By this point, whispers were spreading through the Seawave Guild:
"Someone's hunting the leaders."
"Someone too observant."
"Someone we can't see coming."
They were right.
I didn't slow down.
I didn't hide.
I didn't soften.
Three heads had fallen.
Brugo's warehouse.
Garlon's accounting.
Valden's seals.
Three cracks in the foundation.
And today?
The next target.
The Head of the Iron Route — Marell.
A cold man.
Rigid.
Silent.
A strategist who believed he could out-think everyone.
Including me.
He was wrong.
Risenne's Distance That Wasn't Distance
Risenne walked beside me again, but today she was quieter than usual.
Not professionally quiet.
Emotionally quiet.
Her eyes didn't linger on me.
Not at first.
But every few minutes, she'd glance over…
then force herself to look away.
Like touching a flame she shouldn't reach for, but can't stop testing.
I broke the silence first.
"You're thinking loudly."
She flinched slightly.
"…I'm always thinking."
"Not like this."
She clenched her jaw, looked away.
"Montig… we're six years apart."
Ah.
So she was still wrestling with it.
"That doesn't bother me," I said.
"It bothers me," she snapped a bit too quickly.
We stopped walking.
She turned away, arms crossed—
not angry.
Defensive.
As if protecting something fragile inside her chest.
I stepped closer.
Not too close.
Just enough.
"Why?" I asked.
She didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Her silence spoke loud enough.
She walked ahead, not looking back.
But she waited for me to catch up.
The Iron Route Headquarters
The Iron Route's office looked like a war room — maps on walls, contracts pinned everywhere, a giant ledger dominating the center table.
Marell looked up as we entered.
A thin, sharp-eyed man with silver streaks in his hair.
"Observer," he said, nodding at me.
"Guard dog," he added, nodding at Risenne.
Risenne's eye twitched.
She hated that nickname.
I smirked.
Marell gestured to the maps.
"Trade routes. Timelines. Conflict zones. I run this guild's backbone."
I nodded.
"You run it poorly."
Silence.
Even Risenne's breath caught.
Marell stared.
"…Pardon?"
I pointed to the map.
"There are three unexplained detours in your main trading line."
He frowned. "Those are unavoidable delays."
"No," I said, poking the map. "These are engineered delays."
His eyebrows shot up.
Risenne blinked slowly.
A dangerous sign — she was starting to catch onto my pace.
"Engineered by who?" Marell asked.
"By you," I said.
Risenne inhaled sharply.
Marell's voice hardened.
"You're accusing me of damaging my own routes?"
"Not damaging," I replied.
"Exploiting."
I slid a piece of parchment forward.
It contained nothing but Marell's own trade logs — sorted by time and arrival.
Just like Brugo.
Just like Garlon.
I didn't add anything.
I just showed the truth.
"The guild's delays benefited one merchant group," I said. "The group you secretly own."
Risenne stared at Marell, betrayal flickering in her eyes.
"Marell…" she whispered.
"You?"
His mask cracked.
Just a bit.
Breaking a Strategist
He tried to recover.
"You have no proof—"
I placed one more document on the table.
He froze.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded.
"Your office," I said.
Risenne shot me a quick glare — "that's illegal" glare —
but her heart wasn't in it.
She wanted the truth as badly as I did.
The document was a merchants' payment sheet.
Signed under a false name.
But Marell's handwriting.
He reached for it—
Risenne's hand snapped to her sword.
He backed away.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Marell's voice shook.
"You… You manipulated this."
"I don't need to manipulate anything," I said. "You're talented enough to destroy yourself."
He exhaled shakily.
"…What do you want?"
"Nothing," I said. "Just the truth."
He sank into his chair.
Defeated.
Broken.
Not by force.
By exposure.
The Guildmaster Arrives — Again
The guildmaster entered soon after, already tired.
"Marell," he said heavily, "explain."
Marell looked at me.
Then at Risenne.
Then at the floor.
"I can't."
The guildmaster closed his eyes.
"Four leaders down. I'm losing this guild piece by piece."
He wasn't yelling.
He sounded old.
Risenne stepped forward.
"Sir," she said quietly, "it's not Montig destroying the guild."
Her voice surprised both of us.
"He's exposing what was already rotting."
The guildmaster looked at her.
Then at me.
"…Is that true, Montig?"
"Yes."
He studied me for a long time.
Then nodded.
"Marell is dismissed."
Guards escorted him out.
The Hallway — A Crack in the Armor
Walking out, Risenne didn't speak for a long time.
Then, suddenly:
"Montig."
"Yes?"
"…You terrify me."
She said it without looking at me.
Her voice quiet.
Honest.
Bare.
"And yet," I murmured, "you haven't left my side."
She froze.
"…Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it means something."
I stepped a little closer.
"Doesn't it?"
She turned away sharply.
Her voice cracked — barely audible:
"I'm six years older than you."
"You say that," I said, "as if age can stop gravity."
She pressed her lips together.
Didn't move.
Didn't walk away.
Didn't deny it.
Just stood there, trembling quietly in a way only I could see.