Year 348 of the Great Sundering Era, 2nd Month, 7th Day of the Mistveil Cycle.
It had been nearly two months since Nightshade's last meeting. Back then, Zeth had just introduced the Titan Tonic to the other executives and shared his plans for it.
The tonic was meant to be their key to breaking into the nobility—and so far, it was working.
Nightshade's expansion had slowed, not because they couldn't grow, but because every criminal operation in Arlcliff City was already under their control. Thanks to the combined efforts of all the executives, the organization had undergone a major restructuring. If you ignored what they actually did, Nightshade's internal setup looked more like a company now rather than a sprawling, multi-industry crime syndicate, at least from the top down.
Of course, all the growth and changes were driven and pushed for mostly by Zeth. In the past, he would have hit roadblocks at every turn.
Even though they were all executives, they weren't all equal.
Zeth, Heiman, and Lorivel each led one of Nightshade's six branches. Some branches had multiple executives, while others had none. There were also tasks like recruitment that didn't fit under any branch but still needed strong management. This created a complicated balance of power. Since Nightshade had started as Zeth's, he was still one of the most influential among them.
But things were different now—thanks to the Titan Tonic and the mercenary guild Zeth had built with it.
It was still early morning, though that didn't matter much since the meeting was underground. The room was large and well-lit, with thirteen figures seated around a long, round table—some familiar, others not.
Zeth stood in front of his seat, holding a document as he gave a report to the other executives and the Head, who sat silently at the head of the table.
"So far, Metal Gear, the mercenary guild we're putting most of our Titan Tonic into, has been exceeding expectations. We've been hired by over fifty noble families already. All of them want us to secure their cargo moving inside Arlcliff City. More than half of them have started using us to watch over and protect their trade routes. And that's just the long-term contracts for moving goods. We've also been hired to provide security at exclusive events and businesses across the Upper City, and the guilds reputation is growing fast," Zeth said.
No one interrupted as he listed Metal Gear's successes.
Of course, while the nobility was their main target, focusing only on them would be too suspicious and not profitable enough. In the Outer City, where many merchants, travelers, and caravans were stuck inside Arlcliff City's territory, business was also booming. With the nobles acting as their seal of approval, more people were trusting this mercenary guild that could work as escorts seemed to have appeared at exactly the right time. Because of them, trade and travel between Arlcliff and other trading hubs, which had nearly stopped, were starting to flow again.
When Zeth finished and sat down, Heiman leaned back in his chair and slowly clapped, the sound echoing through the room. It was clear he was being deliberately annoying, but his words were sincere.
"I'll admit, I had my doubts about your plan at first. But after seeing the results myself, you have my congratulations."
Another executive sitting next to Heiman nodded.
"Heiman's right. Importing all those ingredients for the tonic strained our supply lines at first. But with help from some of our new noble friends close to the Trade Ambassador, not only have inspection checks at the gates become… more flexible at times, we've also tripled our import capacity." Zeth, who had been staring at Heiman with narrowed eyes, grinned at the other executive's words.
"Well, it helps to have friends in high places."
Lorivel, the executive in charge of Bloom—the branch handling their drug operations—spoke next, her deep crimson lips curling into a smile.
"Indeed, I've benefited from your mercenaries' work too—I think we all have. Fewer patrols here and there, fewer barriers to distribution. The nobility becomes a lot more flexible when we're the only ones granting them access to trade. That recent law limiting the size of their private armies must have them desperate. They're so afraid to send their own forces out with the rising monster and mana beast attacks that the moment we offer a solution, they jump on it."
A few more executives shared their experiences and benefits, most with positive comments. Those who didn't want to give Zeth any more credit just stayed silent.
Only after everyone had spoken did the Head finally speak up, his deep voice naturally resonating through the room, causing subtle vibrations even normal people could feel.
"And no issues with quantity?" He asked. Zeth's expression shifted from sly pride to serious as he nearly met the Head's gaze.
"No, none at all, boss. Plenty of people are willing to take the Titan Tonic once we offer some incentives. There are occasional rejections, which lead to… more gruesome outcomes, but almost everyone who takes it survives. After less than a month of training, they join Metal Gear. We haven't had any trouble keeping up with the growing demand." Zeth's eyes then moved to another executive—a gray-haired old man dressed in fine clothes with a monocle and a cane resting between his legs. Though Zeth had a lot of influence over their finances, this old man directly managed them.
He caught Zeth's glance and nodded, clearing his throat.
