And so, the plan was set in motion. "Accidental" collapses began to occur with frightening regularity at key points along the Mountain Silk Road. Each report of a blocked passage was accompanied by the theatrical efforts of your men—engineers, backed by grim figures from the "Legion of the Dead"—who demonstrated desperate but "unsuccessful" attempts to clear the rubble. Days turned into weeks, and the passes remained "impassable," causing growing resentment among the merchants and inflicting huge losses on both the Empire and the Sultanate. But while the official route was "impassable," the Lord's own controlled smuggling channel began to flourish. His men, using secret paths known only to him and trusted smugglers (and now, thanks to recent agreements, also to those from the Sultanate's thieves' guild), easily transported goods around the blockades. The Lord's "golden coins" and especially the precious stones, so valued in the East, were used to pay for these clandestine operations.
It soon became clear that the Lord of the North was the only one who could ensure the "delivery" of goods across the Mountain Ridge. Merchants, desperate due to delays and losses, began to turn to him. The prices, of course, were much higher—a fee for the risk, for the "complexity," and for the "exclusivity" of the service. But they had no other choice. The Lord was making a colossal profit from this, strengthening his financial position every day and demonstrating to both empires that even in conditions of "chaos," he remained the true master of the Road.
It was a game on the edge. He risked invoking the wrath of both sides, but he was also showing them that he would not let them dictate their terms. He controlled the flow, which meant he controlled their interests. It was an idea as bold as it was brilliant, capable of changing the rules of the game.
If control over the Mountain Silk Road gave the Lord power over trade, then introducing his own currency would give him power over the very flow of money. "We will make our golden coins a second currency," he declared, as Green and Father Tuck considered the consequences of his actions on the Mountain Silk Road. "Not just in the Empire, but in the Sultanate as well."
Green looked puzzled at first, but then his eyes lit up with understanding. "My lord, this... this is a challenge to the Emperor and the Sultan themselves. Currency is a symbol of power."
"Exactly," agreed the Lord of the North. "But our coin will be stable, reliable, backed by our mines and our trade. While their currencies fluctuate due to wars and intrigues, ours will be valued for its unchanging worth."
Father Tuck added, his voice full of anticipation, "Our smugglers and the thieves' guild will be the perfect distributors. They already deal with huge amounts of cash and jewels. They can offer their services, accepting payment in our coins, or issuing them as payment. It's convenient, secure, and no one will ask unnecessary questions about the origin of the coins."
"Correct," the Lord continued. "Our golden coins will become the universal means of payment in the shadow world of both empires. For those who value stability and anonymity, our coins will be preferable. They will be used to pay for secret deals, bribes, hiring assassins... and gradually seep into official circulation." This move was incredibly risky, but if it succeeded, it would grant unprecedented power. The Lord would become not just a prince controlling a trade route, but an unofficial financial center whose currency would be valued more highly than the state's. This would force the Emperor and the Sultan to reckon with him on a whole new level, as he would now not just be blocking their trade, but also influencing their monetary system. The plan to sabotage the Mountain Silk Road and the flourishing smuggling were already creating the perfect conditions for introducing the northern currency. Merchants, forced to pay for bypass routes, would begin to get used to the northern coins, seeing them as a convenient means of settlement.
The Lord smiled, anticipating the consequences of his audacious plan. "We will show the Sultan that economic warfare can be far more devastating than one of men."
And so it happened. The mountain collapses, "accidentally" blocking key passes, began to take full effect. They cut off not only caravans with goods but also the paths for the Sultanate's secret scouts and hired assassins. Movement became slow, risky, and extremely difficult. Azim's agents, accustomed to operating covertly, were now forced to make their way through the blockades, becoming vulnerable to unseen patrols and traps. Their information arrived late or not at all.
The Empire and the Sultanate, whose trade routes through the Mountain Ridge had effectively frozen, suffered colossal losses. The merchants' complaints multiplied with each passing day. The Lord, seeking to create the appearance of active measures, demonstratively sent engineers and workers to clear the blockades. His emissaries swore absolute loyalty to the Emperor, explaining the events as "insurmountable forces of nature" and urgently requested assistance. In reality, however, the principality was once again thriving, and the source of this prosperity was smuggling. The secret trails, known only to the Lord's men and trusted members of the thieves' guild, were bustling with activity. Valuable goods flowed like a river along these paths, paid for with golden coins and precious stones that were gradually becoming a universal currency.
