So, a new threat is brewing in the East. The Bloody Sultanate, under the leadership of the ruthless Sultan Azim, has risen beyond the Great Steppe Lands that lie beyond the Mountain Ridge.
In the evenings, the "Honey Mug" was always a special place. The central hall was filled with laughter, the hum of voices, and the melodic strains of a bard's lute, creating an atmosphere of comfort and well-being. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread, mixed with the aroma of honey. This was his home, his impregnable fortress, and his success.
The Lord of the North and his wife Katya, the Mistress of the North, sat in the center of the hall, surrounded by their most loyal companions. 6Next to them was Green, the steadfast advisor, along with his wife Inga. Father Tuk, the Lord's secret agent in the Church, was sipping ale. 8His usually sharp gaze was relaxed today, but nothing escaped his notice. Katya, as always, chatted casually with the patrons, listening to their worries and joys. Her presence calmed and united the common folk. The Lord of the North, however, watched everyone attentively, allowing himself a moment to forget the coming threats and enjoy the fruits of his labor—a prosperous principality that had become the shadow heart of the entire Empire.
In the blink of an eye, the serene evening in the tavern turned into a blood-curdling nightmare. The Lord of the North reached for his mug of mead, but at that moment, Father Tuk, in his usual manner, asked him a question, distracting him. His hand faltered, and the mug tipped over, the amber liquid spilling onto the floor. The Lord's heart skipped a beat as Katya's pet wolf, usually calm and majestic, immediately began to lap eagerly at the spilled mead. Seconds felt like hours. Suddenly, the wolf let out a piercing whine, its body was seized by violent tremors, and it began to foam at the mouth.
"Poison!" shouted Green, jumping to his feet, his usually composed face contorted with horror.
The hall fell silent. The bards' music ceased. All eyes were fixed on the unfortunate animal writhing in agony on the floor. This was no accident. It was a carefully planned attack. The Sultanate had begun to act, and their target was the Lord of the North himself. His vigilance had saved his life.
Despite the shock, Katya immediately knelt beside the agonizing wolf, her eyes filled with pain and anxiety. The Lord's personal bodyguards, trained to react to any threat, instantly formed a tight circle around him and his table. Their gazes scanned the hall for any suspicious movement, a hidden dagger, or a nervous gesture. The atmosphere in the "Honey Mug" became electric; every sound, every rustle seemed to herald new danger. The crowd froze, but fear mixed with curiosity was written on the faces of the patrons.
The Lord of the North nodded to his bodyguards, letting them know not to cause a panic or try to find the culprit here and now. His mind told him that in such a diverse crowd and amidst the chaos, it would be impossible to identify the hired assassin, who had probably already blended in with the patrons or left the establishment.
"Green, Father Tuk, with me. Katya, take care of the wolf and make sure no one leaves the tavern without being checked," the Lord gave swift orders, maintaining an outward calm despite the emotions boiling inside him.
The Lord, Green, and Father Tuk quickly and decisively headed to a private office, leaving a buzz of whispers and anxious glances behind them. The door closed behind them, cutting them off from the outside world and allowing them to focus on urgent matters. In the office, where order and strategic thinking always reigned, tension was now palpable.
"So, gentlemen," the Lord began as they all sat down, "the Sultanate has made its first move. Subtle, clever, vile. We almost lost Katya's wolf, and we could have lost me. What are your proposals?"
"The mug was poisoned, my lord," Green's voice sounded hollow. "The perpetrator has likely already blended into the crowd or left the tavern. But this is just a symptom. We need to find the source."
Father Tuk, stroking his beard, added: "The Church is already full of rumors about certain 'eastern merchants' who are too generous with gifts and too curious. Their appearance coincides with the increased raids on the eastern border. They are looking not only for information but also for those willing to sell their souls for coin."
"So, the Sultanate is already operating on our territory," you summarize, your face becoming impassive. "Their goal is destabilization and finding weak links. Well, we will answer them in kind. Father Tuk, activate your network in the Church. I need names, routes, contacts. Which of the clergy is involved, which of the parishioners has fallen under their influence. Green, strengthen the security on all our borders, especially the eastern one. Check everyone who comes under the guise of merchants. Pay special attention to those who show excessive curiosity about our fortress or our technologies. Spread rumors that our mead is now a test of loyalty, and anyone who refuses it will be under suspicion. And, of course, strengthen our counterintelligence. I need eyes and ears everywhere, especially among these so-called 'eastern merchants.' We need to know their plans before they carry them out."
