The less than a month spent in Cecil was the most incredible period in Scarface Anton’s life.
Born in a gutter in a border village of the Leslie territory in the southern borders, he grew up among vagrants and beggars, mingling with the lowest strata of society. He had stolen, lied, and worked hard. He fought countless brawls and was brutalized badly at tis. He had learned a few rudintary stealth skills from a blind, down-and-out rcenary but never beca a professional due to his limited talent. He once worked long as a thug but later beca an "upper-class man" in the sewers thanks to his brute strength and shadow manipulation ability — transforming into a rundown bar owner.
He prided himself on being well-versed with everything; whether it was the filth and decay at the bottom of society or the glitz and glamour of the aristocrats, he dared not say he had experienced it all but claid he had seen it — at least from afar.
Yet in this land, he realized his knowledge was ultimately shallow.
The rumbling machines, disciplined army, spirited residents, and efficient and orderly officials — everything here was so incredible.
And the training he received was equally unbelievable.
He rembered not long ago when he and his associates were brought to this incredible place by their old boss, being confined in a facility resembling a military camp. Everyone was anxious, wondering what the great aristocrat intended for such rats in the sewer, to lock them in a military camp — if not for the boss appearing, they might have backed out on the first day.
Then ca the intense training and... education.
Every day, different instructors ca to instill various skills and knowledge. High-intensity physical training was just the basics. They were taught how to use swords and so magical supplies — these lessons were taught by people who looked like Soldiers. In the afternoons, people who didn’t look like Soldiers, supposedly night school teachers, taught them reading, writing, and math, even so simple social etiquette.
These subjects were hard to learn, and most outright did not want to. They never thought they would need such knowledge. Literary skills were unnecessary for rats in the sewer — Scarface Anton initially thought so too, but in the end, everyone pushed on with determination.
Because if they didn’t learn, a nearly lethal punishing physical training awaited them.
Even more frightening was Amber personally supervising them — the boss lady’s authority stifled any rebellion.
Day and night training, constant learning, body conditioning, combat practice, using weapons, reading, and counting, Scarface Anton and his companions transitioned from utter misery to gradual adaptation in less than two weeks. Once adapted, they found the life wasn’t that bad — although the training was intense, the leader here ensured everyone had soup and bread every day. Regardless of how much they could eat after a day of training, Anton and his friends never went hungry.
There was soup, bread, eggs, and plenty to go around, along with new clothes, and warm dorms. One could say that benevolent leader provided everyone the best living conditions possible — simply asking them to train and learn by the set rules, which was a significantly fair trade compared to starving to death in freezing conditions.
Thus, Scarface Anton and his companions endured, striving to learn those skills and knowledge. Now those once good-for-nothings had learned to wash faces, hands, and bathe regularly, wore clothes properly, learned how to disguise identities and get along with people, and as for discerning intentions and relaying information during interactions...that was their forte.
Of course, training was far from over; their literacy skills and secretive operation knowledge were still amateurish, but after over two weeks of physical workouts and adequate nutrition, they at least seed like sothing— able to stand straight, walk steadily, and calmly feign identities as rchants, knight apprentices, Mage apprentices, and converse with others, enough to execute the first mission.
After the mission briefing, Amber allocated personnel actions and respective directions, then handed out identity docunts from Duke Gawain Cecil to each of them.
"With these proof docunts, you are entrusted by the duke to be respectable individuals conducting various works along the southern borders. You may enter and leave various towns without worrying about checks, but how you bring people back... that’s the test for you," Amber said casually from the stage, watching her subordinates excitedly flipping through the proof docunts they received, "You will get so operational funds, enough for you to use in purchasing fake proofs, forging hiring paperwork, bribing guards, and the like to get people from other aristocratic territories. But rember, I’ll check how much money you have left when you return—the more you have left, the higher the reward you’ll get, but for the ten who have the least remaining, I want you to run fifteen laps around Knight Street with a pumpkin on your head! During the busiest ti at noon! Got it?!"
Everyone replied in unison: "Got it!!"