The Lord had become like a spider sitting in the center of its invisible web. He created a problem and then took control of its "solution," extracting maximum benefit from it. The Mountain Ridge became his personal fortress, impenetrable to enemies and an inexhaustible source of wealth. While Sultan Azim wasted his strength in vain and the Emperor remained inactive, the Lord consolidated his power and financial might, preparing for the next stage in this great game.
Father Tuck, a secret agent within the Church, became another tool in the complex game. Every day, messages were sent from his cell, addressed to the highest hierarchs of the Church, as well as circulars intended for local parishes and pilgrims. In these messages, Father Tuck grandiloquently described the courage and diligence of the northern people, their unwavering faith and resilience in dealing with the aftermath of the "terrible natural disasters"—the very collapses blocking the Mountain Silk Road. He painted pictures of selfless labor, the heroism of common people, and, of course, the generous patronage of the Lord of the North in these difficult times.
Although the Sultanate was not mentioned directly, Father Tuck's messages carried subtle but distinct hints. He wrote of "dark forces that sow chaos" on the trade routes, of "otherworldly powers angered by sinful deeds," or "the wrath of the ancient mountain spirits" who unleashed their curses upon the caravans. These metaphors, skillfully woven into pious texts, created an additional backdrop for the already existing myths of the "Necromancer Lord" and the "Legion of the Dead." Thus, the problems on the trade route were perceived not as a sign of the Lord's weakness, but as the action of unknown forces or even as a demonstration of his own formidable power. Indirectly, these messages linked all the troubles to the East, hinting that they were the machinations of those who went against the "divine order" or the "ancient powers of the North." All of this intensified the fear of the unknown while simultaneously strengthening faith in the Lord's ability to handle even the most mystical threats. The people, already prone to legends, readily accepted such explanations. The church hierarchs had no direct evidence to refute these rumors, and they could say nothing against them. The Sultanate, faced with a mystical veil and not fully understanding the Lord's game, merely shrugged, considering it another manifestation of the North's "barbaric superstitions." None of them even suspected that this was just part of a cunning strategy.
Sultan Azim's anger reached its peak. Losses were mounting, his trade routes were grinding to a halt, and rumors of "cursed mountains" and "dark forces" began to sow panic even among his merchants. He could wait no longer. Unaware of the Lord's true role in these "cataclysms," the Sultan dispatched significant forces to clear the Mountain Silk Road from his side, from the east. Teams of workers, reinforced by military units for protection and organization, moved toward the passes, determined to quickly restore traffic. Azim believed in his engineering might and the discipline of his troops.
But the "nature" of the Mountain Ridge, controlled by the Lord's cunning, proved to be far more treacherous. No sooner had the Sultan's men begun to clear one rockslide than a new one "accidentally" triggered. A loud roar echoed through the gorges, and hundreds of tons of rock came crashing down, burying sections of the road and, unfortunately for the Sultan, his workers and soldiers. These "accidents" were carefully planned by the Lord's engineers and the "Legion of the Dead," who, using their knowledge of the terrain and primitive explosives, could trigger collapses remotely upon sighting enemy activity. Each such incident not only set Azim's men back in their work but also reinforced the myths of the "cursed mountains," sowing panic and demoralization among his forces. Workers began to refuse to go to the clearings, soldiers grew nervous, and the Sultan's generals racked their brains trying to understand the cause of these "unbelievable coincidences."
Meanwhile, the Lord watched with a smile from his impregnable fortress. Sultan Azim was trying to play on his field without knowing the rules. He was trying to break through a wall that the Lord himself had built, and every move he made only strengthened the Lord's power and legend.
Father Tuck, for his part, did not miss a single opportunity to bolster the Lord's authority and sow doubt about the Sultanate's efforts. His daily reports to the Church took on a new, sharper tone. In his messages, he meticulously described the "incredible skill" and "deep knowledge of the mountains" of the Lord's men, who, despite all difficulties, were clearing the blockades "professionally and with the utmost caution," showing unparalleled diligence and courage. He emphasized their understanding of the mountains' whims, their ability to "read" the stone and anticipate its movements.
