Vacation in 1.2 Seconds
As Suhyun lounged in his manor in Chromore, a report drafted by Thomas on the estate's computer registered and transmitted instantly. In Daiyen's office aboard Nautilus, she could read it right away on her own screen. Even though Chromore was close, reports usually took a full day to arrive—but this one showed up in under an hour. Daiyen's face lit up with satisfaction as she opened it.
Skimming the lists of damage and injuries from the raid, along with the captured spoils, Daiyen entered the losses and gains into her ledger on the computer. Losses included wagons and timber pierced by enemy arrows, plus minor injuries to the reformed gang members. Gains were the prisoners taken and the weapons seized.
"So convenient," Daiyen murmured, smiling at the ease of Excel's instant calculations. Thanks to the lord's foolish blunder, they'd squeeze even more compensation out of Chromore—and per their contract, that payout would go straight to the Nautilus trading company. As she tallied the supplies Chromore would need and the projected net profit, a knock echoed at the office door. Morian slipped in.
"Looking for you, sis." Morian shrugged off the shadow panther cloak Suhyun had gifted her, then pulled a bundle of papers and a letter from her bosom, setting them on the desk.
Criminal assets went to the captor by law, but tracking them down depended on skill. If a crook carried everything when caught, fine—but their rat-like habits meant stashing loot everywhere. The black mage they'd nabbed before had social status, making it easy. This merchant informant, though? He'd piled up wealth under false names in the shadows, so finding it was tricky—until Morian volunteered.
Having made pickpocketing her trade, with burglary as a side gig, Morian knew the back-alley haunts where thugs hid their treasures. They all picked the same stupid spots, thinking themselves clever. And with her shadow magic, she sensed dark corners around her. Even a perfectly concealed hidey-hole in a nook? She felt the shadows, spotting voids effortlessly.
No matter the lock's complexity, the inside brimmed with shadows—and non-magical ones were child's play to her. She'd materialize shadow into a key, pop it open, and claim the goods. A thief mage through and through.
Hearing Morian's tale, Daiyen thought she should swap all her locks for magic tools—while praising the girl's talent. "The ledger and that letter you mentioned, sis."
"Predictable—these types always leave insurance." The ledger logged funds the informant received, and exchanged letters proved Daiyen knew his game. She praised Morian again. "Ten percent of the seized haul, as promised."
"Yesss! Enough for polar bear claws!" Even at ten percent, the stash from this lord-backed, mage-swayed thug who'd swept Chromore's alleys was hefty. Daiyen couldn't fathom blowing it all on bear claws, but she just congratulated her.
Funds Received: [Substantial Sum]
Exchanged Letters: Evidence of Collusion
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With the informant and his butler nabbed, cleanup proceeded smoothly. Bribed guards couldn't lift a finger this time.
"Grrrr!" The guard captain's face flushed crimson with rage, everyone watching.
Bribery for minor releases had been routine—but now, trying it meant losing your head. Even the dimmest grunt knew that.
"Tsk tsk, why so mad? Lazy watchdogs let rats gnaw the granary grain?" Lutisat, long-time local elite, knew the captain well. And with Terramit tangled in this mess, he'd come calling. The captain's face burned hotter.
"These bastards!" In a small fief, trusted vassals juggled roles. The captain handled more than guards—and learning a bastard from the next territory had trashed everything in his absence fueled white-hot fury.
"Here's the ledgers and letters we obtained. Isn't nabbing fief criminals your job?" Daiyen had passed them officially via Terramit. The captain's eyes turned murderous. He'd kill at least one, per the contents.
"I'll handle it decisively."
"Better late than never, right?"
"You here to mock me?!"
The captain yelled at Lutisat's teasing, who chuckled. "Time to train a successor. Hogging it all? Your men slack the second you're busy."
"Tch! These kids got no backbone! How can I trust 'em?!"
To Lutisat—grandpa-age to the captain, knight-realm ageless—the man was "kids" too, but he agreed. Still kicking at near-fifty? Pitiful. He'd come because his own underling screwed up.
