The Dirrium kingdom act 5: The audit
The midday sun beat down on the Dirrium Academy courtyard, but Leornars didn't seem to notice the heat. He moved with a rhythmic, steady pace, his thumb clicking a silver ballpoint pen.
Near the fountain, Jonathan was holding court. He adjusted the collar of his silk robes, which were dyed a deep, illegal violet. A group of three younger students hovered around him like moths to a flame.
"It's not just about the ships, you lot," Jonathan said, leaning back against the marble basin. "It's about the reach. My father told me this morning—we've secured the southern docks. All three shipyards."
"Three?" one of his friends, a boy named Leo, gasped. "I thought the Crown held the rights to the third one."
Jonathan smirked, checking his fingernails. "The Crown holds what we allow them to hold. My father has the port authority in his pocket. We're moving 'Nightshade' extract now. High-grade. The kind the medical guilds beg for, but only the black market can afford."
"Isn't that... risky?" another student whispered, looking around nervously.
"Risky for a peasant, maybe," Jonathan laughed, his voice ringing across the grass. "But when you own the ships, the guards, and the men who write the laws, 'illegal' is just a word for 'expensive.' By next term, I'll be riding a carriage drawn by four white stallions while the rest of you are still worrying about your tuition."
Leornars paused nearby, leaning against a stone pillar. He pulled a small, leather-bound notepad from his pocket. He began to write, his lips curled into a soft, melodic hum—a tune that sounded like a funeral march played at double speed.
Jonathan caught sight of him and sneered. "Look at that. Leornars is taking notes. What's the matter, Leornars? Writing down a dream? Maybe if you work hard for the next fifty years, my father will hire you to sweep the decks of our smallest vessel."
Leornars didn't look up. "Three shipyards. Southern docks. Off-the-books," he muttered to himself, the pen scratching against the paper. He gave one final, crisp click of his pen, tucked the notepad into his vest, and walked away without uttering a single word to the boys.
"Pathetic," Jonathan muttered to his laughing friends. "He doesn't even have the spine to look me in the eye."
An hour after leaving the schoolyard, Leornars stood in the King's private study. The room smelled of old parchment and expensive tobacco. King Jilim of Dirrium didn't look up from his maps until a small, hand-written slip of paper was placed directly over the southern port markers.
"You enter without an appointment, Leornars," Jilim said, his voice a low rumble. "In some circles, that is considered a capital offense."
"In other circles, it's called efficiency," Leornars replied, leaning against the edge of the King's heavy oak desk. "Read the note, Jilim. It's the sound of your treasury filling up."
The King glanced at the paper. His eyes sharpened. "Three shipyards? Lord Hildas? He's one of the most vocal supporters of the crown. You're accusing a high lord of smuggling on the word of... what? A schoolyard rumor?"
"I don't deal in rumors. I deal in audits," Leornars said, clicking his silver pen. "Hildas has been under-reporting his dock fees by 22\% for three years. He's using the surplus to fund 'Nightshade' distribution. If you move now, you seize the cargo, the land, and the vessels. If you wait, he'll have enough liquid capital to bribe your own admirals."
Jilim leaned back, his rings catching the light. "And what is your price for this 'gift'?"
"I don't want a fee, Jilim. I want a partnership," Leornars said, his voice dropping to a calm, commanding tone. "I want the first right of refusal on the seized assets. I'll buy the shipyards from you at a 65\% discount. You get the immediate cash injection to pay your knights, and I get the infrastructure."
"A 65\% discount?" Jilim laughed harshly. "That's insulting. You're asking me to hand you an empire for pennies."
Leornars didn't blink. "I'm asking you to sell me a burning building before it collapses. If you try to seize those docks without the Merchant Lords' cooperation, there will be a riot. The supply chain will snap. But," Leornars paused, sliding a second document across the desk, "I've already drafted the new contracts for the Merchant Lords. They've been waiting for someone to replace Hildas. They just didn't know it was me."
Jilim stared at the young man, a flicker of genuine unease in his eyes. "You've already spoken to them? Before coming to me?"
"I've already contacted the distributors," Leornars confirmed, turning toward the door. "By sunset, the market will have shifted. You can either be the King who authorized the new era of trade, or the King who tried to stop the tide with a spoon. Which will it be?"
Jilim looked at the paper, then at Leornars' retreating back. "You're a dangerous man to have in a kingdom, Leornars."
"I'm an expensive one," Leornars corrected without looking back. "But I'm far more dangerous to your enemies than I am to you. Send the Knights to the southern pier at two o'clock. Don't be late; I hate making the Merchant Lords wait."
Leornars arrived at the shipyards dressed in a simple linen tunic and worn boots. The sun sat low now, casting long, jagged shadows across crates of illegal spice and concentrated toxins. Lord Hildas stood on the deck of his flagship, looking down at Leornars with disgusted pity.
"You've been following me all day, boy," Hildas called out, his voice dripping with venom as he adjusted his velvet doublet. "Did my son's wealth hurt your feelings that much? You look like a beggar who lost his way to the slums. Do you even own a second pair of boots, or do you spend your life savings on that little notepad?"
Leornars didn't look up. He was busy clicking his pen, finishing a final notation. "Thirty-two crates of refined 'Nightshade' extract," Leornars murmured. "Four more than the manifest suggested. Interesting."
"Are you deaf?" Hildas stepped off the gangplank, his expensive leather boots crunching on the gravel. "I called you poor. I called you a nobody. I could buy your entire family tree and sell them as deckhands before the tide turns."
Leornars finally stopped writing. He looked at Hildas with the clinical detachment of a butcher looking at a side of beef. "You talk a lot about buying things, Hildas. But you've forgotten the first rule of the market: You cannot own what you cannot defend."
