1. The Land of Rot and Gold
The sea journey from the mainland to the Gold Coast was an ordeal unlike anything the former Champions had experienced. They had survived brutal deserts and frozen passes, but the relentless, sickening movement of the small hired sloop broke Even's composure. He spent most of the voyage leaning over the railing, his massive frame humbled by constant nausea—a weakness he detested more than any physical injury. Kevin, despite his own discomfort, used the time to study the few fragmented maps and coded ledgers he had managed to secure. They were sailing toward a place where civilized law dissolved, and criminal enterprise was the only form of government.
When they finally sighted the chain of independent islands, they saw a port built on perpetual chaos. It was not a city, but a sprawling, frantic mess of haphazard wooden docks, structures leaning precariously against each other, and rust-stained jetties. The air hit them first—thick with salt, rot, cheap liquor, and the stench of unwashed bodies and burnt oil. It was the pungent, honest smell of desperation and unbridled greed.
"It smells worse than the Death March," Even muttered, pulling his dark cloak tighter around his weary body, his eyes narrowed in distaste. "At least the desert was clean."
"It smells like opportunity," Kevin corrected, his eyes already calculating the angles and sight lines of the crowded docks. He had learned in the March that scent and sound often told a truer story than visuals. "No Crowns here, Even. Only buyers and sellers. We are here to buy the war we need, and to hire the men who despise the Crowns."
They docked in a secluded, minor bay far from the main traffic. Kevin, wearing simple, dirt-colored clothes to mask his identity, paid the boat captain triple the agreed-upon price to ensure his silence and memory lapse. Even, whose sheer size and the massive, barely concealed Hook made him impossible to hide, kept his head down. They were outsiders, and they knew the Gold Coast would immediately recognize them as prey.
2. The Price of the Silence
Kevin's first and most critical task was dealing with their wealth. Ten million gold coins, even in portable gems, was an impossible sum to move discreetly. They had to meet the infamous banker, Silas, immediately. Silas was a shadowy figure renowned for his ability to make any illegal transaction vanish into the ether, but he was equally known for his treachery.
They found Silas in a rickety shack at the very end of the longest dock—a deliberate choice, Kevin realized, to ensure any approach was visible. The shack, however, was surprisingly sterile, smelling of sharp incense and expensive, imported paper, a stark contrast to the harbor filth outside.
Silas himself was a small, thin man with nervous, darting eyes hidden behind thick, circular glasses. He seemed physically frail but mentally sharp. He looked like he feared both death and a single missing coin.
"Kevin. The Ghost Hook," Silas whispered, his voice thin, his eyes flickering rapidly between the two enormous figures who stood before him. He was terrified, recognizing the immediate danger they represented. "I... I hope your business is quick and simple."
"It is," Kevin stated, placing a small bag of the highest quality Samaran gems on the table—a fraction of the required upfront fee. "Ten million gold. I need eight million of it converted into untraceable, highly portable assets. Rare gems, small bullion, currency that crosses borders without raising flags. Immediately."
Silas coughed, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up and assessed the gems. "Twenty percent is... extreme, Kevin," he protested weakly. "You know the commission on a sum of this magnitude—"
"I know the price of survival," Kevin cut him off, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy monotone. He leaned in, forcing Silas to meet his gaze. "The price is twenty percent. The gold is dirty. Surat is looking for us. If they find us, they find you. The risk is your life, not your ledger."
Even stepped forward, placing his hand casually on the table, letting his sheer shadow fall over the small banker. The move was silent and absolute. The message was clear: there was nowhere for Silas to hide.
Silas broke immediately. He wiped the sudden sweat from his brow with the back of a shaking hand. "Done. Twenty percent. I will begin the process immediately. It will take three days to prepare the bulk of the assets. You will have a safe, temporary vault for the remaining cash."
Kevin nodded, satisfied. The massive risk was taken. They were now down to eight million gold for their future operations, but it was safe, liquid, and ready to fund a war against a kingdom. The deal was secured by the most powerful currency on the Gold Coast: absolute, terrifying fear.
3. The Weariness of Trust
They rented a secluded, fortified warehouse slightly inland from the main docks, paying in advance with the small, untraceable local currency Silas had provided. Even was intensely restless. He hated the waiting, the quiet, and the need for constant, maddening patience. The weight of Rumi and Jax's sacrifice pressed down on him, demanding immediate, bloody action. He was a powerhouse without a target.
They spent the next day reviewing maps and dossiers, but the internal tension was palpable.
"We have the gold, we have the plan," Even grumbled, pacing the warehouse floor like a caged beast. "We need people. And every contact your man Silas gives us is a bottom-feeding, backstabbing coward. How can we trust a single rat to fight Jaran's shadows?"
