Chapter 19: The Courage of Marcus Fernando-Meredian
Year 0003, Month VIII-X: The Imperium
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Day 51.1: Visiting the Patriarch of The Family Meredian
Dawn had not yet broken when Marcus Fernando-Meredian stirred from his sleep, his internal clock refusing to grant him the luxury of rest that his companions still enjoyed. The villa's guest quarters, while comfortable enough to allow even August—with his remarkably precise body clock—to sleep past sunrise, could not ease the weight of anticipation that pressed upon Marcus's chest. The constant travel had indeed exhausted them all, but Marcus's mind was already racing with thoughts of the confrontation that awaited him.
The others remained deep in slumber, their bodies finally surrendering to the fatigue that had accumulated from weeks on the road. August lay still as stone, his breathing deep and even—a testament to just how thoroughly their journey had drained even his seemingly inexhaustible reserves. Andy's gentle snoring filled one corner of the room, while Sibus had curled up near his ever-present collection of blueprints and mechanical sketches.
Marcus had dispatched a courier the previous evening, sending word to the main residential estate of the Meredian family. The letter was formal, diplomatic—a son's request for an audience with his father, nothing more. He had crafted each word carefully, knowing that even his correspondence would be scrutinized by those who wished him ill within the family hierarchy.
As the first pale light of dawn crept through the villa's windows, Marcus prepared himself with the methodical precision of a man girding for battle. He selected his finest clothes—not the practical traveling garments he had grown accustomed to, but the formal attire befitting a member of one of the region's most prominent merchant families. The dark blue doublet with silver threading spoke of wealth without ostentation, authority without arrogance. His boots were polished to a mirror shine, and he wore the family signet ring on his right hand—perhaps for the last time.
The coach awaited him as promised, its black lacquered sides gleaming in the morning light. The driver, a weathered man with knowing eyes, simply nodded as Marcus approached. No words were necessary; the destination was understood. As they rolled through the awakening city of Gremory, Marcus watched the familiar streets pass by, each landmark triggering memories of a childhood that seemed both distant and immediate.
The half-hour journey felt both endless and all too brief. When the imposing gates of the Meredian estate finally came into view, Marcus felt his pulse quicken despite his outward composure. The estate was indeed magnificent—a sprawling complex of buildings that spoke to generations of accumulated wealth and influence. Gardens meticulously maintained stretched between elegant structures, while servants moved about their morning duties with quiet efficiency.
The wrought-iron gates, decorated with the family crest—a stylized merchant's scale balanced above a sailing ship—swung open silently as their coach approached. The main house itself was a testament to architectural grandeur, its three stories rising like a monument to the family's status. Tall windows caught the morning light, while ivy-covered walls spoke of age and permanence.
Waiting on the estate's carefully manicured grounds stood a figure Marcus recognized immediately: Dorming Domingo, the head butler. The old man represented continuity in a family prone to internal strife—a neutral presence who had weathered decades of sibling rivalry and political maneuvering. At 101 years old, Domingo moved with the measured grace of someone who had learned to conserve energy while maintaining absolute efficiency.
The butler's appearance was immaculate despite his advanced age. His silver hair was perfectly arranged, his black uniform pressed to perfection, and his posture remained admirably straight. In this world, where normal humans could expect to live two centuries and the enhanced Category V humans could reach a thousand years, Domingo was entering what might be considered middle age. His longevity was matched by his discretion—a quality that had made him invaluable to the family.
"Welcome, young master Marcus," Domingo said, his voice carrying the warm formality of long practice. "The Patriarch is waiting for you."
Marcus felt genuine warmth at the greeting. In a household where most faces showed either calculation or barely concealed hostility, Domingo's neutral kindness was a rare comfort. The butler had never taken sides in the endless competition between siblings, maintaining his loyalty to the family as an institution rather than to any individual member.
"How are you, Mr. Domingo? I hope you are doing well," Marcus replied, his tone sincere. "Please, take me to the Patriarch's study. We must not keep him waiting."
A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or gratitude—passed across Domingo's weathered features. It had been a long time since anyone in the family had inquired about his well-being with genuine concern. The small gesture spoke volumes about Marcus's character, distinguishing him from his more self-absorbed siblings.
"I'm still doing well, young master," Domingo replied simply, though his tone carried a note of appreciation. "This way, please."
They walked through corridors lined with portraits of Meredian ancestors, each painting a reminder of the family's long history in commerce and politics. The floors were marble, their surfaces polished to mirror brightness, while expensive tapestries from distant lands decorated the walls. Everything spoke of wealth, but also of the weight of tradition and expectation.
