Night descended on the Andalus mansion, long shadows creeping across the stone walls.
In his study, candlelight wavered in the breeze from the slightly open window. The raven quill in Arthur's hand danced across the parchment, leaving trails of black ink that spelled out dreams and plans far too grand for his age.
"Delivery services... safe, efficient, accurate... for everyone," he murmured softly, as if reassuring himself.
He could picture it—horse-drawn carriages bearing the emblem of silver wings, sailing ships sailing majestically under the flag of Andalus, and stone warehouses standing in every important city of the empire. The image made his heart pound.
But the pen stopped. A drop of ink fell, leaving a smudge on the corner of the parchment. Arthur stared at the smudge for a long moment, as if the tiny spot represented the abyss of obstacles that lay ahead.
"This service… won't survive without the guild," she thought quietly.
She knew what it meant: legal protection, noble support, and the courage to challenge the monopoly of the Rich Guild—a giant that had long held sway over the trade routes.
Her small hands moved again. Rough lines began to form a symbol: a round shield with an eagle clutching a scroll in its talons. The name appeared suddenly, like a whisper of the future—Efficax.
Arthur stared at the picture. He felt as if he were opening a door to a long, endless road. A road filled with permits from the Board of Trade, stifling taxes in every region, and most difficult of all: the trust of small merchants and commoners who had always feared the power of the Rich.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his reverie. Corton entered with a calm stride, carrying a sealed letter.
"From the capital, Young Master. Imperial red seal."
Arthur quickly put down his pen and broke the seal. Inside was an invitation to a winter feast at Duke Naba de Stico's castle, three weeks before his departure for Piece.
Beneath the formal invitation was a small note clearly not for everyone's eyes:
Bring a sharp mind and a cautious heart. Not everyone who smiles at you is a friend.
Arthur fell silent. The candle on his table trembled, its flame dancing as if repeating the warning. He turned to the window. The night sky covered the stars with snow clouds, as if hiding the future from him.
He realized that the journey north was not just the beginning of his education at the academy. It was the beginning of a struggle to plant the seeds of Efficax—seeds that could change the face of the empire, but also seeds that enemies would surely hunt before they even sprouted.
And somewhere, behind the smiles of the nobles or behind the red wax seals, his rivals might be ready, hoes in hand—waiting for the moment to pluck him from the ground.