Under the cover of darkness, using knowledge of secret paths obtained from the thieves' guild, the scout infiltrated a neighboring rooftop. 1It was a perilous path, demanding the skill of an acrobat and a shadow. There, in the pitch-black night, 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 telescopic sight, allowing him to magnify the target and make a shot with a precision incredible for the Middle Ages. The arrowhead, coated in the same deadly poison that nearly killed Katya's wolf, gleamed in the moonlight. 4This was not a random poison; it was a message. He would wait until the last light in the Sultan's chambers was extinguished, or until the silhouette of Azim himself appeared. One shot. 6 Quick, silent, deadly. Even if it didn't kill the Sultan outright, the mere 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 fortified walls. 7The 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, whistled through the night air, heading straight for the Sultan's bedroom window. The Lord's scout, hidden on the adjacent roof, held his breath, his gaze locked on the target through the primitive optical sight. The calculation was perfect, but an unforeseen obstacle stood in the way of the deadly message. Unexpectedly, instead of piercing flesh, the bolt struck something invisible—glass. Perhaps it was some cunning defensive system the thieves' guild was unaware of, or simply thicker glass than expected in the Sultan's quarters. The impact was muffled, its momentum lost. The bolt did not penetrate deeply, merely scratching Sultan Azim's skin, leaving a thin but palpable mark on his body. The poison, though it entered his system, was in a negligible dose, incapable of delivering a fatal blow.
Nevertheless, the objective was achieved. Sultan Azim awoke. He felt the sting of the scratch, saw the broken bolt stuck in the glass, and realized he had been the target of an assassination attempt. Panic swept through his chambers. The shouts of guards, the stomping of feet, the flashes of torches—the palace instantly came alive. The scout, his mission accomplished, vanished into the night as silently as he had appeared, leaving behind only a scratch and confusion. It was not a fatal blow, but a powerful challenge. Sultan Azim now knew that the Lord of the North had not just accepted his rules of the game but had begun to play by them on his own territory. And that his methods could be just as subtle, but far more technologically advanced than he could have imagined. Now Sultan Azim understood perfectly that this was not a one-sided game. His entire fortress was turned upside down, guards frantically searched for signs of entry, and healers feverishly examined the scratch on his arm, trying to identify the poison's composition.
But it was not the scale of the attempt that surprised him, but its style. He had expected an explosion, or an open assault, or something an ordinary army might orchestrate. Instead—a silent arrow from the shadows, a poison that did not kill but left a mark. This was his weapon, his method. This was not an act of desperation or brute force. It was a subtle, calculated strike, designed to show that his own games in the shadows would now be played against him. The Lord of the North, the mysterious ruler of the "Honey Mug," had not just answered the challenge; he had raised the stakes, demonstrating that he too had eyes and hands in the most unexpected places, and that his technology allowed for a strike with a precision Azim could only dream of.
Sultan Azim's anger was silent and cold. He did not scream or break furniture. 33Instead, his gaze grew harder, and his movements more composed. He had a taste of his own medicine, and it was bitter. He knew that this "assassination attempt," which was in fact a warning, meant only one thing: the war he had started would now be fought in his own rear, and no one would be safe, not even himself, in his own chambers.
In the Lord of the North's study, he, Green, and Friar Tuck gathered once again. The tension was palpable, but now it was filled not with fear, but with defiance. "What is the Sultan's ultimate goal?" Green asked, his brow furrowed in thought. "The Mountain Ridge is too tough for him. Supported by our army, the Legion of the Dead, and possibly the Imperials, we could hold out here for decades. He understands that."
Friar Tuck stroked his beard, his gaze thoughtful. "He's no fool to charge headfirst into the rocks. His methods are more subtle. First the poison, now this... demonstration."
The Lord of the North listened to them, considering every aspect. Green was right. A direct assault on the "Honey Mug," his impregnable fortress, would be suicide for any army, even the Bloody Sultanate's. Azim would not waste his forces on a pointless siege. His goal had to be different, more strategic, more insidious.
"He doesn't want the Mountain Ridge," the Lord finally said, looking at the map spread on the table. "He wants something else. Something we provide him or something that is under our control. Or perhaps, he doesn't just want to take, but to destroy what we have built."
