The staff at the Granchester Merchant Guild Headquarters noticed something unusual.
The President had returned.
That itself wasn’t news.
The President was always traveling in and out for half a month at a time—everyone was used to it.
But this time was different.
The President had someone with her.
A man wearing a mask.
The mask covered the upper half of his face, leaving only a sharp jawline and a pair of eerily calm eyes.
He wore a dark traveling outfit and walked half a step behind the President, his stride unhurried.
“Who’s that?”
The new apprentice craned his neck, holding a stack of papers as he peered curiously toward the stairs.
“No idea. Who dares to ask about someone the President brought back?”
The old clerk didn’t even look up, his typewriter clacking away.
The apprentice lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow.
“Could it be… you know, that kind of person for the President?”
The old clerk finally lifted his head.
“If you want to get sent to the border station to collect furs, keep talking.”
The apprentice wisely shut his mouth.
But the whispers couldn’t be stopped.
At lunchtime, the staff gathered in the break room, and the topic still circled back to the masked man.
“Did you hear? When the President came back, that man got off her carriage.”
“Really?”
“I saw it with my own eyes. The carriage stopped right at the private entrance in the back. The President got off first, then the man followed. They went into her private office together.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk…”
“What are you tsk-ing at? Have you ever seen the President give any man a second glance?”
That was true.
The President’s reputation in the business world included being “the toughest negotiator” aside from being the youngest female Chamber of Commerce President.
The noble sons of the Federation, even princes from neighboring countries, lined up to court her, and she never even gave them a proper look.
So when a woman like that brought back a mysterious man after a business trip and then led him into the Guild Headquarters—the gossip value of that was worth more than a year’s sales.
“Maybe he’s a hired bodyguard?”
“A bodyguard? When has the President ever needed a bodyguard? She doesn’t even bring guards.”
“True…”
“And the way that man walks doesn’t look like a bodyguard. Bodyguards usually walk in front of their employer.”
The group fell silent for a moment, then exchanged knowing glances.
No one dared to consider the “lover” angle.
Not that they didn’t want to—they just didn’t dare.
The President was ruthless at work and spotless in her personal life.
No one in the entire Guild had ever seen her get close to any man.
Suggesting she kept a lover was more absurd than claiming she’d give the Guild away.
But who was that masked man?
That question echoed through every corner of the Guild Headquarters, and no one had an answer.
—
That night, in a dark alley at one end of the city, a figure walked quickly along the wall.
His hood was pulled low, completely hiding his face—only a stubbled chin was visible.
He moved fast, each step steady, as if checking whether he was being followed.
At the end of the alley was an unremarkable iron door, its paint peeling to reveal rusty metal beneath.
He raised his hand and knocked three times, paused two seconds, then knocked twice.
A small window slid open on the iron door, revealing a single eye.
After the code was exchanged, the bolt scraped loudly in the silent alley, and the iron door creaked open a crack.
The hooded man slipped inside, and the door closed quickly behind him.
“Damn it!”
The hooded man threw back his hood, revealing a face in its forties—high cheekbones, sunken eyes, thin lips like a line.
He slammed his hand on the table, making the Magic Light sway.
“Why did that woman come back safe and sound?!”
A man sat across the table, wearing a Guild uniform with a bronze badge on his chest, looking like an ordinary middle manager.
But the hooded man knew that this person held more power than ten branch presidents combined.
“What’s the rush?”
The man’s voice was calm, as if talking about something unrelated to him.
“What’s the rush?”
The hooded man’s voice was low, but his anger was undiminished.
“What about the men you sent? Eight! Eight veterans! And they couldn’t handle one woman?”
“They failed.”
“Failed?”
The hooded man almost ground out the words.
“What the hell are your men good for? She didn’t even have a bodyguard! Eight against one, and she still came back alive?”
The man set down his glass and lifted his eyelids to look at the hooded man.
His gaze was neither cold nor warm, but the hooded man’s anger inexplicably deflated.
“My men,” the man said slowly, “each of them has been in the game for over ten years. Their work is clean and professional. They’ve never messed up.”
“Then what happened this time?”
“I don’t know.”
The man’s tone finally showed a hint of fluctuation.
“I looked into it. They struck on Grey Rock Ridge Path. That place is in the middle of nowhere, dead of night, not even a ghost around. It shouldn’t have gone wrong.”
“But it did go wrong.”
“Yes.”
The man nodded.
“Eight men, none of them came back.”
The hooded man’s expression changed.
He had thought it was just a failure—maybe they fled.
But all eight lost?
How the hell did that woman survive?
“The President definitely has someone protecting her.”
The man pushed his glass aside.
“And it’s not an ordinary person.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
The man stood up, turning his back to the hooded man.
“My men didn’t leave any survivors. That’s the rule. You know that.”
The hooded man knew all too well.
If a mission failed, they took their own lives—that was the rule for those men.
So he would never know what really happened that night.
“The President came back this time,” the man’s voice came from the shadows, “and she didn’t say anything on the surface. Didn’t even mention the attack.”
“That’s not normal.”
“It’s not normal.”
The man turned around.
“Someone who almost got killed comes back and goes about business as if nothing happened. Either she’s scared out of her mind, or…”
“Or what?”
“Or she’s already started.”
The hooded man was silent for a moment.
“You mean she already suspects us?”
“She suspected from the beginning.”
The man’s tone was flat.
“Only a few people in the Guild have access to the transport route maps. She’s not stupid.”
“Then what do we do?”
“What do we do?”
‘The man let out a laugh devoid of warmth.
“Let her investigate; we do what we do. She’s just a merchant. What can she do? Apply for military protection? Her last application was rejected. Those bureaucrats in the Federation won’t spend a single copper on a merchant’s life.”
The hooded man thought it over.
The reasoning seemed solid, and his anger subsided a bit.
“What about the shipment?”
“Smooth as silk.”
The man picked up a folded slip of paper from the table and twirled it between his fingers.
“The higher-ups are very satisfied.”
“The higher-ups?”
The hooded man’s eyes narrowed.
“Who exactly is receiving the goods?”
The man didn’t answer.
Instead, he held the paper close to the flame of the Magic Light.
The paper caught fire, quickly burning into a pile of ash that fell to the floor.
“Don’t ask about things you shouldn’t.”
The man dusted off his hands.
“All you need to know is that the higher-ups need a large quantity.”
The hooded man stared at the pile of ash and said nothing.
“And,” the man added with a cryptic curl of his lips, “the higher-ups are preparing a big move.”
“What kind of big move?”
“It involves our relationship with the Empire.”
The man walked to the wall, his back to the hooded man, his voice unreadable.
“It’s about a line… a line from the Federation to the Empire, and from the Empire to even farther places.”
“You’re crazy.”
The hooded man said in a low voice.
“All of you are crazy. If war really breaks out, how many people’s businesses will be ruined?”
“Ruined?”
The man turned his head, a cold fanaticism in his smile.
“When the old is ruined, something new takes its place. War is the biggest business there is. Don’t you know that?”
The hooded man said nothing more.
He pulled his hood back up, hiding his expression.
“Alright,” he said, his voice returning to calm.
“I can’t stay here long. Next time, don’t screw it up.”
“Don’t worry.”
The hooded man didn’t look back.
He pulled open the door and walked out.
The man stood where he was, staring at the unfinished glass of wine on the table.
The smile on his lips slowly faded, replaced by something ice-cold.
He looked down at the spot where the paper ash had touched his hand, and lightly brushed it off.
“Next time?” he muttered to himself, his voice so low only he could hear.
“…You think there’ll be a next time?”