NEXT DAY – MORNING
The carriages arrived precisely one hour after dawn. I watched from my office window as Olivia's entourage pulled up to the manor—five carriages in total and a group of soldiers, each bearing the subtle markings of the Crimson Raven Guild. Obvious enough to draw attention.
I let them wait.
It was a calculated move, one that I'd used countless times in my previous life. Make them wait just long enough to feel uncertain, to question their position, to understand that despite the mutual benefit of our arrangement, I held cards they didn't know about.
Forty-five minutes passed. An hour passed, Alfred appeared at my door, looking slightly anxious.
"My lord, Guild members from the crimson raven guid were waiting—"
"I know," I said, not looking up from the documents I was reviewing. "Let them wait another fifteen minutes. Then show them to the drawing room. Serve them tea and biscuits. This is business, not a social call."
Alfred hesitated, maybe he was afraid of soldiers they brought. Finally, he bowed. "As you wish, my lord."
When I finally entered the drawing room an hour and fifteen minutes after their arrival, Olivia's expression was hidden by the rag. By seeing me, she removed her rag. I caught the slight tightness around her eyes, the way her fingers drummed once against her thigh before she stilled them. She was annoyed, but controlling it.
Good. That meant she wanted this deal badly enough to tolerate my power play.
Frederick, standing behind her, looked openly irritated. Two other guild members flanked them—a woman with cold eyes and a man whose hand never strayed far from his sword hilt. Professional bodyguards, probably mid-level mages or skilled fighters.
Behind them stood two more figures: a middle-aged man with the bearing of a soldier, and a younger man with the careful posture of someone trained in combat but not yet tested by real war.
"Guild Master Olivia," I greeted her with a slight nod. "Thank you for your patience. I was attending to urgent territorial matters."
It was a polite lie, and we both knew it. But it maintained the fiction that I hadn't deliberately made her wait to establish dominance.
"Baron Edward," she replied smoothly, not rising to the bait. "I trust your urgent matters have been resolved?"
"For now. Though in my experience, urgent matters have a habit of multiplying." I settled into my chair and gestured for her to sit. "Shall we discuss our business?"
"The cure works," she said without preamble, abandoning any pretense of social niceties. The urgency I'd glimpsed earlier came through now, carefully controlled but unmistakable. "We tested it on five guild members suffering from mana reflux. Complete recovery within twelve hours. No side effects, no complications. It's... miraculous."
"I'm aware of its effectiveness," I replied calmly. "That's why I'm prepared to offer you exclusive distribution rights."
I could see Olivia's eyes wondering why I'm offering exclusive right.
Frederick leaned forward eagerly. "At what price?"
I pulled the prepared contract from inside my jacket and slid it across the table. "Read it carefully. I don't expect you to sign without understanding every term."
Olivia picked up the document, and I watched her eyes scan the text with the speed and comprehension of someone who'd reviewed thousands of contracts in her career. Frederick read over her shoulder, occasionally pointing at specific clauses and murmuring questions too quiet for me to hear.
The contract was straightforward but heavily weighted in my favour—deliberately so. I expected negotiation.
CONTRACT TERMS:
Person A: Baron Edward Brown
Person B: Ms. Olivia Whitmore, Guild Master of Crimson Raven Guild
Article 1: Person B will provide all assistance to Person A regarding information gathering, personnel, and logistics free of charge for five (5) years.
Article 2: Person A will produce and supply mana reflux cure to Person B.
Article 3: Person B will sell the medicine and receive 10% commission on all sales.
Article 4: Person B holds exclusive distribution rights for ten (10) years.
Article 5: Person B will maintain absolute confidentiality regarding the cure's source and production.
Article 6: Neither party may betray the other under penalty of death by magical contract.
Article 7: New products prepared for trade by person A, will be first given to Person B.
Olivia looked up from the document, her expression unreadable. "This is a magical contract."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "It is."
"Those are... rare. And expensive. Where did a countryside baron acquire a blank magical contract scroll?"
I smiled. "I have my sources, just as you have yours. Does the rarity concern you?"
"It concerns me that you have access to resources you shouldn't have access to," she said bluntly. "Magical contracts of this quality are usually reserved for royal transactions or deals between great noble houses. They cost upwards of fifty thousand gold coins on the black market."
Behind her, the guild members shifted nervously. They were clearly wondering the same thing—what kind of connections did I have that let me casually produce a magical contract?
In truth, the system had provided it for a mere four thousand gold coins, along with instructions on how to activate and bind it. But they didn't need to know that.
"My sources are my own," I replied. "What matters is that this contract will bind both parties absolutely. No loopholes, no betrayals, no broken promises. If either of us violates the terms, we die. That should provide adequate assurance of good faith on both sides."
