The morning sun rose crimson over the battered ravine, casting long shadows across the corpses. Liam stood at the edge, blood drying on his hands, breath finally steady. The King's Gambit had been a victory—a decisive one. Yet even as his interface blinked with EXP and loot notifications, a new warning hovered in his mind:
Reputation Unlocked: Bloodfang SlayerYour actions have sent ripples through the underworld. Those who value strength will respect you. Those who value power will fear you. Those who value profit… will hunt you.
He closed the interface, jaw tightening. A single victory was not enough. The Bloodfang Pack would not disappear with one lieutenant's death. If anything, the beast had only been wounded. And a wounded beast lashed back hardest.
But Liam wasn't going to wait for them to regroup. He was going to strike first—this time, not with blades and traps.
This time, with gold.
The Bloodfang's True Power
The Bloodfang Pack was more than just thugs with axes. They controlled supply lines. Smuggling routes. Black market stalls in every ruined village and survivor enclave.
The Bloodfang's power came not only from fear, but from coin. They bled every trader, taxed every caravan, sold every scrap of steel and grain at inflated prices. If a man wanted to eat, he paid the Bloodfang. If he wanted to trade, he paid double.
And Liam had just stumbled on something that could turn that system against them: the Bloodfang Emblem he'd looted from the lieutenant's corpse.
The moment he held it, his interface shimmered.
Quest Item Identified: Bloodfang Emblem (Faction Pass)Allows bearer limited access to Bloodfang-controlled markets and warehouses.
Liam's grin was sharp. So the beast feeds itself on trade. Then I'll starve it.
First Move: The Market in Ashenford
The ruins of Ashenford had long since ceased to be a town. Its burned-out husks served as a trade hub now, where desperate survivors bartered food for medicine, medicine for weapons, and weapons for protection. The Bloodfang Pack controlled every stall, every gate.
Or so they thought.
Liam strode in with the emblem flashing openly on his belt. He'd smeared dried blood across his armor, letting the illusion of brutality carry him. The thugs at the gate glanced at the emblem, then stepped aside without question.
Inside, the market was chaos. Traders shouting prices, the stink of roasted meat, the clash of iron on wood. And everywhere—the Bloodfang's red-marked thugs, collecting "taxes" from trembling merchants.
Liam's eyes narrowed.
This was where the war would be fought. Not in the shadows of a ravine, but in the open, among coin and contracts.
Sowing Discord
He didn't start with steel. He started with whispers.
At a weapons stall, he leaned close to the merchant, speaking low enough to sound like a secret:"Bloodfang shipments were ambushed last night. Half their guards drowned. Word is, they can't protect their traders anymore."
At a food stall, he slipped a few coins onto the table and murmured:"Another pack is moving in from the north. Stronger, richer. Soon, they'll pay better rates for grain."
At a medicine tent, he showed the emblem, his voice sharp and confident:"Bloodfang's grip is weakening. Best to choose wisely who you sell to."
It was poison. Whispered poison, spread stall to stall, trader to trader. And like all poison, it didn't need to be true. It only needed to fester.
By afternoon, murmurs were spreading like wildfire. "The Bloodfang can't protect us." "The Bloodfang are falling." "Better not tie ourselves to them too tightly."
The Market War Erupts
The Bloodfang noticed. Of course they did.
A burly enforcer grabbed Liam by the collar as he turned from a spice vendor."You spreading shit about the Pack, rat?"
The market quieted. Eyes turned toward them. Liam's dagger twitched at his side—but he didn't draw. Not yet.
Instead, he held up the emblem.
The thug froze. Confusion flickered across his face. The emblem was proof of rank. Proof he wasn't some nobody.
"I don't spread rumors," Liam said calmly, voice carrying across the market. "I spread truth. And the truth is, the Bloodfang are too weak to hold these stalls. Maybe it's time the traders choose who really deserves their coin."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The thug snarled, uncertain, and swung a fist. Liam ducked—fast, precise—and slammed the man into a stall of grain sacks. The crowd erupted, shouts and cheers mixing with jeers.
And just like that, the first blow of the Market War was struck.
Blood and Gold
The fight spread like fire.
Bloodfang enforcers surged forward, blades flashing. But they weren't facing just Liam.
The merchants—beaten, bled, taxed for years—finally saw weakness. Finally smelled blood. And with Liam's whispers still in their ears, they acted. Knives flashed from beneath tables. Clubs swung from behind barrels. Cries of rebellion rose.
Liam moved like a blade in the storm. Every strike precise, every kill calculated. He ducked beneath a spear thrust, drove his dagger into a thigh, tore free a sword, and cut down another thug.
[You have slain Bloodfang Enforcer – Level 11][EXP +75]
Coins spilled from broken stalls. Grain sacks split, spilling food across the mud. Merchants screamed, Bloodfang cursed, blades clashed. The market was no longer a place of trade—it was a battlefield.
And in the center, Liam thrived.
The Turning Point
Hours later, when the blood dried and the fires smoldered low, Ashenford Market was unrecognizable.
Dozens of Bloodfang corpses lay scattered. Survivors whispered Liam's name with awe and fear. Merchants gathered around him, bloodied but alive, their faces lit with desperate hope.
One of them, an older man with a scar across his jaw, spoke first."You… you gave us a chance. We thought the Bloodfang untouchable. But if you lead, maybe—maybe we can stand."
Liam looked at the gathered merchants, the makeshift weapons still clutched in their hands. His chest rose and fell with exhaustion, but his eyes gleamed.
This was it. Not just survival. Not just revenge.
This was power.
The Counterstroke
But victories bred enemies. And the Bloodfang were not fools.
By nightfall, scouts returned with grim news. A full warband—over fifty men—was marching toward Ashenford. He had wounded the beast, yes. But now the beast was enraged.
Liam stood atop a burned-out stall, looking over the merchants as they armed themselves. The air was thick with fear, but also fire.
"This is no longer just about me," he said, voice ringing. "This is about all of you. Your food. Your coin. Your lives. The Bloodfang want to bleed you dry. I say—let's bleed them instead."
The crowd roared.
The Market War had only just begun.