The bustling town of Crossford, located half a day's carriage ride south of the poor Millbrook village, was originally the gathering trading place of the largest market in the region.
The Merchant Guild's representative branch in Crossford was a majestic three-story building solidly constructed with gray stone. Right in front of the entrance was proudly hung a large sign exquisitely carved with the image of a brave sword crossing a laurel branch.
The respectable Baron Harlan Voss had been sitting rooted in the luxurious guest room on the second floor of that building for nearly an hour.
The person sitting leisurely opposite him was Garrick, the cunning manager of the Merchant Guild branch in Crossford. Garrick was a man having a plump jiggling physique, his hair always gelled combed shiny, his ten chubby fingers flauntingly wearing up to six rings with huge gemstone faces.