Frederick spoke up: "Article One is extremely one-sided. Ten years of free services—information, personnel, logistics—in exchange for distribution rights? That's asking for a great deal."
"And I'm offering a great deal," I countered. "Exclusive rights to the only cure for mana reflux in existence. Do you have any idea how many nobles, mages, wealthy merchants are suffering from this condition? How much they'd pay for relief?"
"We have estimates," Olivia said carefully. "Which is why we're here. But ten years of unlimited support is steep."
"Then consider it an investment in our partnership. I'm not just selling you a product—I'm offering you a monopoly on something that will make you the most sought-after guild in all the kingdoms and empire in the continent. The information and personnel I'll request will be small compared to the profits you'll generate."
I could see her calculating, weighing costs against benefits. Frederick whispered something in her ear. She shook her head minutely.
"The commission percentage," she said. "Ten percent is low for exclusive distribution. Industry standard would be twenty to thirty percent."
"Industry standard doesn't apply when I'm providing a revolutionary product that costs me significant resources to produce," I replied. "And I'm taking on the risk of production, security, and development. You're simply distributing and collecting profits. Ten percent of enormous profits is still enormous."
"Fifteen percent," Frederick countered.
"Twelve," I offered. "And that's as high as I'll go. Remember—you're not just getting distribution rights. You're getting ten years of exclusive access. No competitors, no price wars, no fighting over market share. Every single mana reflux cure sold in the next ten years goes through you."
Olivia studied me for a long moment. Then she looked down at Article Six again. "Death by magical contract violation. You're not concerned about that?"
"Should I be? I don't plan on betraying you."
"Neither do I," she said quietly. "But death is... permanent. Unforgiving. Once we sign this, there's no going back. No renegotiation, no amendments unless we both agree."
"That's the point," I said. "Trust is hard to build, especially between people who barely know each other. A magical contract removes the need for trust—we don't have to trust each other, we just have to honour the terms or die. Simple, clean and certain."
She smiled slightly. "You think like someone who's been betrayed before."
"I think like someone who understands human nature." I leaned forward. "You want this deal, Olivia. I can see it. Your sister's condition—Victoria, isn't it?—has been your primary motivation for years. Searching for a cure, spending fortunes on healers who couldn't help, watching her suffer day after day. Now I'm offering you the solution. Don't let pride or caution stand in the way of saving her."
Her expression flickered—just for a moment, the careful mask slipped and I saw raw emotion beneath. Desperation. Hope. Fear that this might be another false promise.
"How do you know about Victoria?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.
"I make it my business to know about my potential partners," I replied calmly. "Your sister has been suffering from mana reflux for six years. You've spent over thousands of gold coins trying to cure her. Every major healer in the kingdom has examined her, and none could help. You've been running the Crimson Ravens with single-minded focus, building wealth and connections specifically to find a solution for her condition."
Frederick's hand moved to his sword hilt. The bodyguards tensed. Olivia raised one hand, stopping them.
"You've been investigating me."
"Of course I have. Just as I'm sure you've investigated me since I sent the contact code." I met her eyes steadily. "We're not friends, Olivia. We're business partners entering a high-stakes arrangement. Due diligence is expected on both sides."
She studied me for another long moment, then slowly nodded. "You're right. I apologize for the reaction. It's... personal."
"I understand. Which is why I'm offering twelve percent commission instead of ten. Consider it a gesture of goodwill and recognition that your motivation isn't purely profit."
"And the pricing structure?" she asked, visibly calming. "Article Two mentions production and supply, but there's no price specified."
"Because we're going to price strategically," I explained. "Initial pricing will be twenty thousand gold coins per bottle for the first month. We'll auction it to the highest bidders—nobles, wealthy merchants, anyone desperate enough to pay premium prices. Most people with mana reflux have already spent fortunes trying to cure it. Twenty thousand or more gold is a pittance compared to what they've lost."
Every person in the room went very still.
"Twenty thousand gold coins?" Frederick's voice cracked slightly. "Per bottle? That's... that's the price of a small estate."
"That's the price of continued life without crippling pain," I corrected. "That's the price of restored magical ability. That's the price people will pay when they have no other options." I leaned back. "After the first month, once initial demand is satisfied and word spreads, we'll gradually auction based on demand curves. After 3-4 years we can lower the price. Eventually we'll reach a stable market price—probably around five to eight thousand gold coins per bottle. Still expensive, still profitable, but accessible to a wider range of buyers."
Olivia was calculating. I could see numbers running behind her eyes. "If we sell even fifty bottles in the first month at twenty thousand each..."
