Anyone wishing to start a business needed outside investment unless they had capital of their own. Yet that very fact made running a business all but impossible unless one inherited it.

Very few people had the means to invest. Of those, few understood the importance of business, and one could safely assume that no one in the world would invest on trust.

Most people with the means were nobles. Born into wealth, they knew how to spend it but rarely thought of making it grow. Their only concern was protecting what they already had.

Most ordinary people could not even accumulate wealth, nor did they have any concept of doing so. When earning enough to eat each day kept them busy, what the hell did wealth have to do with anything?

Of course, lacking a concept of accumulating wealth did not mean they lacked human desires. Those desires erupted like a volcano during wars or riots—situations in which ruthless plunder and theft were permitted.

But such occasions were uncommon. A farmer's son simply lived as a farmer, a woodcutter's son as a woodcutter, and a merchant's son as a merchant.

And even if someone somehow managed to start a business, keeping it was harder still. Aside from business failures, nobles might seize one's property overnight like outright robbers, or rioters might plunder what had taken generations to build.

That was why merchants were desperate to acquire armed strength. A sizable merchant company was a kind of private armed organization; some lacked only land, with military forces scarcely different from a lord's.

Even an itinerant peddler had to be able to hold their own in a fight. As a result, quite a few were renowned swordsmen.

In the old days, the Nords themselves had been traders, raiders, and warriors. Those three had originally been one. The founding of the kingdom merely made them appear separate; the boundaries remained blurred.

Put simply, people took it for granted that you paid for goods when the other party was formidable, and killed them and took what they had when they were not.

At the heart of it all lay survival: the irresistible command of instinct to do whatever it took to stay alive. And insatiable desire.

Valeri understood the heart of all this only too well. From the very bottom to the pinnacle, every moment had been a struggle to survive.

Ironically, however, the purpose of all that surviving had been to end his own life.

Though perhaps this time would be different.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Valeri had a reliable investor: Duke Sven. He borrowed ten gold coins from him.

Ten gold coins was an enormous sum. Copper coins were used for everyday purchases, silver for commerce, and gold was high-denomination currency reserved for truly large transactions.

In the countryside, where barter still predominated, some people went their entire lives without so much as seeing a gold coin.

And there they lay on the table—not one, not two, but three, four, eight gold coins.

The salt merchant blinked at the eight coins, looking utterly bewildered. Then he looked up at the person who had placed them there. It was Valeri, with a face so handsome one would be hard-pressed to encounter its like even in a dream.

"... Are you planning to make a sea?"

"No, nothing like that. So, do you have the stock or not?"

"I don't have that much on hand. No, before we even get to that, you'll need His Grace the duke's permission to buy this much iron and salt."

Iron was a strategic material, while salt was an everyday necessity. Trading either in bulk required permission from the lord who ruled the region.

At the merchant's objection, Valeri looked back. Knut was browsing the shop with his hands clasped behind his back.

Arne stood beside him like a bodyguard. Instead of his guard's uniform, he wore fine clothes with a sword at his waist. Perhaps unused to the outfit, he kept squirming.

Catching Valeri's look, Knut addressed the salt merchant.

"I'd really like to buy it."

"..."

Those few words made the merchant's heart lurch, and he shut his mouth.

Knut's infamy was known not just within the citadel but throughout the city: the story of his cutting open a servant's belly, and, more recently, his assassination of his half brother.

Everyone also knew that Duke Sven had punished him severely by locking him in the watchtower's cage. It had been visible from everywhere in the city. No one could have missed it.

A mere salt merchant could hardly refuse a Knut like that. There was no telling what he might do.

"Once the goods are ready, leave them at the western docks. Deduct two days' storage fees from the payment."

Valeri spoke as though the deal were already settled.

"The western docks, sir? Not the eastern ones?"

Perhaps owing to Knut's presence, the merchant's tone had grown respectful before anyone knew it.

"That's right. We're taking them to Gringen to sell."

"... What!?"

At first the salt merchant stared blankly, wondering whether he had misheard. Then he suddenly cried out.

Selling to Gringen was tantamount to smuggling. If Duke Sven caught them, losing a hand might be the least of their worries.

"Money is money, isn't it? It's not as though it has eyes."

"B-but..."

"Just have the goods ready. You won't suffer for it, so don't worry."

