Chapter 113: The Loan Shark

Emeric stood.

He walked to the window. Looked out at the marshland. At the knights working. At the land that was slowly coming back to life.

Three hundred and fifty thousand.

He turned.

"Get out."

Master Vell blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said get out."

"Baron—"

"You came here expecting to intimidate me. To squeeze me. To take what little this estate has." Emeric’s voice was cold. "You picked the wrong baron. Get out. Now."

Master Vell’s smile finally faltered.

"This is a mistake, Baron. The Guild does not forget."

"Neither do I."

Master Rufus rose. Took Master Vell by the arm. Pulled him toward the door.

"We will return in three days," Crane said. "With documents. With lawyers. With the full weight of the Guild behind us."

"Do that."

They left.

Emeric stood in the study.

His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding. His blood was boiling.

Three hundred and fifty thousand gold. For a debt I didn’t make. For a loan that was taken before I knew nothing about.

He drove his fist into the wall.

The stone cracked.

Graves appeared in the doorway.

"My lord."

Emeric turned. His face was dark. His eyes were hard.

"The previous baron. Verity. What do you know about his excesses?"

Graves hesitated.

"He was... not a good man, my lord. I told you before. He taxed the village into ruin. He spent the money on himself. On parties. On clothes. On women." He paused. "He also borrowed. Constantly. From anyone who would lend. He never repaid."

"And this debt? The Merchant Guild?"

"They came to collect. Years ago. After he was imprisoned. But there was no one to collect from. The estate was in chaos. They left. But they never forgot."

Emeric stared at him.

"And now they’ve come back. Because I’m here. Because there’s finally someone to squeeze."

Graves nodded. "It appears so, my lord."

Emeric turned back to the window.

"I’m not paying them."

"My lord—"

"I’m not paying them. Not now. Not like this." He paused. "But I need to know what I’m dealing with. The Guild. Their reach. Their power. Find out everything you can."

Graves inclined his head. "Yes, my lord."

"And Graves?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Send a message to Bjorn. Tell him to hurry."

"Understood."

Graves left.

Emeric stood alone.

The sun was setting. The sky was red. The knights had stopped for the day.

He stared at the marshland. At the trenches. At the land that was slowly coming back to life.

Three hundred and fifty thousand.

He would find a way.

He had to.

---

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

[NEW THREAT DETECTED — MERCHANT GUILD]

[DEBT CLAIMED: 350,000 GOLD]

[STATUS: HOSTILE]

[SYSTEM NOTE: THE GUILD WILL NOT STOP. THEY WILL USE EVERY TOOL AT THEIR DISPOSAL. PREPARE.]

---

Emeric read the notification, his mind racing from anger.

They didn’t have enough to handle this.

---

Day four of the marshland project.

The trenches were deeper now. The water flowed faster. The land was beginning to dry. What had been a swamp was becoming something else. Something that could be farmed. Something that could be lived on.

Emeric stood at the edge of the work site. His tunic was soaked. His hands were raw. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

The knights worked behind him. Two hundred men. They moved with practiced efficiency now. The resentment was still there—especially from Commander Gaius—but the work was getting done.

Isolde had come again with Lunch. The same as yesterday. The knights had started to expect it. They had started to look forward to it. The lady of the estate, bringing them food. Smiling at them. Thanking them.

It was strange in its own way. But not unwelcome.

That evening.

Emeric sat in the study. The ledgers were open before him. The numbers were the same. Desperate.

A knock.

"Enter."

Graves appeared. His expression was carefully neutral. But there was something in his eyes. Something heavy.

"My lord. I have the report you requested."

Emeric set his pen down. "Sit."

Graves sat.

"The village," Graves began. "It is worse than I thought."

Emeric waited.

"There are three hundred and twelve residents remaining. Half are children. A quarter are elderly. The rest are adults—but most are sick. Malnourished. Weak."

He paused.

"They have no clean water. The well is contaminated. They have no medicine. The healer died two years ago and no one has come to replace him. They have no seed for planting—the previous baron took it all. They have no livestock—the previous baron took that too."

Emeric’s jaw tightened.

"What do they need?"

"Everything, my lord. Food. Medicine. Clean water. Seed. Livestock. Tools. Clothing. Shelter—many of the houses are falling apart."

He paused.

"But more than anything—they need hope. They need to believe that someone cares. That someone will help them. That someone will not take from them like the previous baron did."

Emeric was quiet for a long moment.

"And the Merchant Guild?"

Graves’s expression shifted. Darker.

"The Guild is... not what it seems. They present themselves as a legitimate financial institution. But they are predators. They loan at rates that are impossible to repay. They know this. They count on it."

He pulled a parchment from his coat. Unfolded it.

"The previous baron—Lord Ashworth—borrowed one hundred and fifty thousand gold. The interest rate was thirty percent. Compounded annually. Over five years, that debt has grown to three hundred and fifty thousand. More than the estate is worth. More than the village is worth. More than everything."

Emeric stared at the numbers.

"Thirty percent."

"Yes, my lord."

"That’s not a loan. That’s a trap."

"It is, my lord."

Graves continued.

"They have done this before. Many times. They target minor nobles. Desperate houses. They offer loans that seem reasonable—at first. Then the interest compounds. The debt grows. The noble cannot pay. The Guild seizes everything. The noble is left with nothing."

He paused.

"There have been seventeen cases in the last twenty years. Seventeen houses destroyed. Seventeen families ruined. The Guild owns their land. Their manors. Their villages. They are the largest landowner in the western provinces now—not through honest means. Through debt."

Emeric’s hands clenched.