At the same time, with barely concealed condemnation, Father Tuck mentioned the "foreigners" and "infidels" from the east, who with their "clumsy and audacious actions" only provoked new, even more massive rockfalls. He described how their "ignorance" and "disrespect for the mountain spirits" led to tragedies, endangering the lives of their own workers and slowing down the entire process. He might even hint at some "divine retribution" or "wrath of nature" directed at those who invade the sacred mountains without proper reverence.
These reports, distributed through all church channels, reached the ears not only of imperial hierarchs but also of ordinary parishioners, and through them, the merchants. Thus, a clear image was created: the Lord's men were experienced, pious saviors fighting the elements, while the Sultan's men were incompetent amateurs exacerbating the problems. This not only enhanced the Lord's reputation but also increased dissatisfaction with the Sultanate, making many wonder if it was worth trusting those who couldn't even clear a road without causing disasters.
The Lord's multi-layered strategy bore fruit. The "accidental" collapses, the Sultanate's "clumsy" attempts to clear them, and Father Tuck's masterful propaganda created a powerful wave of information that washed away all doubts. To the Empire, the Lord was now not just a wayward mountain prince, but a true disaster relief leader, capable of handling "natural cataclysms" and maintaining some flow of goods. His reports, supported by Father Tuck's messages, showed a relentless struggle against the elements, while Sultan Azim only worsened the situation with his incompetence and, possibly, even a "sacrilegious" attitude toward the mountains.
The Church, which Father Tuck constantly influenced, was now entirely on the Lord's side. It glorified his wisdom, steadfastness, and piety, creating the image of a righteous defender of the North against the "dark forces of the East." The voice of the Church, which held enormous weight in the Empire, became a powerful tool of his diplomacy.
The Emperor, facing severe economic losses from the stalled trade on one hand, and the growing influence of the Sultanate on the other, found himself in a no-win situation. He could not allow the complete collapse of the Silk Road, could not ignore Azim's growing power, and, most importantly, could not go against the Church, which so clearly supported the Lord. In the end, he was forced to admit that the Lord was not the problem, but part of the solution.
The Emperor, begrudgingly, was forced to side with the Lord. He began sending official messages expressing support and even offered help in "liquidating the consequences of the disaster"—help that, of course, would be provided under the Lord's full control and likely at the Emperor's expense. The Lord emerged from the situation between a rock and a hard place not just unscathed, but having significantly strengthened his position. He forced the Emperor to act in his interests and made Sultan Azim look incompetent and even guilty of the "natural" disasters. The Lord's autonomy became even more unshakeable, and his principality an even more important link in the geopolitical game.
Sultan Azim, once a master of intrigue and covert strikes, was now trapped in his own economic crisis. Trade was stagnating, merchants were grumbling, and the Empire, seeing his inability to cope with the "natural cataclysms," began to show its displeasure. Further attempts at secret assassinations and espionage became an unaffordable luxury for him, diverting resources from the most pressing problem. He was forced to forget about assassins and spies. All his resources—people, engineers, soldiers—were thrown into a desperate effort to clear the Eastern Silk Road. Tens of thousands of workers with pickaxes and shovels, protected by thousands of soldiers, tried day and night to break through the blockades, hoping to restore trade flows and save the Sultanate's economy from collapse.
But the Mountain Ridge was the Lord's fortress, and he was not going to give it up so easily. At this time, the Lord's men, using their knowledge of the terrain, primitive explosives, and the mastery of the "Legion of the Dead" in covert operations, sabotaged all of the Sultan's actions. No sooner did his squads begin to clear another blockade than a deafening roar would sound, and new tons of rock would rain down from above, burying sections of the road and those working on them. "Accidental" boulder falls, "unexpected" landslides, "miraculous" collapses of already cleared sections—all of this was the Lord's doing. The work progressed at a snail's pace, if at all. Rockfalls followed one after another, demoralizing the Sultan's workers and soldiers, sowing panic and superstitions among them about the "cursed mountains." The legend of the Necromancer Lord and the vengeful mountain spirits, reinforced by Father Tuck's messages, took deeper root.
