"Sorry, Captain!"
Toric's voice carried genuine contrition mixed with something else. Embarrassment? Pride? Both? "I put too much force. It broke. Midway." A pause. "But fear not! I shot outside."
Ashan's expression did not change.
Toric turned to the woman beside him, flashing a grin that could only be described as perverted. "Woman! Your lucky day! No baby for you!"
The woman's face flushed deep crimson. She nodded quickly, mechanically, her hair disheveled, her clothes hanging loose. The same state as the other two women emerging from adjacent rooms.
Guards stood frozen, expressions caught between shock and something approaching awe.
"Report." Solna's voice cut like winter wind. "Your experiences."
Guards erupted—words tumbling over each other, enthusiasm barely contained. The women, faces still burning, kept their eyes down and answered in meek, halting tones.
Ashan listened. Calculated.
Two successes. One failure. Consistent with projected rates.
"No alcohol. One week."
Toric's face fell. "But Captain—"
"No food or drink. One week."
Shoulders slumped. Defeat accepted.
He actually did it. Solna's thoughts moved behind composed features. Two out of three. If that holds at scale...
"What do you want?" The question emerged, but her mind raced. You have even given away the production process information. He gave me the production process. The materials. Everything. So what's his angle?
"What!" Toric's outrage burst forth. "Captain, you—"
One finger rose. Toric's mouth snapped shut.
Guards exchanged glances—shock mirroring Toric's own.
Ashan's voice remained calm and conversational. "Branth has lost considerable business and wealth. I can supply materials. Competitive prices."
Interesting. Solna's eyes narrowed slightly. Long-term supply. Not just the product, but the means to make it. Which is more valuable? The materials or the knowledge?
He's either a genius or a fool giving away too much.
He's a child—a child who just stepped into deep waters.
"What I want:" Ashan held up five fingers. "Forty percent of all sales from condom use. Paid monthly. Plus five hundred bronze—or five silver, if you have it—as upfront fees."
Money. Always money.
Solna considered. "Thirty percent."
"Thirty-five. This is a once-in-a-century invention. Show respect."
"Thirty-three. Final offer."
Ashan's arms spread wide. "You win."
Solna's hand disappeared into her bodice, searching. Toric's eyes followed. Widened. Fixed.
"If you don't avert your eyes right now, I'll gouge them out myself." The scar-faced guard's voice dripped venom.
The moment passed. Solna produced a small maroon purse. Tossed it. "Five silver. You don't see these every day. Cherish them."
Ashan's hand snapped out—caught the purse mid-air. Opened it. Examined. The same intricate design as Suryazar's bronze coins. Sun. Valley. Rays.
Money is king.
He stood. Approached the wooden box. Ran fingers across one condom—the one marked with a faint, ash-colored spiral pattern. "I hope these products bring you immense fortune. It was my pleasure doing business with you."
"Likewise."
Solna raised her chilim. Took a long drag. Watched through smoke as boy and man exited.
That spiral. A signature? He only marked one. Artistic choice? Or something more?
By the Storms. Why do I analyze every detail about him? He's just a boy. A clever boy. But just a boy.
Smoke curled. Dissolved. "Leave," she said to the women. "All of you."
They bowed. Exited.
"Mistress." The second guard's voice was hesitant. "Should we consider alliance with Branth? He asked—"
"Not yet." Smoke punctuated the words. "But start thinking. About recruiting that boy. We can't lose him."
Eyes met. Nods exchanged. Understanding passed. "As you command."
.....
Outside, the street swallowed them.
"Captain." Toric's voice struggled between confusion and frustration. "I still don't get it. Why tell her everything? The process? The materials? You just gave it away!"
Ashan walked. Did not respond.
Toric pressed. "If she knows how to make them, she doesn't need us. We lose—"
"Do you want to extend your fast?"
Toric's face contorted—horror, then rapid retreat. "My bad! Forget I said anything!"
"Keep your voice down. You have a reputation."
Around them, heads turned. Whispers followed. "Isn't that Toric, the fighter?" "Who's the boy with him?" "Son, maybe? Looks young enough."
Son. Toric's internal voice trembled. Do these people have death wishes? Captain, please don't be angry. Please.
Ashan's expression did not flicker. His hazel eyes reflected the street—the gaunt children, the sick, the malnourished. The forgotten. The invisible.
This is why. Production needs scale. Scale needs labor. Labor needs—
"Toric."
"Yes, Captain!"
"We need to use all available personnel. Build an effective organization."
Toric blinked. Twice. "Sorry. Don't... don't follow."
Ashan stopped walking. Turned. A silver coin glinted in the afternoon light, tossed casually through the air. "Start training these children. Before that—food, drink, and clothes."
Toric caught the coin. Stared at it. Stared at the children. Stared at Ashan.
Money is the least thing to worry about now.