B2Ch71.5 (Patreon)

Harold walked into the council room from his meeting with Lady Aiko and found five lords spread around his table with his council, the room carrying the smell of a space occupied all morning — woodsmoke, ink, something from the kitchen that had followed someone up the stairs.

They'd arrived over the past two days. He'd let them settle in deliberately. A lord who'd slept well, eaten well, and walked the Landing at his own pace was a different conversation than one still shaking road dust off his boots.

Margaret was at the far end of the table with two of them, posture easy, quill down, doing more listening than talking. Harold knew what the quill being down meant.

Caldwell sat further along, coin moving across his knuckles, ledger open, deep in what sounded like an argument about livestock pricing with a third lord who was losing without knowing it yet. Hale had taken the chair beside Margaret and looked like a man attending a function he had not been warned was a function.

Everyone stood as Harold pulled out his chair.

"Sit down," he said. "I appreciate the gesture, but we're going to be here a while."

He looked at them as they settled. Lord Caswell across from him, wide-framed, the hands of a man who worked alongside his people — he'd spent his mornings sparring with his knights rather than watching them, and Harold had a decent impression of him already. Caswell controlled the town on the other side of the northern pass, the first real settlement anyone hit coming down out of the mountains from that direction.

Lady Renna was beside him, eyes still tracking the maps on the side boards the way she'd been doing since she arrived. She held the town on the other side of the eastern mountain pass, built into a saddle between two ridges that most lords had called impractical until she made it work.

Lord Fitch next, youngest in the room by a decade, reminded Harold of Finn enough that he'd already made a note to introduce them — he knew Fitch's future from his last life, the man who'd stand firm against the Velthari advance when half the lords around him didn't. His settlement sat further north of the basin, and getting him here had cost two centuries to guard his town and an oath Harold intended to keep. Sarah had stopped there for a night on her way north and had managed to make a good impression on the man, which had helped. The convoy from the swamps was due to pass through his territory any day now, resting there before continuing on toward the Landing.

Then Lord Brennig, who held a town in the Silverfin Lake region, jaw scar still fresh-pink, the look of someone who'd won his settlement personally and kept half an eye on the door out of habit. The convoy from the swamps was due to pass through his territory any day now, resting there before continuing on toward the Landing.

And last, Lady Maren, who hadn't said a word since Harold entered and was watching him with the stillness of someone who'd already run the numbers and was waiting to see if he surprised her. Her settlement sat northeast, in the gap between the ridge and the Blackjaw foothills. She and Fitch had been allied for months. That was either an asset or a complication, and he wouldn't know which until this was over.

"First, again, thank you for making the journey," Harold said. "I'm sure the supplies of healing potions had nothing to do with convincing you."

He let that breathe for a second, then put his elbows on the table.

"Now that you've met my council and seen what the Landing has to offer, I'm here to offer you a deal. A compromise. An ultimatum. Call it what you want." He looked down the table. "The basin is mine. Land roughly the size of the UK in length and width. With that comes the resources of the region and the recruitment efforts of three other lords and their towns, who are now sworn to me."

He met each set of eyes in turn. "I need to secure the entrances and exits to this basin, and three of you control the other sides of the pass. In the long run, that's something I can't leave unaddressed."

"The other two of you — I know quite a bit about, and I'd very much like to bring you to my side."

Frowns moved around the table. Harold kept going.

"Now, I don't want to ruin the mood by strong-arming you." He picked up his coffee. "However, I am not above bribing you."

"In exchange for your fealty, I will do my best to support your development. Trade, mineral resources, access to my crafters — and yes, that includes the alchemists I have personally trained."

He set the cup down.

"To help you make this decision, I'm going to give you two pieces of information I'll swear an oath are true, and I'll swear that oath in front of all of you right now if you want it." He glanced toward the door. "And whatever you decide, every one of you leaves with a chest of supplies I promise you won't find lacking."

Caldwell's coin stopped moving for exactly one second, then started again.

"Questions before we get into it," Harold said.

Caswell leaned forward on both forearms. "What kind of questions are we talking about, and how much of this is a sales pitch dressed up as information?"

"Fair," Harold said. "Ask what you want. I'll tell you what I can."

Brennig turned his water cup once. "The two centuries at Lord Fitch's town. That's not a small commitment to make just to get someone to a meeting."

"No," Harold said. "It isn't."