With that, Valeri left the shop. The other two followed.

"Did you really have to tell him that?" Arne asked.

"Tell him what?"

"That we're selling it in Gringen."

"It's better to spread the word. Make us look like some inexperienced young noble, a bit of a sucker, who's recklessly gone into business. That'll whet their appetites, won't it?"

Naturally, since not just anyone could run a business, they presented Knut as the figurehead—the apparent owner of the enterprise.

Everyone in the know was aware of the conflict, or at least friction, between Duke Sven and Knut, which gave the venture an even more plausible justification.

An immature, spiteful young lord who liked causing trouble was getting above himself, thinking he could make money without asking his father for a handout.

"But why salt, of all things?"

"Gringen is surrounded by wetlands. Its specialties are gemstones and peat, but with marshes all around, it lacks necessities like timber, food, and salt. All of it has to come from outside. You know the duke imposed an embargo on Gringen a while back, right? Salt will be practically worth its weight in gold there. It's relatively easy to transport, too."

"Then shouldn't they avoid getting on His Grace's bad side?"

"He doesn't care whether ordinary people suffer, as long as he makes good money. That Creed fellow, I mean."

A little thought would have made it all clear, but Arne had never experienced or learned any of this. It was all unfamiliar and fascinating to him.

And amid that unfamiliar fascination, he felt a disgust strong enough to make him shudder.

"... What a vicious bastard."

"The world's full of people like that."

"Anyway, don't we need a boat to smuggle things?"

"We'll start looking now. Most likely no one will rent us one. The salt merchant can get away with saying he only sold us goods, but renting us a boat would mean participating in the smuggling."

Of course, it made no difference whether Valeri's party smuggled goods or not. Duke Sven himself had ordered them to kill Gringen's Ballsack Opener.

But since it was a kind of secret mission, they could not announce that publicly.

"What if everyone refuses?"

"That's fine. That'll spread rumors of its own. Word might even reach Gringen, and people who smell money might approach us, offering to act as intermediaries. Or the smugglers in this city might come to us. Every city has smugglers."

Every city had thugs calling themselves some brotherhood or gang. It made no sense for there to be no smugglers. Indeed, criminal organizations like those handled most smuggling in the first place.

Arne nodded in understanding, then suddenly gave Valeri a look that seemed to ask what sort of person he could possibly be.

There seemed to be nothing he did not know, as though he could see everything that lay ahead. Could a person really be this clever? Beyond admiration, it even felt somehow unreal. Wasn't he like a veteran warrior who had weathered every hardship? And he was only fourteen.

Sure enough, just as Valeri had predicted, every merchant company with boats refused with an awkward expression.

"Looks like there's no one left but the thugs. Hmm..."

Arne stood beside Knut as he spoke. Knut was crunching on honey-soaked dried fruit, apparently without a care in the world.

Valeri simply stood gazing at the river. After a whole day spent roaming the city since morning, the sun was already setting. The light dancing on the river shone orange.

Standing with his sword at his waist and his weight on one leg, he let the river breeze wash over him. He almost looked as though he were waiting for someone.

And, surprisingly, someone really did approach them through the rustling grass. It was none other than Skard, whom Valeri had thoroughly beaten not long ago.

Arne started at the sight of him.

Paying him no attention, Skard bowed his head to an utterly indifferent Knut, then addressed Valeri directly.

"I hear you're looking for a boat."

"Yeah."

"I can get you one."

"What's your price?"

"Let me in on this."

"Any particular reason?"

"I can't keep guarding a water gate and shaking people down forever. I want to make a big score, too."

Valeri turned from the river to look at Skard. He looked neither resolute nor resentful, but somehow rather sad.

"That's not all of it," Valeri said.

Skard, too, gazed at the river and fell into thought. Then, like the flowing water, his true feelings spilled out.

"My father really did die begging."

Valeri flinched inwardly, but with remarkable concentration kept his expression composed. He had insulted Skard's parents the other day.

"He used to be a really great man. Then one day he got into gambling and drink, and started beating my mother every day, demanding money. He beat my older brothers and sisters, too. And me. One day my eldest brother couldn't take it anymore. He beat Father half to death and threw him out. Still didn't knock any sense into him. Whenever he got a little money begging, he'd gamble and drink... Then he croaked in the street."

Skard looked back at Valeri.

