A few kilometers away from the village of the Tarnished, a small convoy of two carriages and a dozen armed guards trudged along the uneven terrain. There was no proper road—just a dirt path, marked by the faint grooves of wagon wheels, guiding their way through the wilderness.
The first carriage was built for passengers: modest, functional, and without luxury. The second was filled to the brim with crates and barrels, their contents tightly secured beneath a heavy canvas.
Inside the first carriage, Vekir clutched his stomach with one hand and covered his mouth with the other. He looked miserable, his signature pompadour bobbing violently with every jolt and bump.
"God, I hate this road," he groaned, his face pale and drenched in sweat. "Every time I take it, I feel like I'm about to spill my guts."
Vekir was not your typical merchant. His business dealings were far from ordinary. Across the kingdom, he was known as the sole supplier of what the nobles referred to as their "forbidden pleasures"—exotic drugs, rare intoxicants, and luxuriously aged wines. But his darkest trades were in flesh: slaves of all races and ages, bought and sold for the amusement and depravity of the upper class.
"If it weren't for how important this deal is, I'd never come to this hellhole again. And to make things worse, I have to oversee the relocation of these beggars... ugh."
After several grueling hours, the convoy halted in a clearing not far from the village. The moment the carriage came to a stop, its door flew open, and Vekir stumbled out. He barely made it to a nearby tree before vomiting violently.
Across the clearing, Stanley and Bull stood waiting with a handful of others. They watched in silent bemusement as Vekir emptied the contents of his stomach.
Once done, Vekir wiped his mouth with a silk handkerchief, composed himself, and approached them with his trademark joviality.
"Stanley, my old friend! I missed you," he said with exaggerated cheer.
Stanley, who knew better than to trust Vekir's honeyed words, replied coolly, "Good to see you again, sir. I trust this meeting will be as profitable as the last."
Vekir's smile widened. "Of course, of course! Always a pleasure to do business with you fine people. But alas, I come bearing more than trade today."
He paused and gave them a once-over. "I'd invite you into my carriage to speak in private, but unfortunately..." he sniffed the air and grimaced, "...I fear the stench would linger."
Stanley and the others exchanged glances.
"Whatever," Vekir said, brushing it off. "Let me get to the point. You all need to relocate to the canyon. Temporarily, of course."
Stanley blinked. "R-Relocate to the canyon? What do you mean?"
Vekir sighed with dramatic flair and mimed an imaginary map with his hands. "Let's say this," he motioned to the left, "is your charming little village. And now—" he moved his hands to the right, "—you pick it up, pack your things, and settle in the canyon. And yes, that includes your precious farm."
His smile was unwavering. "But don't worry! It's only for a few weeks. Maybe a few months. Depending."
Stanley looked dumbfounded. "You want us to live in a den full of man-eating insects and predatory birds?"
"Yes," Vekir replied matter-of-factly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
Stanley finally lost his composure. "YOU MUST BE MAD! Even a seasoned aura user wouldn't last a night in that place. And you expect us to stay there for weeks?"
Vekir nodded solemnly. "Sadly, yes. And I'm afraid you don't have a choice."
He cleared his throat. "Let me explain. The kingdom is entering a new era. The royal family needs to reassert its power. The crown prince himself is coming with an army—ten thousand strong—to conquer the Forest of Beasts. If he finds your little village, he'll see you as nothing more than insurgents or worse—traitors."
The group stood in stunned silence. Only Stanley seemed to grasp the full weight of what Vekir had just said. The others looked confused, waiting for someone to tell them it was a joke.
Vekir continued, his voice low and grave, "This is serious. If the prince's army discovers you, they'll wipe you out without a second thought. That's why I'm offering you this... unpleasant alternative. Hide in the canyon until the storm passes. For the sake of our long and successful partnership."
Stanley's face went pale. The Black Scimitar had been a recent threat, but this... this was catastrophic.
"Ten thousand soldiers? What the hell is going on? First the Black Scimitar shows up, now the royal family has their eyes on us. What the hell am I supposed to do?"
His voice trembled. "The canyon's not even livable. The land is barren, crawling with monsters. We won't survive."
Vekir, still wearing his unnerving smile, gestured to one of his soldiers, who promptly retrieved a crate from the supply wagon.
"I've thought of that," he said smoothly. "This here is insect repellent—very potent. It should keep the worst of the bugs away. As for the birds... well, you'll need to find a nice big cave. Preferably one without previous occupants."
He turned and began walking back toward his carriage. "I'll stay for a few days to ensure the transition goes smoothly."
Just then, one of Stanley's men stepped forward. "What about the recent... incidents?"
Vekir froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned, his expression unchanged but his voice colder. "Stanley, my friend. What's your man talking about? Is there something I should know?"
Stanley sighed heavily, still reeling from the earlier news. "Yes. A lot has happened. This might be the last deal we ever make."
Vekir raised an eyebrow. "Another turf war? I've dealt with plenty. Just smooth things over like always. I'll take care of the new boss."
Stanley shook his head. "No. This time is different. A major faction has moved in. I'm sure you know them."
He paused.
"It's the Black Scimitar."
For the first time since they met, Stanley saw Vekir flinch. It was subtle—barely a twitch—but unmistakable. The ever-smiling merchant was rattled.
And that said more than any words could.