Chapter 112: The Merchant Guild

The evening sun painted the marshland gold.

The knights had stopped for the day. The trenches were deeper now. The water flowed faster. The land was beginning to breathe.

Emeric stood at the edge of the work site. His hands were blistered. His back ached. But he didn’t show it.

Commander Gaius approached him.

His armor was muddy. His face was streaked with dirt. He had worked alongside his men—reluctantly, but he had worked.

Emeric turned.

"Commander."

Gaius stopped. His expression was unreadable.

"Baron."

"I wanted to thank you. For today. Your men worked hard."

His jaw tightened.

"They had no choice."

"Still. They did the work. That matters."

There was a bit of silence before Gaius spoke.

"Is there anything else?"

"No. That’s all."

He turned and walked away.

Lieutenant Ashe lingered. He looked at Emeric. Sighed.

"Don’t take it to heart, my lord."

"I don’t."

"He’s just..." Ashe paused. "He’s a little too passionate about his pride as a noble. He believes knights should fight. Not dig."

Emeric nodded. "I understand."

Ashe studied him. "Do you?"

"I understand pride. I understand wanting to be something more than what you are." Emeric paused. "But I also understand that pride doesn’t feed villages. Pride doesn’t rebuild things nor does it win wars."

Ashe was quiet.

"You’re different," he said.

"Different how?"

"Most nobles don’t work. Most nobles don’t dig trenches. Most nobles don’t thank their men." He paused. "You do."

Emeric said nothing.

Ashe nodded, turned and followed his commander.

---

Later.

Emeric found Graves in the entrance hall.

The old butler was directing Bess and Nella—carrying linens, directing them toward the east wing. He stopped when he saw Emeric.

"My lord."

"Graves. A moment."

The servants scattered. Graves followed Emeric to the study.

Emeric closed the door.

"Sit."

Graves sat.

Emeric leaned against the desk.

"The village. Tell me about them."

Graves was quiet for a moment.

"They are poor, my lord. The previous baron—Lord Verity—taxed them heavily. He took what they had. He left them with nothing. Many fled. Those who stayed did so because they had nowhere else to go."

"And their loyalty?"

"To you?" Graves paused. "They have none. They do not know you. They see a new baron. They expect more of the same."

Emeric nodded.

"I want to help them. The marshland. If we can reclaim it, they can farm. They can earn. They can pay tax."

Graves hesitated.

"My lord—"

"What?"

"Taxes. Right now. It would not be wise."

Emeric frowned. "Why?"

Graves met his gaze.

"Because they have nothing to give. You would be taking from empty cupboards. You would be taking from families who have already lost everything. They would riot, my lord. They would burn the estate before they let another noble take from them."

Emeric absorbed that.

"The previous baron. What else did he do?"

Graves was quiet for a long moment.

"He was not a good person, my lord. He took their crops. Their livestock. Their children—for labor. He called it ’tax.’ The people call it ’theft.’"

Emeric’s jaw tightened.

"I’m not him."

"No, my lord. You are not."

Emeric stood. Walked to the window. Looked out at the darkening land.

"Then we don’t tax them. Not yet. Not until they have something to give. Until the farmland is restored. Until they trust me."

Graves inclined his head.

"That would be wise, my lord."

Emeric turned.

"Thank you, Graves. That’s all."

Graves stood, bowed and left.

Emeric stood alone in the study.

The system pulsed.

---

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]**

[LOCAL POPULATION STATUS: HOSTILE]

[TAXATION: NOT RECOMMENDED]

[TRUST: 0%]

[SYSTEM NOTE: FIRST IMPRESSIONS MATTER. YOU HAVE NOT MADE ONE YET. THE MARSHLAND IS A START. BUT IT IS NOT ENOUGH. THEY WILL WATCH. THEY WILL JUDGE. EARN THEM.]

---

Emeric read the notification. Closed it.

He knew.

He always knew.

---

The study was quiet.

Emeric sat at the desk. Papers spread before him. Ledgers. Inventories. Receipts. The financial state of Greyfell Estate.

It was not good.

The manor was in disrepair. The village was poor. The marshland was useless. The knights were expensive. The Crown’s allocation covered the basics—barely. But there was nothing left over. Nothing for emergencies. Nothing for investment.

He ran the numbers again.

We have enough to survive. Not enough to grow.

He set the pen down. Rubbed his eyes.

A knock at the door.

"Enter."

Graves appeared. His expression was carefully neutral.

"My lord. We have visitors."

Emeric looked up. "Who?"

"Two men. From the Merchant Guild. They say they have business with the estate."

Emeric frowned. Merchant Guild?

"Show them in."

Two men entered.

The first was short. Plump. Bald. His face was round and ruddy, and his smile was too wide. He wore fine clothes—silk, velvet, gold trim—and rings on every finger.

The second was taller. Slender. Balding. His face was sharp, his eyes sharper. He wore dark colors. Subdued. Expensive.

The plump one spoke first.

"Baron Halden. A pleasure. I am Master Vell. This is my associate, Master Rufus. We represent the Merchant Guild of Greyfell."

Emeric gestured to the chairs across from his desk.

"Sit."

They sat.

Master Vell leaned back. His smile never wavered.

"We are here regarding a matter of business. A debt. Owed by the Greyfell Estate."

Emeric’s expression didn’t change.

"A debt."

"Yes. The previous baron—Lord Verity—took a loan from the Guild. One hundred and fifty thousand gold. For improvements to the estate. For investments in trade. For... personal expenses."

He paused.

"That was five years ago. With interest, the sum now stands at three hundred and fifty thousand gold."

Silence.

Emeric stared at him.

"Three hundred and fifty thousand."

"Yes."

"That’s more than the estate’s worth."

Master Vell’s smile widened. "Debt accrues, Baron. It is the nature of things."

Master Rufus spoke for the first time.

"The terms are simple. The Guild is willing to accept payment in installments. Monthly. Over a period of... let us say, five years. With interest, of course."

Emeric’s jaw tightened.

"And if I refuse?"

Master Vell spread his hands. "Then the Guild will be forced to take legal action. The courts will seize assets. The estate. The land. The village. Everything."

He paused.

"We would prefer to avoid that. It is messy. Unpleasant. But we will do what we must."