The day at the Merchants' Guild began early. As soon as the doors opened, a horde of determined merchants rushed in, eager to obtain trading permits, filling the lobby. As the hours passed, the overflow and the long queues that even extended outside the building testified that this year would be one of the city's most prosperous.
Voices overlapped, and the staff were overwhelmed, trying to maintain order while hundreds of merchants filled out the forms. Despite the rumours from the printing house, which had spread across the city, they had not yet reached beyond it. Maintaining serious faces, they signed and read the documents, surprised by the layout and its similarity. And despite the rapid depletion of forms, a guild clerk appeared carrying a bundle of new ones, ready to distribute.
Despite the guild's preparation, their experience, and prior calculations, no one had anticipated such a number of merchants. There was not only chaos but also tension, as nobles were obliged to wait alongside the other traders. By lunchtime, the streets were filled with caravans moving goods from the warehouses to the squares. Hunt weaved through the crowd, the basket covered with a white cloth and a waft of freshly baked bread rising from it.
Upon arrival, he did not have to wait in line, as a guild girl ushered him directly into the waiting room for special guests. A small gesture, but enough for several eyes to follow him attentively. More than fifteen minutes passed before Sena entered, following a meeting longer than usual. They exchanged only a few words before she sank onto the sofa with a restrained sigh. She said nothing else, merely poured herself some wine and diluted it with a little water.
Hunt did not ask, he uncovered one of the jars and the steam immediately escaped, filling the room with a dense, warm, homely aroma. He served the stew in a deep plate and placed it in front of her.
Sena asked no questions, took the spoon, and tasted. She did not stop until the plate was empty. Only then did she lift her gaze.
— Sena — It's good. —
Hunt did not wait and served the second dish, this time something different, thicker and softer, a cold mix of small pieces of boiled potatoes among other vegetables, held together by a mayonnaise-based sauce, with fine strips of poultry. He then took the loaf and sliced it in front of her. Sena hesitated for a moment, but curiosity soon returned. She took a slice of bread, scooped some of the mixture, and began eating without thinking too much.
The silence lasted a few minutes. When she put down the plate, she exhaled as if remembering how tired she was.
— Sena — You've given me the strength to get through another forty meetings. —
■— Don't overdo it, it's the first time I've done this on my own. —
Before they could say anything, a scream alerted them both, followed by that tense silence. Sena put down her glass, clenched her jaw, and went out first without a word. Hunt frowned for a moment before standing.
— Sena — That was not normal. —
They walked quickly when one of the secretaries crossed their path, visibly nervous.
— Madam, the scream came from office eight. —
— Sena — Who's inside? —
— Selene… with the countesses. — Sena did not respond but quickened her pace.
The door to the meeting room was ajar. Inside, everything remained in place, but the calm had vanished. Selene stood, surrounded by three countesses, one of Anita's seven countesses, along with her two sisters who had arrived from other cities, occupying the centre of the table, backed by their husbands and a row of young men far too silent for the situation.
— It's not a proposal, it's an opportunity — said one of them, with a tense smile.
— Selene — For you. — she replied firmly.
What had begun as a discussion about trade routes had mutated into something more concrete: alliances, marriages, and a clear intention to exert control over her.
Selene held her ground but did not yield. At that moment, Sena entered without asking permission. She did not raise her voice, but the room tensed at her presence. She was the guild master, and that still carried weight.
— It seems we have raised the tone more than necessary. — said the most insistent count, smiling as if her arrival reinforced his position. Sena, however, looked at him without haste.
— Sena — Then lower it. — she responded coldly before turning to Selene. — What's going on? —
The count's smile did not vanish, but it stopped being comfortable. He began by presenting his ideal of stability and future, of Selene's intrinsic necessity to unite with his noble house, especially given Selene's great potential rise within the guild. His tone was calm, almost didactic, and his presence demanded respect.
— Don't get me wrong… it's a personal opinion, moreover… a matter of positions, or if you prefer, of hierarchies. If your little sister wants to advance, she needs support, and promoting it through a suitable marriage benefits us all. —
Selene did not respond. She let him finish without averting her gaze. The pressure was not in the words, but in how they were placed, as if there were no real alternative. Sena, however, did not argue the point. She cut it short at the root.
— Sena — Selene will marry… — she interrupted, asserting her presence. — In fact… —
The count tilted his head slightly, maintaining his smile.
— She will marry a noble. — he said with a mischievous tone.