"So why him specifically?"

Fitch looked at Harold. Harold looked back at Fitch for a moment, then at Brennig. "Because I know what he's worth and I wanted him in the room." He moved on before Brennig could push it further. "Next."

Renna hadn't looked away from the map boards since the meeting started, and she didn't now. "The passes. You said three of us control approaches out of them you can't leave unaddressed." Her finger traced the air toward the maps without quite pointing. "What does that mean in practice if we don't swear?"

"While I am doing my best to remain altruistic towards the rest of humanity, and actively help them. I think that can be seen by my forum post and trade policies," Harold said. "I can't allow you to control the exit of my own mountain passes."

It sat in the room exactly how he meant it to.

Maren spoke for the first time. "You said you'd swear an oath on two pieces of information." She looked at him steadily. "Before we hear them, what oath. Sworn on what?"

"Gravesend itself," Harold said. "The system enforces it. You all know what a broken oath here costs. No more perks and no more respawn protection."

She nodded once and sat back.

Harold straightened in his chair. "Then here it is." He kept his voice level. "I swear on Gravesend that what I'm about to tell you is true to the best of my knowledge."

The room went quiet enough that the scratch of Margaret's quill could be heard.

"The forum trade function closes on the one-year anniversary of our arrival here. The system will update, and the open market will follow suit. Anything you've been buying through forum trade — supplies, materials, animals, equipment — you won't be able to buy it that way anymore." He looked at Caldwell without meaning to. Caldwell's coin had stopped, and he sported a large frown.

Nobody said anything for a beat.

Then Fitch said, "That's — all of our supply chains run through the forum right now."

"Damn near all of them," Harold said. "Which is why I'm telling you now and giving you a warning. I'll have you swear an oath to keep that information concealed until we are a month out. I'll be releasing a forum post a month out to warn the rest of humanity, so no one is unprepared."

He let it land, then kept going before anyone could chase it.

"Second. At that same one-year mark, mana density increases. Roughly twenty percent worldwide. Monsters that have been dormant will wake. The ones already active will get stronger. Sleeping regional bosses will rise with it. Things will awake in ruins." He looked around the table. "Any settlement with thin walls and a small garrison at the ten-month mark is going to be in serious trouble at the twelve-month mark."

The room came apart.

Renna closed her eyes gently and placed her head in her hands, Brennig's chair scraped back an inch, and Caswell put both palms flat on the table like he needed something solid under him. Fitch turned to Maren, and she was already looking at him, a fast private exchange that didn't need words. Then everyone was talking at once, low and urgent, not at Harold but at each other and at themselves.

"That's not — how would that even be signaled by the system—"

"We have a large cave of sleeping trolls near me."

"Twenty percent is not a small number, twenty percent on top of what we're already dealing with—"

Harold waited.

Caswell got there first. He looked up from his palms, jaw set, and asked it flatly. "How do you know this?"

"I found documentation in ruins during my first month here," Harold said. It was the shape of the truth, if not all of it. "I've been operating on it this whole time."

"What ruins," Brennig said.

"That's not part of the oath," Harold said.

"You can't just—" Fitch stopped. Tried again. "You're sitting here telling us the entire trade infrastructure we rely on disappears in less than six months, and then the monsters get twenty percent harder, and your answer for how you know is ruins."

"My answer is that I swore it on Gravesend," Harold said. "And you all know what that means."

A few of them looked at each other. Nobody had a clean answer for it, because there wasn't one — a sworn oath on Gravesend had dire consequences.

Maren folded her hands on the table. The room was still pulling itself back together around her, and she'd already finished. "So you've known this since the beginning," she said. "And you've been working towards it this whole time."

"Yes, that is why I must secure the basin and am reaching out to you now," Harold said.

She looked at the table for a moment, then back at him. "Then what you're actually selling us isn't fealty. You have a working structure here, you are offering to allow us to join before you forcefully make us."

Harold picked up his coffee with a small smile. "That's one way to put it."

Hale frowned at Harold but held his tongue.

"Before we get into the benefits of swearing to me," Harold said, "I want to make something clear first."

He looked down the table at each of them.

"I reached out to the five of you specifically. There are a couple of lords positioned around you that I very deliberately did not contact, because I don't believe our values align." He let that sit for a moment. "You're here because I want you here. Not because you were convenient."

Caswell's jaw worked. Maren's eyes hadn't moved from Harold's face.

