Chapter Three-Hundred Thirty-Two

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Earl Paulte Heindarl Bulifinor Magnamtir if'Gofnar

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What had at first seemed like it was going to practically be a vacation is quickly spiraling into a challenge.  He hasn’t even laid eyes on Fourdock in decades, and yet news of the town has him sailing in an emotional hurricane, his vessel riding waves high only to sink low and threaten to capsize, often in the course of a single update!

While he had been keeping half an ear to the doings of Fourdock, he admits to only himself that he could have paid more attention.  He sent little Rezlar there precisely because it’s such a quiet, unimportant, out of the way place.  The lad simply doesn’t have the stomach nor will for proper politics, despite his head for numbers.  Sending him to a place like this, practically an exile, would be seen as a punishment by many, but Rezlar was more than happy to get away from the games of the nobility.

How was he supposed to know something like this dungeon Thedeim would hit the town?  Some people insist the town is cursed when it comes to dungeons, and sometimes the Earl wonders.  A strong belligerent shuts down the harbor, and a true murderous dungeon springs up in the cemetery.  He sometimes wonders if the disaster in the harbor was done deliberately by a rival, but they would have to be exceptionally subtle and patient if that’s the case.  None of his other trade ventures ever had a setback like that, and he would say they were far more fragile than the shipping through Fourdock.

All that is to say Fourdock has a tradition of dungeons that make a greater impact than average.  When his sources told him the murderous dungeon was subsumed, it barely qualified as trivia in his mind.  A young dungeon got lucky, perhaps the town will become even more quiet and boring.

Then the harbor was vassalized and reopened.  Even more, the young dungeon protected the town.  Others might be glad to see an altruistic dungeon, especially for Fourdock, but Paulte is no fool.  He’s hardly an expert in dungeons, but a young upstart does not overcome an established power without someone pulling the strings.  He refuses to believe a dungeon could get that lucky twice in such quick succession.

Combined with how its choices of nodes perfectly undermine his own efforts in herbalism and mining, he doesn’t like how these winds are blowing.  Could someone have figured out a way to groom the dungeon to do exactly what they want, grow the nodes and the town, exactly in a way to undermine him?  It seems outrageous, but there are simply too many coincidences for him to accept.  Even the dungeon supposedly having the fate affinity feels just a little too convenient to him.

Someone is trying to cripple his ascension to Duke, but who?  While his fellow Earls would of course love to slash his sails, he doubts any of them have the resources for something like this.  He questions if even the Crown would have the resources for something like this!  Or, to be more precise, the Crown would likely attack his more tenuous deals and topple them without needing to invest the kind of energy it would take to set up something like this dungeon Thedeim.

The only group he can think of who even might try something like this would be the Dungeoneers, but they don’t stand to gain much by snubbing him.  Perhaps he personally insulted someone high up in the organization?  While not impossible, he has very few dealings with them.  He can’t recall anything that would have given them cause to personally attack his interests.

And even if they were attacking his interests, they’re doing a poor job of it.  He might not have any shell companies to claim ownership of the goods extracted from that dungeon, but Fourdock is prospering because of it, and in turn, so is he.  It doesn't hold a candle to his Port Gofnar right now, but the glory days of Fourdock were lucrative indeed.  And if he wants to get even more money, he needs to get his fingers into the pie that is Thedeim.

Sponsoring an Adventurer’s Guild is a common thing for the nobility to do.  Dungeons can be very lucrative, and some adventurers are more mercenary than actual mercenaries!  Give them a bit of coin and point them at a dungeon, and they’ll bring you back ten percent, and thank you for the privilege!  And though it may be a bit uncouth to muscle in on the territory of an established guild, competition is a vital part of adventuring.  If a few rival parties vanish inside the dungeon, that’s just the cost of delving, sometimes.

He doesn’t doubt a tactic like that will work with Thedeim, either.  The ridiculous claim that nobody has died inside is such blatant propaganda that he doesn’t know how they get away with spreading it.  It just means those that die get quietly vanished, which suits his goals just fine.  That party clearly didn’t die, they just left for greener pastures in some other dungeon.  He wonders how many times he’ll have to give that excuse before the local guild gets the hint and agrees to merge.

He idly looks out the window to his carriage, spotting a few of the adventurers playing guardsmen for him as he travels.  The Calm Seas Guild has a good ring to it, and though Jondar Helmsplitter is the official guild leader, that didn’t stop the stout elf from letting Earl Paulte pay for the charter.  Still, it keeps the power balance between them clear: the Earl is in charge.  Jondar is shrewd enough to understand who he gets his gold from, otherwise Paulte wouldn’t have chosen him for this.

