The chill of the morning seeped into the watchtower's stone walls, accompanied by the faint ashfall drifting through cracks in the structure. Ardyn sat at the edge of the tower's second-floor window, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon. Beyond the ruins of the abandoned district, Drakmoor's chaos churned as it always did. Smoke rose from the slums where the guilds fought their endless turf wars, and the distant clang of forges echoed faintly.
His focus was elsewhere. The System's latest directive loomed in his mind like an ever-present specter.
New Quest Available:
Establish Resource Supply Lines. Reward: Access to Trading Opportunities.
The concept was straightforward, but the challenge was monumental. Without a steady supply of food, water, and materials, his vision of fortifying the watchtower—and growing it into something greater—would crumble. The problem was where to find those resources in a city where everyone fought for scraps.
Behind him, Calden stirred from his makeshift cot, groaning as he sat up. "Do you ever sleep?" he asked, his voice groggy.
"Not often," Ardyn replied without turning. His hand idly toyed with the dagger resting on the windowsill. "There's too much to do."
Calden stretched, wincing as his sore muscles protested. "So, what's the plan? You've been brooding since last night."
Ardyn glanced at him, his grey eyes sharp. "We need supplies. Food, water, tools. If we don't establish a steady flow of resources, this place won't last a week."
Calden frowned. "And where exactly are we supposed to get those? We don't exactly have gold to spare, and no one in Drakmoor gives anything away for free."
"We take what we need," Ardyn said simply.
Calden sighed, leaning back against the wall. "Of course we do. What's the target?"
Ardyn smirked faintly. He appreciated Calden's growing ability to cut straight to the point. "There's a market square on the edge of the slums. It's controlled by a small-time guild called the Hollow Fangs. They run protection rackets for traders, but they're stretched thin after a turf war with another gang."
"You want to raid a guild-controlled market?" Calden asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
"Not raid," Ardyn corrected. "Leverage. We don't need to fight everyone. We just need to make them an offer they can't refuse."
Calden raised an eyebrow. "And if they refuse?"
"Then we fight," Ardyn said with a shrug. "And we make sure the next group knows better."
The market square was a chaotic sprawl of stalls, barrels, and makeshift tents, all of it cloaked in the omnipresent grey of ash. Traders shouted over each other, hawking their wares to the desperate masses. Guards wearing the Hollow Fangs' crude insignia—a pair of jagged lines etched into their leather armor—stood at the edges, their hands resting on swords and clubs.
Ardyn and Calden watched from the shadows of a nearby alley, blending into the grime and decay that defined Drakmoor's slums. Ardyn's mind raced, the Tactical Awareness skill feeding him insights: patrol patterns, potential chokepoints, and the best routes for escape if things went wrong.
"Three guards at the north end," Ardyn muttered, his voice low. "Two more by the central stall. The leader's likely the one near the tent—bigger armor, better weapon."
Calden shifted uneasily beside him. "And you think we can convince them to just hand over supplies?"
"We're not asking," Ardyn said, his tone sharp. "We're taking control. If they want to keep their market running, they'll work for us."
Calden shook his head, muttering something under his breath. But he didn't argue. He'd seen enough of Ardyn's plans succeed to know better.
They approached the market with purpose, walking straight toward the central stall. The guards stiffened as they drew near, their hands hovering over their weapons. The leader—a stocky man with a thick beard and a scar running across his nose—stepped forward, his expression a mix of suspicion and annoyance.
"Who the hell are you?" the leader barked, his voice rough.
Ardyn didn't slow. He stopped just short of the stall, his grey eyes locking onto the leader's. "Someone with an offer."
The leader snorted. "We don't do business with strangers. Get lost."
"You're not in a position to refuse," Ardyn said, his tone icy. "Your guild's weak. You lost half your men in the last turf war, and the rest are stretched too thin to keep this place secure."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth, boy."
Ardyn ignored the warning. "Here's the deal: you let us take a share of your supplies—regularly—and in exchange, we protect this market. No more raids from rival guilds. No more traders leaving because they're too scared to work here."
"And if I say no?" the leader asked, his hand drifting toward the sword at his hip.
Ardyn's lips curled into a faint smile. "Then we kill you and take the supplies anyway."
The silence that followed was tense, the air thick with unspoken threats. Calden shifted uncomfortably, his hand tightening on the bow slung over his shoulder. The guards around the leader glanced at each other, their uncertainty clear.
Finally, the leader let out a bark of laughter, though there was no humor in it. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts don't win fights."
"No," Ardyn said calmly. "But planning does."
Before the leader could respond, a soft thud sounded behind him. One of his guards crumpled to the ground, an arrow protruding from his leg. The remaining guards spun around, their weapons drawn, but they hesitated when they saw the second arrow nocked and ready in Calden's bow.
The leader glared at Ardyn, his face twisted with rage. "You think this changes anything?"
Ardyn stepped closer, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. "It changes everything. I know your type—you don't care about this market. You care about power. And if you're not willing to share it, I'll make sure someone else gets the chance."
The leader's jaw tightened, his eyes darting to his remaining men. He knew he couldn't win this fight, not without risking everything.
"Fine," he growled. "You get a share. But if you double-cross me, I'll—"
"You won't," Ardyn interrupted. "Because you won't get the chance."
By the time they returned to the watchtower, their packs were heavier with supplies. The first trade agreement had been messy, but it was a start. The market's traders were already murmuring about the new "protection," and the Hollow Fangs were too weak to challenge them outright.
Calden dropped his pack near the fire, letting out a heavy sigh. "That was insane," he muttered. "I can't believe it worked."
"It worked because we didn't give them a choice," Ardyn said, pulling out a loaf of stale bread. He tore off a piece and tossed it to Calden. "Survival isn't about being liked. It's about being necessary."
Calden caught the bread, his expression thoughtful. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not," Ardyn admitted. "But if you make people think it is, they'll follow you."
For a moment, they sat in silence, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. The watchtower felt less empty now, less fragile. The supplies they'd gathered were meager, but they were a foundation. And in Drakmoor, foundations were hard to come by.
Quest Complete:
Establish Resource Supply Lines. Reward Allocated.
Reward: Trading Opportunities Unlocked._
New Quest Available:
Recruit a Skilled Craftsman. Reward: Construction Blueprint – Defensive Enhancements.
Ardyn stared at the notification, his mind already working. A craftsman would mean better fortifications, more advanced traps, and a stronger position overall. But finding someone with those skills wouldn't be easy.
"We're not done yet," he said, his voice steady.
Calden groaned. "Of course we're not."