Laos Territory — New Garden
The courtyard of the Lord's Manor was louder than usual.
Merchants moved between tables carrying ledgers and sealed documents. Servants hurried along stone paths with tea and wine. Guards stood near the entrances, making sure arguments remained verbal.
Because negotiations had begun.
And negotiations—
Were always one insult away from violence.
At the center of the courtyard, beneath a black canopy—
Lucy sat calmly behind a long table covered in contracts.
To her right sat Kleber.
Mostly because he looked noble enough to make people nervous.
To her left sat a clerk who had already emptied three ink bottles.
One merchant family after another stepped forward.
One wanted exclusive freight rights.
Another wanted control over station tariffs.
Another wanted first access to iron shipments.
Lucy listened to all of them.
Patiently.
Calmly.
Then rejected most of them.
"House Velt receives mining access for the western branch," Lucy said.
The merchant stiffened.
"Only western?"
"You have poor river infrastructure," Lucy replied calmly.
"If we gave you central routes, you would bottleneck within six months."
The merchant opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because he knew she was right.
Another noble stepped forward.
House Caster.
Young enough to still believe money made him important.
"My family is willing to finance three stations," he said.
"Then you will receive three station contracts," Lucy replied.
"And priority freight access?"
"No."
The man frowned instantly.
"Why not?"
"Because you do not have enough storage capacity to justify it."
"That can be built."
"It can," Lucy agreed.
"When it exists, we will renegotiate."
The noble's jaw tightened.
"You expect us to invest without guarantees?"
Lucy looked up from the contract.
"You are guaranteed profit."
"You are not guaranteed special treatment."
The young noble fell silent.
Because there was no argument against that.
Lucy negotiated like a wall.
Polite.
Immovable.
A few tables away—
Masen sat beneath another canopy drinking heavily with several merchants.
He had somehow turned artillery demonstrations into a social event.
"…and then the cannon misfired," Masen was saying.
"And the idiot lost both eyebrows."
The merchants laughed loudly.
One of them looked toward the distant rail yard.
"You really think war is coming?"
Masen looked at him for a moment.
Then took another drink.
"No," he said.
"I know it is."
That quieted the table immediately.
Because Masen did not speak like a politician.
He spoke like a man who had already survived too much.
"Faros has been too quiet," Masen continued.
"That never means peace."
"It means preparation."
He pointed vaguely with his cup.
"People think war starts when banners rise."
He snorted.
"Idiots."
"War starts years earlier."
"When grain prices change."
"When iron gets expensive."
"When soldiers stop leaving the barracks."
"When old men start buying maps."
No one laughed that time.
Further away—
Bal stood near the edge of the courtyard, watching several armored soldiers escort a wagon loaded with contracts and coin chests.
Desax stood beside him.
"They are investing faster than expected," Bal said.
"Fear is a strong motivator," Desax replied.
Bal looked toward the crowded courtyard.
"Feels strange."
"What does?"
"That people are treating Laos like this."
He gestured vaguely around them.
"Like it matters."
Desax remained quiet for a moment.
Then—
"It does matter."
Bal's eyes shifted toward the coin chests.
A pause.
"I still remember when children slept hungry."
"When monsters wandered in from the forests."
"When soldiers had to maintain their own equipment because no one else would."
"When half the men in the territory were either drunk or dead."
He looked toward the manor.
"And the lords…"
His expression darkened.
"They were too busy fighting over titles to notice."
Desax nodded faintly.
"I remember."
Bal exhaled slowly.
"Now look at this place."
"Workshops."
"Foundries."
"Railways."
"Armories."
"People from other territories coming here for help."
He looked down for a second.
"Feels strange."
Desax followed his gaze toward the distant rail lines.
"It feels like someone finally remembered we exist."
Bal let out a short breath through his nose.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"And all it took was one terrifying little genius with no sense of morality."
Desax almost smiled.
"Lucy helped."
"She always does."
"What are you two talking about?"
Both men turned.
Logos stood behind them.
Hands behind his back.
Expression unreadable.
Bal looked at him for a second.