"Based on current numbers, the Metal Gear guild is expected to bring in nearly twenty thousand golden marks this year alone. And with the steady flow of new contracts, that figure should rise sharply before the year's end." That was still small compared to what their main profitable branches made, but it was like comparing a sapling to a full-grown tree.
It was clear Zeth's mercenary guild had plenty of room to grow in Arlcliff City. If they could get permission to use the trade routes they already protected, Metal Gear could expand to other cities and towns in the region—and so could Nightshade. If Arlcliff was already this profitable for them, then the possibilities of a region-wide expansion were huge.
"Oh, speaking of income," Heiman suddenly cut in, eyes shifting to Zeth.
"If my memory's right, isn't over thirty-five percent of this mercenary guild's income getting pocketed?"
Zeth crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.
"Pocketed makes it sound like I'm lining my own pockets, which I'm not. Keeping the Titan Soldiers supplied with good gear, especially with their numbers growing, isn't cheap. Then there's taxes and all the other costs that come with running a guild."
"Right, right," Heiman conceded, fingers rhythmically tapping on the table.
"But surely you don't need quite that much just to maintain equipment. If I'm recalling correctly from the records, you're using a chunk of those profits—and our newfound 'connections'—to get nobles we're selling to, to quietly buy certain... magical materials."
Zeth's expression darkened slightly. He knew exactly how this pale-faced bastard, who barely looked old enough to sit at this table, had uncovered that information. Before the founding of Metal Gear, Heiman had been their only real link to the nobility.
Heiman's obscene 'parties', where he invited wealthy nobles from the Upper City, were prime opportunities to forge valuable connections. Naturally, he closely guarded those contacts, but combined with the Jackals' involvement in human trafficking and the slave trade, it wasn't surprising that the nobles around Heiman weren't exactly tight-lipped about details.
At Heiman's mention of magical materials, noticeable reactions spread across the table. It was common knowledge that such materials weren't something you could simply purchase anywhere. Every trade involving magical goods—whether raw mana catalysts used for crafting spell catalysts, or the magical artifices themselves—was closely monitored by the Ten Great Magic Academies.
In their region, Takerth Academy held control over all magical commerce.
Even among nobles, trading magical materials was an expensive venture reserved for only the most influential families.
Up until then, the Head had silently allowed Zeth and Heiman—whose strained relationship was well-known—to speak freely. Now, however, he chose this moment to interject.
"Zeth," the Head began, his tone neutral and unreadable, "I recall when I assigned you a percentage of your mercenary guild's profits, you mentioned that some of it would go toward satisfying our suppliers. Is this what you meant?"
"Yes, boss," Zeth confirmed, meeting everyone's eyes before continuing.
"The supplier providing the ingredients for the Titan Tonic is giving them to us free of charge—and in large amounts—to help maintain our growing numbers. But nothing in this world is truly free. The original deal was straightforward: once the Titan Soldiers started turning a profit and establishing connections, I'd use some of that success to help them gather a list of rare magical materials. I know how risky it is dealing with magic right under Takerth Academy's watch, so I've taken careful precautions," Zeth explained, waving a hand casually before turning his attention back to the Head.
"I've already gathered most of the more common items from their list. However, certain materials still require trade routes we're only now securing, or resources and connections we don't yet fully have. Regardless, our suppliers find our progress acceptable, so we shouldn't run into any trouble."
The Head kept his eyes fixed on Zeth, their gazes briefly locking. Zeth felt a sudden, suffocating unease grip him, though it faded quickly after he broke eye contact.
"Hmm. Very well," the Head eventually acknowledged, closing the subject.
The Titan Tonic was the linchpin of their current progress, making their suppliers equally vital. Lorivel, as head of Bloom and an expert in substances, had naturally taken an interest in the tonic. Yet even she, with all her resources and expertise, couldn't replicate it. Without any other suppliers to turn to, they had no choice but to keep their current arrangement intact and proceed carefully.
Soon after, the executive meeting wrapped up. Once the Head departed, the others rose from the table, each leaving with their personal guards close behind.
The only one who remained seated was Lorivel. She cast a knowing glance toward Heiman, who sat slightly farther down, across from her, and then to a hooded executive beside him. Catching her look, both men paused before standing, choosing instead to remain seated. The other executives noticed but didn't dwell on it. Clearly, these three wanted privacy now that the official meeting was done, and none of the others were curious enough to linger or ask—each had their own matters to attend to.