These kids... Lutisat muttered inwardly, then said, "Get burned once, block it twice next time."
"Damn it, busier than ever. How to raise an heir?"
The captain wailed. Lutisat offered, "I'll help this time."
"You, Lutisat?" The research-excusing, non-interference-preaching mage volunteering? Captain eyed him suspiciously.
Terramit was his man, like the guards under captain. Guilt for dodging it alone made Lutisat aid his old protégé. Unsayable, he scowled. "What, complain about help? Should I go?"
"N-no, grateful! But... how'll you help?"
"We'll see." Lutisat planned to downplay Terramit's role—and spare paperwork hell at his age. He silently thanked seniors who'd covered his messes.
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Daiyen rewarded her deployed reformed gang with bonuses and vacations. Three silver coins—mercenary wage equivalent—plus a 1-night, 2-day pass usable anytime. They wept with joy.
Post-Nautilus drag-in, days blurred: training, labor, sleep only respite—and exhaustion made mornings instant. Reveille horns brought tears. Suhyun's regimen was brutal, but residents' work requests felt blissful by comparison. Healthy bodies endured harder drills, spiraling strength.
"Labor beats training!" To swap, they needed resident requests—and curried favor fiercely. "Better dung than death," they figured—even mucking stables beat Suhyun-hell. They obeyed eagerly; some became de facto retainers.
"Sawing like a pro now."
"Heh, thanks—learned tons."
'Blood-Soaked John' of alleys groveled to a weaker carpenter, measuring and sawing humbly. Beside him, 'Blood-Club Jack'—man-killer—hauled timber. Northern muscle let him heft logs solo; fastest intel in the gang.
"John, hear? Raiders got three silvers and vacation slips."
"Vacation slip?"
"Two days free outtime."
"Outtime? We're out now."
Sawing rot-posts in Chromore with a carpenter, John spoke. Jack shook head. "Work outing. Theirs: pure freedom."
"What? For real?"
John echoed "freedom" disbelievingly, sawing on. A familiar face appeared.
"Hey? Tom!"
"Yo, John—working hard?"
Tom, in crispest gang garb, grinned. Brightest since Nautilus; John's eyes burned jealous. Tom preened, flashing three silvers.
"Heh, raid bonus: three whole silvers."
"Damn, should've joined!" John's envy boiled. Tom cackled.
"Nah, you're too weak."
"What?! Next spar, you're mine!"
"Yeah, candy-ass beatdown!"
Suhyun-trainees aped his slang—like modern Korean bros.
"Today-tomorrow: three silvers for beer and girls."
Pre-gang life: booze, hookers routine. Now? Nada. No idle time even. Strolling leisurely, plotting spends? Luxury.
John, Jack eyed Tom's retreating back enviously—unthinkable pre-brag.
"Ugh, jealous."
"Me too—want vacation."
Half Daiyen's vacations activated next day. Printer-and-barcode vacation slips—yellow cheap paper, blanks for name/dates, barcode back—became holy grails.
Most thriftily Nautilus-slept, bragging exploits to envious holdouts. Booze, girls, feasts—enough to drive others mad.
Daiyen, hearing reports: "Hmm, as expected?"
"Yes—carrot works great."
Jack—lightest crimes—gang whisperer, mood-reporter, reward-raker.
Suhyun's brutality? Daiyen's design. Carrot-and-stick mastery minimized costs. Labor-as-escape? Her ploy. Vacations: test-run, Suhyun-persuaded.
"Tell 'em: behave out—or no more slips."
"Got it."
Scrap-planned cannon-fodder? Proven useful; Daiyen upped budget slightly. Whip-alone kills morale—dangle carrots. Tom's vacation? High ROI. Two days-plus-three silvers for mana-merc power? Bargain scream.
"Hmm, more reformed gang? Snag some prisoners?"
Thugs-to-labor/fighters? Win-win: residents happy sans scum, we gain hands. Thugs' thoughts? Irrelevant. Rare all-win; Daiyen pulled up a form, drafting expansion.