As Karl watched the heavy, four-wheeled Orc caravan slowly rumble out of the Necro-Mall's immense docking bay—a sight that signaled massive cash flow—Leo stepped forward, holding a worn leather-bound notebook. "My Lord, I've just been informed. The Kobold villagers have successfully arrived and been escorted to the residential zone."

"Good. Have someone ensure the deliveries start immediately," Karl instructed, his voice low and firm. "Food, water, and basic necessities like clothes. This is non-negotiable PR." A staff member immediately broke away to execute the order.

Leo's brow furrowed, addressing a more immediate logistical gap. "Now that the villagers from the Dark Forest have settled here, my Lord, we don't have anyone constantly delivering sulfur. We have effectively lost our primary supplier for that chemical base."

Karl smiled, a slow, predatory movement on his pale Ghoul face. "We haven't lost a supplier, Leo. We've gained a permanent partner in a position of dependency. We simply need to establish the terms of their new arrangement. We'll offer them two paths to choose from."

Karl began enumerating his strategy. "The first: they continue the Dark Forest mining. If they choose this, we will gladly loan them the proper equipment—larger wagons, better protective gear against the sulfur smog, proper tools. They remain independent contractors, but they are now heavily leveraged by our assets. This is my preferred outcome, as it minimizes our ongoing personnel management and payroll costs."

"The second path," Karl continued, raising a finger, "is direct employment within our new Strategic Resource Procurement Agency (SRPA). This comes with a stable salary of one gold coin monthly, a managed time schedule with shifts, and guaranteed free food and accommodation for their families. However, that salary will be subject to a twenty-five percent deduction—a calculated cost-recovery mechanism—to cover the collective feeding and housing of their families until they are self-sustaining. They gain stability; we gain reliable, accountable labor."

"I don't think the Kobolds will jump at the employment option, My Lord," Leo said, skeptical. "They might view that as you stripping away their only source of independent income, leveraging their debt against their own family's welfare."

Karl nodded, acknowledging the common, simplistic Beastkin mindset. "Exactly. And I'd prefer they take the loan. It saves us the time, capital, and manpower required for managing a large, unskilled payroll. They take the equipment loan, they produce the sulfur, and we maintain low-overhead supply chain stability. It's a win-win for Necro Corp."

Leo shifted the topic, his concern evident. "On another note, My Lord, since the war is breaking loose, the other Kobolds will take it that you're accepting refugees. Isn't that a bit concerning? We may have to cut deep into current resource ways in order to feed a potential influx of tens of thousands of refugees."

Karl smiled wide, a chilling display of strategic satisfaction. "No, Leo. Accepting these refugees is not concerning. It is a major asset acquisition. It is a huge, cost-effective way of securing the Kobold's immediate trust in our establishment and demonstrating our stability amid regional collapse. More importantly, it instantly creates a substantial new customer base for our guns and—more critically—a captive, trained labor pool."

He began to gesture around with sharp, precise movements of his fingers, painting a picture of future industrial expansion. "The Kobold race is genetically suited for focused, repetitive labor. We can establish dedicated, specialized factories inside our territory and hire them en masse as specialized workers. Think beyond just raw materials."

"Take, for example, a clothing factory, where quality control is minimal but volume is high. A vehicle chassis factory, requiring repetitive assembly. A dedicated steel refinery. These are labor-intensive operations that will be run with near-zero friction. Furthermore, beyond manufacturing, we can introduce a basic education system—math flash cards, reading materials, writing materials—and sell that too. We invest in their stability, and they invest their future wages back into our economy."

"Yes, we have to absorb the initial investment of feeding at least twenty thousand refugees for a short period, but the return on this stable labor and consumer base will be exponential. This is long-term leveraged growth, Leo, not charity."

Karl then circled back to the Orc negotiation, integrating it with the war strategy.

"We can quickly end the Beastkin's racial wars, or at least control them, by simply introducing the flintlocks and controlling their supply. And finally, for the Orcs. We are going to give Schalezusk's group a formal channel as our first official weapons distributor. It is vastly better than direct sales. If we expanded directly, we would have to establish and staff new sales branches, costing us immense resources, time, and exposing us to unnecessary political risk. Why pay for expansion when you can make your most reliable client pay for it instead?"

