ask for the title?" the Sergeant asks.

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  "Soon," I say. "Jellema is watching. The Guilds in Varpua are pacified. The road is secured. When we return to Dobile, I won't be asking the King for a favor. I will be presenting him with a fait accompli."

  I kick my horse into a trot.

  "Come on. I have to get back. Víl? is likely trying to sell the ocean back to the mermaids by now, and I'll need to make sure the paperwork is in order."

  The ride back to Varpua is quiet. The Sergeant rides at my left, his eyes scanning the treeline out of habit, though the Barons’ men are now technically on our payroll.

  "That went better than I expected," the Sergeant rumbles. "Tolly usually needs a few teeth knocked out before he sees reason."

  "Tolly is a bully," I say, adjusting my reins. "Bullies understand force. They just usually expect it to come from a sword, not a bank draft."

  I look at the Sergeant. He has just returned from a supply run to the interior, bringing the latest dispatches from home.

  "Speaking of home," I ask. "How is Herrenstein? Is Luka managing? I haven't had a proper report since we left Dobile."

  The Sergeant snorts. A rare, genuine sound of amusement.

  "Managing? Kenric, your cousin, isn't 'managing' Herrenstein. He's weaponizing it."

  "Explain," I say, frowning slightly. Luka was always the quiet one. The studious one. I sent him to Herrenstein during the annulment crisis to keep my estate safe, not to start a war.

  "Well," the Sergeant begins, shifting in his saddle. "You know those warding stones Víl? gave us to place around the fields before we left? And the seed she 'encouraged' us to plant?"

  "I do."

  "The harvest came in early," the Sergeant says. "And it is... robust. The winter wheat is blue, Kenric. Dark blue. But the baker says one loaf feeds a man for a day. The villagers are calling it 'Fey-Bread'. They think you are blessed by the gods."

  "And the neighbors?" I ask. "Viscount Polder’s brother holds the land south of the river. He usually complains if our sheep so much as look at his grass."

  "Polder's brother is gone," the Sergeant says.

  I pull my horse up short. "Gone? Did Luka..."

  "He didn't kill him," the Sergeant assures me quickly. "He bought him out."

  "With what money?" Kenric asks.

  "With your money," the Sergeant says. "Apparently, the blue wheat is selling for ten times the price of normal grain in the capital. Luka took the profits and bought Polder’s mortgage from the usurers in Dobile. He foreclosed last week. Herrenstein now controls the entire southern valley, including the water rights."

  I sit there, stunned. I sent my cousin to watch the house. I seem to have unleashed a land-baron.

  "He’s aggressive," I note.

  "He’s efficient," the Sergeant corrects. "And he’s playing the 'Fey Fear' card beautifully. You know how the poachers used to plague the King’s Wood on your northern border?"

  "It cost us twenty deer a season."

  "Luka took down the 'No Trespassing' signs," the Sergeant says, grinning. "He put up new ones. Warning: Protected Habitat. The Shadows Bite."

  "And?"

  "And no one has set foot in those woods for two months. The locals swear they hear monsters howling at night. Between you and me, I think Luka hired a few of the village boys to howl at the moon in exchange for ale money. But it worked. The deer herd has doubled."

  I shake my head, laughing. "Luka. The quiet one."

  "He told me to give you a message," the Sergeant says, reaching into his saddlebag and pulling out a heavy scroll case. "He said, 'Tell Kenric that by the time he gets back, he won't be coming home to a Viscount's estate. He'll be coming home to an Earldom. I'm just waiting for the King to give him the hat.'"

  I take the scroll. It is a map of Herrenstein. But the borders have been redrawn in fresh ink. It is massive. It is defensible. It is wealthy.

  "He's right," I realize, looking at the expansion. "This isn't a holding anymore. It's a province."

  "He's clearing the board for you, Kenric," the Sergeant says softly. "Víl? is handling the magic and the money here. Luka is handling the dirt and the stone back home. You have a good team."

  "I do," I agree, rolling up the map. "Though I fear I may have to give Luka a raise. Or a title of his own."

  "He'd settle for a good bottle of Fey whiskey," the Sergeant says. "He looked thirsty when I left him. Burying Polder in paperwork is thirsty work."

  I kick my horse into a trot. The walls of Varpua are visible in the distance, where the glass roof of the Bank glitters like a beacon.

  "Let's get back," I say. "If my cousin can conquer a valley with a few sacks of blue wheat and a sense of humor, the least I can do is secure a promotion from the King to match it."

  "Aye," the Sergeant agrees. "Though you might want to warn the King. The Kenric family seems to be done with being humble."

  "We are," I say, feeling the weight of the map in my hand. "Humble doesn't survive in this world, Sergeant. Only the useful survive. And we are becoming very, very useful."

  Víl?

  The one thing that truly deters a thief: eyes that can see in the dark and reflexes faster than a thought.