Thus, Sultan Azim was forced to wage a grueling and pointless struggle against "nature," wasting his resources and losing authority, while the Lord's principality prospered on smuggling, and his golden coins became an increasingly desirable currency in both states. The Lord not only stopped the attack but also made the Sultan dance to his tune, draining his strength and strengthening his own. And while Sultan Azim threw all his forces into a futile struggle with the "natural cataclysms" of the Mountain Ridge, his own assassins and spies were forced to remain inactive, their resources depleted, and their opportunities thwarted by the Lord's vigilant counter-intelligence.
At the same time, the Lord's shadows, on the contrary, became more active. The second assassination attempt on Sultan Azim occurred a few weeks after the first. Then a fifth, a tenth. They were not as demonstrative as the first arrow strike, but each one carried the same poison, the same stealth, the same inevitability. An attempt to poison the food at a banquet, a poisoned drink placed in his private chambers, a sudden dagger strike from the shadows during a walk in the palace garden. Each time, the Sultan was saved by a miracle, or the vigilance of his personal guard, or a negligibly small dose of poison, or just a scratch from the blade, but their sheer number and methodical nature made his blood run cold.
Sultan Azim, a man accustomed to intrigues and conspiracies, was not stupid. He understood that these were not just scattered acts of desperation, but had a systematic nature. It seemed that his every step, his every habit was known to the enemy. Paranoia began to eat him from the inside. He changed servants, personal guards, slept in different rooms, but the shadows still found their way to him. He realized a terrifying truth: one of these attempts would sooner or later be successful. His own weapons—stealth and poison—were now turned against him with unprecedented efficiency.
The Lord's genius for intrigue knew no bounds. While Sultan Azim paced in his golden cage, surrounded by paranoia and systematic assassination attempts, the Lord decided to strike at his most valuable asset—the loyalty of his people and the morale of his army. "It is time to enhance our myths and legends," he declared to Green and Father Tuck. "Let the ghosts hunt the Sultan."
Father Tuck, using his network in the Church and the thieves' guild, became the perfect instrument for spreading a new wave of propaganda. Rumors, like an invisible plague, began to spread across the eastern lands, penetrating the most remote villages and bustling bazaars. People whispered of "angry mountain spirits," of "a curse that has fallen upon the Sultan," that "the Necromancer Lord of the North has sent his incorporeal hunters after Azim."
New details were added to each assassination attempt on the Sultan. Not just poison or a blade, but "a cold shadow that flashed past the guards," "an inexplicable whisper in the palace corridors before the attack," "strange signs found at the scene of the failed murders"—all this was the fruit of the Lord's imagination and the work of his agents. Every inexplicable failure of the guards, every miss by Azim's warriors was now explained by the machinations of "elusive ghosts."
Sultan Azim, as a rational and pragmatic man, understood that these were just tales, artificially created to discredit him. He saw the Lord's hand in this, his cunning. He could mock these stories, punish those who spread them, but it was impossible to stop them. They seeped into the minds of his subjects. His own people, tired of the constant collapses, of the fruitless struggle with the "cursed" mountains, of the incessant attempts on their ruler's life, were beginning to believe. Soldiers on guard heard rustles in the night, workers in the passes saw shadows where there were none, and the common people whispered of an inevitable punishment. Fear and superstition eroded discipline and loyalty, turning the army and the populace into a demoralized mass. Azim's attempts to dissuade them only strengthened their belief, for "only the possessed can deny the obvious." The "ghosts" hunted the Sultan not only physically but also psychologically, depriving him of the support and trust of those who should have been his pillar.
The Lord nodded, devising a new, even more sophisticated way to break the spirit of Sultan Azim and his men. The "ghosts" had to become not just rumors, but a tangible nightmare. "We need artificial fog," he declared. "And ghost riders."
Green and Father Tuck exchanged a look, their eyes widening in anticipation. "Every full moon," the Lord continued, "they will appear near the Sultan's most extensive works in the passes. Riders. Completely naked, painted with limestone to look like pale, ethereal silhouettes in the moonlight. They will use our smuggler's trails and caches to suddenly appear from the fog, ride past the camps of workers and soldiers, letting out blood-curdling screams, and disappear just as suddenly, dissolving into the clouds of white mist."
