William POV

"And then I'll personally drag that bastard prince out by his hair. Show him what happens when you mess with the Merchants Guild's authority." Samson was saying, gesturing wildly with his wine glass with a haughty smirk on his lips.

William watched the Rank 4 pace around the private room they'd rented at Holden's finest inn. The irony wasn't lost on him. They were literally a street away from Theodore's plans, plotting like children playing at war. Samson was an idiot. All swagger, no substance. But at least he had a Class.

Unlike William.

"You're being too direct. We need to be subtle about this. Hit his supply lines first. Make his workers disappear," said Lord Henry's boy—what was his name? Felix?

"Subtle?" Samson laughed. "After what he did to Karstein's boy here?" He jerked his chin at William. "Stripped him bare. Made him a fucking mundane. And you want subtle?"

William's jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt. They all knew. Of course they all knew. His humiliation was probably the talk of every merchant house in the kingdom by now. The mighty William Karstein, reduced to nothing more than—

"I heard Theodore beat you with his bare hands," piped up the Valdric heir, a scrawny Rank 3 who looked like he'd never thrown a punch in his life. "That true?"

William didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because yeah, it was true, and the memory of it made him want to tear someone's throat out with his teeth. Preferably Theodore's. He'd had such plans. Such beautiful, bloody plans. But when he'd gone to his father and asked to be a part of the response—

"You've already been stripped of your power. Do you want to die too?"

His own father. Treating him like he was already dead. Like he was worthless now, just another piece to discard because he'd lost his usefulness. The rejection had burned worse than the beating.

Good thing he had a friend in the "response" being sent and thus they let him sneak join.

"He got lucky," William finally said.

"Lucky?" Samson snorted. "Lucky doesn't strip someone's class, friend. That takes power. Real power."

"Power he won't have for long," Felix interjected, trying to steer the conversation back. "Not when we're done with him. I say we start tonight. March right up to his compound and—"

"And what?" William couldn't help himself. "Challenge him to honorable combat? You think he'll play fair? You think he gives a shit about the Merchants Guild? Especially after what happened?"

"What would you know about it?" the Valdric brat sneered. "You're not even one of us anymore. Just daddy's mundane son, tagging along because—"

William lunged.

Or tried to.

His body just... stopped frozen like someone had turned him into a statue. He could move his eyes, barely, and saw the others were stuck too—Samson with his mouth open mid-word, Felix reaching for his sword, the Valdric boy's sneer half-formed.

No no no not again not this helpless feeling not—

"Pathetic."

The voice came from the corner and it was cold. Cold cold cold. William wanted to shiver, but his body wouldn't listen. And then the pressure dropped on them like a mountain and they all buckled. William's eyes strained to see who—oh. Right. The Brennan family's prize. Their Rank 4 prodigy who'd been sitting silent this whole time, observing like they were insects under glass.

Garrett Brennan. Twenty-three years old and already stronger than most would ever be.

The pressure released. William stumbled forward, catching himself on the table. The others gasped, wheezed, Samson actually falling to one knee.

Garrett stood up slowly. "This is exactly why the Merchants Guild is losing credibility. A room full of supposed elites, and you're acting like street thugs planning a tavern brawl."

"We were just—" Felix started.

"You were just about to do something monumentally stupid," Garrett cut him off. "Walk up to his place? Make trouble? Are you actually that dense?"

Samson found his voice. "He humiliated the Guild! We can't just—"

"The Merchants Guild?" Garrett laughed. "No. He humiliated William. And William here already paid for his stupidity, didn't you, my friend?"

William's hands shook. From rage or shame, he couldn't tell anymore.

Garrett ignored him. "You want to compound that? Put targets on all our backs? Make this an official Guild action?"

Theodore had taken everything from him and now even these assholes—

I'll kill him I'll kill him I'll find a way even without a class I'll make him suffer like he made me—

"Then what do you propose we do?" Samson snarled, apparently finding his courage again now that Garrett wasn't actively suppressing them.

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Felix nodded. "Yeah, if you're so smart, what's your plan?"

Garrett smiled.

"Didn't you know?" Garrett said, voice casual as discussing the weather. "It's deep in winter, and the beasts are migrating."

The room went utterly silent.

William's mouth went dry. He knew what that meant. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. Migration season meant monster hordes. Desperate creatures driven by hunger and cold, looking for anywhere warm, anywhere with food. They usually avoided settlements, but if someone were to... redirect them...

"Are you really—are you really going to do what I'm thinking you're going to do?" William heard himself stutter.

Garrett's smile widened. "Yeah, and after some havoc is caused, then we'll just come in and offer a helping hand. Perfect alibi."

***

"You sure this is a good idea?"

William heard himself ask the question even though he already knew the answer. Of course it wasn't a good idea. Nothing about this was a good idea. They were standing at the edge of a frozen clearing, watching Garrett Brennan walk toward a writhing mass of fur and claws and death like he was taking a fucking stroll through a garden.

