"My dear Jules, I truly need your help!"
If any Lysene had walked in right then, they would've dropped their wine glass. Lysandro Rogare—the richest banker and plantation lord in the city—was standing in the courtyard practically on his knees, begging Captain Jules of the White Company.
"My daughter Seraphys vanished three days ago on Bloodwave Cape Road. Please, Jules, I'm begging you—name your price. More gold, whatever you want…"
Jules drew a slow, heavy breath.
[This is a nightmare. We're sellswords, not the damn city watch!] he thought.
We're head-takers, not detectives with a magnifying glass.
My boys can loot, butcher, storm walls in a bloodbath—no problem at all.
But asking them to sift through clues, knock on every door, collect evidence, and hunt down one missing girl…
Seven Hells, they'd be useless.
That was reason number one why Jules wanted to say no: the White Company wasn't built for police work. Their stage was the open plains of the Disputed Lands—suicide charges, screaming steel, the thunder of heavy horse. Not playing constable.
Reason number two…
Jules guarded his title "the Honorable" like it was Valyrian steel.
On raw muscle the White Company was only second-rate, yet they kept landing the best contracts in the market. That was almost entirely because of "Honorable" Jules's reputation.
Everyone knew: when Jules gave his word, the company delivered unless he was dead in the dirt. In the sellsword world of the Disputed Lands, that name alone was worth thirty fully-armed knights.
It was the reason a mid-tier outfit kept getting premium gigs.
If he took this near-impossible missing-person job and failed, the shine on "the Honorable" would tarnish overnight. Future employers would whisper: If they can't find one girl, how can I trust them to win a real battle?
Bad for business. Very bad.
[But… turning him down isn't smart either,] Jules thought.
Lysandro Rogare was the biggest banker, landowner, and sea trader in Lys. Rogare Bank's vaults could rival the Iron Bank of Braavos.
Whoever brought his daughter home safe would never want for coin again.
The White Company would earn his undying favor—maybe even a fat, long-term retainer. Steady wages, no more scrambling for the next contract. Who in their right mind would walk away from that?
And the connections… success here would give the company prestige money couldn't buy.
Jules was still turning it over, stuck between two fires—
"Boss! The kid's awake!" Vito barged straight in, hauling Tiberius behind him like a prize.
"He's fine—eating like a horse, drinking like a fish, and still pretty as a Lysene whore!" Vito laughed, ruffling Tiberius's black hair. "Just finished off a whole pot of that red-wine beef."
Tiberius snuck a quick glance at his uncle.
Jules was pushing forty, but those gray eyes still cut like a falcon's. When they locked on you, you felt the urge to step back. His face was carved oak—hard, weathered, deep lines, radiating that quiet "don't fuck with me" aura every veteran sellsword carried.
Tiberius also noticed the new purple silk robe looked like it was choking the man. The hand that usually rested on a sword hilt clearly had no idea what to do with fancy fabric.
"Vito!" Jules barked. "Lord Lysandro and I are in the middle of something. What the hell are you doing barging in?"
"Ah, boss, your nephew—our future blade, 'Lightning' Tiberius—just woke up," Vito said, rubbing his hands sheepishly. "You've been asking about him nonstop…"
Vito really hadn't realized their golden patron was in the room, or he never would've charged in like a bull.
"Ah, this must be…" Lysandro turned and instantly switched on the warmest smile in Lys, even though seconds earlier he'd been pleading.
"Tiberius. Tiberius Mord," Jules said. "My nephew. During the Ironborn raid on your cargo ship, he put a throwing spear through one of them."
"A little hero!" Lysandro beamed. "The Warrior himself must have been watching over you, granting you courage and strength. Your uncle should be proud. You're a man now, and a fine one."
[Rich people really do talk like this,] Tiberius thought. [Smooth as warm oil.]
"Then I'll leave you to it, Captain Jules," Lysandro said, rising gracefully and gliding out.
"Captain, what was that about?" Vito asked, all innocent curiosity.
"His daughter disappeared on Bloodwave Cape Road," Jules said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Bloodwave Cape Road!" Vito's eyes went wide. "The stretch where dozens of travelers have vanished? Seven Hells… so he came to ask us to…"
"He begged the White Company to find her," Jules said, voice heavy.
"But everyone knows that cursed road. The entire Lys city watch ran a full sweep once—hundreds of hounds, thousands of the best trackers and skirmishers. Several thousand men combed every inch, back and forth, multiple times. Nothing. Not a footprint, not a scrap of cloth."
"One watch captain finally said, 'These people probably became offerings to the Lord of Light. Otherwise why can't we find the bastards' lair no matter how hard we look?'"
Vito grimaced. "Good thing you turned him down, Captain… Your reputation is our golden ticket. I'd hate to see 'Honorable' Jules take a stain over a job nobody on the planet could finish."
A mystery the whole city of Lys couldn't solve—how were a bunch of sellswords supposed to? They weren't investigators.
Jules nodded. "Exactly why I refused. The odds are terrible. If we fail, our credibility takes the hit."
But Tiberius's voice cut through the room, calm and clear.
"No. On the contrary, Uncle—we should take Lord Lysandro's contract and find his daughter. This isn't about credibility anymore… it's about whether the entire company survives the war with Volantis that's coming."