Scarface Anton and the first batch of Military Security Intelligence Bureau trainees set off with the duke’s proof docunts, and anwhile, a large number of rchants carrying "Cecil alchemical potions" started moving throughout the southern borders. They were originally loose independent rchants, active everywhere and completely unorganized, but under Patrick’s relentless efforts, the rchants were bought, persuaded, lured by profit, and pressured by the duke’s prestigious na. They signed contracts sworn by surna, becoming external appendages of the Cecil Chamber of Comrce.
Soon, these rchants discovered that signing up for the chamber wasn’t as risky as they thought—Duke Cecil did not, like other nobles, just find excuses to exploit the rchants’ profits. He neither withheld goods nor made up excuses to charge exorbitant additional fees. Patrick, as the duke’s representative, thoroughly followed contract standards to provide ample and quality goods to each distributor and was fair in dividing profits, ensuring no mistakes down to the last copper coin—this truly was dreamlike brilliance.
Many mbers of the chamber were curious, curious about how these neatly packaged, stable quality, voluminous alchemical potions were produced. But this was obviously Duke Cecil’s secret. Smart rchants won’t attempt to probe into the great noble’s privacy. They remain curious but responsibly fulfill the rchants’ duties, focusing on how to use these potions to amass adequate profits.
The Cecil Chamber of Comrce specified the distribution price and profit-sharing thod for potions in the contract, and these terms cannot be altered freely. However, how to quickly sell the potions is sothing long-standing small-ti rchants are adept at contemplating.
In the centre of the southern borders at Viscount Carol’s territory, travelling rchant Bob placed three bottles of alchemical potions at the rcenary Guild’s counter as samples and began explaining the origin and effects of these potions to the guild manager he had dealt with several tis. Behind him were several rcenary warriors who had escorted him all the way from Kant territory to here.
A rchant running to the rcenary Guild to sell potions had caught people’s attention. The rcenaries waiting for business around the fireplace in the hall directed their glance towards the counter, which was exactly what Bob had hoped for—whether the manager before him showed interest in the potions, he had successfully drawn the attention of the rcenaries, which was his main goal.
"I’ve heard of these potions; they’re produced by that southern developnt territory, right?" the guild manager said, slightly frowning after listening to Bob, "It’s said to be slightly inferior to regular alchemical potions but with incredibly low prices... Can this stuff really be as good as you say?"
"You can ask the warrior next to ," Bob said, stepping aside as he pointed to one of the rcenaries who escorted him, "He’s used the potion."
"Old Gold Tooth, I can vouch for this stuff being top-notch!" The rcenary, who appeared at least a head taller than Bob, grinned, "Seen the new scar below my neck? Without this potion, you’d see my na engraved on the wooden plaque behind you right now!"
"Renting a counter to sell potions in the rcenary Guild... nobody’s ever done this before," the guild manager said, evidently trusting the rcenary he knew, but still sowhat apprehensive as he looked at the rchant, "You need to ensure stable supply and that the potion quality matches your claims—most rcenaries are quick-tempered, and I don’t want them wrecking your counter, forcing to find soone to scrape you off the ground and toss you out."
"rchants are all about credibility," Bob said, casually pulling out a supply contract from his coat and placing it on the counter, "Take a look for yourself, this is the docunt signed by Duke Cecil himself—surely you recognize this crest?"
With that, a deal was struck.
Watching as the guards he brought left after their commission balance was settled, Bob squinted his eyes. He seed to see nothing but walking silver coins throughout the rcenary Guild. He began to anticipate the day he would accumulate enough wealth to purchase his own shop in Carol territory and beco a settled rchant. According to Mr. Patrick’s promise, Cecil Chamber of Comrce would provide additional financial aid to any dealer planning to acquire retail space, and personnel would be sent to assist them as needed—Bob knew all too well that the personnel sent would really be the duke’s spies to watch over him, but what problem does that pose?
From the day Bob beca a mber of the Cecil Chamber, he knew he was managing the duke’s business, and he himself would beco part of the duke’s asset. And what noble wouldn’t send soone to oversee their property?
As long as there are genuine gold and silver coins, there’s nothing wrong with becoming a noble’s lapdog.
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