The light from the roof is gone. The sound of the wind is gone. Even the sound of my own breathing is muffled. We are inside the Void Sphere.
I can't see. I can't hear.
But I feel Kenric’s hand grab my shoulder.
He taps my arm twice. Down.
We drop to a crouch.
Kenric knows this floor. He supervised the installation of every tile. He knows that twelve paces ahead, there is a slight lip in the slate where the old foundation meets the new.
I feel the vibrations in the floor. Footsteps. Riven is coming. He is blind, too, but he expects us to be panicking.
Kenric squeezes my hand. He pulls me to the left.
Then he lets go.
I feel the rush of air as Riven swings the baton through the space where I was standing a second ago.
Kenric moves. He doesn't need to see. He lunges forward, tackling Riven at the waist.
I hear a grunt. Sound is returning as the sphere begins to fade,and the clatter of the shield hitting the floor.
I light a small flame in my palm.
The darkness dissolves.
The scene is frozen.
Kenric is on the ground, holding Riven in a headlock. He has Riven’s own dagger pressed against the Fey’s throat.
But Riven has the Quietus Baton pressed into Kenric’s ribs.
And behind me, Katar has an ice arrow drawn, aimed directly at my heart.
"Stalemate," Riven wheezes.
I look at the arrow aimed at me. I look at Kenric, sweaty and grinning, holding a Fey Commander in a chokehold.
"No," I say. "Checkmate."
I point to the Gold Door.
While Kenric and Riven were wrestling, and Katar was aiming at me... I had sent a Shadow-Self, a minor illusion, to the door.
My illusion is standing there, its hand resting on the brass handle.
Riven looks at the illusion. He looks at me.
He starts to laugh. A dry, rasping sound.
"You cheated," Riven says, dropping the baton.
"I won," I correct. "There are no rules in a bank robbery, Commander. Only winners and corpses."
Kenric lets him go and stands up, offering Riven a hand.
"You fight well," Kenric tells him. "You nearly broke my ribs with that darkness trick."
Riven takes Kenric’s hand. He looks at the human with new respect.
"And you, Lord Kenric," Riven says. "You fight like a blind badger. You knew where I was before I did."
"I laid the floor," Kenric says, dusting off his trousers. "I know where the trick tiles are."
I clap my hands.
"Excellent work," I declare. "The gear works. The tactics work. And..." I look at the shattered vase and the cracked pillar. "We have some renovations to do before we open tomorrow."
"I'll get a broom," Vex sighs from the floor, rubbing his chest where I hit him.
"You do that," I say. "Welcome to the team, gentlemen. You passed."
The next morning, I look at Silas, and we go up to the roof deck.
The nobility is secured in the Admiralty with their velvet chairs and private vault. But Varpua runs on muscle, and right now, that muscle is shivering, wet, and drunk.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Look at them," I say, standing on the observation deck of the new pier. Below us, the dockworkers are huddled around trash fires, gnawing on hardtack and passing cheap gin bottles. "They are inefficient, Kenric. A cold man works slowly. A drunk man drops crates."
"They are sailors, Víl?," Kenric says, pulling his collar up against the sea spray. "They live hard, they die young, and they spend their coin as soon as it hits their palm."
"Not anymore," I decide. "We are opening a branch."
This time is a branch of the Blue Bowl Trust.
We find the location an hour later. It is a massive, derelict warehouse right on the waterline. It smells of tar and dead crabs.
"Perfect," I announce. "Torvald! Get a crew in here. I want the floor scrubbed, the roof patched, and twenty massive cauldrons installed along the east wall."
"Cauldrons, Highness?" Torvald asks, looking at the rotted beams. "For molten lead?"
"For stew," I correct. "We are opening The Blue Bowl: Dockside."
Two days later, the warehouse has been transformed. It is not luxurious like the Admiralty. It is built for volume. Long trestle tables made of heavy oak planking fill the space. The air is warm, heated by Fey-stones I embedded in the floor, and smells of fish, potatoes, and the spicy, woodsmoke scent of Cinder-Bark.
