"Stop! Who goes there?" The soldier's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Oliver approaching. This man didn't resemble an adventurer, nor did he seem familiar. Suspicion crept into his tone.
"Greetings," Oliver replied with a disarming smile, slowing his steps. "I'm just a humble businessman from Haoer."
The soldier's gaze remained firm, his grip tightening on his spear. "Haoer, you say? And yet, here you are, near Black Crow territory? The Black Crow Chamber of Commerce doesn't take kindly to unexpected visitors. What business could possibly bring you here?" His vigilance didn't waver, not even a fraction.
Oliver hesitated for a heartbeat. In truth, he hadn't considered this question before, but the answer now slipped easily from his lips. "I'm here because I hope to sell my goods directly to the leader of Black Crow. Valuable things. If you could allow me to pass, I'd even consider this bag a small token of my gratitude." He produced a heavy pouch, offering it with a casual gesture.
The soldier didn't move to take it. His sharp eyes flickered back to Oliver. "One last question," he said, his voice low and firm. "How did you know the Black Crow leader was resting here?"
Oliver's smile didn't falter. "Hearsay."
"Hearsay?" The soldier's disbelief was clear in his raised brow. "You risk coming here on mere rumors? You didn't even verify it first?"
"You can't make money without taking a risk. Opportunities are often disguised as uncertainty." His tone carried a simple wisdom, one that seemed to resonate with the soldier.
The soldier pondered this, his face unreadable. After a moment, he gave a reluctant nod and accepted the pouch, its weight settling in his palm. "Go on, then. But mind yourself. Opportunities are only valuable if you survive long enough to seize them."
---
In the dimly lit room, an impatient elf shifted restlessly, his keen eyes flicking toward Tom, who sat calmly studying some documents.
"Are you sure he's actually going to come?" the elf asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.
Tom glanced up briefly, his expression calm but noncommittal. "Not sure," he replied, flipping through another page.
"Not sure?" The elf's incredulity was palpable. "Then why prepare all of this?" He gestured at the meticulously arranged goods and documents surrounding them, the room almost buzzing with the sense of readiness.
"As a businessman," Tom began, setting the papers aside, "you learn to control as much as you can. You prepare for every possible outcome, whether it happens or not." He stood up and gestured at the room. "Even if our guest doesn't arrive, these preparations are a small loss in the grand scheme of things. What businessmen fear most aren't losses; they're inevitable, but unknown factors. Unknowns lead to chaos. And chaos... that can ruin everything."
The elf leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "What, are you worried he's going to blow up your vault or something? Or maybe he's after some big secret?"
Tom chuckled, pouring himself a cup of water. "It's not about vaults or secrets. It's about minimizing risks. In business, you either do nothing or give it your all. There's no in-between."
The elf raised an eyebrow, his mocking tone returning. "Doesn't that tire you out? Always being so... cautious?"
Tom sipped his water, his gaze thoughtful. "Cautious? No, not cautious. Just... thorough."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
Tom shook his head. "Caution is driven by fear, by the thought that one misstep could ruin you. I've outgrown that fear. I've built enough wealth to give me confidence. Now, I'm simply being thoughtful, not scared."
The elf's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "What happens if one day your wealth isn't enough? What if your money becomes useless?"
Tom paused, the question hanging in the air. After a moment, he met the elf's gaze. "Why do you always ask such strange questions?"
"I'm just curious."
"If my gold coins lose their value," Tom said slowly, "it would mean one of two things. Either I'm dead or the entire kingdom's economy has collapsed, and I'm nothing more than an old man with a pile of worthless metal."
The elf blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of the answer. "That escalated quickly."
"Well," Tom continued with a faint smile, "if my gold has lost its value, it means the world has changed. In that case, my enemies will come for me, and no amount of money will save me then."
"And yet, you're not afraid," the elf said, almost in awe.
"No," Tom said softly, his eyes distant. "I'm not afraid. I'm prepared."
