"Honored Lords, thank you for coming on such short notice," the Speaker said, his usually immaculate appearance looking slightly disheveled. Clearly, he too had only just received word and dressed in haste.
"I won't insult your station by pretending otherwise. I'm certain all of you have heard what's happening in Rukia," he continued. "The latest reports suggest the situation is only going to deteriorate further."
A low murmur rippled through the gathered Lords.
"Is that information reliable?" asked Lord Varnes.
"Quite reliable, I'm afraid. The King sent word down that the Empire is going all out this time."
That silenced the room.
Even Zeke, who was likely better informed about the situation in Rukia than anyone else present, hadn't known that particular detail. It didn't surprise him, though. From what he had observed in the reported troop movements, the Empire had committed heavily to a swift and overwhelming assault.
Their strategy seemed clear: bring the country to its knees before anyone had the chance to react.
"Is that who called the meeting?" another Lord asked.
"It is indeed," the Speaker replied.
Zeke glanced toward the raised platform where the King had once sat during his own hearing. It stood empty. Though the man had apparently summoned the council, he had not appeared in person. None of the other Lords seemed particularly surprised. Clearly, they had long since grown used to his elusive nature.
"According to his Majesty..." the Speaker continued, once the room had fallen silent again, "we can safely assume that Rukia is already lost."
A heavy, deafening silence followed.
Then—
"Fuck!"
The curse rang out from none other than Lord Varnes. It was hardly a surprise. If the King's words proved true, Varnes and his entire House would soon be in serious trouble.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Another stream of curses followed.
Zeke swept his gaze around the chamber. Some Lords mirrored Varnes' expression, tight with panic and disbelief. Others wore thin, satisfied smiles, clearly enjoying their colleague's misfortune. But most appeared thoughtful, calculating.
No doubt they were already considering how best to use this information.
They had been given a rare gift: a glimpse into the future. A warning before the storm struck. For a merchant, there was hardly anything more valuable.
Zeke didn't need to ask where the information had come from. He had personally witnessed the Time Mage who served the King. Even now, it remained the single most impressive display of Magic he had ever seen. A Mage of that caliber likely had more than a few methods of divining the future.
The realization brought a deep frown to his face.
…Rukia was truly lost.
He had no particular attachment to the country. He had never visited, and Cassius remained the only person he knew from there. Until the recent attack, Rukia had been little more than a name on a map to him.
But that had changed.
The simple fact that the Empire wanted it destroyed was reason enough for Zeke to want it preserved.
Perhaps that was a foolish hope.
His experience with Time Magic was limited, and he couldn't say for certain whether the knowledge of a prophecy was enough to alter its outcome. Still, he held onto a sliver of hope. The Seers of Serevan had dedicated their lives to warning the continent of impending catastrophes.
If the future were truly unchangeable, there would be no point in that.
However, that also meant only his actions, and those of the other Merchant Lords, could save Rukia. With all other variables accounted for, they were the only ones left outside the foretold path.
Zeke swept his gaze across the chamber, studying the potential allies around him. His frown deepened. What he saw was not reassuring. Plotting, scheming, and profiteering—that was all that occupied these minds.
No, if Rukia were to be saved, it would not be by this council. It would be by him, and him alone.
"I advise all of you to divest your assets as soon as possible," the speaker said. "Preferably before the rest of the continent realizes they are essentially worthless."
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"…Anyone interested in a vast number of estates? Prime location!" Lord Varnes called out mockingly.
A few chuckles echoed around the chamber, but no one took him up on the offer. If the Varnes family wanted to dump their holdings, they would have to find a buyer outside the Merchant Lords. No one here would touch that poisoned fruit.
Varnes knew it, of course. He rose abruptly. "As always, my thanks to the speaker—and the King, bless him. But as you gentlemen can doubtlessly guess, I have urgent business to attend to."
Several other Lords stood with him, eager to begin liquidating their assets before the market was flooded. They all but raced him to the door, no one willing to be the last.
However, most of the Lords remained.
While Rukia was the continent's largest food producer, it had never been a particularly lucrative opportunity for merchants. Most nations negotiated direct agreements, unwilling to entrust something as vital as food supply to middlemen. Doing so would be inviting extortion.
What little trade remained had been monopolized by a few merchant houses like the Varnes family. But these were mere scraps compared to the truly profitable sectors. As a result, only a handful of Lords held significant interests in Rukia, and most of them had just left.
Zeke was preparing to leave as well.
He had no assets to sell, but neither did he plan to linger and network. Not out of disdain, but because he simply didn't have the time. With his ascension still fresh, the list of responsibilities piling up on his desk was already overwhelming.
Unfortunately, the Speaker seemed to have other plans.