As they approached the Patriarch's study, Marcus could feel his heart rate increasing. This room had been the site of countless family meetings, business negotiations, and pronouncements that had shaped the course of the Meredian dynasty. The heavy oak door bore the family crest in brass, its surface worn smooth by countless hands.
*Duk duk duk*
The sound of Domingo's knuckles against the door was soft but carried clearly through the corridor. The metal-on-wood tapping was a formal signal, a request for permission to enter that had been used in this house for generations.
"Bring him in," came the reply from within—a voice that commanded attention without raising its volume.
The door opened to reveal a study that perfectly reflected its occupant's personality. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their leather bindings speaking of serious scholarship and practical knowledge. A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with ledgers, correspondence, and the tools of trade management. Maps of trade routes decorated one wall, while the opposite wall held a collection of exotic artifacts gathered from far-flung commercial ventures.
Behind the desk sat Fineas Meredianthe Fourth, Patriarch of the Meredian family and one of the most influential merchants in the region. His appearance was imposing—a deliberately bald head that gleamed in the morning light, a carefully maintained mustache that framed his mouth, and a rotund figure that spoke of good living. His clothes were expensive but understated, tailored to perfection but without unnecessary ornamentation. Everything about him conveyed authority, success, and the kind of confidence that came from wielding significant power.
Fineas's eyes were perhaps his most striking feature—intelligent, calculating, and capable of conveying volumes without a single word. They fixed on Marcus now with the intensity of a man accustomed to reading people's intentions and motivations with surgical precision.
"I greet the Patriarch of the Meredian family," Marcus said, executing a formal bow that was respectful without being servile. "Marcus Meredian has returned from his mission."
The silence that followed was pregnant with meaning. Fineas simply regarded his son, his expression unreadable, his eyes commanding Marcus to continue. It was a technique the Patriarch had perfected over decades—the power of silence to compel truth.
Understanding the unspoken instruction, Marcus began his carefully prepared narrative. "Patriarch, I have completed the mission assigned to me several months ago. However, during my return journey, I encountered a group of bandits who had specifically targeted me. Were it not for the intervention of a group of strangers who came to my aid, I would not have survived to return home."
He paused, reaching into his travel bag to retrieve the documents he had mentioned. The papers were slightly travel-worn but still clearly legible. "These same strangers discovered correspondence in the bandits' possession—documents that revealed detailed knowledge of my planned route. The information contained within these papers could only have come from someone within our family, as the travel plans were not shared beyond our household."
Fineas accepted the documents with steady hands, his expression never changing as he scanned their contents. The papers were indeed damning—too specific, too detailed to be the result of chance or general intelligence gathering. Someone had deliberately provided the bandits with information that would have led to Marcus's death.
The Patriarch's mind worked quickly, analyzing possibilities and probabilities. While the documents didn't explicitly name the person responsible, the implications were clear. One of his other children—Marcus's half siblings—had attempted to eliminate him from the succession competition through murder. It was an escalation that crossed a line Fineas had hoped would never be breached.
"As you can see," Marcus continued, his voice steady despite the gravity of his words, "these bandits possessed precise knowledge of my intended route. This information was known only to our family. In light of this revelation, and after considerable reflection during my travels, I have reached a decision regarding my future."
He straightened, meeting his father's gaze directly. "I have decided to relinquish my claim to the family name and withdraw from the succession competition you established among your children. I am certain that this will not be the last attempt on my life if I remain part of this contest. I choose to step away rather than live constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next assassination attempt."
The words hung in the air like a pronouncement of fate. Marcus had expected arguments, perhaps anger, maybe even an attempt at persuasion. Instead, Fineas simply continued to study the documents, his face revealing nothing of his internal thoughts.
Finally, the Patriarch spoke, his voice carrying the weight of finality. "Very well. If that is your wish, I shall no longer compel you to bear the family name or participate in the succession process. Consider everything I have given you over the years—your education, your initial capital, your training—as a parting gift from me, not as the Patriarch, but as your father. I wish you well in your chosen path, Marcus. You are free to leave and forge your own destiny."
The dismissal was gentle but absolute. Marcus had expected more resistance, more questioning, perhaps even an emotional response. Instead, his father's practical acceptance felt almost anticlimactic. But perhaps that was the nature of truly important decisions—they were often concluded with quiet dignity rather than dramatic gestures.
What Marcus could not see, however, was the storm brewing behind his father's controlled facade. Fineas Meredian had not achieved his position by allowing challenges to his authority to go unanswered. While he might not show emotion easily, the attempt on Marcus's life represented a violation of the rules that governed their family competition. Blood was not supposed to be spilled—that had been the one inviolable condition.