"While you and Father Tuk work on our strategy," you address them, "we need to deal with something more pressing. This poison... we must analyze it. Green, send the best alchemists and healers to the wolf. Let them collect samples, study the composition, and find an antidote if possible. I need a full report on its nature and effects. If this poison is circulating among the Sultanate's mercenaries, we must be ready for it. Perhaps it will even give us a clue to their origin or where they get it." "And don't forget about Katya. She is taking this hard. Do everything possible to alleviate the animal's suffering and, if there is even the slightest chance, save it."
"And I have an idea, my lord," says Green, his eyes lighting up with a cunning glint despite the tense situation. "The 'Suspicious Supplier' trap."
He began to lay out his plan, and you listen with growing interest. The idea was simple and brilliant in its audacity. "We will create a false target," Green explained. 48 "We'll take a real, but not particularly important, merchant who regularly visits the 'Honey Mug.' Or even create a fictitious identity." "Then," he continued, "we'll spread a rumor. In whispers, of course, to make it seem like accidentally leaked information. That this supplier is our secret informant or liaison. That he possesses important information about our plans or, even better, about certain 'weak spots' in our defense."
Father Tuk nodded, already understanding Green's train of thought. "Church gossip is an excellent tool for such matters," he remarked.
"And here's where it gets interesting," Green smiled slightly. 52"We'll arrange for this 'informant' to always sit at a specific table. Or for his mug of mead to be 'accidentally' left unattended. Just like yours was, my lord, last time."
"The goal?" asked the Lord of the North, though the answer was already clear.
"To provoke the Sultanate's assassins into attempting to eliminate this 'informant'," Green concluded. "They will think they are eliminating a threat, depriving us of a valuable source. And at the moment of the attempt... our hidden bodyguards or specially trained 'Legionnaires,' discreetly positioned throughout the hall, will strike back. We will capture or eliminate the assassins, obtaining the information we need and showing the Sultanate that we are not asleep."
The "Suspicious Supplier" plan was approved. Now all that remained was to prepare for its execution. The Lord of the North imagined how carefully the hidden positions of his warriors would be chosen, how the disinformation would be spread, and how the moment of truth would arrive. "This is an excellent move, Green," he said, feeling the tension in the office give way to determination. "Begin implementation. Father Tuk, handle the rumors through your channels. We need a perfect performance."
The Lord chose a merchant who regularly supplied the "Honey Mug" with rare herbs and spices from the eastern lands—not too influential, but noticeable enough. His men were instructed to "carelessly" let it slip that this supplier, a certain Hasan, was actually his secret informant. He had supposedly passed on valuable information about the Sultanate's smuggling routes and the training of their secret agents. The rumor was meant to reach the ears of the most interested parties: those same "merchants" from the East who were now likely staying in and around the tavern.
As bait, it was decided that Hasan would appear at the "Honey Mug" every evening and always sit at the same, easily visible table, as if waiting for someone or something. 65His mug of mead, as if out of absentmindedness, would sometimes be left unattended, creating the perfect opportunity for a poisoner. Meanwhile, the Lord's bodyguards and specially selected warriors from the "Legion of the Dead" disguised themselves as ordinary patrons or servants and spread out through the tavern. Their task was to discreetly watch every movement around the "suspicious supplier" and be ready for instant action as soon as the enemy made a move. Particular attention was paid to those who showed excessive curiosity towards Hasan or his mug.
Every evening, Hasan occupied his "easily visible" table, creating the appearance of waiting. His mug of mead, sometimes "accidentally" left unattended, served as bait. At the same time, the bodyguards and warriors from the "Legion of the Dead," skillfully disguised as ordinary patrons or servants, discreetly dispersed throughout the hall. Their eyes scanned every corner, every face, every movement, focusing on Hasan and his surroundings. Special attention was paid to those who showed excessive curiosity towards the "informant" or his mug. The anticipation was almost palpable, but the Sultanate had yet to make its move.
While the "suspicious supplier" charade was playing out in the "Honey Mug," another, no less important, effort was underway in the depths of the fortress. The best alchemists and healers, locked away in their laboratories, meticulously studied the poison that had been used on Katya's wolf. Every component was carefully analyzed, every reaction recorded. They worked tirelessly, striving to uncover all the secrets of the deadly substance.
When the initial analysis was complete, and the alchemists, albeit cautiously, were able to determine the approximate composition and effects of the poison, the Lord of the North made a bold and risky decision. Under the strict control and observation of the healers, he and his closest associates, with the exception of the pregnant Katya, began to ingest the poison in small, gradually increasing doses. It was a dangerous experiment aimed at developing immunity, at understanding the poison's effects from the inside. Each of them knew the risk but also understood the necessity of this step when the enemy was using such methods. They were becoming living weapons, immune to one of the Sultanate's most dangerous tools.