"The economy," Green suggested. "He could try to strangle our trade routes, if not the Mountain Silk Road directly, then by roundabout ways. Intercept our caravans, lure away merchants."
"Or sow chaos from within," Friar Tuck added. "Bribe officials, incite rebellions among the common folk if he decides Katya is no longer managing. Destabilize, then strike."
The Lord of the North nodded. It all made sense. Sultan Azim was a master of covert strikes, and this scratch on his body only confirmed that he would not change his methods. 52The Lord's task was to understand his true objective before he delivered the main blow. 53"His goal is not direct conquest," he asserted, "but to undermine our stability. He wants us to waste our strength on internal problems, to become easy prey. We need to think like him and stay one step ahead."
Hearing his words, Green and Friar Tuck nodded, their faces grim with understanding. "Exactly," the Lord confirmed, "The Sultan will not storm the cliffs. 58He will strike at our heart—the Mountain Silk Road and our shadow trade. He will make trade unprofitable and risky for the imperial merchants. If caravans stop crossing our ridge, our economy, built on this flow of wealth, will begin to suffer. And if people begin to fear that we cannot protect them and their goods, their loyalty will falter."
Friar Tuck added: "And that is exactly what the Emperor is waiting for. Our autonomous principality is a tempting prize for both him and the Sultan. Until there is a direct pretext for war, the Emperor will wait, watching us weaken, hoping to bring this 'wayward mountain principality' under his control without a single shot."
"So, this is a war of nerves and resources," the Lord of the North concluded. "We need to show the merchants that we can protect them better than anyone else. That prosperity here, under our patronage, is worth any risk. And that anyone who tries to harm our trade will pay the highest price." His task now was to develop a strategy that would not only protect the trade routes but also strengthen the trust of the merchants and the loyalty of his people. The Lord of the North was preparing to confront the Sultanate's new, hidden threat aimed at his economy and authority.
His principality was in an extremely difficult situation. From the East, like an invisible plague, the influence of the Bloody Sultanate was spreading, undermining the foundations of his economy and the people's faith in his protection. 68And from the West, like a predator biding its time, the Emperor watched intently, ready to pounce on the weakened prey at any moment. He, his "Honey Mug," and everything he had built were caught between a rock and a hard place.
The first signs of economic warfare were not long in coming. Caravans coming from the east began to be attacked. These were not mere bandits—the attacks were too well-coordinated, too precisely aimed at the most valuable goods. Rumors of the "insecurity" of the Mountain Silk Road spread like wildfire, fueled by Sultanate agents hiding among the merchants. Some imperial merchants, fearing for their profits and their lives, began to look for alternative routes or to abandon your route altogether.
Tension was also growing within the principality. The people, whose well-being depended on trade, began to grumble. The fear for their families, for their goods, for their future began to weaken the strong loyalty that Katya had worked so hard to build. The Emperor's emissaries, ever vigilant, did not miss the opportunity to add fuel to the fire, spreading ideas that "order and protection can only be achieved under the wing of the Empire." This was not just a military campaign; it was a war for hearts and minds. The Lord of the North needed not only to protect his borders and trade routes but also to restore confidence in his ability to ensure prosperity and security, showing both the Sultan and the Emperor that the "Honey Mug" would not break under pressure.
Sultan Azim's plan was becoming perfectly clear and all the more insidious for it. 80He was playing a much more complex game than simple economic warfare. "He doesn't just want to weaken us," the Lord said aloud, realizing the full depth of the intrigue. "He wants to sever our principality from the Empire. To make us weak and isolated enough that the Emperor cannot or will not stand up for us. He wants to provoke internal chaos, bribe the nobility, sow panic among the people. This will create the perfect conditions for his 'liberation' campaign, which the Empire will perceive as an 'internal problem' rather than a direct invasion."
Green nodded, his face tense. "He doesn't see the full depth of the political intrigue. He doesn't understand that the Emperor dreams of conquering our lands. To Azim, we are just a rebellious vassal of the Empire that stands in the way of his expansion. He thinks that by weakening us, he weakens the Emperor."
