A week had passed since the completion of Valhalla.
In these seven days, the entire Twilight Forest had been an uncharacteristic hub of activity—especially with the influx of a thousand refugees. For these displaced souls, nothing could have prepared them for the treatment they were about to receive. Though they had been commoners before, never reduced to slavery, they had seen enough slaves to imagine the bleak future that awaited them. In fact, before entering Twilight Forest, every last one of them had resigned themselves to the fate of living in squalid, ramshackle huts, barely scraping by on meager rations. Even so, they harbored no resentment. Weeks of fleeing from war and famine had drained their spirits; all they desired now was a safe, peaceful place to call home. No matter how harsh the conditions, they would have endured it without complaint.
Thus, when the refugees laid eyes on the City of Heroes and its magnificent buildings, they could scarcely believe their own eyes. Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined that they would one day reside in such a beautiful city—or that they would be granted houses of their very own.
Of course, these people were still technically slaves, and Blake had no intention of granting them the same privileges as the original residents of Twilight Town. Unlike the townsfolk, the refugees were bound by far stricter terms. They were required to work for Blake unconditionally for a full three years. During this period, each refugee's workload and performance would be graded into three tiers, with monthly evaluations to determine their standing. Those who earned an **excellent** rating would receive a modest salary for their labor, and upon completing their three-year term, they would be freed from slavery and restored to the status of commoners. Those with an **average** rating would have their service extended to five years, with no pay—only free food and basic supplies provided during their tenure. As for those deemed **poor performers**, they would be expelled from Valhalla with no mercy.
This carrot-and-stick policy instantly ignited the refugees' motivation. No one wished to remain a slave for life. Thus, the moment they moved into the city, they set about finding work, determined to earn their freedom through hard labor and regain their status as free citizens as soon as possible.
Naturally, Blake had spared no expense or effort to make this happen. After all, a thousand refugees meant a thousand mouths to feed—not to mention the logistical nightmare of securing housing, grain, and supplies. Though he had purchased enough provisions to last six months through Keith's Neverwinter Hand Trading Company, it was only a temporary solution. Blake's coffers were already running dry; the profits from the Golden Trade Route would not arrive until the following month. In just one short week, he had depleted nearly all his remaining funds—buying food, medicine, and materials, establishing a quarry, clearing wastelands, and breaking ground on farmland. Stone was the foundation of any city's development, and while he lacked the facilities and capital to prospect for minerals, quarrying stone could begin immediately.
Meanwhile, in the study, Keith sat with a faint smile playing on his gaunt, angular face.
"That comes to a total of thirty-five thousand gold coins, my lord," he announced.
Blake set down the documents in his hand, laced his fingers together, and regarded the tall, thin merchant with an amused expression. Their week of collaboration had laid bare the true nature of the man before him. It was plain to see that Caster's recommendation had been an excellent one—Keith was not only highly competent but also possessed an unshakable work ethic. Though his trade was in slaves, the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company was by no means a specialized slave-trading operation. For them, slaves were merely one commodity among many, which meant they did not engage in the same ruthless exploitation as other slaver guilds. It was precisely for this reason that Blake had hatched a plan.
"I appreciate your hard work, Guildmaster Keith," Blake said, snapping his fingers.
At the signal, Charlotte—who had been standing silently by the side—stepped forward and poured Keith a glass of sweet, chilled fruit wine. The merchant took the glass with a broad grin, his eyes sparkling with delight.
How could he not be pleased? This single transaction with Blake had not only wiped out the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company's crippling debts but also brought in substantial profits from the additional supplies and provisions Blake had purchased through him. The company was finally on the road to recovery, and Keith could not have been happier. He had feared that this venture would spell the end of his livelihood, yet here he was, saved by a stroke of luck and the generosity of this young lord. At times, he would wake up in the middle of the night, still pinching himself to make sure it was not a dream, then hurry to his desk to reread the contract he had signed with Blake, reassured by the tangible proof before him.
"The pleasure is mine, my lord. It is my duty to serve you. If there is ever anything else we can do for you in the future, please do not hesitate to ask. The Neverwinter Hand Trading Company will be honored to assist you in any way we can!"
"Excellent," Blake replied, his eyes narrowing into a warm, elegant smile.
To Keith, however, that smile sent a chill down his spine. In that instant, something about the young lord seemed to shift. Keith frowned, trying to pinpoint what had changed—but before he could make sense of it, Blake spoke again.
"Guildmaster Keith—what do you think of my territory?"