The beast horde wasn't massive but that wasn't the point. The point was the thing at the front. The leader. A Rank 4 Frost Wyrm. Imagine a lizard, scale it up, give it wings, wrap it in crystalline scales and teeth the size of William's forearm, and that's the Frost Wyrm. The kind of creature that usually took a full party of adventurers to bring down.

And Garrett was walking toward it alone.

"He's insane. That thing will tear him apart." Samson whispered. The arrogant prick from earlier was gone, replaced by someone who looked like he might piss himself.

Felix had his hand on his sword hilt, knuckles white. Not that it would do any good. A Rank 3's blade against a Rank 4 beast? Might as well throw pebbles at it.

The Frost Wyrm noticed Garrett. It reared up, easily fifteen feet tall, ice-blue eyes narrowing. The smaller beasts, dire wolves mostly, with a few others scattered around, parted like water, giving their leader room.

The Wyrm's mouth opened. William had heard about their breath attacks. Frozen death that could turn a man into an ice sculpture in seconds, then shatter him with a tap. He actually took a step back, even though they were well out of range.

Garrett kept walking.

The Wyrm inhaled, frost already forming in the air around its maw—

And stopped.

It just... stopped like someone had pressed pause on reality itself, but only for that one creature. The ice crystals that had been forming hung in the air for a moment before dissipating. The Wyrm's eyes were still moving, William noticed. Darting around frantically. It knew what was happening. It just couldn't do anything about it.

"Holy shit," someone breathed.

When Garrett reached the Wyrm, he had to crane his neck to look up at it. The size difference was absurd.

"Kneel," Garrett said.

The Wyrm's head moved. Slowly, jerkily, like it was fighting every inch, but it moved nonetheless. Down, down, until that massive skull was level with Garrett's chest. Close enough that William could see the fear in those eyes.

Garrett raised his hand and tapped the Wyrm's head.

The Wyrm's head simply detonated. Like someone had stuffed it full of alchemical bombs and lit the fuse. Blood and brain matter and pieces of skull went everywhere, painting the snow crimson.

The explosion of gore made William's stomach turn.

The body stood there for a moment, headless, still frozen in that kneeling position, then it toppled with a ground-shaking thud.

Silence.

Even the other beasts had gone quiet. There was no growling, no snarling. Just dozens of eyes staring at Garrett Brennan like he was death incarnate.

Which, William supposed, he might as well be.

"The stories are true then, about the Brennan family's prodigy." Samson said, and for once there was no arrogance in his voice. Just something between awe and terror. William's mouth had gone completely dry. He'd thought losing his class was the worst thing that could happen to him. He'd thought Theodore was the pinnacle of unfair power. But this? This was the kind of power that made Theodore look like a child playing with toys.

William felt giddy. So what if he couldn't do it himself? Theodore would be dealt with all the same.

The remaining beasts were doing something weird now. Moving, but not attacking. Not fleeing either. They were... arranging themselves? Forming rough lines? Like soldiers falling into formation.

"They're obeying him. Is he controlling them?"

"That's not how beast taming works"

"Does any of this look like how things are supposed to work to you?" Samson snapped.

Garrett was walking back toward them, picking his way through the beast formation like it was the most normal thing in the world. He'd gotten blood on his coat. A lot of blood. Spatters across his face too, which he was wiping off with a handkerchief like it was an inconvenience.

The beasts followed him. Their eyes had gone glassy, unfocused.

"You know," Garrett said as he got closer, "I specifically stood at an angle to avoid the worst of the splatter." He examined his coat with genuine annoyance. "This was expensive."

"How?"

Garrett glanced at him. "How what?"

"How did you—that was a Rank 4. Same as you. You can't just—"

"Rank is just a number, William. What matters is how you use what you have. Your problem—well, one of your many problems—is that you never understood that."

The casual insult should have made William angry. A week ago, it would have. But standing there, watching these beasts follow Garrett like trained dogs, anger seemed pointless. What was he going to do? Fight him? The man who'd just turned a Frost Wyrm's head into paste with a single tap?

"The Brennan family," Felix said slowly, "your skill. It's not just paralysis, is it?"

Garrett smiled. "Paralysis. Compulsion. Domination. Call it what you want. The point is, these creatures are mine now."

"For how long?" Samson asked.

"Long enough. They'll march where I tell them. Attack what I tell them. Die when I tell them." Garrett was still wiping at the blood on his coat, frowning at a particularly stubborn stain.

"This is insane," the Valdric heir muttered. "The Merchants Guild never sanctioned—"

Garret raised a finger and the Valdric heir flinched

"Oh come on I'm not going to kill you. The Merchants Guild sanctioned exactly what they needed to sanction. Plausible deniability, remember? Beast migrations happen. Settlements get attacked. Heroes arrive to save the day. Classic story."

"Theodore won't buy it," William said.

Garrett looked at him and William had to fight not to step back. "Theodore won't have a choice. His people will be screaming for help. He'll have to accept it or watch them die. Either way, we win."

William lowered his gaze even though he seethed inside.

"Tsk." Garrett had given up on his coat, balling up the bloodied handkerchief. "Got blood all over me." He turned, gesturing for them to follow. "Let's go. Gotta find more hordes now. Something tells me one won't be enough.

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