Chapter 13: Recognition Achieved
Morning light filtered through my window as the notification appeared.
[QUEST COMPLETE: ESTABLISH FOOTHOLD]
[Recognition Achieved: Oxenfurt]
[- Merchant Class: 100%]
[- General Population: 95%]
[- Guard Corps: 89%]
[REWARDS UNLOCKED:]
[- Outpost Creation: AVAILABLE]
[- Guild Shop: Basic Inventory ACCESSIBLE]
[- Phase 1 Progression: 60%]
[+500 GP AWARDED]
[TOTAL GP: 5,347]
I sat up in bed, dismissing the golden text with a thought. Three months in this world. From sleeping in Gregor's stable to being recognized by an entire city.
"Now the real building begins."
The Guild Shop materialized when I focused on it—a translucent catalog hovering in my vision, pages I could flip through mentally. Items organized by category: consumables, equipment, skill manuals, miscellaneous.
[GUILD SHOP - BASIC INVENTORY]
Consumables:
- Minor Healing Potion (50 GP) - Restores 20% health over 10 minutes
- Energy Restoration Tonic (75 GP) - Restores 100 energy instantly
- Antidote (Common) (30 GP) - Cures basic poisons
Equipment:
- Enchanted Blade (Basic) (500 GP) - +10% damage, silver-equivalent
- Reinforced Armor (Basic) (400 GP) - +15% damage reduction
Skill Manuals:
- Advanced Combat Forms (300 GP) - Unlocks combat skill tree
- Mana Manipulation Basics (200 GP) - Foundation magical training
Miscellaneous:
- Guild Marker Stone (100 GP) - Required for outpost designation
- Communication Crystal (150 GP) - Paired messaging devices
"Everything costs GP or crowns. Usually both. The system wants me earning, not hoarding."
I purchased a Guild Marker Stone—the minimum requirement for establishing headquarters. The GP counter dropped to 5,247, and a smooth grey stone materialized in my palm. Warm to the touch, faintly glowing with inner light that only I could see.
"Now I just need a location."
The Crossed Swords was busy for mid-morning. Veterans and guards filled the tables, tankards clinking, voices raised in argument and laughter. Martha caught my eye from behind the bar and tilted her head toward a corner booth.
Occupied.
I wove through the crowd, noting the man waiting there. Expensive armor, well-maintained weapons, the kind of confident posture that came from knowing you could kill most people in any given room. Three large men stood behind him, making the corner feel cramped.
"Grevik. Captain of the Iron Wolves. Tom mentioned him."
"Finn Colen." Grevik didn't stand. Didn't offer his hand. Just gestured at the empty seat across from him. "Sit. Let's talk business."
I sat. My Danger Sense pulsed steadily—threat present, not immediate. These men were dangerous, but they weren't here to fight. Not yet.
"Business?"
"Oxenfurt's a good city. Wealthy. Lots of work for people in our... profession." Grevik smiled. His teeth were too white, too even. "But it's not unlimited work. And lately, someone's been taking contracts that used to come to my company."
"I take the contracts that are posted. Same as anyone."
"You take the small ones. The cheap ones. The community work that barely pays for supplies." His smile didn't waver. "Why would anyone do that? Unless they're trying to build something. Undercut the established players. Make themselves look good while making others look greedy."
"He's not stupid. That's exactly what I'm doing."
"I take the contracts I'm suited for. My guild is small. We handle small jobs."
"Your guild." Grevik leaned forward. "Three people. A tavern server, a crippled blacksmith, and a teenager who got lucky with some drowners. That's not a guild. That's a charity project."
The insult slid off. I'd been underestimated since the day I arrived in this world. It was almost comfortable by now.
"We do good work. Merchants prefer us for reliability. Guards like our thoroughness." I met his eyes directly. "If that's cutting into your business, maybe the problem isn't us."
The smile finally cracked. Something colder showed beneath.
"I'm being friendly, Colen. Professional courtesy between colleagues. But friendliness has limits." He stood, armor creaking. "Oxenfurt isn't big enough for two adventure guilds. Think about relocating. Somewhere smaller, where you won't be stepping on established toes."
"I'll consider it."
"Do that."
He left. His men followed. The corner booth suddenly felt much larger.
Martha appeared with two ales, set one in front of me. "Grevik's been running contracts here for eight years. Never had real competition before."