"Didn't I tell you before? All your questions are strange," Tom said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked at the elf with amusement, though there was a glint of seriousness in his eyes. "What I mean is, those kinds of scenarios you imagine, they just won't happen."
The elf shrugged, trying to play off his embarrassment. "Weird? Maybe. But you never know," he muttered under his breath, not quite meeting Tom's gaze.
Tom raised an eyebrow but didn't press the point. Instead, the elf sighed, stretching out his arms dramatically. "He hasn't shown up yet. Can I at least go back to bed?"
"No," came the swift reply, without a hint of humor.
---
Oliver strode down the darkened street, his steps steady but his mind racing. The towering white walls of the city loomed ahead, cold and imposing even in the dim light of night. Everything was in place; all that was left was for him to gain passage. He had played his part well, looking every bit the rustic outsider, but his sharp eyes scanned the area discreetly, committing every detail to memory.
He could feel the weight of unseen gazes. Some of the watchers were poorly disguised as servants, others lurking in the shadows of the houses, but their eyes betrayed them. They were alert, their intensity unmistakable, and Oliver didn't miss a single one. Each face, every hidden sentinel, he memorized them all. Not just for now, but for later, when he might need to escape.
Finally, his turn came at the gate. He approached with the practiced ease of a traveler, though his senses were heightened. The inquiry wasn't particularly thorough; just the usual questions: name, age, origin. He responded smoothly, his voice steady.
Then came the inventory check. When he registered his goods, Oliver noticed the brief pause. The guard looked at him for a second longer than usual. Had he found something? Oliver tensed, his fists clenching slightly beneath his sleeves. If things went south, he was ready to act.
The guard raised an eyebrow. "I've never seen this product before. I'm going to need you to wait," he said, his tone a little too casual.
"Never seen it?" Oliver's heart skipped a beat. Rare as it was, the item should've been recognizable to someone in this line of work. He forced himself to remain calm, though his eyes twitched ever so slightly. "Is it that unusual?"
The guard gave a curt nod. "Yes. I'll need a specialist to inspect it."
"Very well," Oliver replied, keeping his voice level. He had no choice but to nod in agreement.
After a few tense minutes, a specialist arrived. The man inspected the bottle carefully, turning it over in his hands with an air of expertise. Time dragged on as Oliver stood there, waiting, calculating. Finally, the specialist gave a nod of approval.
"This is genuine holy water," the specialist said, his voice filled with admiration. "A very valuable item."
"Glad to hear it," Oliver responded, forcing a smile. Inwardly, he cursed the unnecessary delay.
"You want to sell it inside, correct?" the guard asked, glancing back at the bottle.
"Yes, that's the plan," Oliver replied, his tone measured. "Do you think it will be possible?"
"Of course," the guard said, stepping aside. "You can come in. You might even get to meet the president directly."
"That would be ideal. Thank you," Oliver said, bowing his head slightly in gratitude. As he followed the guard inside, he remained vigilant. Each step he took, he noted more sentinels, more guards, some hidden, some visible. The security was tight; perhaps tighter than he had expected.
The patterns were so complex, it puzzled him. Were there this many the last time he was here? Something felt off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He committed the details to memory nonetheless. Better to be prepared for anything.
---
"Alright," the instructor said, closing her notebook with a snap. "According to the plan, the target will make his move soon enough. The water is shallow here, there's no room for big fish to hide for long."
She turned to her assistant, a thoughtful look on her face. "By the way, do you think we need to remind Oliver that there's no need to go hunting for trouble among humans? Especially when it's just about rumors?"
The assistant hesitated, considering the question, but then shook her head. "I don't think that's necessary. Knowing him, even if we tell him not to, he'll still poke around. He's too curious for his own good."
The instructor sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're probably right. Better to let him gather whatever intel he can. If we try to restrain him, he might stumble into something far worse."
Satisfied with the decision, the instructor nodded. "Let him go then. One more trip won't hurt."