I have appointed Maude, the formidable head of the Fishwives' Guild since she was the one who laughed at Webbe, as the manager. She stands behind the serving line, armed with a ladle that looks like a bludgeon.
The doors open at noon.
The dockworkers hesitate. They see the sign, a blue wooden bowl painted above the door, and they smell the food. But they are suspicious.
"What's the catch?" a massive stevedore named Barnaby asks, blocking the doorway. He is shirtless despite the cold, his skin mapped with tattoos. "The Princess doesn't give away food."
Kenric steps forward. He is not wearing his court finery. He is wearing his old campaign cloak.
"It's not free, Barnaby," Kenric says loudly. "It costs one copper a bowl. Or..."
He holds up a small iron token.
"You open an account. You deposit your pay. And for every ten crowns you save, you get a week of meals on the house."
"I don't save," Barnaby grunts. "I drink."
"And that's why you're freezing," Kenric says calmly. "But smell that stew. That is Leviathan Chowder. Thick enough to walk on, and spiced with Cinder-Bark. One bowl keeps the cold out for six hours. Guaranteed."
Barnaby sniffs. The Cinder-Bark, the same spice I used to hook the Guild Master, is irresistible in this damp climate.
"One copper?" Barnaby asks.
"One copper," Maude yells from the back. "Now move your arse, Barnaby, or I'll use this ladle to serve you your own teeth!"
Barnaby walks in. He slaps a copper on the counter. Maude fills a bowl the size of a helmet with steaming, creamy chowder and hands him a chunk of bread.
But not just any bread. It is dark blue.
"What's this?" Barnaby asks, poking the loaf. "Mold?"
"Herrenstein Blue," I say, stepping out of the shadows. "Grown on my husband's estate. It never goes stale, and it has... restorative properties."
Barnaby takes a bite of the bread. He takes a spoonful of the stew.
The reaction is instantaneous. The Cinder-Bark hits his blood. The flush of warmth starts at his stomach and radiates out to his frozen fingers. He gasps, his eyes widening. He doesn't just feel full; he feels invincible.
"Gods," Barnaby whispers. "I feel like I swallowed a furnace."
He turns to the crowd of shivering men in the doorway.
"IT'S REAL!" Barnaby roars. "GET IN HERE!"
By one o'clock, the warehouse is packed. Five hundred men are eating. The noise is deafening, but it is a happy noise.
At the back of the hall, behind a reinforced cage, sit three clerks. This is the Labor Exchange.
I watch from the catwalk as Kenric works the line.
"You're a rigger?" Kenric asks a wiry sailor. "Good. The Sea-Mare is looking for crew. But the Captain pays through the Bank now. Direct deposit. No more getting robbed in the alley behind the tavern."
"But I need walking money," the sailor argues.
"You get an allowance token," Kenric explains, handing him a brass chit. "You can spend this at the tavern. But your main pay? It stays in the vault. Safe. Earning interest. When you're too old to climb the rigging, you'll have enough to buy a cottage."
The sailor looks at the token. He looks at the warm hall. He looks at the blue bread.
"Where do I sign?" he asks.
By evening, we have opened a thousand accounts. We haven't just fed them; we have captured the labor market. The captains come looking for sailors. The dock workers and sailors come looking for work, and everyone comes to eat.
"It works," Kenric says, joining me on the catwalk. He smells of fish chowder and success. "The Captains are thrilled. They don't have to carry chests of gold to the docks anymore. They just transfer the payroll to us."
"And the taverns?" I ask.
"They are screaming," Kenric grins. "Because the men aren't spending everything on drink anymore. They are saving. But Maude told the tavern keepers that if they accept our tokens, we will redeem them for gold... minus a small transaction fee."
"So we own the labor, we own the payroll, and we tax the booze," I summarize.
"We do," Kenric agrees.
I look down at the hall. Barnaby is back for thirds. He looks warm, fed, and fiercely loyal to the establishment that made him feel that way.
"You know what this means, Kenric?"
"That we are rich?"
