The door to the inner office was not just wood; it was a barrier of dark, polished timber reinforced with bands of cold-forged iron and subtle, shimmering mana-seals that faded as Secretary Hartwell pushed it open. The room beyond was a testament to power and order. Trophies of monstrous beasts adorned the walls alongside framed guild charters. A massive desk of obsidianwood dominated the space, behind which sat Cassimir Thorne.
He was a man who seemed carved from the same material as his desk—hard, imposing, and immovable. His hair was steel-grey, his beard closely cropped, and his eyes, the color of a winter sky, missed nothing. He did not stand, but his gaze lifted from a mana-slate to pin Joshey where he stood.
"Mister Elias," his voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth. "Secretary Hartwell tells me you seek to purchase the operating rights to the East Quarter Market." He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit."
Joshey did so, placing the heavy chest beside his chair. The weight of the man's attention was heavier.
"Do you understand the price?" Thorne asked, his fingers steepled.
"Yes, Guild Master. Seventy thousand florins, as recorded," Joshey replied, his voice steady.
"Correct. Seventy thousand," Thorne repeated, the words final as a judge's gavel. "Paid in full, upfront. No installments. Markets are the bloodlines of this guild's wealth. We do not hand them out lightly." He leaned forward slightly, the movement deliberate. "Furthermore, you'll be required to staff it with guild-approved workers and a record-keeper. Their combined wages will be ninety florins weekly. Have you considered that ongoing burden?"
"Seventy thousand upfront?!" Elias's panic was a white-hot spike. "We don't have that! The three million is for the business, not just the license! This is over! Tell him it's over!"
Joshey ignored him. He met Thorne's gaze without flinching. "With respect, Guild Master, I would like to propose an alternative to a single, upfront payment."
Secretary Hartwell, standing by the door, took a sharp breath. "Mister Elias, you will mind your—"
Thorne held up a single hand without looking at her. She fell immediately silent. His icy eyes remained fixed on Joshey. "Speak."
"A full payment removes liquid capital needed to actually make the market successful, which ultimately serves the guild's interest," Joshey began, his tone that of a negotiator, not a supplicant. "I propose an initial payment of sixty percent of the fee—forty-two thousand florins—today. The remaining twenty-eight thousand would be paid annually over the next two years, with an additional twenty-five percent interest on the outstanding balance per annum. This guarantees the guild a significant sum immediately, a larger total sum in the long run, and ensures I have the capital to make the venture profitable for everyone."
The silence in the room was absolute. Hartwell looked as if she'd been slapped. Elias was screaming a continuous, wordless stream of terror.
Thorne's expression did not change, but a faint, almost imperceptible light of interest flickered in his cold eyes. "An interest-bearing installment plan," he stated, as if tasting the unfamiliar concept. "You would bind yourself to such terms? The penalties for missed payments would be severe."
"I understand the risks, Guild Master. I would not propose it if I were not confident."
"And the workers' salaries? Ninety florins a week is non-negotiable."
"The guild's right to set a minimum wage is acknowledged," Joshey said, smoothly pivoting. "However, the method of payment is, I believe, at the proprietor's discretion. I will handle the payroll myself, distributing the ninety florins weekly as required. This ensures the workers are paid without further administrative burden on the guild."
"…You're not just saying no to him," Elias whispered, his panic receding into stunned awe. "You're… negotiating. You're changing the shape of the deal."
Thorne studied him for a long, heavy moment. The winter in his eyes seemed to thaw by a single degree. He leaned back. "You argue your case with… unexpected precision, Mister Elias. Very well. I will entertain your proposal. The terms are acceptable: forty-two thousand now, the remainder plus twenty-five percent annual interest, paid over two years. The workers' pay is to be disbursed by you, weekly, without fail." He gestured to the chest. "The initial payment. Now."
Joshey bent down, opened the chest, and began counting out stacks of florins onto the desk. The clink of each stack was a loud proclamation in the silent room.
As he counted, Thorne spoke again, his tone shifting. "I must admit, I had heard your name before today, Mister Elias. Usually in contexts far removed from high finance."
Joshey finished stacking the coins and looked up. "People can change, Guild Master. Or perhaps they can finally pursue the talents they were meant to, given the right opportunity."
A faint, grim smile touched Thorne's lips. "Indeed. I am Cassimir Thorne. It appears we will be doing business." He pulled a thick, vellum document from a drawer—the lease agreement, already glowing with faint mana. "The terms are as we have spoken. Your signature, infused with mana, will bind you."