As Marcus gathered his belongings and prepared to leave, Fineas was already formulating his response to whichever of his remaining children had orchestrated this assassination attempt. They would learn that there were consequences for exceeding the boundaries he had established. The succession competition would continue, but it would do so under his terms, not theirs.
Marcus walked through the corridors of his childhood home one final time, each step taking him further from a life that had been predetermined for him and closer to one of his own choosing. The weight of expectation, the burden of family loyalty, and the constant pressure of sibling rivalry—all of it fell away with each footfall on the marble floors.
As he emerged into the morning sunlight, Marcus Fernando-Meredian felt truly free for the first time in his adult life. The coach that had brought him to this confrontation would now carry him back to his chosen family—August and the others who had shown him what genuine companionship and mutual respect looked like.
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Day 51.2: New Wagon Design by Sibus
The villa gradually came alive as the morning progressed, with the smell of breakfast drawing the others from their well-deserved rest. August emerged from his quarters looking refreshed despite the late hour—a testament to his body's ability to recover when given the opportunity. Andy stretched and yawned, already mentally preparing for the day's activities, while Michelle could be heard moving about in the adjoining room, likely working on her ongoing projects.
Sibus, however, had been awake for some time, his mind buzzing with the kind of creative energy that struck him at unexpected moments. He had spent the early morning hours refining sketches and calculations, driven by an idea that had been percolating in his thoughts since their arrival in Gremory. The city's advanced craftsmanship and available resources had sparked his imagination, leading him to envision improvements to their traveling arrangements that bordered on the revolutionary.
When he finally approached August, Sibus carried himself with the slightly awkward confidence of someone who knew the value of his ideas but remained uncertain about social interactions. His years of focusing on mechanical and magical engineering had left him more comfortable with blueprints than with people, a fact that showed in his direct, somewhat abrupt manner of communication.
"Hey," he said, the greeting characteristically informal despite the respect he held for August. "I have something to show you."
August, recognizing the excitement barely contained beneath Sibus's casual demeanor, simply nodded encouragingly. When Sibus produced a rolled set of blueprints, August's interest was immediately piqued. The young engineer's designs had already proven their worth multiple times during their journey.
The blueprint, when unrolled, revealed a masterwork of engineering ambition. The proposed wagon was not merely larger than their current vehicle—it was a complete reconceptualization of what a traveling merchant's wagon could be. At seventy feet in length, it would be a mobile fortress of commerce, designed to handle the challenges of long-distance trade while providing comfortable accommodation for a much larger group.
"This is extraordinary," August murmured, studying the detailed drawings. "Walk me through the specifications."
Sibus's eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he began his explanation. "The cargo capacity alone would be sixty tons—double what we can currently carry. But that's just the beginning. Look here—" He pointed to a section of the blueprint showing the cargo arrangement. "We'll use large-scale magical storage crates, each twenty feet in length and five feet in both height and width. These aren't like the medium crates we use now; these can hold five thousand kilograms each while reducing the effective weight by fifty percent instead of the twenty-five percent we get with our current system."
The mathematical precision of Sibus's planning was evident in every line of the blueprint. He had calculated load distributions, weight ratios, and structural requirements with the thoroughness of someone who understood that a single miscalculation could result in catastrophic failure on the road.
"The framework will need to be absolutely robust," he continued, warming to his subject. "We're talking about reinforced timber and steel construction throughout, with suspension systems that can handle not just the weight but the dynamic stresses of travel over varied terrain. The axles alone will be engineering marvels—we'll need thirty wheels total, each six feet tall and weighing approximately five hundred kilograms."
August whistled softly at the scope of the project. "Thirty wheels? That's... fifteen tons just in wheels."
"Exactly," Sibus nodded. "But necessary for proper load distribution. And that's not counting the magical enhancements. The entire wagon will be equipped with weight reduction enchantments and terrain-smoothing systems. We'll be able to travel comfortably even over rough ground, and the whole thing will be watertight for river crossings."
The living quarters section of the blueprint was equally impressive in its attention to detail. Sibus had designed separate male and female sections, each twenty-five feet in length and maintaining the fifteen-foot width and height that had proven practical in their current wagon. But the similarity ended there.
"Five-stack bunk bed arrangements," Sibus explained, pointing to the detailed drawings. "Each bunk has a three-foot ceiling height—enough for comfort without waste. The beds themselves are three and a half feet wide by seven feet long, with dedicated storage compartments at the foot of each bunk. Fourteen cubic feet of personal storage space per person."
