At dusk, the tavern of the Ashcovered Inn showed only a modest bustle. Men returning from the mines gripped cups of ale with hands still stained by coal dust they couldn't quite wash away. A lone farmer sat at a corner table, methodically tearing bread in silence. Behind the counter, Maren, the inn's proprietor, poured liquor from a barrel. A woman in her sixties, and by her taciturn nature, Valdo had spent three years becoming certain she was the most tight-lipped in Golda. She said nothing unnecessary. But she saw what needed to be seen. Valdo sat in a corner seat. Soana sat across from him. Her dark purple hair drank in the candlelight, appearing as a dull red. A thin scar on her left cheek fell just into shadow. That stubborn gaze—the same one she'd worn three days ago in an alley facing three soldiers—hadn't changed. Only tonight it was different somehow—as if listening intently, trying to read the entire atmosphere of the tavern. Since Valdo began teaching her the fundamentals of swordcraft, Soana had been changing, bit by bit. Her instinct to move through force remained unchanged, but her eye for reading her surroundings had grown sharper. The two of them were gathering information. About a man named Dreik, Golda's tax collector. A man in his forties who also served as director of the mining office—a bureaucrat sent from the Felzesta Kingdom. Everyone in the city frowned when asked about him. Taxes to the kingdom were paid, but the whisper that extra coin found its way into Dreik's pockets drifted through conversations in tavern corners. Drifted—too dangerous to speak aloud, so it never grew beyond that. Valdo had noticed it a week ago. While working as a porter, moving in and out of the mining office, he'd sensed the ledgers didn't align. A subtle discrepancy between the quantity transported out and the quantity officially recorded. A person skilled with numbers would notice. But no one could point it out. With the kingdom behind Dreik and the Orgrim Agency—Felzesta's intelligence apparatus—with its denunciation system in place, noticing and staying silent was the wise choice. Valdo had not stayed silent. But he had not spoken aloud. The tavern door opened after the sun had completely set. The man who entered was unfamiliar. Long boots dusted from travel, a jacket bearing the kingdom's crest. A messenger, Valdo understood immediately. He carried not cargo but a cylinder—a metal tube for holding proclamations. The tavern's atmosphere changed. The air of tired people simply drinking, which had filled the space moments before, transformed into something else entirely in an instant. People looked up, then quickly down. It was Golda's particular response to a messenger's arrival. The man placed the cylinder on the counter and removed its cap. "[serious]By the name of Hero Elios, I read the revised proclamation on the Hero's Tax Levy." No one spoke. The tavern fell silent. Even the farmer's bread-tearing ceased. "In agricultural villages, henceforth sixty percent of each harvest shall be paid as tax. Any village with unpaid amounts confirmed within two months shall be deemed to harbor intent of rebellion, and Felzesta forces shall mobilize. That concludes the reading." It took less than ten seconds to read. The messenger closed the cylinder, turned on his heel, and left. The door closed. No one moved. Sixty percent. Valdo let it settle quietly in his chest. What had been fifty percent was now sixty. What remained in the farmers' hands was forty percent. Subtract seed grain and subsistence, and there was virtually nothing left to actually use. Two months was also short. It was the time when autumn harvest was barely finishing—they were being told to pay the full amount within two months. A man at the next table began to say something. He opened his mouth. Then closed it. That was all. Another man sitting beside him shifted his body slightly. He angled his chair—moving just a little away from his neighbor. The denunciation reward system. No one knew who might be the agency's ear. The discontent spoken by the neighbor might be reported to the agency by tomorrow. So people gradually took distance from one another. Instead of raising their voices, they angled their chairs. That was what hurt most, Valdo thought. More than angry shouts, more than weeping—this quiet way of taking distance. Soana's hand gripped the edge of the table. Valdo saw it. Her knuckles whitened with force. Her chair lifted slightly—she was trying to stand. Valdo grabbed Soana's sleeve. Without sound or words, he simply pulled her back. Soana turned. In her eyes was something about to burst. Valdo shook his head. Once. Soana bit her lip and returned to her chair. --- When they left the tavern, the autumn night air struck their faces. The stone-paved alley was dark, and wind coming from the Selva Mountains rolled fallen leaves along the ground. After walking a short distance along the inn's wall, Soana stopped. "[angry]Why did you stop me?" Her voice was controlled, but its contents were not. "Sixty percent. What's left for those people? No one said anything. If we don't speak up there, it stays like this forever." Valdo leaned his back against the wall. His eyes turned to the night alley. No one passed through. "[serious]You saw yourself what happens to people who speak up." Soana fell silent. Valdo had heard the story of her father's beheading. A farmer who protested the tax collector's unjust levies was executed under the name of "rebellion." Her mother was taken away, and her whereabouts remained unknown. Soana had been there. That's why she now carried eyes that swore vengeance. Those eyes wavered slightly tonight. "If you move on emotion, the agency will take notice." Valdo continued. "If you're caught, everything ends. Even if you speak up, by tomorrow someone will report you to the agency, and you'll disappear. If that happens, the person you wanted to take revenge