Chapter 33 Business

Lydia moved quickly, her hands glowing faintly as she worked on the lowlives sprawled on the floor. She mended broken bones, closed cuts, and forced them to drink the bitter herbal concoctions she insisted would keep infection at bay. Pietro sat stiffly in one corner, clutching his bleeding arm until Lydia finally pressed her palm over it and knitted the skin shut. The scene was strangely calm, considering I’d just taken over their entire gang. The takeover had been far more peaceful than I’d imagined. The moment they “recognized” me as the boss, I’d announced the gang’s disbandment, and they had simply… accepted it.

It hit me then, if I kept going down this road, I’d be planting my roots here in Enmar. That thought didn’t feel like a trap. If anything, it felt like a plan. I wanted a place where Nira could grow up safe, and for that, I needed resources. Real ones. Not stolen coin that vanished in a week, but steady income, influence, and allies I could count on.

Lydia, meanwhile, was already in full “organizer” mode. She walked from person to person, checking wounds with brisk efficiency, then jotting names and times in a ledger she’d produced from somewhere under her robes. “You,” she said, pointing at one bruised man, “come back tomorrow morning. You,” she pointed at another, “two days from now.” It was like watching a healer schedule shifts in a workshop, except her patients were half-broken criminals. I thought she’d be more upset about me killing someone inside her church, but apparently, that line didn’t bother her at all. Sometimes, I wondered if she was even a nun. Then again, she was a witch. That probably explained a lot.

“Follow me,” I told Pietro. Lydia had already dropped the illusions that had sealed off our “guests.” The giant double doors were once again just polished oak, the stained-glass windows shining with sunlight instead of blank stone. Still, she maintained my “skin” illusion, letting me pass for a living man instead of the ghost I was.

Pietro trailed behind me as I led him through the back corridors, past storerooms and the dormitory, until we reached the canteen. The long tables sat empty now, waiting for the children to pile in for lunch later. I took a seat at one of them and gestured to the bench across from me. “Sit.” He obeyed, the wood creaking under his weight.

“Let’s talk business,” I said. “If you wish to resign, that’s fine with me. I won’t be giving you any severance, though.”

“Huh?” he blurted, clearly thrown off.

“What’s your decision?” I asked, leaning forward. He looked like a nervous wreck, but that wasn’t surprising. Men like Pietro lived on calculations, risk versus reward. I just had to tip the scales. “Honestly, I could use a smart man like you.” His greed was as obvious as the healed wound on his arm. If I fed that greed, I could keep him loyal.

I didn’t bother hiding the bait. “If you choose to work for me, I can give you an executive-level position. High salary. Influence. Protection.” Stabs had told me about Pietro’s merchant connections, They were valuable ties he’d once shared with Ginny. Now that she was gone, he could monopolize them. Pietro wasn’t just my inroad to the Merchant Guild or the Thieves’ Guild; he was a bridge to the kind of business empire I wanted.

I let the offer hang in the air, then smiled. “So,” I said, “what do you think about becoming my Chief Marketing Officer?”

Pietro looked thoughtful before finally asking, “Can I be frank, boss?”

I leaned back in my seat and nodded. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated only for a moment. “Uuuh, how do you plan on earning money? I mean… what even is a legitimate business?”

“One where you don’t have to break the law,” I replied.

He raised his eyebrows. “And one where you’ll have to pay taxes, file financial reports with the Merchant Guild, and compete with… god knows.. how vast a market?”

Pietro might have been a thug, but he thought like a businessman, and those were valid questions. The truth was simple: I needed a competitive product, something so far ahead of what was currently available that it was practically cheating, like fine paper from the twenty-first century. Obviously, I couldn’t tell him that outright or he’d think I’d gone mad. This world had fine paper, sure, but it wasn’t common, and the market had a giant hole waiting to be filled.

The problem? I knew almost nothing about paper-making. Back in my old life, I was a tabloid journalist, not an artisan. Still, I had ideas. And ideas could cut down the trial-and-error phase. Hooray for stock knowledge.

Of course, the paper mill wasn’t my only angle. Jandar had sat on an obscene amount of wealth, most of it earned through illegal means, hoarding it like some miserly dragon. Unlike him, I actually wanted to use it. But the catch was, according to Stabs, the government loved confiscating dirty money. That meant laundering it before I could put it to work. What better way than to pump it into a shiny new paper-making industry?

But paper was just the foundation. My real target was bigger. In my old life, I’d made a living off words and scandal. If I could make a functioning printing press… and I had plenty of ideas about that… it could become the gateway to mass media. Newspapers, tabloids, maybe even serialized fiction. Sure, those were far-off goals, but the first step was to make paper popular and ensure we had a reliable income stream.

I leaned forward. “Novels.”

Pietro’s face twisted. “What!?”

“And toys,” I added without missing a beat.

He blinked at me.

This world barely has entertainment for adults, let alone kids. I could see grown men getting hooked on something like jenga or a rubik’s cube. The paper factory will need plenty of wood, and that same wood can be turned into toys. As for novels… I could write parodies of stories from my past life, or even originals. The internet gave me more cultural references than I’ll ever need. Combine that with my background in tabloids, and I can stir up plenty of attention.

“The world barely has any real entertainment for anyone but the rich,” I told him. “That’s an untapped market. We start with novels and stories people can sink into, but we don’t stop there. Those same stories can be turned into stage plays, song performances, illustrated collections… even household-friendly editions the middle class can afford. We don’t just sell paper, we sell worlds they want to live in.”

Pietro raised an eyebrow. “And the toys?”

“They go hand-in-hand,” I said. “A novel about a daring thief? We sell a wooden puzzle chest with it. A story about a famous knight? A miniature figurine for the kids… or collectors, because you’d be surprised how much grown men will pay for a keepsake. The books promote the toys, the toys promote the books. Everything feeds into each other.”

Pietro leaned back, skeptical. “And if no one buys into it?”

I spread my hands. “Then you walk away without losing a coin. I’ll take the hit. You’ll still keep your cut of what we earn before it crashes. You get the upside without the risk.”

That made him pause. “No risk?”

“None for you,” I confirmed. “High reward if it works, clean hands if it doesn’t. All I need is your connections, your sense for deals, and your ability to keep people in line. If it works, you’ll be more than some underboss in a dead gang. You’ll be a man with a stake in a real, growing business. One that isn’t afraid of guards kicking in the door.”

Pietro still looked uncertain. “I’d rather reject your offer.”

“One percent of the company,” I countered immediately.

“Two percent,” he shot back.

Oh, he was interested,

I grinned. “A signing bonus of one percent of Twinfist’s current assets, one percent ownership of the company, and a ten-year binding agreement to work for me.”

He thought about it for a beat, then smiled. “Deal.”

We shook on it.