Chapter 21: Confrontation with the Vested Interests
At the center of the Arkwright territory stood a grand stone building — the headquarters of the Arkwright Merchants’ Guild.
Guildmaster Deckard sat deep in his thick leather chair, listening to the report before him with a sour expression.
“…That concludes the summary of the new products developed by the duke’s house. Ale, vodka, ham, sausage — all are of exceptionally high quality, unlike anything previously produced in the territory.”
Deckard snorted.
“High quality, you say? That’s irrelevant. The problem is that whelp, Zenon-sama, trying to circulate his products directly, without going through our guild.”
He tapped the table with his thick finger.
Deckard was a man who had clawed his way up from commoner origins to the top of the guild. Cunning, greedy, and utterly ruthless toward anyone who threatened his interests.
The previous Dukes of Arkwright had been useless nobles uninterested in governance — which had allowed Deckard to freely control commerce and amass enormous wealth.
But Zenon was different.
He had stormed into the sanctum Deckard and his ilk had built, trampling on it without hesitation.
“Guildmaster, what shall we do? Some of our own merchants have begun expressing interest in dealing directly with the duke’s house. At this rate, we might lose control—”
“Don’t panic. I’ve already made arrangements.”
Deckard grinned nastily.
“No matter how clever that brat may be, he’s still a pampered noble. He knows nothing of the true brutality of business.”
A few days later, an official messenger from the Merchants’ Guild arrived at Zenon’s office.
He presented a letter written in the name of Guildmaster Deckard.
“Zenon-sama, my master Deckard wishes to discuss the handling of the duke house’s new products.”
Zenon skimmed the letter — and frowned slightly.
It was a demand so arrogant it was almost absurd.
In short:
“The Arkwright Merchants’ Guild will have exclusive rights to handle the duke house’s products. In return, half of all sales revenue will be collected as a handling fee.”
“…Half?”
Marc, standing beside him, raised his voice.
“That’s outrageous! If we pay such fees, we’ll have no profit left at all!”
It wasn’t an offer of cooperation — it was blatant blackmail.
The unspoken message was clear: “If you refuse, we’ll block all trade and make sure your goods never leave the warehouse.”
But Zenon neither raged nor looked surprised. He simply placed the letter back on the table.
“As expected. They still believe themselves untouchable.”
“Zenon-sama! We must reject such terms outright!”
Marc protested furiously.
“And if we do?”
Zenon asked coolly.
“They’ll retaliate — not only refusing to sell our goods, but also pressuring every guild merchant to cut ties with us. Then our products, no matter how good, will rot away unsold. That’s inefficient.”
“Then… you mean to accept it?”
“Of course not. If we yield once, they’ll leech off our profits forever. Such a parasitic relationship must never be allowed.”
Marc felt trapped — unable to accept or reject the terms.
Yet Zenon’s icy blue eyes showed no hint of panic.
They gleamed instead with the quiet light of a strategist, like a chess player facing a worthy opponent.
“Interesting. If they wish to sit at the negotiation table, then let’s play — but by our rules.”
“You mean to negotiate?”
“Yes. But on my terms.”
Zenon turned to the messenger.
“Tell your Guildmaster this — in three days, I will personally visit the guild headquarters for direct talks. The agenda: ‘Ensuring fair and transparent commercial practices within the Arkwright domain.’”
The messenger blinked, then bowed deeply and left.
Marc, left alone, looked worried.
“Zenon-sama, it’s dangerous — to walk into the enemy’s stronghold like that…”
“Don’t worry, Marc. Negotiation is a game decided by who holds more and stronger cards.”
Zenon called out quietly.
“Gray. I have a task for you.”
“At your command, my lord.”
“Investigate the Merchants’ Guild. Completely. I want everything — Deckard’s money flow, the discrepancies in his ledgers, his bribery links, smuggling, tax evasion — all of it. Before sitting down at the table, we must know every card our opponent holds. That’s rule number one.”
Gray immediately understood.
A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine.
It was beginning again — another purge.
But this time, the enemy wasn’t within the household. It was a far larger, more cunning beast feeding on the land itself.
“I, Gray Walker, shall prepare the bullets that will guarantee your victory, my lord.”
He bowed deeply, like a knight swearing an oath.
Zenon glanced at him, then looked again at Deckard’s letter.
A five-tenths commission.
His finger traced the arrogant figure.
“This should make for an interesting game.”
A feral smile curled his lips — the smile of a predator about to bring down the rotting fortress of vested interests, by the most rational, and the most ruthless means possible.