  Human guards are useful for bulk intimidation. Torvald’s men are great at breaking legs. But humans sleep. Humans take bribes. And humans can be fooled by a simple glamour.

  I need something sharper.

  "The Order of the Iron Gauntlet," Kenric reads the sign swinging above the heavy oak door. "It sounds... robust."

  "It sounds like they overcompensate," I correct, adjusting my hood. My ears are currently hidden behind a heavy glamour, rounded and dull like a human’s. To the casual observer, I am just a wealthy, slightly eccentric noblewoman.

  "You are going into a room full of armed mercenaries looking like a girl?" Kenric asks.

  "I am going in looking like a client," I say. "Wait here. If I need you to hit someone, I'll whistle."

  The Guild Hall smells of stale beer, oiled leather, and testosterone. It is a cavernous room filled with tables where men arm-wrestle, sharpen swords, and boast about wars that ended ten years ago.

  When I enter, the noise drops by half. Not because they are afraid, but because they are predatory. They see a woman in fine silk walking into a wolf's den.

  I lift my head, sniffing. There are other Fey here. I can smell them. The scent of ozone, dry leaves, and old blood.

  I walk to the main counter. A man with a scar running through his beard and arms like tree trunks is counting coins.

  "Guild Master Brunt?" I ask.

  He looks up. He doesn't stand. "That's me. You lost, little lady? The flower market is two streets over."

  The room erupts in laughter. It is the low, ugly laughter of men who think they are dangerous.

  I do not smile. I do not frown. I simply place a single gold coin on the counter. Then I drive a small dagger through the center of it, pinning it to the wood. The dagger moves so fast that Brunt flinches after the blade is already vibrating in the table.

  The laughter dies instantly.

  "I am looking for talent," I say, my voice projecting clearly to the back of the room. "Not 'muscle'. Not 'lads'. Talent."

  Brunt stares at the coin. He looks at the dagger. He stands up slowly, realizing that no human woman moves that fast.

  "We have knights," Brunt says, his voice respectful now. "Veterans of the border wars. Good men."

  "Human men," I dismiss. "Humans blink. Humans get tired. I need guards for the Embassy and the Bank. I need sentries who can stand perfectly still for twelve hours and then move faster than a striking cobra."

  I scan the room. I ignore the hulking humans in plate armor. I look into the shadows near the drafty fireplace.

  Ohhhh Chapter 134.

  A chapter so rich in competence, political brilliance, and economic savagery that reading it feels like being personally escorted through a masterclass on How to Run a Kingdom While the King Does Absolutely Nothing.

  Let’s break it down.

  Watching Kenric handle the Barons in this chapter was like watching a wolf walk calmly into a henhouse, sit down, and gently explain that participating in their own survival would be in their best interest.

  He used:

  

  
• Logic


  
• Gold


  
• Debt law


  
• Fear


  
• Silence


  
• And devastatingly reasonable arguments


  

  …to absolutely destroy these men without ever raising his voice.

  Oskar could never.

  Actually, Oskar would have tripped over the map, lost the gold, and accidentally knighted a table.

  The moment Tolly tries to pull the “witch” card?

  Kenric casually responds with:

  

  “A witch curses your cows.

  A banker buys your castle.”

  And the room dies.

  This entire chapter demonstrates that the most dangerous spell in the land is:

  Compound interest and an organized ledger.

  Oskar doesn’t even understand compound sentences.

  Kenric in this chapter:

  

  
• Secures a major trade artery


  
• Legally kneecaps the corrupt nobility


  
• Turns extortion into infrastructure


  
• Establishes the “Gold Road”


  
• Does more for the kingdom in an afternoon than Oskar has done in his entire reign


  
• Forces grown men to choose between prosperity and irrelevance


  
• Wins every argument like it’s a hobby


  

  Oskar in this chapter:

  …breathes?

  Maybe?

  The updates on Herrenstein?

  Absolutely unhinged.

  Luka—

  

  
• Weaponized wheat


  
• Scared poachers with theatrical sound effects


  
• Bought an entire valley


  
• Doubled the deer herd


  
• Foreclosed on a noble


  
• Redrew the borders


  
• Prepared a literal Earldom for Kenric to step into


  

  All while Oskar probably still thinks “estate management” means telling a servant to dust something.

  Kenric is building roads, stabilizing territories, proposing new power structures.

  Víl? is buying guilds, weaponizing sugar, and economically colonizing Varpua.

  Luka is conquering the countryside with fertile soil and better business sense.

  Oskar?

  At this point, he’s basically a commemorative statue that sometimes talks.

  Chapter 135 is the moment the reader realizes:

  

  
• Víl? controls the money


  
• Kenric controls the roads


  
• Luka controls the land


  
• The guilds fear them


  
• The nobility grudgingly obeys them


  
• The Church can be… paid


  
• And Oskar is signing whatever is put in front of him because someone gave him “vitamins”


  

  It’s the soft, subtle rise of a new power structure and Oskar is the last person to notice.

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