That was when everything changed. Sena stepped sideways, just enough to clear the line of sight to the door. The gesture was small, but sufficient. Hunt ceased being a spectator and advanced without haste, without announcing himself, without asking permission.
The gazes arrived before the words. A low murmur ran through the room, not for his rank or lineage, but for his ideas and inventions. The countess of Anita recognised him instantly. The printing press, the university competition, and the strange new projects flashed through her mind like a fleeting memory.
Among the countesses and their daughters, the pressure on Selene shifted to a sudden curiosity towards Hunt, which they made no effort to conceal, standing and approaching him.
— Dear Sena, you hadn't told us you were accompanied. — said the marquise residing in Anita.
— How interesting. — added one of the sisters.
The proposals changed direction with an unsettling naturalness, as if Selene ceased to be the main target at that very moment.
— I have a daughter of marriageable age. —
— So does my daughter. —
Voices overlapped without losing composure. There was no hurry, but there was a clear intent. Too many options, too quickly, as if they were already calculating benefits before, he responded. And then someone crossed the line.
— It doesn't have to be a single union. — said one of the countesses calmly, discomfiting Hunt. — We could seek a balance between several wives. — The proposal hung in the air long enough to be understood.
Selene was the first to respond.
— Selene — No. —
She did not raise her voice, but was firm, leaving no room for interpretation. Hunt spoke afterwards, with the same calm, but more resolute.
■— Selene is my first wife, and my last. —
The silence that followed was not immediate; it was slow and uncomfortable. There were no surprises, everything had already been calculated. The count who had led the conversation was the first to break the silence. This time he no longer smiled nor swaggered; he was genuinely angry.
— Who do you think you are to reject these proposals? —
He rose abruptly, brutally pushing aside the women in his way as if they were mere insignificant obstacles. In an instant, Hunt was within the reach of his fury. The blow came without warning, savage and merciless. The back of his hand struck Hunt's face with a dry snap that reverberated like thunder in the silent room. No one moved. No one even dared to breathe louder. Hunt barely turned his head from the force of the impact and, slowly, fixed his eyes on the count's, serene and unyielding, neither arrogantly challenging nor submissive.
■— Why are you hitting me? — Hunt asked in a low, clear voice that cut through the silence like a sharp sword. There was no anger in his tone, only a profound, almost supernatural calm, more unsettling than any insult.
The count, raised in a culture where blood and lineage justified everything, tensed his arm to deliver a second blow. Hunt stepped forward and, with deliberate slowness, offered the other cheek. It was not weakness; it was something far more dangerous. The count hesitated for a second, and in that brief pause, his rage flared even more fiercely, devouring the certainty of his superiority.
— WHAT ARE YOU DOING, DAMN BEAST? — he roared, advancing brutally, believing himself superior and authorised to trample others. — Do you think a miserable wretch like you can be my equal? You are nothing! —
He grabbed Hunt violently by his clothing and lifted him from the ground as if he were a rag. Selene reacted instinctively. She lunged and grasped the count's arm with both hands, trying to halt the storm of violence. It was neither elegant nor calculated, just a woman protecting her beloved. The count pushed her aside with disdain, and Selene fell to the floor with a heavy thud, striking hard.
The second blow was even more brutal. The count's fist struck Hunt's face with full force. But this time, Hunt's head did not move an inch. His eyes changed; there was no longer calm, only a boundary that had just been crossed. When he spoke, his voice did not rise, yet it resonated in every corner of the room with an authority no one expected.
■— You can hit me… and nothing will happen — he said, low and firm, with a serenity that seemed otherworldly. — But touch my wife… no, friend. You've crossed the line. —
Stepping back, the count released Hunt's clothing. He breathed like a cornered animal, his caste pride boiling. At that moment, the other count, his brother-in-law, shouted from the back of the room, his voice arrogant and full of hauteur.
— Count, are they insulting you and I see you do nothing? — he said, chest puffed, with the same arrogance. — Are you going to let these plebeians speak to you like that? We are of noble blood! Make them pay! —
The count turned his head in fury, but the venom in those words had already taken effect. In a fit of humiliated rage, he launched a brutal punch directly at Hunt's abdomen, right where he still bore the wound from the stabbing.
The impact was sharp and deep. Hunt let out a muffled grunt of pain and fell to his knees. A few drops of fresh blood began to stain his shirt nothing serious, but enough to remind him of human fragility.