Meanwhile, throughout the "Honey Mug" and beyond, in the seediest places and on the trade routes, rumors about Hasan, the spice supplier, began to spread. "Have you heard? That Hasan, the one who brings goods from the East, they say he's been feeding our Lord secrets. About the Sultan's caravans, about their spies..." "Really? And I thought he was just a merchant. So that's how it is... They say he even told them about some of the Sultan's secret signs for identifying their people."
The rumors, like a wildfire, were picked up and spread. 88Some merchants, especially those who did business with the East, became noticeably nervous, their gazes constantly darting towards Hasan. Others, conversely, showed excessive interest, trying to find out details or "accidentally" end up near Hasan in the tavern, listening to his every word. 90Hasan himself, unaware of his role in your game, continued to act as usual, occupying his "favorite" table and sipping mead. His casual demeanor only intensified the suspicions of those looking for a catch, making him the perfect bait. Your hidden observers recorded every suspicious movement, every nervous gesture, every whisper. The tension was building, heralding an imminent conclusion.
The carefully crafted "Suspicious Supplier" plan unexpectedly failed. The calculation was that the Sultanate would try to eliminate Hasan on the Lord's territory, under his control. But Azim's intelligence proved to be more subtle than anticipated. A few days after the rumors began to spread, when the tension in the "Honey Mug" reached its peak, news arrived that made the Lord shudder. Hasan had been found dead. 98Not within the fortress walls, not on the trade routes of the principality, but on the territory of the Sultanate itself, where he had gone with another trade caravan. He was struck down by an arrow, fired from an ambush, according to secret sources.
Sultan Azim had not fallen for the trick. He did not play by the Lord's rules, nor did he expose his agents in the fortress. Instead, he demonstrated that his long arm could reach anyone who "betrayed" his interests, even beyond the Lord's influence. He didn't just eliminate a supposed informant; he did it as a demonstration, to sow fear and mistrust among potential defectors and informers in his own ranks. It was a cold, calculated move that proved the Lord of the North was facing an opponent no less cunning and far-sighted than himself. The Sultan was not afraid to act on his own territory, demonstrating his power.
In the Lord of the North's office, he, Green, and Father Tuk gathered once more. The news of Hasan's death hung heavy in the air, a crushing silence. "They didn't take the bait," Green said grimly. "And they killed him on their own land. This is a demonstration of power, my lord." Father Tuk sighed heavily. "They are making it clear that their spies know more than we think. And that anyone who tries to oppose them will be punished, no matter where they are."
"Well then," the Lord began, breaking the silence in the office, "if they don't want to play our games, we will play theirs. They struck at us through their agent, hidden under the guise of a merchant. We will answer them in kind. Green, Father Tuk, it is time for our counterintelligence. We cannot allow them to operate in the dark."
He looked at his closest companions, determination burning in his eyes. "I am sending my spies to the Sultanate. Under the guise of merchants. The Eastern Silk Road is our path, and we will use it. They must infiltrate their cities, their caravans, their palaces if possible." "Their task is not just to gather rumors. I need concrete data. The number of their troops, their movement routes, their key figures, their allies, and most importantly, their plans. How do they intend to act against us? What are their weaknesses? I need to know everything about Sultan Azim, his generals, his methods." "It will be dangerous. Possibly even deadly. But we cannot afford to be blind. Our people must be smart, cautious, and convincing. They must be prepared for any scrutiny and able to win trust. Choose the best of the best. Those who know eastern customs, who can blend into a crowd and speak their language. Provide them with false identities, sufficient funds, and, if possible, some goods that would be of interest to the Sultanate." "We need information, and we will get it, no matter the cost."
The Lord of the North gave his agents clear instructions: their first mission was not only to gather information about the Sultanate's troops and plans but also to establish contacts. They were to seek out those who, for one reason or another, were dissatisfied with Sultan Azim's rule, those who lived outside the law and would benefit from destabilization or covert support from outside. "Look for smugglers," he instructed, "they know all the secret trails and paths by which goods, people, and information move. Thieves, mercenaries, those who live on the fringes of society—they often possess valuable information and hold no particular loyalty to the authorities. Find them, offer them profitable deals, but be careful. Trust must be earned, and it is built not only on gold but also on common interests."
The spies, disguised as merchants, set off for the East, their caravans mingling with others heading into the Sultanate's lands. Their path lay along the same trade routes that Hasan had once controlled. Now, each of them became a "suspicious supplier," but this time for real. Their tasks included establishing trade contacts, which served as a cover for their main activities. They were to buy and sell goods, make acquaintances, and listen to conversations. They also had to identify key figures in the underworld: who runs the smuggling operations, which thieves' guilds are most influential, and which of them are open to cooperation. The agents were to gather fragmented information: any rumors, any slips of the tongue about military plans, internal politics, or public sentiment—all of it was to be carefully recorded and transmitted through encrypted channels. Finally, their tasks included assessing the situation: how strong is the Sultan's control, how do the locals react to his rule, are there signs of discontent that could be exploited.