Then—
"You."
Logos blinked once.
"Why?"
"You know what I mean."
Bal gestured vaguely toward the courtyard.
"The people."
"The money."
"The contracts."
"The railways."
"This place."
He looked toward the distant workshops.
"You changed all of it."
Logos followed his gaze.
"It was unsuitable before."
Bal stared at him.
Desax closed his eyes briefly.
Of course.
"You know," Bal muttered,
"Most people would say thank you."
"I pay all of you three times more than comparable baronies."
"That is not the same thing."
"It should be."
Bal rubbed his face.
Desax looked toward Logos.
"You gave people something to build toward."
"That matters."
Logos looked mildly confused.
"The path was always there."
"I still do not understand why no one used it."
"That is not the same thing," Desax replied quietly.
Bal looked toward the crowd again.
"Lucy seems to be handling it."
"She is more suited to it than I am."
Bal raised a brow.
"That sounds suspiciously self-aware."
"It is."
Bal looked toward the gathered merchants below.
"They are afraid of you."
"Yes."
"And you are fine with that?"
Logos looked toward the nobles gathered beneath the canopy.
"They are idiots who judge things based on appearance."
"I do not need them to like me."
A nearby merchant glanced toward Logos from across the courtyard.
Then quickly looked away when Logos noticed.
Bal watched the exchange.
"You know," he said,
"You could probably make people less nervous if you smiled more."
Logos looked at him.
"I smile."
"No," Bal replied flatly.
"You expose your teeth."
Desax coughed into his hand.
Logos looked mildly offended.
"That is inaccurate."
"You made a grown man faint from laughter," Bal replied.
"That was one time."
"Kleber still twitches when you laugh too suddenly."
From across the courtyard—
"I heard that!" Kleber shouted.
Then—
"MY LORD!"
One of the clerks came running toward them, sweating heavily and carrying several contracts.
"The merchant families from House Velt and House Caster are demanding a private audience."
"Why?" Logos asked.
"They both want exclusive rights over the central railway stations."
Logos blinked once.
"They cannot have them."
"I told them that."
"They are threatening to leave."
"Then let them leave."
The clerk froze.
"…What?"
"If they are willing to abandon years of profit because they are not receiving special treatment…"
Logos looked toward the crowded courtyard.
"…then they are idiots."
Bal barked a short laugh.
Desax almost smiled again.
The clerk still looked uncertain.
"But my lord, if they leave, we lose a great deal of money."
"No," Logos replied calmly.
"We lose unreliable partners."
Then he looked back toward the clerk.
"Offer the contracts to their rivals."
The man blinked.
"…Immediately?"
"Yes."
"Preferably in front of them."
The clerk hurried away.
Bal watched him go.
Then slowly looked back toward Logos.
"That was unnecessary."
"I once read that seeing your enemies crumble is enjoyable."
"I am trying it."
Bal stared at him for a second.
"That is not helping your case."
"I do not know what that means."
"That is also part of the problem."
Below—
The effect was immediate.
House Velt and House Caster were still arguing beneath the canopy when the clerk approached another group of merchants.
A rival family.
House Marrow.
Older.
Less wealthy.
Smarter.
The clerk handed them the contract in full view of everyone.
The expressions on Velt and Caster changed instantly.
Shock.
Then anger.
Then panic.
"Wait," one of the Velt merchants snapped.
"We were still negotiating."
Lucy looked up calmly.
"No," she corrected.
"You were threatening."
A few nearby merchants quietly stepped back.
Because Lucy's voice had not risen.
Which somehow made it worse.
The young lord of House Caster stepped forward.
"This is ridiculous," he said.
"You cannot just hand away central access."
"I can," Lucy replied.
"And did."
He looked like he wanted to shout.
Instead—
"House Caster will remember this."
Lucy picked up the next contract.
"I certainly hope so."
The noble turned red.
Then stormed off.
House Velt followed soon after.
And as they left—
Three more merchant families stepped forward.
Because everyone else had just learned something important.
Laos did not need them.
That was dangerous.
Because in negotiations—
The side that needed less always won.