Selene froze for a fraction of a second. Then panic struck her like lightning. She did not scream nor open her mouth. Her eyes widened, filled with terror. Tears sprang immediately, wetting her cheeks, while her breathing became fast and uneven. She lunged at Hunt in silent desperation, covering him with her own body, trembling from head to toe. The memory of that night, when she had almost watched him die, choked her from within.
Just as the count's fist was still in contact with Hunt's abdomen, Levi appeared from the shadows like a silent executioner. His hand closed with relentless force around the count's wrist, halting the second blow abruptly. The entire room held its breath. The consequences were written in that grip.
— Levi — Don't ever touch him again. — he murmured, in a low, lethal voice, barely moving his lips. — Nor him… nor his family. Not a single time again. —
At that moment, the countess of Anita approached quickly, pale and wide-eyed. She leaned toward him and whispered urgently in his ear.
— It's Levi… one of the seven main guards of the marquise. Remember, here in Anita, his word carries more weight than yours. —
The count went rigid, but the other count, his brother-in-law, tried to say something more, only to be stopped by the killer gaze of his relative.
— Shut up. — ordered the count in a low, cutting voice, filled with authority and shame. — We're leaving. I've punished these plebeians enough. —
The nobles the counts, the countesses, and their children made their way to the exit without another word, though the wounded pride of each of them was palpable. Their steps faded down the corridor.
— Levi — Are you alright? — he murmured, carefully checking for any injuries.
Sena remained for a few more seconds in the same spot, like a stone statue, watching the door through which the nobles had left. Only when the echo of their footsteps had faded did she slightly relax her shoulders. She crossed her arms, observing the scene in silence, her expression unreadable yet alert, and summoned the guild healer.
They cleaned the wound, changed the bandages, and closed it again, applying a bit of magic. Hunt endured the procedure without complaint, although his face was pale and a fine layer of sweat covered his forehead. Selene did not leave his side for a single moment, her hands still trembling over his arms.
When they were finally alone in a quieter room, Hunt took a deep breath and looked at Selene. Despite the sharp pain still piercing his abdomen, he forced a tired, mischievous smile.
■— Well… after all that spectacle, how about you and I grab something to eat? I'm starving, and I'm not going to faint before tasting a bite of the salad. —— Selene — You're one of a kind. — she sighed.
They ate, away from the commotion. Hunt joked with every bite, exaggerating how heroic he had been in taking the punch like a boxing champion, and making absurd comments about the food. Gradually, he managed to make Selene relax, though she ate little and kept watching him with concern. When they finished, Hunt leaned back slightly in the chair. Exhaustion overtook him, but he kept his tone light.
■— I think it's time I go home and get a little sleep… Just a little nap, okay? —
He rose carefully, discreetly assisted by Levi, who had stayed close the whole time. Hunt said goodbye to Selene with a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering to her.
■— I love you. Don't worry about me. —
Before crossing the door, he turned to her one last time and winked, trying to make his smile hide how close he was to his limits.
Hunt and Levi left the guild together. The bustle of caravans and merchants still filled the streets, but for Hunt, it all sounded distant. He walked with effort, each step heavier than the last.
— Levi — Are you sure you're alright? That wound didn't look good — he asked softly.
■— Yes, don't worry… it's a "war" trophy. — he replied with a half-smile.
— Levi — Hunt, you know you don't have to act like this with me. — Hunt let out a weak laugh.
■— If you'll allow me… I'm going to faint for a moment. —
Barely had he finished the sentence when his legs gave way. Before he could fall, a figure appeared behind him and held him firmly. Neo slid an arm under Hunt's shoulders and supported him with ease.
●— I've got this. — he said calmly. Levi looked at him for a second and nodded.
— Levi — What are you doing here? — he asked as they walked.
— Antón — If I told you… — Levi let out a dry laugh and replied without looking at him.
— Levi — No, no… if I only told you. —
The three of them carried Hunt to Durman's house. Once inside, they carefully laid him on a bed. Hunt was already semi-conscious, breathing with difficulty, but stable. Neo remained standing by the door, looking at Hunt with a serious expression. Then he turned to Levi and Antón.
— Levi — Neo, don't leave the house under any circumstances. Understood? —
— Antón — We need to inform the marquise. —
Neo accompanied them to the door and gave one last look. Closing the door softly behind him. Levi and Antón walked away along the street towards the marquise's palace. The guild's bustle and the caravans continued to fill Anita, but they moved quickly, expressions grave. They knew that what had happened that afternoon was not a simple altercation between nobles and plebeians. It was the beginning of something much bigger.