If the old market was a jungle, then the guild district was a minefield.
And I was about to step on my first damn mine.
I woke up early, washed my face in cold water that smelled like metal, and reviewed the pouch of coins again. Still full. Still untouched. Still mocking me.
"One week," I muttered. "And I've already pissed off invisible people. Great start."
Today's plan was simple:
Find out who was controlling those fake suppliers.
Figure out why the bird-feed shop mattered.
Make a plan to break their scheme.
Easy in theory.
Painful in reality.
I walked into the guild plaza with that sarcastic confidence only an idiot—or a future genius—has.
The plaza was busy. Merchants shouting. Customers bargaining. Guards patrolling like they owned the sun.
Everything looked normal.
Which was exactly why it felt wrong.
My instincts twitched. People glanced at me, then quickly looked away. Whispers floated in the air like dust.
"That's him."
"He's poking where he shouldn't."
"Why hasn't the guild handled him yet?"
Awesome. A fan club already.
The First Sign of Trouble
I headed to Warehouse Lane again.
Before I even reached the first fake supplier address, a guard stepped in front of me. Not a low-level guard—this guy wore a dark blue uniform, heavier armor, and a face that looked like it hated smiling.
"Name," he barked.
"Montig. You?"
He didn't answer.
"Reason for being here?"
"Walking?" I shrugged.
He stared like he wanted to punch me but was too professional to do it.
"You are not permitted to access this district without clearance."
"Since when?"
"Since now."
I squinted. "Let me guess—because someone complained about a 'suspicious kid snooping around'?"
His jaw tightened.
Got him.
"You have been warned," he said and stepped aside, but not enough to allow me through.
I stepped back.
Warehouse Lane itself had become restricted.
Not by law.
Not by posted rules.
Just… because someone wanted it.
The guild didn't need written rules.
Their "rules" were whoever had power and influence at the moment.
I muttered under my breath, "So this is how the big boys play."
I wasn't stopped because I broke a rule.
I was stopped because I was inconvenient.
Information Without Information
With Warehouse Lane off-limits, I had to rely on observation.
I spent the morning walking the plaza, listening, pretending to browse. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted to me.
"Three shops shut down."
"Rent spikes next week."
"They say someone is preparing a takeover."
"Guild leaders? No, not them—someone lower."
Lower than guild leaders, strong enough to manipulate an entire district?
Sounds like a mid-tier guild officer with too much ambition.
The more I listened, the more I realized something crucial:
No one knew the full story.
Only fragments. Rumors. Guesswork.
It wasn't like the street market where everyone's business was exposed to the wind.
Here, information was the real currency.
And I was broke as hell.
What I Couldn't See
At noon, I bought a cheap bun from a vendor. It tasted like sadness with extra flour.
While chewing, I watched the merchants.
People moved differently here.
They walked like they carried invisible chains.
They talked like they feared invisible ears.
They traded like someone was always watching.
In a normal market, people acted on instinct.
Here, people acted on consequences.
This wasn't a marketplace.
It was a chessboard.
And right now, I didn't even know the rules.
I cursed under my breath. "Dammit."
The Incident
I headed back toward the bird-feed shop to update the old man.
But when I arrived, two guild officers were standing outside his shop.
Not guards.
Officers.
They were placing a Guild Warning Notice on the door.
The old man was shouting his lungs out.
"What the hell is this!?"
"I didn't break any rules!"
"You can't just shut me down!"
One officer pointed at a clipboard. "Violation of Trade Stability Protocol, Article Three."
"What article!?" he howled. "I've been here for nine years! You're making shit up!"
I froze.
Trade Stability Protocol?
Article Three?
I'd never heard of it.
Neither had the old man.
Probably because it didn't exist—at least not publicly.
The officers stepped back when they noticed me.
Their eyes lingered on me a second too long.
Then they left.
I approached the shopkeeper.
"What the fuck happened?"
He was shaking with anger. "They said I'm 'destabilizing the district' because I didn't meet purchase quotas."
He slammed his fist on the counter.
"They're forcing me to buy from suppliers who DON'T FUCKING EXIST!"
I felt heat rising behind my eyes.
"That's a setup," I said quietly.
"No shit it's a setup!" he shouted.
He wasn't mad at me, just desperate.
Hopeless.
And I hated hopelessness more than anything.
The Unwritten Rulebook
The system pinged softly.
Ping.
[New Insight: Guild Power Structure]
— Rules are not fixed.
— Enforcement varies by influence.
— Fairness does not exist.
I exhaled slowly.
"So that's it," I whispered. "No rulebook. Just power."
The old man looked at me. "Kid… should I shut down?"
"No."
"How can you be so sure?"
I stared at the notice on his door—
that stupid, printed lie.
"Because anyone who hides the rules," I growled, "is scared of the people who learn them."
His eyes widened a little.
I clenched my fists.
"They want to crush you? Fine. Let them try. But they're not walking over me."
For the first time, I wasn't just fighting to pass a test.
I was fighting a system that hated outsiders.
And if the guild wanted to play dirty…
Then I'd show them just how dirty Montig Levan could get.