He offered a final, chilling, corporate grin. "The Orcs will profit handsomely from every single weapon sold, solidifying our relationship and their market share. Crucially, they become structurally dependent on us for constant resupply, maintenance, and ammunition. They'll become a self-financing, high-margin, chain distribution network, tied to us not just by loyalty, but by pure commercial necessity. We gain an entire sales and logistics system without spending a large dime on infrastructure expansion."

Leo considered his Lord's layered insight—a strategy turning refugees into laborers and clients into distribution partners—then nodded, the pragmatic acceptance visible in his pale eyes.

Karl's expression softened into a look of determined finality. "Now, we will make our introductions. Let's go meet our new friends, Leo. Prepare the car; you're driving this time."

"Yes, My Lord," Leo said, turning back toward the vast, silent complex to execute the order.

One week had passed, and the word had spread like fever across the region. The Lupen's blatant attack on Hearthglen and the massacre of at least one hundred Ursarok civilians and nobles had fractured the established order. This sparked region-wide chaos, especially among the Ursaroks, many of whom now enlisted to finish the deed once and for all.

In every settlement and town, the grief rapidly curdled into rage. Many Ursaroks protested the lack of decisive action by the High Council, which they viewed as too slow and too interested in protecting their own holdings. This discontent immediately led to the formation of local militias, drawing young, furious recruits away from official army channels.

In the dusty courtyard outside the massive Ironhide barracks, a young Ursarok recruit named Bartek signed a paper with a trembling claw before turning to his older, scarred comrade, Darg.

"They talk of 'protocol' while our blood is cooling in Hearthglen!" Bartek spat, adjusting the ill-fitting leather pauldron he'd been given. "The Council is too fat to march. I'm signing with the Ironhides, not the old guard."

Darg, who had seen several smaller border wars, merely squinted at the horizon. "The Council cares only for their silver mines, not your fury, young cub. But fury is all we have left and it is a good thing."

News also spread fast of the Kobold army staging area near the border. For the Ramari Merchant Houses, this was the realization of their greatest fear: open war on their trade lanes. They were never a beastkin with an expertise in combat, nor did they possess the military culture to withstand a siege.

Panic seized the Ramari settlements. Citizens evacuated swiftly, moving north-west toward the Ursarok bordering hills, seeking whatever tenuous security the Ursarok territory might still offer.

At a busy crossroads, a small, well-dressed Ramari merchant desperately tried to maneuver a cart full of silks and fine ceramics past a surging crowd of refugees. "Two gold coins! Final price! This silk is worth five, but I must move it! Move, move, the Kobolds are at the border! Get out of my way, you great shaggy brute!" he shrieked at a lumbering Ursarok who merely brushed past without a glance. The merchant sank onto a crate, the value of his entire livelihood dropping with every passing hour. He knew the Kobolds valued iron over silk, and the Ursaroks needed soldiers more than ceramics.

Meanwhile, the neutral Frogkins saw opportunity in the rising conflict. Frogkin mercenaries, recognizable by their dark, slick leathers, began showing up at every military staging point, seeking to enlist in whichever faction offered the highest coin. The price for a full platoon of Frogkin skirmishers had quadrupled overnight, ensuring they would soon be fighting against their own kin—a matter of simple business.

Skirmishes were already occurring between the Lupens and Ursaroks along their shared border, with heavy casualties on both sides. What surprised the beastkin factions was the sudden, formal military alliance between the Lupens, Foxkins, and Kobolds. While the biological connections between the three races made the partnership understandable, the speed and decisiveness were a shock. It was clear that this alliance aimed to establish a new dominant force in the region and eliminate the Ursaroks' ancient control.

Not many sought to be involved in such wars, and those without a direct stake had wisely joined the Vanguard in the south, far from the escalating northern front.

One thing was clear about the Kobolds: they also desperately wanted the new, rumored weapon the Lupens used—the elemental staves supplied by the Foxkins. It was a perfect battlefield equalizer, allowing less-trained troops to deliver devastating ranged attacks.

The Ramaris also sought this technology, but the Foxkins were silent, refusing the Goatfolk's attempts to buy the weapons for an exorbitant price. The Foxkin, led by Lady Shiri, had clearly decided to leverage their technology for political and military dominance rather than immediate profit.

As the sun set on the western horizon, the main Lupen invasion force arrived. Five hundred disciplined knights from various retinues, supported by one thousand levy forces, set up a massive, organized camp just a distance away from the imposing walls of the Ironhide Fortress.

The pieces were in position. The field was set.

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