Tenber's frown deepened, the veins on his temple beginning to show. "Minimize? Are you insane?" he hissed, rising halfway from his chair. "Ten thousand soldiers are marching toward us—led by the crown prince himself—and you're talking about minimizing losses?"
Vekir didn't flinch. Instead, he offered a smirk that twisted his already crooked mouth, revealing yellowed, uneven teeth. "Relax, Commander. You're being dramatic."
"Dramatic?" Tenber spat.
"We can't just abandon a venture that's this profitable," Vekir said smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from his lapel. "All we need to do is relocate the farm. It's not the end of the world."
"The farm?" Tenber's voice rose an octave, his fury simmering just beneath the surface.
Vekir continued unfazed. "Yes, the village will be discovered. That was inevitable. The prince and his army will storm in, purge the criminals, hang a few degenerates for show, and round up the rest of the commoners who've been dodging taxes."
He gave a light chuckle. "From the kingdom's perspective, that's a net positive."
Tenber slammed his palm onto the table. "Do you have any idea what will happen if even a shred of evidence ties this back to us?"
Vekir waved him off with a lazy flick of the wrist. "We've already taken precautions. Our name won't appear on a single document, and none of the middlemen will say a word—they know what's good for them."
He walked over to the window and pulled aside the curtain, peering out at the busy city streets. "The army is still days away. That gives us more than enough time to shut everything down and move the operation to the northern canyons. Remote, uncharted, and riddled with caves. Perfect for our purposes."
Tenber stared at him, eyes narrowed. "You've already made preparations, haven't you?"
Vekir turned back, the smile never leaving his face. "Of course I have. I don't take chances."
Tenber sank back into his seat, silent. He knew Vekir was dangerous, perhaps even more dangerous than the prince's wrath. The kind of man who saw people as assets and war as a temporary inconvenience. But most damning of all—he was competent.
"The moment this blows up, I'll be the one dragged before the marquise, not you," Tenber said bitterly.
Vekir stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Tenber's shoulder. "Then you better hope it doesn't blow up."
He leaned in, his voice a low whisper. "Trust me, Commander. This is just a temporary storm. We'll weather it… like we always do."
Tenber's expression eased—slightly—but the tension in his shoulders remained. "What if the subjugation succeeds?" he asked quietly. "What if the crown prince actually wins?"
Vekir threw his head back and burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the office like a mockery of hope. He laughed so hard that his shoulders shook and tears welled in the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, my dear commander," he said at last, wiping his face with a silk handkerchief. "You really think that pampered, idealistic brat can succeed where even the most seasoned warlords failed? That forest is a nest of monsters, both literal and political. Even before our beloved king broke the spine of the kingdom with his idiotic policies, no one managed to tame it."
He leaned forward, grinning. "And now? With our armies hollowed out, morale shattered, and half the nobility at each other's throats?" He scoffed. "No. They're marching to their deaths."
Tenber didn't respond right away. He looked down at his desk, fingers drumming nervously. "Still... there's always a chance things could blow up in our faces."
Vekir's smile thinned, the humor in his face vanishing. This coward never changes, he thought. Always whining about what might go wrong. If it weren't for the man's position, Vekir would've cut ties long ago. But Tenber held the keys to keeping the investigation dogs leashed—and that made him useful.
Out loud, Vekir said, "If you're so worried about getting caught, I suggest you worry about what happens after the prince fails. Because when—not if—the army gets wiped out, the surviving beasts won't just retreat into the woods."
He stepped closer, his tone sharpening. "There will be a beast wave. A stampede. And do you know what's the nearest city to the forest's edge?"
"Hul Town," Vekir said flatly. "This city. Your city. That's the first stop on their warpath."
The picture they painted wasn't pleasant. If the prince lost—and all signs pointed to that—Hul Town wouldn't just lose its shadow economy. It would lose everything.
Tenber smiled bitterly, a grim expression that barely masked the frustration gnawing at him. The state of affairs had become almost laughable—if only it weren't so tragic. Marquise Donovar Ross had already made it clear: if the subjugation campaign failed, Hul Town would bear the full brunt of the impending beast wave. The marquise had promised reinforcements, but Tenber held little hope for victory.
"Fine," he muttered, defeated. "I get your point. What's next? When are you meeting your contact?"
Vekir's smile returned, full of smug satisfaction. "Tomorrow," he said brightly. "I'll leave first light. It's a day's ride by carriage. And the sooner I settle things, the farther I'll be when the fire starts."
He picked up his hat, a gaudy feathered thing, and twirled it once before placing it atop his styled hair. "You know me, Commander. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Best I be far away when blood starts running in the streets."
Tenber didn't respond. He just sat there, the weight of looming catastrophe pressing down on his shoulders like a stormcloud ready to burst.
"So yes, I'm meeting the merchant tomorrow. We're relocating the operation to the northern canyons. New camp, new guards, same product. I suggest you prepare your city's defenses."
Tenber said nothing at first. His mind raced with images of chaos—blood on cobblestones, walls breached by things that didn't bleed. Finally, he muttered, "Fine. I'll inform the militia to begin discreet preparations. But you better pray the prince doesn't win."
Vekir smirked and rose from his chair. "If he does, we all die anyway. So let's enjoy the ride while we still can."