Chapter 4 – A Lord's Bargain
Morning sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows of the Goldbear estate's audience hall. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and incense, its stone pillars wrapped with golden banners bearing the crest of a roaring bear.
Glic sat at the head of the long table, the viscount's chair slightly too ornate for his taste, though he leaned into the role with a calm confidence. To his right stood Steward Halwen, his expression stern as always. To his left, clerks and scribes prepared their ink and parchments.
Across the table, five merchants from Rivermark bowed stiffly. Their robes were fine but functional, marked with the insignias of trading houses. Each of them wore the look of men who had smelled weakness in the past but now approached cautiously, testing the waters of their lord's resolve.
"My lord Viscount," began the eldest merchant, a balding man with sharp eyes. "We thank you for receiving us on such short notice. We must speak plainly: the tariffs your family imposes on lumber have become… unsustainable. With Crimson Alliance raiders seizing caravans along the northern roads, our costs are doubled. If relief is not granted, we will be forced to redirect our contracts to House Veynar."
The other merchants murmured agreement.
Halwen's jaw tightened, and he opened his mouth to argue, but Glic raised a hand to silence him. His gaze swept over the merchants, sharp and calculating.
In his old life, Edward McAllister had negotiated with military boards, corporate investors, and political vultures far more dangerous than petty merchants. These men were no different—they smelled of desperation masked by bravado.
Glic folded his hands. "Tell me, merchants, what is the true cost you fear? Is it the tariff… or the raiders who bleed you?"
The eldest merchant hesitated, caught off guard. "The… the raiders, my lord. But without relief, we cannot maintain profit margins—"
"Then let us not dance around the matter." Glic leaned forward, his voice smooth but commanding. "You fear the Crimson Alliance. I will deal with them. In exchange, you will not only honor your contracts with the Goldbear family but expand them. For every caravan I protect, you will send double the lumber through my routes, and in return, I will guarantee safe passage."
The merchants blinked in surprise.
One of the younger ones scoffed, "My lord, with respect, House Goldbear has no wizard knights, no trained militia strong enough to counter raiders—how could you possibly guarantee such protection?"
Halwen bristled, but again Glic raised a hand. He smiled faintly. "How, indeed? That is my concern, not yours. All you need know is that the Crimson Alliance will soon find their hunting grounds… inhospitable."
The merchants exchanged nervous glances.
The eldest cleared his throat. "And if you succeed, my lord… you would demand expansion of contracts? That may strain our ledgers."
"Consider it an investment," Glic replied. "In stability. In profit. In the assurance that House Veynar cannot prey upon your desperation." His golden-brown eyes hardened. "You are merchants. You gamble with coin. Gamble on me."
Silence stretched across the hall. Finally, the eldest merchant bowed slowly. "Very well. We will extend our contracts, contingent on your success. But know this, Viscount—should you fail, our patience will end."
"Then it is settled." Glic's voice was final, leaving no room for argument.
The merchants bowed and withdrew, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
When they were gone, Halwen turned to his lord, brows furrowed. "My lord… forgive me, but was that wise? We have little more than a token garrison. If the Crimson Alliance presses harder, your promise may ruin us."
Glic rose from his chair, his expression unreadable. "Halwen, you mistake me for a man bound by ordinary means. Trust me when I say: the raiders are the least of my concerns."
The steward studied him, as though sensing the shift in his young master. At last, he bowed. "As you command, my lord."
---
Later that afternoon, Glic walked through the estate gardens, his hands clasped behind his back. The frogs croaked faintly in the distance where the Sub-Magic Pen lay, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
The system needs more spells.
Currently, he possessed only a handful of cantrips—Spark, Minor Cleanse, Mana Thread, Acid Splash. Pathetically insufficient for long-term progress. If he wanted to unlock the true potential of the Spell Merge Module, he needed variety. Spells from every school. Tools, abilities, enhancements he could adapt and merge into both creatures and items.
But spells were not free. Wizards jealously guarded their grimoires. Even the most basic apprentice spells required coin, favors, or access to Tower libraries.
Which means I need money.
The Goldbear coffers were respectable, but not enough to buy him the freedom he required. He needed more than lumber tariffs and merchant contracts. He needed a steady stream of gold—and one that would not draw too much suspicion.
Then the answer struck him, clear and elegant.
Wizard items.
Common and uncommon magical items—charms, enchanted trinkets, practical tools—were always in demand. Nobles craved them for prestige, merchants for profit, apprentices for convenience. Even something as simple as a self-heating kettle or a flame-less lamp could fetch coin.
And with the system, he could create items unlike anything the Tower had seen.
A smile spread across his face. "Yes… common and uncommon wizard items. Affordable, practical, endlessly marketable."
His eyes gleamed. "I will create a market the Towers cannot ignore. And with coin flowing freely, I'll buy every 0-ring spell I can get my hands on."
He paused, staring up at the sky, where the sun burned high above the estate.
Edward McAllister had been a scientist bound by the state. Glic Goldbear would be a viscount bound by nothing but his ambition.
The path was clear: expand wealth, acquire spells, experiment without limit.
And with each merge, he would rise higher, until no wizard, noble, or king could stand above him.
---
That night, by the light of his ever-burning candle, Glic drafted plans. Lists of potential items. Lamps infused with Spark. Cleaning cloths enchanted with Minor Cleanse. Ropes enhanced with Mana Thread. Cheap, practical, effective.
And when those took root, he would move to greater projects—rings, talismans, armor. Items that nobles would kill to possess.
The system's panel glowed faintly in his mind, waiting.
Glic's hand tightened around his quill as he wrote a single line at the top of the parchment:
"House Goldbear Magical Goods Division."
The scientist was reborn.
The merchant lord was awakening.
And the wizard… was just beginning.