Day 35.
The courtyard of Fort Blackiron was bustling with a different kind of energy. It wasn't the frantic panic of survival, nor the rhythmic clanging of industry. It was the calculated precision of Logistics.
Three large sleds stood ready, hitched to the sturdy oxen recovered from the bandit camp.
Rian stood before the cargo, checking Lara's inventory list.
Sled 1: 50 High-Carbon Steel Axes & 20 Saws (Grom's Masterwork).
Sled 2: 10 bundles of pristine Snow Wolf Furs.
Sled 3: 500 bars of "Blackiron Soap" wrapped in oiled paper.
"This is our future," Rian said, patting a crate of soap. "We are sitting on a gold mine, but right now, we can't even buy a bag of salt. We need liquid cash."
He turned to his team.
Varg (Head of Security): Dressed in restored leather armor, looking terrifying with his eyepatch. He would lead 10 bandit-guards.
Lara (Administrator): She was coming to handle the accounts and negotiate contracts.
Hance: He would stay behind as the Acting Steward.
"Hance," Rian instructed. "The Water Wheel keeps turning. The Greenhouse keeps growing. If Caelum says the plants are thirsty, you water them. If Grom needs coal, you dig it. Do not let the fire die."
"I will guard the Fort with my life, My Lord," Hance bowed deeply.
"Let's move," Rian commanded.
The heavy wooden gates groaned open. The caravan rolled out onto the road—the road Rian's plow had cleared—heading South towards the nearest major trade hub: Northgate City.
Northgate City
Two days later.
Northgate was not like the miserable Gray Creek village. It was a fortress city, surrounded by 30-foot stone walls. It was the gateway between the desolate Northern Wasteland and the prosperous Southern Empire.
Merchants, mercenaries, and travelers crowded the massive iron gates.
Rian's caravan drew attention immediately. The sleds were heavy, the guards were disciplined (thanks to Rian's drills), and Rian himself—clean-shaven, wearing a fine wolf-fur coat—looked every bit the Noble Lord, despite his exile.
"Halt!" A city guard with a greasy mustache blocked their path. He eyed the laden sleds greedily.
"Entry Tax," the guard spat. "10 Silver Coins per wagon. And... a 'Safety Inspection' fee of 5 Gold Coins."
Varg growled, his hand drifting to his sword. 5 Gold was robbery. It was enough to feed a peasant family for five years.
Rian raised a hand to stop Varg. He looked at the guard calmly.
[Ding! Daily Intelligence Report - Day 37]
[1. Personnel Intel: Gate Sergeant "Boris"]
Trait: Corrupt & Gambling Addict.
Current Status: He owes 20 Gold Coins to the local underground casino. If he doesn't pay by midnight, they will break his legs.
Weakness: He is desperate for a quick, high-value bribe, not small change.
Rian smiled cold. He didn't reach for his coin purse.
Instead, he reached into the first sled and pulled out a High-Carbon Steel Dagger (a scrap project Grom made).
He tossed it to the Sergeant.
Boris caught it, confused. He pulled it from the sheath. The steel shimmered with a dark, wavy pattern (Damascus-like appearance due to the folding). It was sharper than a razor.
"That dagger is worth 15 Gold Coins in the capital," Rian lied smoothly (it was worth maybe 8, but Boris didn't know metallurgy). "Take it as a gift. For 'Safety'."
Boris's eyes widened. He knew steel. This was a masterwork. He could sell this today and pay off his debt.
"Pass!" Boris shouted immediately, waving his men aside. "Let the Lord pass! Clear the way!"
Lara watched Rian with wide eyes as the sleds rolled through. "You just bribed a guard with a weapon?"
"No," Rian replied, looking ahead at the bustling market square. "I just bought a VIP ticket for the price of scrap metal."
The Market Square
Northgate's market was a sensory overload. The smell of spices, roasted meat, and horse manure filled the air.
Merchants yelled from colorful stalls. "Silks from the East!" "Spices from the Sand Lands!"
Rian ignored them. He wasn't here to sell on the street corner. He needed a Distributor.
"Where do we go?" Varg asked, glaring at a pickpocket who got too close.
"To the biggest shop," Rian pointed to a massive three-story building with a sign: [Golden Scale Trading Company].
They parked the sleds. Rian walked in, followed by Lara carrying a sample box.
The inside was luxurious. Velvet carpets, crystal chandeliers.
A fat merchant with rings on every finger sat behind a mahogany desk. Master Thaddeus.
Thaddeus glanced at Rian. He saw the clothes, the bearing. A noble. But an exiled one.
"We are not buying furs today," Thaddeus said dismissively, not looking up from his ledger. "The market is flooded."
"I'm not selling furs," Rian sat down uninvited. "I'm selling a cure."
Thaddeus looked up, annoyed. "A cure? I'm a merchant, not a hospital."
[Ding! Intel Check]
Target: Master Thaddeus.
Hidden Problem: He is wearing a high-collared shirt to hide a severe fungal rash on his neck. He has spent a fortune on clerics, but magic doesn't cure hygiene issues.
Rian placed a bar of Blackiron Soap on the polished desk.
It looked unremarkable. A yellowish block wrapped in paper.
"What is this? Cheese?" Thaddeus sneered.
"It is Solidified Hygiene," Rian said. "I see you are scratching your neck, Master Thaddeus. The clerics told you it's a curse? A humor imbalance?"
Thaddeus froze. "How did you know?"
"It's not a curse. It's just a persistent microscopic fungus," Rian pushed the soap forward. "Take this. Go to your washroom. Scrub your neck with warm water. If the itch doesn't stop in five minutes, I will give you my entire caravan for free."
Thaddeus stared at him. The itch was driving him mad. He had nothing to lose.
"Wait here," Thaddeus grabbed the soap and vanished into the back room.
Lara whispered nervously, "My Lord, are you sure? The soap kills lice, but fungus?"
"Lye kills everything, Lara," Rian whispered back. "Basic chemistry."
Five minutes passed.
The door burst open.
Thaddeus ran out. His collar was open. His neck was red from scrubbing, but the look of relief on his face was orgasmic.
"It stopped..." Thaddeus gasped, touching his skin. "The fire... it stopped burning."
He looked at the yellow block in his hand like it was the Holy Grail.
"What is this magic?"
"It's called Soap," Rian leaned back. "And I have 500 bars outside."
Thaddeus's merchant eyes instantly replaced his relief. He smelled profit. Massive profit.
"I'll buy them. All of them. 10 Copper Coins a bar."
Rian stood up. "Come, Lara. We are leaving. We will sell it to the Alchemist Guild across the street."
"Wait!" Thaddeus panicked. "20 Coppers!"
Rian stopped at the door. He turned around.
"50 Silver Coins per bar. And you sign an exclusive distribution contract."
"50 Silver?!" Thaddeus shrieked. "That's robbery!"
"No," Rian smiled, channeling every ruthless CEO from his past life. "That is the price of not itching."
End of Chapter 27