A new day dawned over the capital of Xandria. With the morning light stretching across the sky, Prince Xhiva lumbered toward the dock, his hefty frame swaying with each step. Ahead of him, the ship stood ready—prepared to launch their second assault on Niles and Niceland. Behind him, two chefs struggled to push a breakfast cart laden with silver platters, eager to satisfy the prince’s insatiable morning cravings.

  Roy walked close behind, his pristine military uniform adorned with the highest honors Xandria had to offer. Though his actual combat experience was laughable—aside from the attack on the royal ball—his close proximity to Prince Xhiva had catapulted him to the top. He ran both hands through his red hair, admiring his fingers now adorned with golden rings and dazzling gemstones. A priceless necklace hung around his neck, a testament to his newfound status. Soldiers respectfully bowed as he passed. He had his own private quarters, luxuries beyond anything he had known on Earth, and, most importantly, the recognition he had never received back home. You stand closest to yourself, Roy mused. In this new world, he had wealth, power, and respect. Life was good.

  Xhiva inhaled deeply. “Ahh, fresh air,” he sighed before snatching a pastry from the cart. “And breakfast—truly fit for royalty!” He sneered, biting into a pie, its filling dribbling down his double chins. Speaking through a full mouth, he turned to Roy. “We’re about to put down your friend from your home world.” His lazy gaze hardened. “I trust in your loyalty to Xandria?”

  Roy flashed a grin. “Of course. No hard feelings. Back on Earth, we’d just call this business. Nothing personal.” He spread his arms in an easy shrug. “You have to put yourself first, right, my prince?”

  Xhiva smirked. “That’s exactly right!” He grabbed a smoked piece of ham and took a hefty bite. “And what about the other one?”

  Roy’s smile faltered for half a second. “Gustavus?” Xhiva nodded. Roy stifled a laugh. “He’s just a loser with a loser skill.” He shook his head, gesturing with his hands. “Honestly, I just feel bad for your sister. She’s stuck with him in her ranks.”

  Xhiva let out a booming laugh. “True.” Satisfied with Roy’s answers, the prince continued up the gangplank. The chefs followed, their trays still piled high. Roy trailed after them, along with thirty soldiers. The anchor was reeled in, the sails caught the wind, and with that, the second attempt to crush Niles and drag him back to Xandria had begun.

  Meanwhile, in another part of the capital, something else was stirring.

  Polly, leader of the local adventurers’ guild, sat slumped in a chair outside the ruins of their former headquarters. Only smoldering rubble and blackened beams remained of the guildhall. The only thing they’d managed to salvage was the quest board, now propped up against a half-collapsed wall like a relic of better times. Polly and the few registered guild members sat around it, sulking.

  They had succeeded in Niles’s request to free Vulcan and get them to safety by sea. Their reward? Prince Xander’s priceless royal brooch. A fortune in the palm of her hand. The only problem? There was no way to sell it without drawing suspicion. It rested in her pocket now, a treasure and a curse. Was it truly the right decision? She sighed, unsure.

  Now, under the burning sun, all they could do was wait for better times.

  And, as fate would have it, those times arrived in the form of a merchant.

  A middle-aged man approached cautiously, dressed in regal purple robes, a crisp white shirt, and—most absurdly—a bright red, triangular hat with a feather sticking out. He hesitated before speaking.

  “Excuse me... is this the adventurers’ guild?” He glanced around at the ruins, then swallowed hard.

  Polly exhaled. “Yeah. At least, what’s left of it.” She folded her arms and studied him. He studied her back—more specifically, the towering muscles of the woman in front of him could surely crush a man’s skull with just her thighs. He cleared his throat.

  “I’d like to post a quest request. Could you assist me with the procedure?”

  The adventurers exploded from their chairs.

  “A QUEST?!” one shouted.

  The burly man with the Flower Power skill rushed forward, invading the merchant’s personal space with a giddy, childlike grin. “Quest?” he beamed, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  The merchant nearly leaped out of his ridiculous hat at the sudden enthusiasm. “W-Well, yes,” he stammered. “I assume you’ve all saw the announcement—monsters across the world have grown more aggressive?”

  The adventurers nodded so intensely it was a wonder their heads didn’t snap off.

  “I travel long distances with my goods,” the merchant continued. “I would require protection… just to be safe.”

  SMASH!

  Polly slammed her palm onto the last remaining table, shattering it to splinters.

  “NOW THAT’S A REAL QUEST!” she bellowed.

  The merchant flinched, terrified that he had somehow offended the towering guild leader—until she flashed him a grin. “You’ve come to the right place.”

