The Shadowteron Merchants
“It’s done! It’s done!”
Velkain’s fist clenched slowly, yet with iron strength.
It was the moment he received word of Aikulead’s recapture.
Even a man who had always pierced the battlefield with calm, cold clarity could not hold back this time; emotion burst free.
Beside him, Claw stared at Velkain in open surprise. Never before had he seen the ever-composed corps commander rejoice with such raw passion. The sight alone proved how vital this victory was to the Empire and to the North.
Velkain steadied his breath and asked, “Has the news reached the Imperial Palace as well?”
Claw answered at once. “The messenger stationed at Aikulead departed immediately, so… by now they should be fully aware of the situation.”
“I see.”
Velkain’s gaze swept slowly across the map. Helikel Canyon, Elbarphiel Lake, and Aikulead. The three points linked as if pierced by a single thrust, sketching the shape of an imperial hand stretching deep into the northern wastes.
He muttered low, “Now that the Imperial Family knows, they will dispatch support forces to the North. The next advance will drive upward with Helikel Canyon and Elbarphiel as its axis. Organize the reporting chain at once.”
“Understood. However, Commander…” Claw hesitated as he continued. “In connection with this, we must move supplies toward Aikulead with all haste… There is a merchant guild we have been in contact with for some time.”
“…What?”
Velkain’s head turned slowly. To push troops any farther north demanded supplies beyond ordinary imagination—weapons, armor, food, water. No other front in the Empire consumed materiel on the scale of the North. Ordinary quantities would not even warrant discussion.
Velkain asked, “Have you received a report on the scale of supplies already secured?”
“Enough to fully equip at least two divisions on the spot.”
“…”
Supplies for more than ten thousand men could not have been stockpiled without months of preparation. And to do so while the outcome of the Aikulead battle itself remained uncertain was nothing short of a gamble for any merchant house.
Velkain’s eyes narrowed to cold slits. “…Extraordinary.”
Admiration and suspicion mingled in his voice. A guild of that capacity ought to be famous even within the Empire. First they would have to hear the terms.
He nodded. “I will meet the responsible party myself.”
“In person, sir?”
“It is a matter that can exert considerable influence on the battles to come.”
Moreover, if they had prepared so thoroughly in advance, their demands might well prove excessive. Proper negotiation would be essential…
Then, as if something had just occurred to him, Velkain asked Claw, “What is the name of this merchant guild?”
Claw hesitated a moment before answering. “That is…”
At the name of a guild he had never once heard in his life, Velkain’s expression hardened.
Shadowteron Merchant Guild.
The name blended their former identity, Shadow Fang, with that of their benefactor, Arteon. When the guild was founded many names had been proposed, yet Lisiven had insisted on weaving Arteon’s into it. Her gratitude and respect for him ran deeper than anyone else’s.
She had cast aside a past of thievery and information brokering and begun a new life. In the guild’s earliest days, Arteon’s counsel had allowed them to accumulate capital with startling speed. Weapons purchased cheaply in the East and West fetched solid prices in the North. Following his advice, they had devoted the greatest care to the supply routes leading northward, and by selling at precisely the right moments they had turned handsome profits.
But…
“…”
Lisiven closed the mountain of ledgers and released a long, heavy sigh. As a stifling silence settled over the room, Keiton spoke quietly beside her.
“…Master, are you all right?”
Lisiven felt the wind slip past the window and stared blankly outward for a moment. Then, gaze still fixed, she asked softly, “How much capital does the guild have left…?”
“That is…”
Keiton’s voice trailed away. Everyone already knew. The reality was too frightening even to confirm with numbers. They had hired professionals and systematized operations, yet that alone could not resolve the present crisis. Of course the staff had tried to dissuade her before things reached this point.
…It was reckless.
Lisiven had charged straight ahead, trusting Arteon’s words. She had believed the stock would move as quickly as before. The result had been disastrous. Warehouses already overflowed with more goods than they could hold. Funds had hit rock bottom.
Keiton continued carefully. “If we fail to move these supplies properly… the entire guild could collapse.”
Lisiven closed her eyes heavily. She already knew it.
I pushed too far. This is entirely my fault.
Yet even as regret rose, her faith did not waver.
…Lord Arteon.
He had said the northern front would shift dramatically before long—that when the Empire advanced beyond the present line, vast quantities of supplies would be required. Because of those words Lisiven had steadily gathered intelligence on the northern war. But the information so far offered no guarantee of when that moment would arrive.