The thoughtfulness of the design extended to privacy considerations. Each bunk would have curtains for personal space, and the beds would be equipped with securing mechanisms to prevent injury during travel. Individual sliding windows would allow for personal climate control, while strategically placed ventilation shafts could be opened or closed depending on weather conditions.
"The female quarters get a dedicated outhouse facility," Sibus continued, "while the male quarters use that space for tool storage and spare parts. Both sections have working stations—desks and chairs that can double as dining tables when needed."
Security had not been overlooked. The doors would be magically secured, requiring registration of mana signatures for access. The ceiling would feature glass panels for natural lighting, while the driver's section would be fully enclosed and protected from the elements, with seating for guards.
"Now, for the really impressive part," Sibus said, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone. "The total dry weight will be approximately twenty-one tons. With maximum cargo, we're looking at sixty-six tons. But with the magical weight reduction systems—a twenty-five percent reduction for the entire wagon—we can bring that down to around fifty tons of effective weight."
August studied the cost projections Sibus had included. "Twenty imperial gold coins for construction?"
"That's with the highest quality materials and the most advanced magical enhancements available," Sibus confirmed. "It's not just a wagon—it's a mobile trading post, a fortress, and a home all in one. We'll also want to upgrade our beasts of burden. I'm thinking Four-horned Tamaras—they're twelve feet tall and can handle twenty-five tons each compared to our six-legged horses' ten-ton capacity."
The vision was breathtaking in its scope and ambition. This wasn't just an improvement to their current arrangements; it was a complete transformation of their trading capabilities. With such a wagon, they could handle much larger volumes of trade goods, accommodate more people, and travel in comfort regardless of weather or terrain.
"The only downside," Sibus admitted, "is speed. The four-horned bulls are stronger but slower than our current horses. But I think the trade-off is worth it, especially considering our plans for expansion."
August found himself impressed not just by the technical specifications but by the forward-thinking nature of the design. Sibus had clearly been considering not just their immediate needs but their long-term goals as a trading company. The wagon would be capable of supporting a much larger organization than their current small group.
"This is exceptional work, Sibus," August said finally. "Yes, we'll definitely present this to the wagon maker. With winter approaching, we'll likely be staying in Gremory for several months anyway. This gives us the perfect opportunity to have it built."
The prospect of seeing his design become reality brought a rare smile to Sibus's usually serious face. For someone who lived in the world of mechanical possibilities, there was no greater satisfaction than seeing theoretical concepts transformed into functional reality.
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Day 51.3: Marcus Returns and Plans for the Time Being
The afternoon sun was well advanced when Marcus finally returned to the villa, and the change in his demeanor was immediately apparent to everyone present. The tension that had marked his features for weeks had vanished, replaced by something that could only be described as liberation. His shoulders no longer carried the weight of family expectations, and his smile—when it appeared—was genuine rather than diplomatic.
Andy was the first to comment on the transformation. "So fill us in on the details," he said, settling into a comfortable chair. "By the looks of it, things went even better than you hoped. I haven't seen you look this relaxed since... well, since we first met you."
Marcus's laugh was lighter than they had heard before. "You're absolutely right. It went far better than I expected. I had prepared myself for arguments, for attempts at persuasion, maybe even for anger. Instead, my father simply accepted my decision without resistance. He allowed me to withdraw from the family competition and relinquish the family name without setting any conditions."
"Well, that is good to hear, Mister Marcus," August said as he joined the group, having just finished his detailed discussion with Sibus about the wagon blueprints. "I take it you're feeling more optimistic about your future prospects?"
"More than optimistic," Marcus replied. "For the first time in my adult life, I feel like I can make decisions based on what I want to do rather than what's expected of me. It's... liberating doesn't begin to cover it."
August nodded understandingly. Though his own circumstances were different, he could appreciate the weight that family expectations could place on a person. "So what are your plans now, Mister Marcus? I know you mentioned wanting to join us before, but do you still feel that way now that you have other options available?"
Marcus's response was immediate and emphatic. "Of course, young master! I'm more ready than ever to work with Maya's Traveling Mercantile. It's the only place where I've felt like a true merchant rather than someone's errand boy. Here, my skills and experience are valued for what they can contribute rather than as part of some political calculation."
The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. During their time together, Marcus had discovered something he hadn't realized he was missing—the satisfaction of being judged purely on his merits rather than his family connections. With August's group, his ideas were heard, his expertise was respected, and his contributions were valued without the undercurrent of sibling rivalry that had poisoned his family relationships.
"I'm glad you feel that way, Mister Marcus," August replied. "In that case, I'd like to formalize your position with us. How would you feel about serving as our chief accountant while also continuing your merchant activities? You'd be handling our financial planning and record-keeping while also managing your own trading ventures under our company umbrella."