Zeth gave the trio one last glance, curiosity and skepticism flickering briefly in his expression, before turning away and leaving the meeting room, disappearing around a corner.
With a slight tilt of her head, Lorivel signaled one of her guards stationed against the wall behind her. The guard moved to shut the doors, leaving only the three of them inside.
"Thank you both—Heiman, Shade—for staying behind and indulging me," Lorivel began pleasantly. Her friendly voice was perfected from years of careful refinement, ideal for amicable negotiations. If it weren't known that her luxurious clothing was bought with profits from addictions spread across Arlcliff City, she might've appeared to be a typical businesswoman.
"Of course, dear," Heiman responded with a warm smile and friendly eyes.
"You're the only human in Nightshade I truly enjoy spending time with. The others are all so… predictable. It really is a shame you keep declining my offer to turn you."
It was natural that the two had grown close; after all, Heiman's trafficking business depended heavily on Lorivel's drugs. It simply wasn't practical for vampires to hypnotize every person they trafficked. But beyond business, Lorivel's attitude, surprisingly enough, aligned perfectly with the nature of nightwalkers, deepening their connection further.
Lorivel gave a thoughtful hum.
"I admit, eternal life does have its appeal. Let's just say, for now, I'm keeping my options open."
Heiman nodded, understanding and choosing not to press the matter further.
"So, what exactly is this about?" Shade finally interjected. He'd been quietly observing their exchange up to this point. As the executive overseeing the Ravens' Nightshade intelligence network, he preferred cutting directly to the issue.
Lorivel refocused, nodding to Shade as she explained, "This mostly involves Heiman, but I asked you to stay because I'm assuming you're already aware of the situation. Lately, the Jackals have been unusually disorganized, as if something has disrupted their leadership structure. I looked into it and learned Nocturne was destroyed. According to the Ravens' intel, the culprit is none other than that boy who's been a constant thorn in Zeth's side, figuratively and literally. Am I correct?"
Shade was silent for a moment before nodding. Nocturne was a special place, known only to a select few even within Nightshade. Lorivel knew about it due to her 'friendship' with Heiman, while Shade knew simply because discovering hidden things was his job.
As for Heiman, he laughed softly.
"Oh, I didn't realize the effects had rippled that far. My apologies. We're having a bit of an... event. If memory serves, nearly half of my Hierarchs are dead." That revelation surprised even Shade, and both his and Lorivel's eyes widened slightly at the news. While neither knew every detail about vampires, they understood that Hierarchs ranked directly beneath Heiman in power and authority.
Within Nightshade, whenever knights poked around and caused trouble for them, it was typically Heiman's vampires who dealt with them. Even Hierarchs would step in personally when the issue required their strength. Hearing that so many had died—and at the hands of a single boy—was almost unbelievable.
"He's really that big of an issue?" Lorivel murmured thoughtfully.
"He didn't seem so problematic when he faced Zeth."
"I agree. At best, Adept-level," Shade added quietly.
"Indeed, and that's precisely why I'm so intrigued," Heiman admitted.
"At first, I was annoyed. But now? The boy's rapid growth fascinates me. Eliminating my Hierarchs one after another and getting this strong in just a few months? Clearly, there's some secret behind it." As Heiman spoke, his normally dull, lifeless eyes flickered briefly, shifting from black to a deep crimson—a color even more unsettling than the yellow and blackened whites typically seen in Hierarchs.
Lorivel considered his words carefully.
"Still, isn't losing your Hierarchs a problem? Without them, the Jackals will have trouble getting organized when it's time to come out of hiding."
Heiman waved off her concern lightly.
"Oh, there's no need to worry about that. At his current pace, they'll all be dead long before we need to worry about reinstating ourselves. That leaves plenty of time for me to appoint replacements. And besides, if a single mage is able to kill them all so easily, he's just saving me the trouble of getting rid of incompetence."
Neither Shade nor Lorivel argued. If Heiman felt confident he could replace those losses caused by Magnus, there was no reason to doubt him.
Heiman never lied.
He simply had no reason to.
"Very well, then," Lorivel said, standing from her chair.
"If you're sure, I'll leave it there. As long as this boy's actions don't spill into the rest of Nightshade, I see no reason for concern. Just try to keep your fun from causing too much chaos in the city."
Heiman nodded, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the table.
"Yes, yes, no worries. If he actually does manage to kill every last one of my Hierarchs, I'll handle him personally—after I've uncovered exactly what makes him so special, of course."