"That's one million gold coins in gross revenue," I finished. "You receive one hundred twenty thousand as commission. I net eight hundred eighty thousand minus production costs, which are relatively minimal—maybe fifty thousand for materials and labor. We both profit enormously."
"And if demand exceeds fifty bottles?"
"Then we produce more and profit more. The production process is scalable—once my workers are trained, we can manufacture dozens of bottles weekly. Within three months, I expect to have production capacity of two thousands bottles monthly."
The room was silent as everyone absorbed the numbers. We were talking about generating wealth on a scale most minor nobles never achieved in their entire lives. And this was just the mana reflux cure—I had other plans, other products, other revenue streams developing.
Finally, Olivia spoke: "The twelve percent commission. Does that apply to the initial twenty-thousand-gold-coin pricing, or only to the reduced prices later?"
"All prices," I confirmed. "Twelve percent across the board for ten years. No tier adjustments, no complicated calculations. Simple percentages make accounting easier for both of us."
She picked up the contract again, reading through it one more time. Frederick bent close, pointing at specific clauses and murmuring concerns. The other guild members watched tensely, aware that their leader was about to make a decision that would define the guild's future.
"Article One," Olivia said finally. "The free services clause. I need specifics. What kind of information, personnel, and logistics are we committing to provide?"
"Information: intelligence on noble houses, merchant activities, political movements, anything that might affect my territory or my interests. Personnel: vetted workers, skilled craftsmen, occasionally specialists in specific fields. Logistics: secure transportation, discrete communication channels, access to your network when I need to move goods or people quietly."
"That's... extensive."
"That's what you're being compensated for with exclusive distribution rights," I replied. "But there are limits implied. I won't ask you to spy on other guild clients or betray confidential information. I won't request personnel you can't spare without damaging your own operations. And I won't abuse the logistics access for illegal activities that would endanger your guild's reputation."
"Those limitations should be specified in the contract," Frederick interjected.
"Agreed," I said, pulling out a quill. "Let's amend Article One with reasonable boundaries."
We spent the next twenty minutes negotiating specific language. The amended Article One now read:
Article 1 (Revised): Person B will provide assistance to Person A regarding information gathering (excluding confidential client information), personnel (subject to availability and guild operational needs), and logistics (for legal activities that do not endanger guild reputation or security) free of charge for ten (10) years. Person A will not make requests exceeding ten major operations annually, with "major operations" defined as activities requiring significant guild resources or personnel.
"Better," Olivia agreed. "Now Article Three—the commission structure. I want monthly payments, not annual or upon-sale basis."
" Monthly is fine," I said. "We'll maintain transparent sales records that you can audit."
"And I want guaranteed minimum production," she added. "If you're giving me exclusive rights, I need assurance you'll actually produce enough volume to meet demand. It does me no good to have a monopoly on a product you only make twenty bottles of annually."
Fair point. "Minimum production of one thousand bottles monthly , with ramp-up as we scale operations. Does that satisfy you?"
"Make it two hundred monthly by month four."
"sure."
We added the production clause to Article Two.
The negotiations continued for another hour, fine-tuning language, adding safeguards, clarifying ambiguities. By the time we finished, the contract was three pages instead of one, but both parties were satisfied that it protected our interests while allowing for profitable cooperation.
Olivia picked up the quill. "One final question before I sign. Why us? There are larger guilds—the Merchant's Coalition, the Silverhand Network, the Azure Order. All of them have bigger distribution channels, more resources, greater reach. Why choose the Crimson Ravens?"
Because in the game, I'd seen your future, I thought. Because I knew you'd survive conflicts that destroyed other guilds. Because I knew you were competent, ruthless when necessary, and fanatically loyal to those you cared about. Because I needed an ally who would keep promises even when it was inconvenient.
Out loud, I said: "Because the larger guilds are complacent. They're successful, which makes them conservative and slow to adapt. You're hungry. You're building something, not maintaining something. You take risks the others wouldn't. And..." I paused. "I trust ambition more than I trust comfort. Ambitious people can be relied upon to pursue opportunities aggressively. Comfortable people can be relied upon to protect the status quo. I need the former, not the latter."
It was partially true, which made it convincing.
Olivia smiled—a real smile this time, sharp and knowing. "You're either very clever or very foolish, Baron Edward."
"Often both at the same time," I admitted.
She signed the contract with a flourish. The moment her signature dried, I felt it—a subtle warmth blooming in my chest, spreading through my body like warm honey. The magical contract was binding itself to my life force, weaving commitments into the fabric of my existence. If I broke the terms, my heart would stop.
I signed below her signature, and the warmth intensified briefly before settling into a background presence I'd probably stop noticing within days.
"It's done," Olivia said.
To be continued...