I. The Siege of the Ledger
The sun did not shine on Aurum; it glared. The capital of the Trazarch Trade Union, situated on the Gilded Coast, was a blinding monument to the philosophy that Currency is King. The roofs of the Ministry buildings were plated in gold, the streets were paved with polished marble, and the air smelled of sea salt and old, stagnant wealth.
But beneath the gilding, there was a smell of rot.
Deep within the Ministry of Commerce, in a chamber cooled by expensive ice-magic, the High Ministers were in a state of quiet, sweaty panic. The war in the North-East—the "Containment Action" against the Pale Ones emerging from The Crucible—was bleeding the treasury dry. Mercenary companies were demanding triple hazard pay to fight monsters that did not die.
And now, the East had gone silent.
"The revenue streams from Pravum have ceased," Minister Kaelen hissed, slamming a heavy ledger onto the obsidian-inlaid table. "Not a trickle. Not a tax shipment. Not a report. The last we heard was a chaotic surplus in a market town treasury, and now... nothing. Just rumors of 'dark clouds' and 'bandits'."
"We cannot send an army," General Harker grunted, looking at the map where red markers indicated the Pale One incursions. "Every spare sword is at the Crucible perimeter. If we pull troops to march on Pravum, the monsters break through to the agricultural belt. We lose the food, we lose the Union."
"It isn't an invasion," Kaelen spat. "It's embezzlement. It's a local governor or a mercenary captain who saw the chaos and decided to carve out a little kingdom. They're stealing our gold to build their own fort. That report of a 'Black Keep'? It's likely just a bandit squatting in a ruin, inflating his reputation to scare off tax collectors."
The logic was flawless to them. In the Trazarch worldview, no one fought for ideology. Everyone fought for profit. Therefore, the enemy in the East was not a conqueror; he was a thief.
"Then we do not send soldiers," the High Minister decided. "We send the liquidation protocol. We send Levin."
II. The Weapon of Bureaucracy
Rhett Levin did not look like a warrior. He looked like a blade wrapped in silk. He stood in the doorway, dressed in the severe, high-collared black and gold livery of a Grand Auditor. He carried no sword, only a long, slender rod of office made of white iron, tipped with a stamp of authority.
His reputation was more lethal than any army. Rhett Levin was the Union's answer to internal rot. He didn't fight battles; he executed Audits. He entered rebellious towns, seized their assets, executed the leadership for "breach of contract," and liquidated the population to pay off the debt.
"You have a deficit, Minister?" Levin asked, his voice smooth and utterly devoid of warmth.
"The East," Kaelen said. "Pravum. The quarries. The revenue has stopped. We suspect a rogue warlord or a corrupt magistrate has seized the region."
Levin stepped forward, glancing at the map. He saw the reports—the "dark clouds," the "silent soldiers." He dismissed them instantly as theatrical tricks used by criminals to frighten the superstitious peasantry.
"You want the gold returned," Levin stated.
"We want the assets liquidated," the Minister corrected. "We need the coin for the Northern War. Go to Pravum. Find the thief. Seize his stolen assets. Execute him and anyone who signed a ledger under his name. Reopen the trade route."
"And the force?"
"We can spare fifty of the Gold-Cloaks," the General said. "The City Guard Elite. That should be enough to arrest a thief."
Levin nodded. He didn't need an army. He carried the authority of the Ministry. In his experience, even the hardest bandit captain crumbled when faced with the absolute legal power to seize their wealth.
III. The Departure of Arrogance
Rhett Levin departed Aurum two days later. His caravan was small, efficient, and ostentatiously wealthy. He rode in a reinforced carriage, surrounded by his fifty Gold-Cloaks—elite heavy infantry loyal only to the coin.
As they moved east, away from the coast and toward the distant, hazy line of The World's Teeth, Levin reviewed the files. He studied the reports of the "Raven Lord."
A slave rebellion, he noted in his journal with a sneer. A charismatic leader using fear tactics and weather magic to cow the locals. He has likely seized the local armories and is paying his followers with stolen tax money. A classic, unsustainable Ponzi scheme of violence.
Levin believed he understood exactly what he was walking into. He was going to audit a failed business venture run by a criminal amateur. He would arrive, declare the man's life forfeit, seize the "Black Keep" as Union property, and sell the rebels back into slavery to cover the cost of the trip.
He looked out the window. The further East they rode, the more the air seemed to change. The sky ahead wasn't just overcast; it was bruised. A heavy, unnatural line of clouds hung over the horizon, unmoving against the wind.
Levin adjusted his gloves. "Atmospheric manipulation," he muttered. "Expensive. Wasteful. I'll add the cost of the weather to his fine before I hang him."
The Grand Auditor rode toward the Obsidian Ordo, armed with a ledger and the absolute, fatal confidence that there was no power in the world greater than the authority of Coin. He had no idea he was marching into a domain where coin held no value, and judgment had already been passed.