  The adventurers scrambled to set up a chair, offering the merchant the royal treatment only a bunch of rag tag adventures could muster. Polly leaned in. “Let’s discuss the details…”

  But before they could, a tap landed on her shoulder.

  “Polly,” one of the adventurers murmured, “there’s someone else who wishes to speak with you.”

  Polly sighed. “Can’t you see I’m bus—” She turned, and the words died in her throat.

  Standing before her was a group of merchants, all dressed in the same triangular hats, though in different colors.

  “They’re requesting escorts as well,” the adventurer explained. “Protection for their trade routes. They worry that monster attacks might become a serious problem due to recent events.”

  Polly chuckled under her breath. She scanned the faces around her—the eager merchants, her fired-up adventurers, the once-forgotten quest board now filling up with requests.

  For the first time in a long while, the tide was turning for the guild.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Near the castle, a lone figure from the Golden Bank made his way across the moat, flanked by an escort of guards. Their armor gleamed white, their cloaks shimmered gold. The bank’s representative—tall and slender—walked with the quiet weight of authority. Every step he took carried an air of importance. His garments were pristine, woven from the finest fabrics, and draped across his shoulder was a light sash embroidered with the emblem of a golden pig—the unmistakable insignia of the Golden Bank.

  He was expected.

  The Xandrian soldiers stationed at the bridge parted without hesitation, allowing the prestigious guest to pass. As he walked, he offered them a polite wave, though his expression remained impassive, his dark hair cropped short and severe.

  At the entrance, Princess Xemena awaited him.

  She knelt in greeting. “Welcome, honored guest.” Rising gracefully, she asked, “Have your travels been well?”

  The middle-aged man responded curtly, “They were fine.” His gaze swept over the castle’s perimeter. “Has security been increased since my last visit?”

  Xemena nodded. “Yes. Due to recent events.”

  The man barely acknowledged her answer before continuing, his voice carrying the weight of something greater. “Have you noticed any changes since the message?”

  Xemena remained composed, her tone measured. “To avoid any misunderstandings—what message are you referring to?”

  The bank representative recited it as if it were carved into his memory, each word precise.

  “The Curse of Pride will engulf the world. Monsters will become more aggressive.”

  His sharp eyes fixed on her. “That one.”

  Xemena’s expression remained neutral, though a flicker of tension crossed her features. “It’s too early to determine any clear impact,” she admitted. “However, we have received reports that merchants are seeking the aid of the Adventurers’ Guild as a precaution during their travels.”

  The man’s lips pressed into a thin line. “So, you’re saying that the Crown of Xandria cannot guarantee the safety of merchants on the king’s roads?”

  A muscle in Xemena’s jaw twitched. “It is merely a precaution. It’s wiser to act in advance rather than after something happens.”

  The man folded his arms. “Much like how you acted against your own guests during the ball?”

  Xemena’s eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”

  But the banker was finished with this conversation. With a dismissive wave, he said, “Just take me to your father.”

  Something about his tone unsettled her. A warning bell rang faintly in her mind, but she swallowed her unease. Annoying a Golden Bank representative was not a risk worth taking. Without another word, she turned and led him toward the throne room.

  As they walked, she spoke with composed authority. “Before we enter, your guards will need to wait outside—”

  She was cut off.

  The banker’s tone sharpened with irritation. “They’re coming with me. Or I leave now and inform the Golden Bank master’s that the Xandrian Crown refuses its guests the right to personal security.”

  His words were firm. Non-negotiable.

  Xemena opened her mouth to argue, but another voice interrupted first.

  Dragon, Vice-Captain of the Xargian Guard, stepped forward.

  “Excuse my interruption, Princess, but I’ll allow it,” she declared. “I have been appointed as King Xerxes’s personal bodyguard. I will ensure that any situation remains under control.”

  Xemena rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. This wasn’t the time.

  The growing entourage continued forward, stepping into the heart of Xandria’s power.

  At the far end of the throne room, King Xerxes sat atop the Throne of a Thousand Crowns.

  King Xerxes was ready.

  He didn’t care that the Golden Bank’s representative had brought his personal bodyguards. Around the throne, Xandria’s own diplomats and negotiators stood at the ready. Every detail of this meeting had been meticulously prepared.

  As the banker stepped forward, Xerxes greeted him with authority.

  “Welcome.”

  The representative gave a stiff nod. “Thank you. We’ve finally arrived.”

  There was no courtesy. No flattery. Only business.

  Xerxes studied the man before him. They had met before—long ago—but the banker had since climbed to an even higher station within the Golden Bank’s hierarchy.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” the king offered.

  The banker didn’t hesitate. “No. Let’s get straight to business and spare everyone’s time.”

  Xerxes smirked, as if he had already won.

