The following morning, Kadar kept his word.
After breakfast, he took me into Sous and introduced me to several elders responsible for overseeing trade within the town. I quickly realized that while clans governed much of Sous, the market itself was regulated by a council of merchants and elders who decided who could buy, sell, and establish permanent stalls.
At first, everything seemed to be going well.
Several elders appeared interested when Kadar explained that we intended to sell medicines and healing remedies.
"A medicine stall?" one elder said thoughtfully. "That could be useful."
"We have traders selling herbs," another added, "but few people know how to prepare proper remedies."
For a brief moment, I thought permission would be granted immediately.
Then another voice interrupted.
"I disagree."
The hall grew quiet.
The speaker was a broad-shouldered middle-aged man dressed in expensive tribal garments. His beard was streaked with gray, and several silver rings decorated his fingers. I recognized him immediately.
He was the same clan elder who had openly questioned my presence during my first council meeting in Sous.
His name was Umar, leader of the Rahim Clan, one of the largest clans in the town and a longtime rival of the Qitt Clan.
"The council allowed the outsider to settle under Qitt Clan protection," Umar said. "That does not mean he should be granted a place within the town market."
A few elders exchanged glances.
Umar continued before anyone could answer.
"Today it is a medicine stall. Tomorrow another outsider asks for a blacksmith shop. Then another requests a warehouse. Customs exist for a reason."
I could see where this was going.
The discussion continued for some time. Kadar argued that a medicine stall would benefit everyone. Umar insisted that allowing an outsider to establish a business inside the market would set a dangerous precedent.
Neither side was willing to back down.
Eventually one of the older elders raised his hand for silence.
"There is a compromise."
The room fell quiet.
"The boy may sell his medicines. However, his stall will be established outside the town gate. If his business proves useful and he earns the trust of Sous, the matter can be reviewed again in the future."
Several elders nodded in agreement.
Umar seemed satisfied with the decision.
Kadar clearly was not, but after a moment he gave a reluctant nod.
When we left the meeting hall, I expected him to be angry.
Instead, he simply sighed.
"Politics," he muttered.
I smiled weakly.
Honestly, I wasn't disappointed.
The roads outside the gate were crowded with travelers, laborers, hunters, caravans, and wandering tribes. If the medicines worked, customers would come regardless of where the stall stood.
And if they didn't...
Well, at least nobody could throw rotten vegetables at me from inside the market.
After the tense moment, we stepped out into the open air. The heat of the earlier discussion still clung to me, but it began to fade as we moved away from the courtyard firelight and into the calmer paths of Sous.
Kadar walked ahead without much explanation, as if expecting me to follow. We stopped near a small vendor tucked along the inner lane of the clan's territory. He ordered a local drink for both of us without asking what I wanted.
It came in a simple clay cup—sweet at first sip, then followed by a faint, earthy spice that lingered on the tongue. Not bad. Actually… it helped settle my nerves more than I expected.
Kadar didn't talk much while we drank. That was just how he was. Every pause from him felt intentional, like silence itself was part of his way of thinking.
After a moment, he glanced toward a nearby clan boy who was loitering by the path.
"Hey. You," Kadar called out.
The boy straightened immediately.
"Go gather labourers outside the town gate. We're setting up Roy's stall."
"Yes, sir!" The boy nodded quickly and ran off without hesitation.
I blinked slightly at that, still processing how fast things were already moving.
Kadar took another sip, then finally turned his gaze back to me. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't hostile either—just sharp, evaluating.
"Boy," he said after a pause, voice low and steady, "I have high hopes for you."
A brief silence followed.
"Don't let it down."
Yeah, that makes more sense for the setup you've got—street-hardened MC, clan head energy, everything should feel more blunt and transactional, not emotional or "reflective gaze" stuff.
Here's a version that matches that rougher tone:
I looked straight at Kadar.
"I'll do my best… not to let you down."
I paused, then added, firmer this time.
"I've made my resolve. I'll become someone this town can actually rely on. Someone the Qitt Clan won't regret taking in."
Kadar didn't even react right away.
He just looked at me for a second, like he was weighing whether I was worth the effort the clan was about to spend on me.
"…Hmph."
That was all he gave at first.
He took a sip of his drink, then spoke without looking at me.
"Resolve is common. Results aren't."
A beat.
"Don't start thinking the clan owes you anything just because you said some nice words."
He finally glanced at me—quick, sharp.
"If you're useful, you stay. If you're not, you don't."
Then he turned slightly away, already done with the topic.
"Go prove it in the work. That's all that matters."
The boy had barely disappeared past the gate before the noise started building.
Not chaos—just movement. Controlled, purposeful movement.
One by one, men began gathering outside the town gate. Not volunteers exactly. More like people who knew better than to ignore a call from the Qitt Clan. Some carried tools. Some just came with empty hands, waiting for instructions.
Kadar finished his drink and set the cup down on the vendor's counter.
"Let's go," he said flatly.
We moved toward the gate.
As we approached, the clan boy returned with two others, already pointing and speaking quickly. Within minutes, the space outside the gate stopped feeling empty. It turned into a work zone.
Kadar didn't waste time explaining things twice.
"You," he pointed at one man. "Clear that space. Flat ground only."
Then another.
"Wood. I need beams. Not broken ones."
No shouting. No extra words. Just orders that landed clean and immediate.
People moved.
Fast.
I stood slightly behind him, watching how everything shifted just because he spoke.
This wasn't inspiration. It wasn't leadership speeches.
It was control.
Kadar finally tilted his head slightly toward me.
"You're not just standing there," he said. "Watch properly. If you're going to run a stall under this clan, learn how things are actually set up."
I nodded once and stepped forward a bit, closer to the activity.
A group started marking the ground with sticks and rope. Another brought rough wooden planks. Someone dragged a crate into place and dropped it with a dull thud.
No one argued. No one slowed down.
The stall wasn't being "built" like a plan on paper.
It was being forced into existence through manpower and direction.
One of the workers glanced at me briefly, then back to Kadar, like checking whether I was someone important or just another task he hadn't been told about yet.
Kadar noticed.
"This one," he said without looking at me directly, "is part of it."
That was all the introduction I got.
But it was enough.
The man nodded once and went back to work.
I exhaled slowly and stepped closer to the forming structure.
Wood hit wood. Rope tightened. Ground was leveled with quick, rough efficiency.
No ceremony.
Just results being built piece by piece.