Joshey took the proffered quill. It hummed with power. Without hesitation, he signed *Elias* at the bottom. A flash of silver light erupted from the signature, sealing the pact. The deed was done.
"We… we did it," Elias thought, his voice a mix of terror and exhilaration. "We actually did it."
Joshey placed the quill down. "Thank you, Guild Master Thorne. You won't regret this."
"See that I don't, Mister Elias," Thorne said, his voice returning to its original rumble. "Secretary Hartwell will see you out."
***
The heavy oak door closed behind Joshey with a soft, final click. The weight of the signed lease felt more substantial than the chest of coins. Secretary Hartwell gave him a look of professional disdain before leading him down a narrower corridor to a small antechamber. A young man in the crisp, grey robes of a Guild Recorder stood waiting.
"Recorder Finn," Hartwell announced. "You are assigned to the East Quarter Market, under the proprietorship of Mister Elias. You will accompany him for the inventory and key transfer. Ensure all ledgers are in order."
The young man, Finn, bowed his head. "Guild Master," he said to Hartwell. Then, to Joshey, "Proprietor. I am at your service."
Hartwell left without another word. Finn gestured toward a side exit. "The East Quarter is this way, sir. It is not far."
They stepped out of the Guild's oppressive grandeur and into the bustling afternoon light. The walk was short, the air changing from ozone and polish to dust, baking stone, and the faint smell of old produce and rust.
The East Quarter Market was not what Joshey had pictured. It was a cemetery of commerce. A wide, cobblestone square was lined on three sides with empty, shuttered stalls, their wooden frames warped and bleached by the sun. Weeds pushed through the cracks in the stones. At the far end stood a small, locked office, its door rotten at the bottom.
A lone, weary-looking man—the previous overseer—slumped on a barrel. He perked up, eyed Joshey, and held out a rusty iron key ring and a battered, mostly empty ledger.
"The keys and the… records," the man mumbled. "Such as they are. Most of the merchants left seasons ago. Good luck to you." He didn't wait for a response, simply shuffling away as if a great weight had been lifted and placed squarely on Joshey's shoulders.
Finn accepted the items and handed them to Joshey. "The physical asset transfer is complete, Proprietor Elias."
Joshey took the keys. The iron was cold and rough in his palm.
"This is it?" Elias's voice was a whisper of dismay. "This… ruin? This is what we are in debt for? This is what we must make thrive?" The scale of the task was suddenly, terrifyingly real.
*It's perfect,* Joshey thought back, his internal voice buzzing with an energy Elias couldn't comprehend.
"Perfect? It's a graveyard!"
*No. It's a blank slate.* Joshey's eyes weren't seeing the rot and the dust. He was seeing the wide aisles, the solid foundations, the prime location. He was seeing foot traffic, painted signs, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the vibrant colors of dyed fabrics.
Finn cleared his throat. "My duties, Proprietor, are to record all transactions, collect the guild's levies, and ensure accurate accounting. I report both to you and to the Guild. My weekly salary is forty-five florins. You will also need to hire at least one other worker—a groundskeeper or a guard—at a minimum of forty-five florins weekly. The total, ninety florins, is due every Seventh-day."
The numbers were stated as law. The recorder was not just an employee; he was the guild's watchful eye.
Joshey nodded, his mind already racing. "Understood, Recorder Finn. Our first order of business is to announce the reopening. We'll need notices posted at the Guild and around the district. Then, we'll set stall rents. We'll start low to attract merchants. We'll draft a set of rules—no trade in stolen goods, all disputes to be brought to me or my designated enforcer."
Finn's stylus was already scratching across his mana-slate. "Noted, sir."
Joshey walked into the center of the empty square. The silence was profound, broken only by the distant sounds of the city. He could feel the weight of it all—the debt, the salaries, the expectations, the sheer physical reality of the dilapidated space. It was a crushing weight.
But as he stood there, a strange thing happened. The weight didn't bow him down. It grounded him. For the first time since he'd arrived in this world, his purpose was not escape or survival. It was creation.
"It is a heavy thing, is it not?" Elias murmured, sensing the shift in Joshey's demeanor.
*It is,* Joshey agreed, looking out at the empty stalls. *But heavy things have momentum. This place is dead now. But we are going to make it the heart of this quarter. We're going to make it beat.*
He turned to Finn, a new light in his eyes—Elias's pale yellow eyes, now burning with a foreign determination.
"Recorder, let's get to work."