The offer represented exactly the kind of responsibility Marcus had been hoping for—significant enough to challenge his abilities while providing the autonomy he craved. "That sounds perfect," he said. "I accept without reservation."
"Excellent. Now, regarding compensation..." August paused, looking slightly uncertain. "I'll be honest—I'm not entirely sure how to structure employee wages fairly. Do you have recommendations for what would be appropriate?"
Marcus appreciated the direct approach. "Well, we should definitely draft formal employment agreements for everyone. As for wages, traveling accountants typically earn around one local gold coin per month, plus commissions on personal trading activities. Managers like Mister Andy usually receive about twenty-five local silver coins monthly."
August considered this information carefully. The amounts seemed reasonable, but he also wanted to ensure that his people were well-compensated for their loyalty and expertise. "Let's set the wages at five local gold coins per month for both you and Andy," he decided. "For Miss Michelle, since she's working on commission-based projects, let's set aside ten local gold coins for her current work."
Both Marcus and Andy exchanged glances, clearly impressed by the generosity of the offer. Five gold coins per month was significantly above the standard rate—a clear indication that August valued their contributions highly.
"Very generous, young master," Marcus said. "We won't disappoint you."
"I'm certain you won't," August replied. "Now, what are your thoughts on our immediate plans? Should we continue traveling, or would it be wise to establish ourselves here in Gremory for a while?"
Marcus's response was immediate and practical. "Given that winter is approaching, I'd strongly recommend we establish a temporary base of operations here in the city. Travel becomes much more difficult and dangerous once the snow starts falling, and we'll have better access to craftsmen and suppliers here than we would on the road."
Andy nodded in agreement. "The lad's right. Gremory's got everything we need—skilled workers, good supplies, and a strong market for trade goods. We could use the time to build up our inventory and train new people."
"That settles it then," August said. "We'll make Gremory our winter headquarters. Speaking of which, take a look at this." He produced Sibus's blueprint, spreading it across the villa's main table. "Sibus presented this wagon design to me this morning. What do you think?"
Both Marcus and Andy leaned forward to examine the blueprint, and their expressions quickly shifted from curiosity to amazement. The scope and ambition of Sibus's design was immediately apparent, but it was the attention to detail that truly impressed them.
"This is... extraordinary," Marcus breathed, his merchant's mind already calculating the implications. "The cargo capacity alone would transform our trading capabilities. We could handle contracts that are completely beyond our current reach."
Andy was studying the living quarters section with particular interest. "Thirty bunks total? We could accommodate a small army of workers and guards. This isn't just a wagon—it's a mobile trading post."
"My thoughts exactly," August agreed. "The cost is substantial—twenty imperial gold coins—but I believe we can manage it. More importantly, I think we need to start thinking beyond our current small group. This wagon is designed for a much larger operation."
Marcus nodded thoughtfully. "If we're going to expand, we'll need to be strategic about it. We'll want to hire people we can trust, train them properly, and integrate them into our company culture. That takes time."
"Which we'll have over the winter," August pointed out. "We can use the months while the wagon is being built to recruit and train new team members. By spring, we should be ready to operate on a much larger scale."
The conversation continued for another hour, covering topics from recruitment strategies to training programs, from supply chain management to long-term expansion goals. It was the kind of strategic planning session that Marcus had always enjoyed but had rarely been able to participate in meaningfully within his family's rigid hierarchy.
As the afternoon wound down, each member of the group felt a sense of anticipation about the future. They had started as a small group of travelers thrown together by circumstance, but they were rapidly evolving into something much more significant—a genuine trading company with the potential for substantial growth and influence.
"Well then," August said finally, "it seems we have our winter plans sorted. Tomorrow, we'll start the process of commissioning our new wagon and begin looking for suitable candidates to join our company. This is the beginning of something important."
Marcus smiled, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction. For the first time in his life, he was part of something he had chosen for himself, something that valued his contributions and offered genuine opportunities for growth. The future stretched ahead of them, full of possibilities and promise.
The irony was not lost on him—by walking away from a guaranteed inheritance, he had found something far more valuable: the chance to build something of his own alongside people who had become more than colleagues. They had become the family he had chosen for himself.
As the sun set over Gremory, casting long shadows across the villa's courtyards, the members of Maya's Traveling Mercantile settled in for the evening, each lost in thoughts of the adventures and opportunities that lay ahead. Tomorrow would bring new challenges and new possibilities, but tonight, they were content in the knowledge that they had found their path forward together.