"So, regardless of what you decide today, you leave with something." Harold turned his head toward the door and raised his voice slightly. "Bring them in."

The door opened.

Elia came through first with two of her students behind her, each carrying a chest between them. They set them down in front of the visiting lords with the careful handling of people who knew exactly what was inside. Kers followed with three of the smiths, each pair carrying a box that went down with a heavy clatter of metal. Behind them came two of Harold's guards, each shouldering a couple of sacks. Last, a single aide placed a leather tube in front of each lord, and beside each tube, something wrapped in cloth.

Harold waited until everything was on the table.

"The sacks are salt," he said. "My southern village has a working sea salt operation. The tubes are telescopes that we made here. The wrapped ones are copies of our monster compendium, everything we've documented in and around the basin." He looked at Brennig. "Including the wargs."

Brennig put his hand on the wrapped compendium without opening it.

"And the chests," Harold said. "I'll let them explain."

Elia stepped forward and flipped the latches on the nearest chest, pushing the lid back. Glass caught the light from the braziers — rows of vials nested in padded compartments, each one stoppered with wax and labeled in her precise script.

"Five body empowerment potions," she said, looking at Caswell, then down the row. "Fifteen percent improvement across strength, speed, and endurance. These are permanent enhancements." She reached into the chest and lifted one, the liquid inside holding a faint amber glow, and set it back carefully. "Lord Harold walked me through the stabilization process himself. Without that, I would still be burning them at the binding stage."

She moved to the next row.

"Ten explosive potions. The components came from our own cultivated plots this time, which means the blast radius is roughly a fifth stronger than what you may have seen posted on the forum." She separated them slightly so no two touched. "Do not store these next to the next ones."

She lifted a darker vial. The glass was almost smoked, the liquid inside a deep red-brown that seemed to pull the light in rather than reflect it.

"Ten sleeping potions. Effective on most targets up to troll-weight. Onset is fast if delivered to exposed skin or inhaled." She set it down. "Ten scent elimination potions — these last four hours and cover a standard squad size." Another row. "Five paralysis, five stun. The paralysis is full-body and lasts roughly five minutes on a human-sized target, as long as they don't have mana density around the density of our Tier 1 Knights. The stun is shorter but works like flashbangs."

She closed the lid and stepped back.

Fitch was staring at the chest. "You're just giving us these."

"I'm giving you those," Harold said. "Yes."

Renna had her hands flat on the table and was looking at the chest the way she'd been looking at the maps. "What does a chest like that cost on the forum right now?"

"Those aren't being sold to anyone, but they are more expensive than you can imagine," Caldwell said from down the table, without looking up from his ledger.

Harold let that land, then nodded to Kers.

The big German stepped up and pulled the lid off the nearest box. The smell of oil came off it immediately, the clean sharp scent of well-kept metal. He reached in and lifted a short sword, holding it flat across both palms.

"Fine-edge work," he said, in the accent that never quite left him. "My smith." He tipped his head toward the man on his right, who gave a short, embarrassed shrug without meeting anyone's eyes. "His perk holds the edge where others lose it. You don't spend your nights with a whetstone every time you draw blood."

He set the sword down and lifted the next item — a hunting knife, the kind of blade that worked as hard as the person holding it — and then a short axe with a flat head. Three of each weapon.

"Every box is the same," Kers said. "Sword, knife, axe, barbed heads for your archers." He looked at each visiting lord in turn, the assessment in his eyes entirely professional. "These are the best weapons the Landing makes. Not the soldiers' issue." He tapped the box once with one thick finger. "These are all stronger and more flexible than normal steel. Perks here can do some amazing things."

Maren picked up the short sword from the box in front of her, turned it once, and ran her thumb along the flat of the blade rather than the edge — checking the grind, not testing the sharpness. She set it back without comment, but she didn't close the box.

Harold looked at the five of them across the table.

"I hope this is enough to convince you that I'm sincere about working with each of you," he said. "You don't have to swear today. You don't have to swear at all, but tomorrow is the reception, and I need an answer by then. You leave here knowing what's coming, and you leave with what's in front of you, and I'd like you to remember that when you're making the decision."

He picked up his coffee.

"Now. Any questions about what fealty actually looks like in practice, the day-to-day, and how we are going to organize ourselves — ask them now, while the people who live it are in the room."

He gestured down the table toward his council.