  “Very well.”

  His voice boomed through the throne room.

  “The Crown of Xandria expects compensation for the Golden Bank’s betrayal during the attack on our ball several nights ago. Additionally, we demand new financial agreements to restore our trust. Furthermore, all prior loans shall either be forgiven or their interest rates reduced significantly.”

  The king continued, his words sharp, unyielding.

  But the banker didn’t flinch. He simply waited. Patient. Unmoved.

  As Xerxes finished, the Xandrian officials erupted into cheers—a show of support, of confidence. Their king’s demands were undeniable. Flawless.

  And yet—

  The banker merely exhaled, as if drawing all the air from the room.

  Tension thickened in the silence.

  Xerxes filled it. “That’s only fair.”

  Then, finally, the banker spoke.

  “The Golden Bank has a counteroffer.”

  Xerxes leaned back on his throne of a thousand crowns, resting his chin against his fist.

  “Oh?” His tone was almost amused. “Do tell.”

  The banker unfurled a document.

  He cleared his throat, his voice striking like iron against stone.

  “Contract Clause 121. Effective immediately, the Golden Bank will increase Xandria’s interest rate to 40%.”

  Silence.

  The air went still.

  Had they heard him correctly?

  The banker didn’t wait for a reaction. He continued.

  “Contract Clause 32. The Golden Bank will freeze all new loan requests until the current debt is fully repaid.”

  Xerxes blinked. His fingers curled over the armrest of his throne. “Wha—?”

  The banker didn’t stop.

  “Contract Clause 87. The Golden Bank reserves the right to share or sell information of the debt to a third party.”

  Xerxes shot to his feet.

  “WHAT IS THIS?!”

  The banker calmly rolled up the document and extended it forward.

  “Everything is stated here.” His voice was unwavering. “Signed by the Masters of the Golden Bank.”

  Xerxes’s eyes burned with fury.

  “You’re mistaken.” His voice dripped with rage. “This was supposed to be the other way around. YOU should be on your knees, begging for the privilege of even stepping foot in this hall!”

  The banker’s voice remained cold, precise.

  “Contract Clause 55. The Golden Bank acknowledges all threats against its employees as a direct violation of contract.”

  His gaze locked onto Xerxes.

  “Tell me, King Xerxes—did you just threaten me? Or did you threaten the Golden Bank itself?”

  The king stiffened. A brief, almost imperceptible pause—then he forced out a calm reply.

  “No. Of course not.”

  But then his voice hardened.

  “However, you betrayed us at the ball.”

  The banker’s hand shot out, pointing directly at the king.

  “YOU MURDERED OUR COLLEAGUES. YOU SLAUGHTERED INNOCENT GUESTS.”

  Uproar.

  “LIES!” a voice from the Xandrian court roared.

  “THAT’S NOT TRUE!”

  “IT WAS THE OTHER WAY AROUND!”

  Tensions erupted across the hall.

  Xemena stepped forward, her voice carrying over the clamor. “Honored guests, it was Prince Zacharias of Zairule who killed your peers during the—”

  The banker didn’t even spare her a glance.

  “As a token of gratitude for being a loyal customer, the Golden Bank shall grant you six months to repay the debt in full. During this period—”

  Xerxes cut him off.

  Fury boiled in his voice. “You come into my home and spew LIES?!”

  His Veritas Gaze ignited, his eyes sharpening to separate truth from deception.

  But—

  The banker’s words held no falsehood.

  The king’s stomach churned.

  The representative pressed on, his voice unshaken. “Our reports—collected from multiple sources across different nations—confirm the same truth. The attack was orchestrated by you, an attempt to shift blame onto peaceful nations and consolidate more power.”

  The hall went silent.

  Xerxes’s fists clenched. His jaw tightened.

  No lies.

  Not a single one.

  The truth sat in the air like a lead weight.

  “Your sources are feeding you poison,” he spat. “Lies whispered into your ears!”

  The banker tilted his head. Then, with quiet finality, he asked:

  “These sources come from the highest ranks within the Golden Bank itself. Are you calling my peers—calling the Golden Bank—liars?”

  Xerxes felt himself being pushed into a corner.

  Trapped.

  A long, bitter pause.

  Then, through gritted teeth, he relented. “…Of course not.”

  The banker bowed slightly.

  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  He turned on his heel, walking toward the grand doors. But just before stepping out—

  He threw one last dagger.

  “Contract Clause 66. The Golden Bank reserves the right to collect its debts however it sees fit should repayment fail by any agreed-upon date.”

  And with that, he strode out of the throne room, his bodyguards at his side.

  Leaving behind a kingdom teetering on the edge of economic ruin.