The idea was simple but devilishly effective. The Lord's engineers, already working on primitive powder mixtures, could also develop devices to create a thick, impenetrable fog that would spread over the mountain passes. The warriors, the most steadfast and fearless from the "Legion of the Dead," would take on the ghostly appearance. Their knowledge of the terrain, supported by information from the thieves' guild, would allow them to appear where they were least expected and vanish without a trace.
The psychological effect would be devastating. The Sultan's workers and soldiers, already demoralized by the constant collapses and rumors of ghosts, would now come face to face with them. The nightmare would become reality. Every rustle, every shadow in the fog would seem like a harbinger of death. They would not be fighting a real enemy, but their own fear and ancient superstitions.
Sultan Azim, of course, would know that it was a trick, that these were the Lord's men. But he could do nothing about it. He couldn't catch the "ghosts," couldn't disprove what his own men would see and believe. He would be trapped in his own mind, fighting an enemy that could not be struck down with a blade. The Lord's legend of the Necromancer and his Legion of the Dead would reach its apex, turning into a living, breathing nightmare that would haunt the Sultan and his army in their most terrifying dreams.
Sultan Azim, desperate to cope with the "natural cataclysms" and the growing panic among his people, decided to turn to the clergy. He brought his most respected priests to the sites of the collapses. In the rays of the rising sun, amidst the piles of rocks and the bodies of the dead, the priests in their exotic robes performed mysterious rituals. They offered prayers to their gods, burned incense, and sprinkled the ground with "holy" water, trying to drive out the "evil spirits" and cleanse the cursed passes. This was his attempt to counter the Lord's myths and restore the morale of his army and workers.
But Father Tuck was on alert. As soon as news of the Sultan's priests' rituals reached him, he began to compose new, furious messages to the Church and circulars for the parishioners. In them, he indignantly described the "blasphemous acts" of the "infidel priests." He claimed that they were not just performing their pagan rites, but were "mocking the bodies of the imperial workers and merchants who died under the rockslides." Father Tuck vividly described how the "foreigners defile the holy land with the blood of victims, trying to summon their demons" or "dance on the graves of the unfortunate, spitting on their souls."
This caused an uproar in the Empire. The image of the "infidel" Sultan's priests desecrating the sites of tragedy was outrageous. Pilgrims and parishioners throughout the Empire began to pray for the "martyrs" and curse the Sultanate. The Church, already on the Lord's side, now openly opposed the Sultan, calling his actions blasphemous. The Emperor, under pressure from the public and the clergy, was forced to condemn Azim's actions even more harshly, which further strengthened the Lord's position and made the Sultan an outcast. The "ghosts" and "cataclysms" now had not only a physical but also a spiritual justification, completely undermining the Sultan's authority in the eyes of his enemies.
And then came the climax of the Lord's great intrigue. Father Tuck's latest reports, filled with righteous anger and denouncing the "blasphemous" actions of the Sultan's priests, reached the very heart of the Empire. The Church, whose influence the Lord had so masterfully used, could no longer remain silent. Sermons calling for retribution rained down from every pulpit. Monasteries and parishes buzzed with indignation, and pilgrims demanded blood for the "desecrated graves" and "sacrilege."
The Supreme Patriarch, spurred on by the anger of his flock and his own zeal, delivered a fiery speech, declaring Sultan Azim's actions a direct challenge to the faith and an encroachment on holy sites. The Church demanded immediate and crushing retribution.
The Emperor, who had previously been merely waiting, found himself in a no-win situation. He could not ignore such a powerful call from the Church. The economic losses caused by the "impassable" Mountain Silk Road and the inability to cope with the "cataclysms" without the Lord's help had already undermined his authority. Now that the Church was demanding a holy war against someone it had declared a heretic and a desecrator, he had no choice.
Thundering from the pulpit of the Empire's central cathedral, the Emperor called for the First Crusade. Its purpose was the "liberation" of the Mountain Silk Road from the "darkness of the East," the restoration of order, and the punishment of Sultan Azim for his "blasphemous deeds."
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