“Huu.”
Lisiven exhaled a long breath. The situation was undeniably grim.
“Still, I believe in Lord Arteon. We hold on for as long as we can.”
“…Understood.”
Keiton bowed his head heavily.
At that very moment—
“M-Master!”
The door burst open and a boy rushed in, breath heaving. It was Milo.
Keiton’s brow furrowed. “Milo! How many times have I told you to enter properly when you have business with the Master!”
Frustration sharpened his voice. Milo, undaunted, shouted with eyes wide.
“The… the army has contacted us!”
Lisiven shot to her feet, voice cracking sharp. “The army?!”
Milo swallowed hard and forced the words out. “But… a corps commander named Velkain… wants to meet the Master in person.”
The air froze. Lisiven’s expression stiffened; Keiton and Milo both fixed their eyes on her.
The Ogre of Benhard. The man now called the Iron-Blooded Corps Commander who directed the entire North. And yet that supreme commander…
“He wants to meet me himself?”
Milo nodded. In the face of the unbelievable, Lisiven’s thoughts tangled over what expression she ought to wear.
Between the cliffs of Aikulead the blizzard had finally eased. The cold still bit deep into bone, yet with the wind less fierce the place felt almost livable.
“This way! Move it over here!”
“Keep the left side straight! It’s about to collapse!”
Imperial soldiers had crossed to the far side of the canyon once held by the Kar Tribe and were racing to raise a base. Should the Kar return, even a minimal fortification had to stand ready first.
Among the bustling troops Arteon himself sweated as he heaved a boulder.
“Hup!”
Lifting a rock several times the size of his own head, he gritted his teeth and carried it toward the rising wall. When he set it down, Isaac approached.
“Does the hero of Aikulead need to do menial labor? We were excused from this work, you know.”
Arteon wiped sweat and grinned. “It needs doing quickly. And it’s training on the side… I’m fine.”
He lifted another stone and set it into place. Isaac smiled faintly, then wordlessly joined him in hauling rock.
“Sh-should we help a little too?”
“Well… better to move as training than stand around idle.”
Their example spread instantly through the special unit. Men who had watched from a distance soon took up shovels and pickaxes, smashing stone and shifting earth.
“…What?”
“Weren’t the special unit members exempt?”
When those excused from the labor worked harder than anyone, the regular soldiers threw themselves into the task with renewed vigor. Fatigue mounted, yet a strange solidarity began to knit the base together.
“…”
Lucael watched them in silence. Victory or not, the North left everyone cold and distant. The reason was simple: no one could know when the next battle would erupt, or who would fall. For men without a tomorrow, hope had no place.
Yet…
“He really is an unusual one, isn’t he?”
Isaac came up beside Lucael. Lucael nodded.
“So it seems.”
A faint shadow of concern lingered in his eyes. Isaac did not miss it.
“Is something wrong?”
Lucael hesitated, then spoke slowly. “…Captain Isaac.”
“Yes, Lord Lucael.”
Even though they held equal rank, Isaac still used the honorific. Lucael was already a living legend of the North; by pure ability he deserved a general’s rank. He had been sacrificed to central intrigue and northern corruption. Perhaps that was why he understood so well.
Lucael drew a deep breath and voiced the weighty matter. “This time I intend to keep Lieutenant Arteon as far from the light as possible.”
Isaac’s face hardened. “…What do you mean? Are you saying you’ll strip him of his merits?”
“Yes.”
Lucael nodded without hesitation. “I have already spoken to every other member of the unit. Knowing how highly you regard Lieutenant Arteon, I saved this conversation for last.”
Isaac’s eyes flashed sharp. “May I hear the reason?”
If the answer proved unacceptable, he was prepared to confront even Lucael. Arteon’s achievements stood clearer than anyone’s; erasing their worth was unthinkable.
Lucael met his gaze with grave seriousness. His voice was low, yet unyielding.
“Captain Isaac… can you believe that there exists a faction in the Imperial Center that wishes this northern war to continue…?”
“…What?”
Isaac’s pupils shook. A force that wanted the fighting in the North to drag on… what in the world did that mean?
And…
“It seems they have already begun to move.”
“They?”
“…”
As Lucael continued, Isaac’s expression grew grim and hard.