"No," I say, watching Riven’s men patrol the perimeter, looking professional and deadly. "It means that if Duke Webbe tries to march his army into this city, he won't just have to fight my guards. He will have to fight five thousand angry stevedores who don't want to lose their lunch."
"The Blue Bowl Navy," Kenric muses. "It has a ring to it."
"It does," I say. "Now, let's go home. I smell like a smoked kipper."
The Royal entourage is preparing to depart. Varpua has been transformed from a moderately successful port into a fortress of commerce, and King Oskar is taking all the credit.
He is standing on the steps of the Bank, eating a Stag-Horn truffle. It seems that he has developed quite a fondness for them, and admiring the harbor.
"A productive visit!" Oskar declares, dusting chocolate from his velvet doublet. "We have secured the borders, expanded the fleet, and... oh, look at that one."
He points to the end of the new pier.
Docked there is the Silver-Fin. It is the first ship fully outfitted with Glimmer-Flax sails and Serpent-Vine rigging. It sits high in the water, looking faster while anchored than most ships look at full sail.
Ohhh Chapter 137 was delicious, and not just because it featured enough stew to feed a small army (which Víl? absolutely intends to weaponize).
Let’s savor the highlights like a steaming bowl of Leviathan Chowder:
Darkness, Drama, and Kenric Being Ridiculously Competent**
The chapter opens with a perfect demonstration of:
- Víl?’s tactical brilliance
- Kenric’s borderline terrifying spatial intuition
- Riven’s enthusiasm for violence
- And the fact that none of these people know how to relax like normal adults
It’s pitch black. Everyone’s armed. Everyone’s dangerous.
Everyone is having the time of their lives.
(With Extra Sass)**
- Kenric has Riven in a chokehold
- Riven has a Quietus Baton in Kenric’s ribs
- Katar has an ice arrow aimed at Víl?’s heart
- Víl? has an illusion robbing the bank behind them
And Víl?’s conclusion?
“Winners and corpses, Commander.”
This man survived:
- Darkness
- Ice arrows
- Fey magic
- A Princess who moves like a hurricane
…but the moment she says “We need renovations,” he becomes the embodiment of employee despair everywhere.
THE BLUE BOWL: DOCKSIDE
A Soup Kitchen / Labor Monopoly / Economic Coup**
This was the moment Víl? stopped merely transforming Varpua…
and instead claimed its beating heart.
She takes one derelict warehouse and turns it into:
- A feeding center
- A hiring hall
- A bank
- A loyalty engine
- A furnace?blood factory
- A working?class revolution disguised as lunch
Oskar, meanwhile, is still trying to figure out if blue bread is safe to eat. (It is. For most people. Him? TBD.)
The man takes one bite of Cinder?Barked chowder and immediately:
- Feels like he swallowed a forge
- Achieves enlightenment
- Convinces 500 men to join him
This soup has more leadership skills than Oskar.
Frankly, the soup should challenge him for the throne.
It would win.
(While Smelling Like Chowder)**
Kenric shines again:
- matching sailors with captains
- preventing muggings
- creating retirement plans
- inventing direct deposit for drunk men
- and doing it all with the calm authority of a man who once fought monsters and now fights poor financial literacy
Oskar once miscounted his own fingers. We do not compare.
At the end of all this—
after Víl? and Kenric have:
- revolutionized labor
- fed the workforce
- established savings accounts
- built a dockyard economy
- weaponized soup
- and created a navy of angry, soup?fueled dockworkers—
Oskar waddles onto the steps of the Bank, eating a Stag?Horn truffle, and declares:
“A productive visit!”
King Oskar has the uncanny ability to show up at the finish line, covered in chocolate, and congratulate himself for a race he did not run.
Truly inspiring.
Chapter 138 is a masterclass in:
- political brilliance
- economic domination
- subtle warfare through comfort food
- and Oskar’s ongoing tenure as the kingdom’s most decorative disappointment
Víl? and Kenric are building an empire brick by brick, coin by coin, bowl by bowl.
Oskar is building indigestion.
the Discord via this invite link.