"When you get down to it, shaking people down is no different from begging. No matter how much you scrape together, it's still pocket change. I want to do something—something real. Whether it's wrong or right. I don't want to live like my father. Does that answer your question?"

Valeri felt an unwelcome pang of guilt. He decided he ought to restrain his insults in the future.

"Yeah. And about what I said..."

"Forget it. Follow me."

Skard cut off his attempted apology and started walking. Caught off guard, Valeri and the others followed.

Skard led them to an ancient sewer. Perhaps because it had not been properly used for so long, only groundwater flowed through it, and the water was surprisingly clear.

Yet the place was steeped in that musty, moldy smell peculiar to sewers. Some people lived with that smell draped over them like clothing.

Whether anyone lived deeper inside was unclear, but near the entrance, people could be seen gathered in small groups.

Skard approached three people seated around a fire.

They recognized him but offered no acknowledgment, merely watching in silence. Skard, too, dispensed with the usual greetings and went straight to business.

"We need a boat."

One of those seated around the fire glanced at Valeri's party before speaking.

"Having nobles near me makes me sick."

He meant Knut. Valeri signaled to Arne to take Knut some distance away for the time being.

Only after Knut was out of sight did the man speak again.

"What for?"

"You've heard the rumors. You know, Yorik."

Valeri had practically spent the entire day broadcasting it across the city. There was no way Torvik's thieves' guild did not know that Knut intended to smuggle salt.

At Skard's words, the man named Yorik grinned. One of his front teeth was gold, glittering in the firelight.

He seemed to have a habit of polishing it with his tongue, keeping it shining at all times.

"On top of the rental fee, we'll need a deposit."

"What deposit?"

"We're the ones who're fucked if the duke catches us, aren't we? The little lordling might spend a day or two behind bars, but we'd be dead. We need a deposit. A security deposit."

Skard had never encountered this before and turned to Valeri. Valeri addressed the man across the fire, which lit his face from below.

"How much?"

"One gold coin."

He seemed to be opening with an utterly bullshit demand, perhaps intending to haggle.

"I can give you five silver coins or so," Valeri said.

"Oh, come on, friend. With that face, you could earn a gold coin selling yourself for just one night."

His companions snickered beside him. Valeri lowered his head.

As Skard stood there looking uncomfortable, Valeri raised his head again.

"All right. One gold coin will do?"

"Oh? Seriously?"

Valeri walked around the fire and stopped before Yorik. Still seated, Yorik tilted his head and looked up at him, grinning.

Then a flash of lightning burst before his eyes. Valeri had suddenly planted a front kick in his face.

THWACK!

"Urgh!"

Yorik squeezed his eyes shut and toppled backward. He rolled all the way over before hitting the wall and coming to a stop. The pain in his face soon turned to rage.

"You little shit!"

He sprang to his feet with a shout. At that instant, however, a powerful sense of wrongness swept over him.

For one thing, it was far too quiet. And when Valeri came into view, he had just flicked something off his sword and was sliding it into the scabbard at his waist.

SHING. CLICK.

Then Yorik saw something he could not comprehend. Skard sat on his backside, staring up at Valeri with eyes wide, while Yorik's companions lay sprawled on the ground.

Sleeping, at a time like this? The evening gloom had kept him from noticing at once, but neither of his two fallen companions had a head.

Their heads, no longer where they belonged, were rolling down the slope.

As the truth finally sank in, gooseflesh swept over Yorik's entire body. His legs gave out, and he dropped heavily onto his backside.

Other guild members had been gathered around nearby fires. They had started rushing over, only to stop and slowly back away, their faces filled with terror.

Valeri, who had caused all this, picked something up from the ground and approached Yorik. What he held was none other than Yorik's gold tooth.

Holding it up for the man staring at him from below, Valeri said,

"One gold coin. That settles it, right?"

Yorik nodded so rapidly it was hard to tell whether he was nodding or shaking with fear.

Valeri tossed him the gold tooth, then turned and walked away.

"Let's go, Skard."

This was Skard's first time seeing Valeri wield a real sword rather than a practice blade. He looked beyond terrified, as though he had seen a ghost.

He hurriedly collected himself and followed Valeri, glancing back again and again without realizing it.

In the firelight, the gold tooth resting on Yorik's chest glittered like a star in the sky.