"Well... it is truly extraordinary, my lord," Keith answered without hesitation, and he meant every word of it. As a merchant who had traveled far and wide, he had seen his fair share of cities—yet none could hold a candle to the City of Heroes. By the grace of the saints, he had never beheld a city so beautiful, so majestic, so awe-inspiring. What puzzled him most, however, was the city's origins. Though he had never visited Twilight Forest himself, he was familiar with the rumors surrounding the area, and he knew full well that a humble village had once stood in Valhalla's place. How had it been transformed into such a marvel in the blink of an eye? A city of this caliber would normally take years of planning, design, and construction. Why had he heard no whispers of it until now?
"Frankly speaking, I have never seen a city as magnificent as Valhalla," Keith continued, pausing cautiously. "I daresay only the Moonlit City of the Dark Elves could rival its beauty..." He trailed off, itching to ask Blake how the city had been built, yet knowing better than to pry. As a seasoned merchant, Keith understood that nobles—especially young lords as enigmatic as this one—guarded their secrets fiercely. While there were many rumors circulating about Blake, only a few facts were confirmed: he was born into a declining aristocratic family, his parents were deceased, he possessed the strength of a High-Rank Swordsman, and a member of the royal family accompanied him. All other information was vague and unsubstantiated. Keith had made inquiries into the young lord's background, to no avail—but one thing he was certain of: Blake's power and wealth were not to be underestimated. Building a city like Valhalla was a Herculean task, and keeping it a secret until completion was even more so. Such a feat would require not only immense resources but also a formidable backing force.
"I thank you for your kind words, Mr. Keith," Blake said with a chuckle, spreading his hands in a gesture of modesty. "Indeed, I believe Valhalla is a city worthy of pride and admiration."
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharpening slightly.
"But as I'm sure you've noticed, the city is still in its infancy—many things are far from perfect. Take commerce, for example. While we have no shortage of residents, we lack established, reputable merchant guilds to set up shop here. It is a regrettable oversight, to say the least."
"Does your lordship mean... you wish for the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company to establish a branch here?" Keith asked, his voice rising with excitement. He could scarcely believe his ears! Valhalla was a brand-new city, with no other merchant guilds vying for a foothold. If he could secure the young lord's invitation to set up shop here, the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company would be the **first and only** guild in the city! Though Twilight Forest's location was not ideal for trade, Keith was confident that with his connections and business acumen, he could turn the guild's branch into a roaring success.
"No, no—you misunderstand me, Mr. Keith," Blake said, waving a hand to cut him off, much to Keith's surprise.
"It is true that I wish to invite the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company to settle in Valhalla—but I believe our visions for this partnership differ somewhat. Let me be blunt, Mr. Keith. I wish to **acquire** the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company. What do you think?"
"Pardon?"
Keith froze, his eyes widening in shock.
"You... you wish to acquire the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company?"
"That is correct," Blake nodded calmly.
"I will entrust all of the territory's resources and produce to your guild for processing and sale. I will even grant you **exclusive rights** to conduct business in Valhalla, with extremely favorable terms. In return, I require **absolute control and ownership** of the guild—including all profits, of course."
"But..." Keith faltered, finding himself in a dilemma. It was hardly surprising—after all, the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company was his life's work. Though it had recently teetered on the brink of collapse, it had finally weathered the storm. Keith's greatest ambition was to see his guild thrive and grow. While Blake's offer promised a monopoly on trade in Valhalla, the city was still a fledgling settlement. It would take years to build a self-sustaining trade network, and the resources and goods Blake spoke of were still in their early stages of development—profits were a long way off. Keith finally saw through the young lord's scheme: Blake was simply too lazy to manage the guild himself, so he wanted to absorb the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company outright, letting them handle all the tedious logistics and sales channels. It galled him to think that someone could take over his life's work with a few simple words.
Keith wanted to refuse—yet the words stuck in his throat. On the one hand, Blake's offer only demanded **nominal control** of the guild; the day-to-day operations would still be his responsibility. The terms were far more generous than any he could have hoped for, and turning them down would be foolish. On the other hand, agreeing to the acquisition would tie the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company's fate irrevocably to this young High-Rank Swordsman. Having a powerful patron was essential for any merchant guild—and the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company had suffered heavy losses precisely because it had angered a formidable rival with no one to defend it. In the past, Keith had never considered the importance of political backing—but now, he could not afford to ignore it. If he agreed to the acquisition, he would have the clout to operate unimpeded in the territories controlled by the Byrd family. Yet, if he accepted too readily, would he not be selling himself short?
"Mr. Keith, I understand this is a difficult decision for you," a soft voice interjected suddenly.
Ophelia—who had been sitting silently by the window—rose to her feet, her expression sympathetic.