Friar Tuck added, "But in reality, he's playing into the Emperor's hands. A weakened 'Honey Mug' is easy prey for both sides. We risk becoming a battlefield where neither side cares about us."
This put him in an extremely dangerous position. 86 He had not just to defend himself, but also to maneuver between two powerful states, each of which saw him as either an obstacle or potential prey. He needed to convince the Empire of his loyalty without losing his autonomy, while simultaneously repelling the Sultanate's covert attacks.
"We will not let them make us a pawn in their games," the Lord declared resolutely. 88"We need to strengthen our internal ties, show the Emperor that we are a strong and useful ally, not just an object of conquest. And make it clear to the Sultan that any attempts at destabilization will result in even greater chaos for him."
He voiced a thought that made Green and Friar Tuck fall silent and look at him in surprise. A tension hung in the air before Friar Tuck, stroking his beard, finally broke the silence. "Perhaps," the Lord of the North said, looking at the map of the Mountain Ridge, "we should start sabotaging the Mountain Silk Road ourselves. 92We won't let the Sultanate do it; we'll do it ourselves."
Green frowned, considering his words. "My lord, that... is a double-edged sword. It would immediately hit our own economy, our people who live off this trade."
"And not just ours," the Lord clarified, "but also the economy of the Sultate, which also uses this route, and the Empire, whose merchants transport goods through us. It will be a blow to everyone."
Friar Tuck, who always valued pragmatism, slowly nodded. "It's risky, but... it might make them see our position differently. If we can shut down the route ourselves, we demonstrate strength, not weakness. We control the gates."
"The idea is," the Lord of the North continued, "that if we create partial chaos on the Road ourselves, but at the same time show that we can also
control it, we send a signal to both sides. To the Sultanate, that we will not let him decide the fate of the Road alone. And to the Emperor, that we are not just a victim to be swallowed, but a force capable of influencing their own trade interests."
"We won't cut off the branch we're sitting on," he explained. "We will create controlled chaos. Targeted, but not destructive actions that will create an impression of instability, but will allow us, if necessary, to restore order faster than anyone else. We must show that the chaos on the Road is our chaos, not chaos caused by weakness."
Green began to nod slowly, a calculating gleam appearing in his eyes. "This could be a way to change the rules of the game. If we become the cause of the problem, and then the only solution..."
"And that will give us leverage," the Lord concluded. "Leverage in negotiations with the Emperor and leverage to pressure the Sultanate. They must understand that the 'Honey Mug' is not just a passageway, but a force to be reckoned with."
The decision was bold, almost insane, but in his situation, caught between a rock and a hard place, it was perhaps the only way to survive and strengthen his power. Now he had to devise a plan on how to sabotage the Mountain Silk Road in a way that would hurt everyone, but not destroy himself in the process.
The Lord nodded, developing his idea. "Exactly. 'Accidental' rockslides." Green and Friar Tuck listened intently, their faces brightening with an understanding of the plan's subtlety.
"We'll arrange them to look like natural disasters," the Lord continued, gesturing over the map. 109"Not too massive, but serious enough to block the main passes for a while. And, most importantly, to present it as our immediate desire to clear them. Send our people, engineers, the Legion of the Dead to diligently 'clear' the debris. It will take a very long time, creating the appearance of an unsolvable problem."
"While the official route is 'blocked'," Green smirked, "smuggling will flourish under our guidance. Those who know 'our' secret paths, those who pay us, will be able to bypass the blockades. This will force all merchants, both Imperial and Sultanate, to turn to us for 'help' with detours. And every such detour will cost them precious stones."
"Exactly," the Lord confirmed. "We will create a problem, and then offer a solution for which they will pay. This will not only damage their economy but also strengthen ours by redirecting some of the flows into our hands. We will show that we are in control of this chaos."
Friar Tuck added: "And the rumors of 'incredible cataclysms' on the Mountain Ridge will only enhance our legend about the harshness and unpredictability of these lands. Let them think that nature itself is against them."
The plan began to take concrete shape. "Accidental" rockslides, "difficult" work to clear them, and under this cover, a flourishing of controlled smuggling that would bring immense wealth and simultaneously serve as a lever of pressure on both sides. This was a game, and the Lord was ready to show who the true master of the Mountain Ridge was.
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