"I'm not trying to compete with him. I'm just—"
"Doing exactly what he said. Building something that makes him look bad by comparison." She sat in the seat Grevik had vacated. "I'm not criticizing. His company's gotten lazy, takes bad contracts, leaves messes for the guard to clean up. But he won't just let you take his business peacefully."
"I know."
"So what's your plan?"
"Same plan I've had from the beginning. Build, prepare, survive."
"Keep doing what we're doing. Take the jobs nobody else wants. Build reputation on reliability instead of intimidation." I drank the ale. Bitter, strong, exactly what the moment called for. "If Grevik wants a war, he'll have to start it. I won't give him an excuse."
Martha nodded slowly. "Smart. Boring, but smart."
"Boring keeps people alive."
Tom's Perspective
The kid had a spine. I'd give him that.
Word reached me within an hour—Grevik had tried the intimidation routine, and Finn had walked out without flinching. Half the veterans in the Crossed Swords were talking about it. A fifteen-year-old staring down the Iron Wolves' captain like they were discussing weather.
"Either brave or stupid. Jury's still out."
I found Mira at the tavern, organizing papers at a corner table. She'd taken to guild administration like she was born for it—tracking expenses, scheduling contracts, maintaining records. The Mana Awakening Manual sat beside her elbow, dog-eared from constant reference.
"Heard about Grevik," I said, settling across from her.
"Finn told me. We're not escalating."
"Smart. What's the counter-play?"
"You." She pushed a paper toward me. "List of contracts Grevik's company rejected in the past six months. Too small, too messy, not profitable enough. We take those specifically. Make it clear we're handling what he won't touch."
I scanned the list. Rat infestations. Minor hauntings. Bandit scouts too scattered to be worth chasing. The kind of work that didn't pay well but made communities grateful.
"This won't make us rich."
"It'll make us trusted. When people have a choice between the company that helps everyone and the company that only helps the wealthy..." She smiled. "Tom, who do they choose?"
"She's learning. The kid's teaching her, and she's learning fast."
"And Finn?"
"He's scouting locations. Says we need a headquarters—somewhere physical, permanent. He mentioned an abandoned warehouse by the docks."
"The haunted one?"
"Apparently." Her smile turned wry. "He says it's not actually haunted. Just has a wraith."
I stared at her for a long moment.
"That's the same thing."
"He seems to think there's a difference."
"Brave and stupid, then. Both."
Finn's Perspective
The warehouse loomed against the evening sky, three stories of weathered timber and cracked windows. River smell mixed with old rot. The dock it sat on had been abandoned for years, the property owner unable to sell or rent thanks to the "haunting" that killed his last two tenants.
My Scanner painted the building in assessment text.
[LOCATION SCAN: RIVERSIDE WAREHOUSE]
Structural Integrity: 72% (repairable)
Size: Approximately 3,000 square feet across 3 floors
Supernatural Presence: CONFIRMED
- Entity Type: Wraith (Minor)
- Location: Third floor, northwestern corner
- Threat Level: Moderate
Current Market Value: 40 crowns (reduced due to haunting)
Potential Value (cleared): 180 crowns
"Clear the wraith, buy the building cheap, establish headquarters. Simple."
Simple didn't mean easy. Wraiths were nastier than drowners—incorporeal, resistant to normal weapons, capable of draining life force with a touch. Silver weapons worked. Fire sometimes worked. Magical attacks definitely worked.
"Mira's been practicing. Her light magic might actually be useful against something that hates illumination."
I walked the perimeter, noting entry points. Main door facing the street, side door by the collapsed loading crane, rear entrance opening onto the river itself. Windows on all floors, most broken. Multiple ways in, multiple ways out.
"Good for escape. Bad for controlling the engagement."
I'd learned my lesson in the sewers. Preparation mattered more than raw power. Against the drowner alpha, my planning had barely been enough. Against a wraith, I needed Mira's magic and a better understanding of the terrain.
The property owner found me the next morning—a nervous merchant named Aldric who'd inherited the building from his uncle.
"You're serious about buying it?"
"I'm serious about clearing it. Then buying it."
"Nobody's cleared it. Three priests tried. Two exorcists. A witcher even looked at it once, said the payment wasn't worth the trouble."
"A witcher turned it down? That's... not encouraging."
"What's your price if I succeed?"
"Forty crowns. That's final." He wrung his hands, clearly expecting negotiation. "The building's solid—just needs repair. Prime location, good dock access. If it weren't for the... the problem... it'd be worth four times that."
"Forty crowns. Deal."
His eyes widened. "You haven't even tried yet."
"I'll succeed. Have the papers ready."
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