Leornars turned his back on Hildas, ignoring the man's sputtering rage. He walked straight toward the three Merchant Lords standing by the warehouse—Hildas's backbone.
"My Lords," Leornars said, sliding three identical envelopes from his vest. "Inside, you'll find a breakdown of your current losses. Hildas has been skimming 35\% off your top-end exports for 'protection' and administrative fees. He's also using your ships to carry his high-risk illicit cargo, meaning if he gets caught, your legitimate fleets are seized."
"What is this?" Lord Harken asked, tearing the envelope open. His face went white. "These are... internal ledgers."
"I don't just listen to children in schoolyards, Harken. I listen to the ink on the page," Leornars interrupted. "Now, look at page two. Your new contract. A flat 10\% commission. No skimming. And most importantly, you receive a Royal Pardon for every shipment you've moved in the last five years."
"You can't grant pardons!" Hildas roared, rushing forward.
Leornars didn't even turn around. He just pointed a thumb toward the horizon. On cue, the silver-and-gold sails of the Royal Navy rounded the cliffside. On the docks, a company of Dirrium Knights emerged from the shadows, lances gleaming.
"Hildas of House Thorne," the Captain barked. "By order of the Crown, these shipyards and all illicit cargo are hereby confiscated."
The New Order
Leornars watched as the knights dragged a screaming, ruined Hildas away. The man looked small now, his velvet clothes looking like a cheap costume.
"I bought your debt at noon," Leornars said to the air as Hildas was hauled past him. "I bought your allies at 1:00 PM. I bought your ships from the King at 2:00 PM for a 65\% seizure discount. It's now 2:15 PM, Hildas. Technically, you are trespassing on my pier."
He turned to the King's treasurer. "Process the seizure. I'll take the entire stock. Move it to the medical district by morning. Keep the price at the current black-market rate—why lower the profit when the people are already used to paying it? Only now, the gold goes to the crown. And my cut, of course."
Jonathan stood nearby, pale and trembling. Everything he had used to define himself had vanished in twenty minutes. Leornars walked over and handed a heavy coin purse to the school's registrar, who had accompanied the guards.
"That's for Jonathan's tuition," Leornars said quietly. "Paid in full for the year."
The registrar looked confused. "After what his father said to you? Why?"
Leornars looked at the boy, his eyes sharp and cold. "Because I want him to learn. Not just what's in the textbooks, but how the system actually breathes. He needs to understand that a loud mouth is just a target for someone who knows how to listen. I want you to watch, Jonathan. Real influence doesn't bark. It just signs the check."
Leornars has successfully taken over the shipyards. Would you like to see his next move—perhaps expanding into the medical guilds or dealing with the Merchant Lords who now owe him their loyalty?
The High Court of Dirrium was a place of cold stone and even colder hearts. Twelve judges and a swarm of elite lawyers sat within the inner sanctum, discussing how to split the legal spoils of the recent shipyard seizures. They stopped talking the moment the heavy oak doors groaned open.
Leornars walked in, his footsteps echoing. Behind him, two massive, silent golems dragged a reinforced iron chest. With a sudden, violent kick, Leornars toppled the chest.
A literal tidal wave of gold crashed onto the floor.
The sound was deafening—the sharp, metallic ring of 20 million gold coins spilling across the marble. It was an obscene amount of wealth. In a kingdom where a commoner lived well on 5,000 gold a year, this pile represented the life's work of a thousand men.
"What is the meaning of this?" Chief Justice Thorne gasped, his eyes reflecting the golden mountain at his feet.
"This is the new law," Leornars said, leaning against the judge's bench. "I have 100 million more like this. Consider this a retainer. As long as the law bends in the direction I point my finger, you keep it. Every coin."
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, the greed broke them. The lawyers and judges scrambled from their benches, their dignified robes fluttering as they dropped to their knees, grabbing at the coins, filling their pockets with desperate, shaking hands.
Leornars watched them with a look of pure loathing. He clicked his silver pen.
"Now," Leornars whispered.
The side doors burst open. The King's Knights, led by the Royal Inquisitor, flooded the room with steel drawn.
"By the King's decree!" the Inquisitor roared. "Every official in this room is under arrest for the high crime of accepting a bribe and subverting the crown's justice!"
"You set us up!" the Chief Justice shrieked, a gold coin still clutched in his hand as a knight tackled him.
"I didn't set you up," Leornars replied, stepping over a pile of gold. "I simply offered you a choice, and you proved you were too expensive to keep and too greedy to trust."
Later that evening, King Jilim stood with Leornars in the empty courtroom. The gold had been cleared, and the disgraced judges had been tossed into the black cells.
"You've gutted my entire judicial system in one afternoon, Leornars," Jilim said, rubbing his temples. "Who is supposed to rule on the laws now? The city will descend into chaos by morning."
"I have already selected the replacements," Leornars said. He gestured toward the shadows of the hallway.
Nine figures stepped forward. They were tall, move with a haunting, synchronized grace, and wore the heavy black robes of the high court. Their hair was shades of deep brown and obsidian black.
"They look... capable," the King noted, though he shivered as one passed him. "There is a stillness to them."
Leornars looked at his 'servants.' He remembered them when their hair was as white as his own the mark of the restless dead. He had spent hours meticulously dying their hair.
"They are more than capable, Your Majesty. They don't sleep, they don't take bribes, and they follow my instructions to the letter," Leornars said.
He looked out the window toward the Academy, then toward the flickering lights of the shipyards. He had the education of the youth, the flow of the trade, and now, the iron fist of the law.
"The school, the courts, and the sea," Leornars murmured, the silver pen clicking one last time. "Dirrium isn't just a kingdom anymore, Jilim. It's a ledger. And I've finally balanced the books."