"We trust nothing and no one," Kevin countered, looking up from his careful notes. "That is the first rule here. We don't buy loyalty, Even. We buy a service, a need, a transaction. We look for someone who has a debt to pay, or an impossible goal—like us. That is the only thing stronger than gold."
Even slammed his fist into the wall, cracking the aged wood. "I am tired of being smart, Kevin! I want to break something! I want to take a ship and make Jaran pay now!"
"That is exactly what Jaran wants," Kevin repeated, his voice dangerously even. "He knows we are driven by guilt and fury. He knows you are the fire. If you lash out blindly, we lose all eight million gold, Rumi and Jax died for nothing, and Jaran wins. We must be smarter than rage."
The conversation was a loop, a necessary release of tension that did little to soothe their souls. Around midnight, as they finally settled in for a restless sleep, Kevin's hyper-alert senses immediately picked up the disturbance. The Gold Coast was never truly silent, but the sudden, deliberate muffling of sound near their warehouse was an unmistakable alarm bell.
4. The Unwanted Greeting
"Three on the main wall, two circling to the back door," Kevin murmured, his hand already reaching for his dagger.
"Pirates?" Even asked, his voice low and instantly hungry, the frustration replaced by lethal focus.
"No, too sloppy for professionals. Local opportunists," Kevin analyzed, his ears straining to hear the quiet scrapes of metal against stone. "They saw the transfer go through with Silas's runner, or maybe they just tracked the smell of wealth. They are driven by common greed."
Five figures rushed their warehouse—standard Gold Coast thugs armed with crude, rusty swords and axes, drawn by the irresistible rumor of new, rich arrivals who looked like easy prey.
Even grinned, a terrifying, feral expression replacing his sorrow. He stood up, towering over Kevin, the Hook resting across his massive shoulder. "My turn, Kev? A little exercise to clear the mind."
"No," Kevin said sharply, placing his dagger back on the table. He stood up slowly, looking directly at the entrance. "I told you the rule of this Coast, Even. We establish authority through efficiency and the sheer cost of confrontation. We show them we are not worth the effort, without shedding a drop of our blood."
5. The Edge's Authority
Kevin stepped outside alone into the darkness, illuminated only by a single sputtering oil lamp near the warehouse door. The five thugs paused, briefly surprised by the sight of one man confronting them.
"We know you have the gold, champion!" one yelled, raising a heavy, crudely sharpened axe. "You look tired! Give it up or bleed out fast!"
Kevin didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his body relaxed, betraying no sign of threat. He spoke clearly, but calmly. "You saw the man I was with. You saw my size. Do you truly believe that five men with dull axes can take down two Champions of the March? You are risking everything for a rumor."
The leader hesitated, greed warring with instinct, but his four companions began to fan out. He signaled the attack.
Kevin waited until the very last second. He didn't use his dagger, his fists, or any direct combat skill. As the leader lunged, Kevin sidestepped the heavy swing with minimal movement, then used the momentum to kick the nearest dock's supporting pillar just behind the man's knee. The pillar was old, termite-ridden wood. It cracked loudly and the leader stumbled in pain, losing his balance completely.
Kevin didn't stop there. Before the second thug could react, Kevin snatched the small oil lamp the third thug was carrying and, with a precise throw, smashed it into a stack of old, oily rope piled near the fourth thug's feet. The stack of rope instantly flared up, sending a sudden, billowing cloud of smoke and flame, blocking the thugs' most obvious escape route to the water.
The final two thugs froze, their attack halted not by brute strength, but by the cold, calculated speed of the trap. Their leader was wounded, the exit was blocked by fire, and the man they assumed was weak had just orchestrated a disaster without touching a weapon.
"Go," Kevin commanded, his voice dead calm, devoid of passion. "Tell every thief, every assassin, and every spy on this island who tried to steal from the champions. Tell them that their lives are not worth the cost of the planning it takes to kill us."
The remaining thugs, terrified and choking on smoke, dropped their weapons and fled into the dark night. Kevin walked back into the warehouse, the smell of smoke following him like a shroud.
Even, who had watched the entire, efficient exchange from the doorway, finally lowered his guard. "That was… calculated. I would have just ripped their arms off, and it would have taken longer."
"And drawn every local authority and pirate boss in the harbor," Kevin countered, picking up his dagger. "They fear strength, Even. But they respect and avoid intelligence and efficiency. We are safe for now. Now, we find the first mind worthy of the gold."
They had established their authority on the Gold Coast, not with a Hook, but with the terrifying precision of the Edge.