on won't be troubled at all." Soana didn't answer. She pressed her hand against the wall, silent as if feeling the stone's coldness. "I don't move by brute force." Valdo's voice didn't change. No emotional fluctuation. But each word carried three years of weight. "I gather information. I create evidence. I construct a situation where the opponent can't escape, then I collapse it. That's my way." He had never said this before. For three years, Valdo had never shown anyone the outline of his plan. He gathered information alone, thought alone, constructed his next moves alone. He'd believed that was safest. But tonight, speaking to this woman who held anger and was about to rush forward recklessly, he put it into words for the first time. Soana was silent for a while. "...So how long will it take?" The anger was still there. But it had receded slightly. "[serious]I don't know. But it will take far longer than if you stood up in that tavern tonight." "You expect me to accept an answer like that?" "[serious]You don't have to accept it. Just don't move tonight." Wind swept through the alley. Candlelight leaked from the inn's windows. Soana lowered her eyes and exhaled deeply once. Not acceptance. But Valdo understood that she had sensed something in the calm of this man who had survived three years in this city. --- From the next morning, the two began to move. The work of pursuing Dreik's corruption was mundane and time-consuming. No flashy movements. Only observation. Memory. Cross-referencing numbers. Valdo continued his porter work while observing the mining office's surroundings. The times Dreik came and went, the quantity of cargo leaving the office, the faces of the merchants receiving it. The numbers written in official collection records didn't match the actual quantity being transported—more metal than recorded was being loaded onto carts heading to Dreik's residence. The difference went straight into Dreik's private coffers. Soana approached the market merchants. Honestly, it was a rough method. She approached directly and asked bluntly. Did they know any merchants who'd received favors from Dreik? Had they ever paid him money under the table? She was often refused. But there was something in Soana's eyes that deception couldn't pass through. An earnestness so intense it sealed the other's excuses. Merchants carrying resentment toward the kingdom, who simply had no place to speak, gradually told her things. Only merchants designated by Dreik could secure contracts. From those merchants, "gifts" were regularly delivered to Dreik's residence. Sometimes gold coins, sometimes fine liquor. On the second night, the two returned to the inn and cross-referenced their information. "A cloth merchant named Garin from the market testified. He gave Dreik eight gold coins in exchange for exclusive rights to the kingdom's supply contracts." Maps and papers with numbers spread across the table. Valdo studied them, then tapped a point with his fingertip. "[serious]Is eight coins just this year, or cumulative?" "...I didn't ask." "[serious]Confirm it tomorrow. If cumulative, we need the dates. If we know when it started, we can cross-reference it with when Dreik was assigned here." Soana wrote something on the paper. "You, managing to notice such details while working as a porter—that's something." The words held no particular emotion. But a hint of genuine surprise mixed in. Valdo didn't answer. He simply moved his gaze to the next set of numbers. Night after night, the two brought information together. Valdo pointed out contradictions, Soana went to confirm the next day. Soana gathered testimony, Valdo organized it and narrowed down which parts could serve as evidence. Their movements began to mesh. Trust was still too heavy a word. But a sense that this partner was usable began to quietly take root between them. --- On the third evening, Valdo waited near Dreik's residence. The residence was nothing grand. A stone house wider than typical for Golda, with a decorative plaque bearing the kingdom's crest on its gate. Valdo entered an alley across the street and leaned against the wall to wait. With cargo on his shoulders, he looked like just another man heading home from work. As the sun tilted, the residence's gate opened. A fat merchant emerged. He wore a jacket trimmed with fur. Not many merchants in Golda wore fur. That alone marked him as a kingdom contractor. The man carried something—a ledger. Its thin leather cover gleamed in the candle's fading light. Valdo followed. The merchant headed toward the edge of town. Fewer people. He entered a section lined with stone warehouses. Valdo maintained distance while muffling his footsteps. The merchant opened a warehouse door and went inside. Valdo waited. About five minutes passed before he emerged, still carrying the ledger, and retraced a different path back. There might be records inside that warehouse. Valdo moved to approach—and stopped. A man stood in the warehouse's shadow. He wasn't doing anything. Just standing. He carried no cargo. His gaze wasn't on the warehouse but on the surrounding street. His eyes moved slowly, methodically. Too empty-handed for a porter. Not resting—his center of gravity was distributed as if ready to move at any moment. Valdo stopped moving. Not a single step forward. A lookout. Either Dreik's private watcher or someone from another organization entirely—Valdo couldn't determine which at this point. But there was no way to verify. Getting closer would alert the other. Moving without understanding the situation was a bad play. Valdo quietly retraced his steps. When he returned to the inn, Soana was already there waiting. She had papers spread on the table, writing something. She looked up and read Valdo's expression. "How was it?" "[serious]That's all for today." Soana's brows drew together. "You followed them to the warehouse. There might be ledgers inside." "[serious]T