It will take some time to overtake the dungeon, but Paulte doesn’t see that being much of an issue.  Miners and herbalists don’t care who they sell to, though the smiths and alchemists that gather their own materials will certainly complain about having to sell instead of use what they’ve gathered.  Such heavy-handed regulation would usually be frowned upon by the local mayor, but little Rezlar won’t dare to resist him.

Just a few words, maybe a disappointed glance or two, and he’ll cave, letting his father do what’s best.  He probably won’t even put up a fight if he uses the lad as a target for the displeasure of the commoners.  The lad’s butler is skilled enough to keep him out of any harm.

He frowns at that thought.  He still doesn’t know how his late wife managed to secure a contract with someone like Miller.  Even with all his contacts, he can’t find anything concrete indicating he’s anything more than a simple butler.  But he’s not foolish enough to believe that for a moment.  Even his own Head Maid refuses to meddle in his affairs, which is all the confirmation he needs.  He doesn’t need to know Miller’s exact skill to know he doesn’t wish to upset the elf.  Could he be the one behind the dungeon’s actions?

He could easily have the motivation.  There is no love lost between the two of them, but would he dare to do something like this?  The more he thinks, the more he suspects.  If Miller somehow has the ear of the dungeon, he could prop up Rezlar while also thwarting the Earl’s own plans.  Ridiculous as it sounds… if there’s anyone who could accomplish something like that, it’d be someone like Miller.

That will be a difficult obstacle to overcome.  Removing someone as strong as he suspects Miller is… will cost more than money.  The assassin’s guild will demand a favor if they even accept at all.  He suppresses a shudder at the idea.  Working with assassins is simple enough, but he’s abused the promise of a favor enough to not want to give anyone that kind of power over him.

Still, it’s hardly more than a guess on his part that Miller is behind the dungeon somehow.  He can wait to get more information before deciding how to act.  He looks out from his carriage once more, enjoying the view as he relaxes.  Fourdock has plenty of room to expand into, both along and away from the coast.  He idly imagines a sprawling city until Fourdock finally comes into view.  He should commission a painting of this vista as a memento of Fourdock before it flourishes.

Such idle thoughts are brought to a halt along with his carriage, the sudden stop earning a frown before he speaks up.  “Why have we stopped?” he demands before he feels it.  He doesn’t have the raw power of an adventurer of his level, but he can still sense the eb and flow of mana.  And right now, there is a swirling whirlpool over Fourdock!

He leans out of his carriage as he peers at the immense energy, his guards looking nervous.  He can’t fathom what’s happening, wondering if the town is somehow under attack, before he finally understands why it feels familiar.  When a dungeon expands its borders, mana is used to transform the area into whatever it is that lets dungeons exist.  He’s seen a few expansions before… but nothing like this.  Even at this distance, he feels he should be holding his hat so it doesn’t fly off, even though an expansion rarely has that sort of physical effect.  Expansions are usually rather subtle in their changes.

Usually.

This one, it seems, is not going to be so.  Beyond Fourdock, he can see a tree sprouting from the forest, the mana forcing it to grow far beyond what is natural or even possible!  And yet it grows, thick twisting branches, long hanging leaves, and a distant rumble as roots force their way through the ground.  He has the composure to keep his mouth shut, though many of his guards do not, as the tree grows and grows, until finally stopping at close to a mile in height!

His mind races to explain what he just saw, before a thump from atop his carriage draws his attention.  A raven is sitting there, not exactly an auspicious omen, and sets down a small scroll.  It caws at him before taking off, leaving the scroll behind.  He takes it, forcing his hand to be steady, and examines it for any magic or potential traps.

“Resume moving,” he orders before he sits down, pondering the message.  He could throw it out, but that would probably be a very bad idea.  He’s pretty sure it’s not from The Raven, but it’s still a big risk to ignore something delivered by the deity’s lesser kin.  The scroll has a small seal of orange wax on it, depicting a circle with intricate swirls, which makes him even more suspicious of who the owner could be.  He’s never seen that seal before.  What rabble is trying to claim to have a seal to make themselves feel more important.

Well, there’s a simple way to find out.  A small dagger breaks the seal and he reads the message.  Though short and friendly, it makes his blood run cold.  There is much more going on than he could have suspected.

Welcome to Fourdock.

Thedeim