"Use our advantages," the Lord of the North reminded Green and Father Tuk as they discussed the details of the spies' mission. "Our mines give us more than just gold. We have precious stones. They are light, easy to hide, and most importantly, they are of great value in the East, where they are held in special regard." He explained: "Offer our potential informants payment in precious stones. For many, this will be much more attractive than coin, especially for those who want to hide their income or whose assets could be confiscated by the Sultan. Stones are not only wealth but also status and a symbol of trust. This will be a powerful incentive for those who wish to cooperate with us in secret." Thus, the spies set off for the East not only with gold but also with carefully selected precious stones, which became an additional tool for building connections and obtaining necessary information.
After some time, weeks, perhaps months of painstaking work in the very heart of enemy lands, the Lord of the North's agents succeeded. His people, using their cunning, knowledge of eastern customs, and the glitter of precious stones, managed to establish a relationship with the largest thieves' guild in the Sultanate. It was not easy. In the underworld, trust is a rare currency, and suspicion is a constant companion. But your spies proved their worth. They shared information, offered profitable deals, perhaps even assisted in some "matters," demonstrating that cooperation with the "merchants from the North" brought real benefits.
Now the Lord of the North had eyes and ears in the most unexpected places. The thieves' guild, with its extensive network of informants, hidden safe houses, and knowledge of all the shady corners of the Sultanate, became his invaluable asset. Through them, he could obtain information that was impossible to get by other means: about the movements of high-ranking officials, the morale in garrisons, secret negotiations, and perhaps even the personal weaknesses of Sultan Azim and his circle.
In the deep, secret rooms of the "Honey Mug," the development of the most audacious plan began. The Lord's agents, now with access to the thieves' guild network, started preparing a secret assassination attempt on Sultan Azim himself. The Lord was well aware that the chances of success were minimal. The Sultan's palace was undoubtedly well-guarded, and as a ruler who had risen from the Steppe Lands, he surely possessed an instinct for survival and paranoia. However, the goal of this assassination was not its successful completion. The main objective was the very fact of its occurrence. It was to be a clear, unambiguous signal to Sultan Azim: "I know who you are, and I have accepted your rules of the game. You are no longer the only one who can act from the shadows. Your own shadow will now be mine."
The Lord's people, working under the strictest secrecy, began gathering information about the Sultan's daily routine, his routes, his security, and the palace's vulnerabilities. 156Information about possible entry points, corrupt guards, and secret passages trickled in through the thieves' guild. The most skilled and cold-blooded assassins were chosen, perhaps from among those who had already proven their loyalty to the Lord, or those who could be fully controlled through the guild. They were given the most advanced poisons, the sharpest blades, and the most discreet means of infiltration. Every step was planned with devilish precision. Everything had to be done in such a way that the Sultan would understand it was not just a raid by bandits, but a targeted action. Perhaps a symbol would be left behind, a specific type of poison, or even an intentionally "failed" part of the plan that would point to the source. The tension mounted. This game was becoming increasingly personal, and the Lord of the North was ready to show the Sultan that even in his own domain, he could not feel safe.
The Lord's scout, chosen for his marksmanship and composure, carefully studied the surroundings of the Sultan's palace. The most vulnerable time was at night, when Sultan Azim was in his chambers, possibly without his usual large guard detail, relaxed after the day's affairs. Under the cover of darkness, using knowledge of secret paths obtained from the thieves' guild, the scout infiltrated a nearby rooftop. 166It was a dangerous path, requiring the skill of an acrobat and a shadow. There, in the pitch-black darkness, he took his position, drawing his crossbow.
But this was no ordinary crossbow. It was one of the Lord's early, primitive creations, equipped with a crude but functional optical sight, allowing for an incredibly precise shot for the medieval era. The arrowhead, coated with the same deadly poison that almost killed Katya's wolf, gleamed in the moonlight. This was not a random poison; it was a message. 172He would wait until the last light in the Sultan's chambers went out, or until the silhouette of Azim himself appeared. One shot. Fast, silent, deadly. Even if it didn't kill the Sultan instantly, the very fact of such an infiltration and such a precise strike was meant to sow terror in his heart and show him that he was not safe even within the most protected walls. The Lord of the North had accepted his rules, Sultan Azim, and was now playing his own game, but with his own, more lethal tools.
The bolt, fired from the crossbow, hissed through the night air, heading straight for the window of the Sultan's bedroom. The Lord's scout, hidden on the neighboring roof, held his breath, his eyes fixed on the target through the primitive optical sight.
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