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The moment Zeke stood, sharp eyes locked onto him.
"Lord von Hohenheim," he called, halting him mid-step. "A moment of your time, if you would be so kind."
Zeke sat back down, a bad feeling gnawing at him.
"It has been some time since you officially joined our ranks," the Speaker said in a neutral tone. "I trust the transition hasn't been too overwhelming?"
"I've managed," Zeke replied, well aware that the man wasn't truly interested in his well-being. This was just polite preamble, nothing more than a lead-in to whatever point he was preparing to make.
"That is good to hear," the Speaker said with a small nod. "However, there is a matter I must bring to your attention regarding your conduct."
Zeke's brow furrowed. "My conduct? Has there been an issue?"
The Speaker nodded, his expression turning grave. "Our position in this city grants us privileges that most could never dream of," he said, gesturing toward the stack of documents on his podium, the same ones tied to the intelligence they'd just received. "But those privileges are not without obligation."
His gaze sharpened. "There are expectations placed upon us, as representatives of Tradespire."
By now, the chamber had gone silent. Every remaining Lord was watching the exchange with quiet intensity.
"Neutrality," the Speaker said, with the gravity of someone uttering the most sacred word in existence.
It was enough of a clue for Zeke to see where this was going.
"You want me to retract the bounties," he said, cutting the man off before he could speak further.
The Speaker shook his head. "It's not about what I want. I don't make decisions, nor do I issue verdicts. But it would be remiss of me not to inform you that you are currently in breach of the neutrality clause—and the Empire has already submitted a formal complaint."
That caught Zeke off guard.
"So far, we have chosen to look the other way, given how recently you assumed your position," the Speaker continued. "But if this situation persists, we'll be forced to give their complaint proper consideration."
Zeke didn't need to ask what that meant.
Violating Tradespire's neutrality clause was no small matter. It was, in fact, one of the few offenses that could lead to a Merchant Lord being stripped of their title. The Speaker hadn't said it outright, but the message was clear.
Retract your bounties—or forfeit your seat.
Unfortunately, Zeke had no real way around it. He was, after all, entirely in the wrong.
"...Consider them removed," he said, the words coming harder than he expected.
To this day, the bounties on the four great families of the Empire had been the single most effective blow he had struck. What had begun as a youthful act of defiance had turned into a symbol of rebellion—one that had caused the Empire real damage.
Letting it go now felt like surrender.
But there was no other choice. He had clawed his way to his current position, and he knew the moment it seemed vulnerable, the sharks would begin to circle again. The protection the status of Merchant Lord offered was too valuable to lose.
"…A wise choice," the Speaker said, though it was clear he wasn't finished. "I suggest you refrain from such behavior in the future. Whatever grievances you have with the Empire: bury them."
Zeke's eyes hardened, but he held his tongue.
"I mean it," the man pressed, clearly sensing his defiance. "As a Merchant Lord of Tradespire, it is unthinkable for you to continue this vendetta. Mark my words, this city will not serve as your shield while you openly antagonize one of our most profitable partners."
To that, even Zeke had to nod, however reluctantly.
Trying to strike at the Empire from behind Tradespire's protection was a sure way to end up exiled. Tradespire and Arkanheim shared strong ties, and the Empire was likely the single most valuable trading partner on the continent.
If he kept pushing, he'd soon find himself without allies.
But did that mean he would abandon his revenge?
Zeke's expression turned blank, every trace of emotion vanishing. "I will conduct myself as expected of a man of my station," he said, his voice calm and free of falsehood.
The Speaker studied him for a long moment before nodding, evidently satisfied with what he saw in Zeke's eyes.
"…If you'll excuse me?" Zeke said. "As mentioned, I have several responsibilities awaiting my return."
"Of course," the Speaker replied. "Don't let me keep you."
Zeke rose, offered a polite nod, and turned to leave. His pace was measured, neither hurried nor slow, a model of the composed bearing expected from a Merchant Lord. That didn't change until he was back aboard his gondola, gliding silently toward his estate.
His mind, however, was racing.
His new role had shackled him in ways he hadn't fully anticipated. He could no longer openly oppose the Empire. But he had no doubt that another opportunity would present itself—one that wouldn't breach the Council's precious neutrality.
Until then, he could still focus on the one thing that remained within his control.
Strength.
No matter what, when, or how, only power could threaten the Empire. Zeke had reached the rank of Grandmage faster than anyone before him, but it still wasn't enough. If he ever hoped to stand against Augustus Geistreich, he would have to become far more powerful.
And with his hands now tied, it was high time he got back to that.
He would bide his time and gather strength for his chance to strike at the empire once more. And this time, it wouldn't be through borrowed hands.