"After all, this decision affects not just you, but every member of your guild... I suggest you do not give us an answer right away. Go back and discuss it with your colleagues first. Then, when you have reached a consensus, you may give us your response. Does that sound reasonable?"
"Oh—yes, of course! That is precisely what I was thinking," Keith exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief. He broke into a grateful smile, rising to his feet in a hurry.
"In that case, I take my leave. I will give you both my answer within a few days."
With that, Keith wasted no time in bowing to the two of them, then turned on his heel and fled the room as if escaping from a trap.
"He will agree," Blake said, only after the study door had clicked shut behind Keith.
"He will," Ophelia nodded in agreement, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Though I must admit, my lord—I never expected you to come up with such a lazy solution..."
"I merely refined your proposal, Lady Ophelia," Blake shrugged, feigning innocence. "Please do not make me sound like a robber..."
"My original suggestion was to **cooperate** with the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company, not to acquire it," Ophelia retorted dryly.
"We must look beyond appearances, Lady Ophelia," Blake countered with a grin. "In fact, given the current circumstances, is this not still a form of cooperation between us and the Neverwinter Hand Trading Company?"
"I beg to differ..." Ophelia sighed, rolling her eyes at his blatant sophistry. She had long since given up on winning arguments with the young lord. Shaking her head, she changed the subject.
"Speaking of which—how are Miss Messiah and Miss Semia? We have not seen them in days. I cannot help but worry."
Ever since returning to Twilight Forest, the twin sisters had been nowhere to be seen. Even their daily "endurance training sessions" with Ophelia had been put on hold indefinitely. While Ophelia was secretly relieved to no longer be teetering on the brink of life and death during those sessions, she was genuinely concerned about the girls' sudden disappearance.
"You have no need to worry," Blake said, his gaze softening as he looked at Ophelia. A flicker of sadness crossed his eyes, but it was gone in an instant, masked by a reassuring smile. "They are well—there is nothing to fret about. I imagine they will emerge from their seclusion in a few days' time."
"I hope so," Ophelia replied, unaware of the subtle change in his tone. She glanced out the window at the scenery, nodded, then turned back to her desk and resumed sorting through her documents.
A cool breeze drifted through the open window, carrying with it a hint of autumn chill. The white curtains fluttered gently in the wind, rustling softly. Blake rose to his feet, closing the door quietly behind him, then his gaze fell on the large wooden bed in the center of the room.
On the bed's crimson velvet sheets, two petite figures lay hand in hand, lost in a deep sleep—or so it seemed. A closer look would reveal their blue lips and deathly pale faces, telling a far more harrowing tale. In fact, if not for their wide-open eyes, one might have mistaken them for corpses.
"You have both worked so hard," Blake murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed and brushing a strand of hair from each girl's face.
Even then, the twins did not stir. They lay motionless, like two fragile dolls, unable to respond to any external stimuli. While their condition was clearly dire, Blake seemed strangely accustomed to it. He continued to stroke their hair gently, until after a long moment, the girls finally opened their eyes and fixed their gaze on him.
"How are you feeling?" Blake asked softly.
"No need to worry, Brother," one of them whispered, her voice weak and ethereal.
"No need to worry, Father," the other echoed.
"Just the backlash we anticipated," the first said.
"Within acceptable limits," the second added.
They struggled to turn their heads, locking eyes with each other and breaking into bright, radiant smiles.
"Because it was Brother's order," the first said.
"Because it was Father's command," the second chimed in.
"Messiah is happy," the first whispered.
"Semia is glad," the second echoed.
"Brother..."
"Father..."
"Did we... did we prove useful to you?" they asked in unison, their voices trembling with hope.
"Of course you did," Blake replied, a warm smile spreading across his face as he nodded. "You have helped me more than you can ever know. Thank you, Messiah. Thank you, Semia."
"Huhu..."
"Hehe..."
At his words, the twins seemed to relax completely. They closed their eyes, savoring the warmth of his hand as it brushed their cheeks.
"Ophelia is worried about you both," Blake said softly. "Please recover soon... How much longer will it take?"
"Given the current situation..." the first began.
"About three to five days," the second finished.
"Because we stayed away from Brother for too long," the first murmured.
"We failed to keep our promise," the second added, her voice tinged with regret.
"The backlash is far worse than before," the first said.
"But Father does not need to worry about us," the second reassured him, her eyes shining with unwavering devotion.
"Because we are..."
"Father's..."
Their voices trailed off suddenly, growing fainter and fainter. The light faded from their eyes, and they slowly closed their lids, swallowing the rest of their sentence unspoken.
Then, once again, they fell silent, lapsing back into their motionless, death-like slumber.