Gorde and the others sat in the room for a while before leaving, their expressions grim.

"Fokxas! A landless viscount dares defy Father’s demands? They’ll regret this!" Frel spat bitterly.

He’d been counting on Viscount Clarein yielding and handing over his "daughter" as a bride.

Gorde’s face remained stern as he calmly pondered: *Why would they dare oppose me like this?*

Personal property was sacred—he couldn’t act directly against the Claire Family. But this was *his* territory, the Bernoas Territory.

Who ran a business on a lord’s land while defying the lord himself?

It made no sense.

"Where’s Lanche? Take me to him," Gorde said flatly.

Lucien was surprised. Moments ago, they’d all but abandoned Lanche—planning his death to force Miss Christia into remarriage. Now they sought him out?

*Father truly is formidable,* Lucien mused.

The group didn’t leave immediately. Instead, they headed toward the courtyard.

Liya and Lekui, who’d been seeing them out, didn’t stop them. They simply followed silently.

Lanche was napping in a pavilion, sprawled on a wicker chair. Tea and pastries sat untouched on the nearby table. The sight froze Gorde and his sons.

This hardly looked like a man out of favor.

"Hasn’t he been... given any duties?" Lucien asked the sisters.

"Duties?" Liya hesitated, unsure how to answer.

"Eating and sleeping. That’s all," Lekui stated coolly.

"Mm, close enough," Liya added with a smile.

Lucien fell silent, utterly baffled by this noble household.

"Wake him," Gorde ordered.

Frel eagerly rushed forward and slammed his foot against the wicker chair. "Hey! Lanche! Get up!"

Lanche opened his eyes, fixing Frel with an icy stare.

Frel flinched under that gaze, then snapped, "Our elder brother and father are here! Show some respect!"

Lanche ignored him, turning instead to Gorde and Lucien.

He’d planned to pretend he hadn’t seen them, hoping they’d leave on their own.

"What brings you here?" he asked with a faint smile.

"What arrogance! No respect for Father or your elder brother!" Frel fumed.

Still ignoring Frel, Lanche spread his hands toward Gorde. "If you need something, talk to Miss Christia. I’m irrelevant. And if you don’t need anything... even more reason to leave me be."

"You seem quite comfortable here," Gorde remarked tonelessly.

"Passable," Lanche replied with a shrug.

Gorde had always been a stern father figure—but Lanche had never feared him.

"Lanche, it’s been ages since you visited home. Why not return with us sometime?" Lucien suggested gently.

"Oh?" Lanche’s smile sharpened. *Home? Since when was that place home?*

"May I go?" he asked Liya.

"No. Miss Christia hasn’t arranged for that," Liya answered politely.

"Mm. Exactly. I must obey ‘my wife’," Lanche told Lucien’s group.

They didn’t recognize the term "my wife," but caught the affectionate tone.

*No wonder the Claires refused remarriage talks,* Lucien realized. *Lanche’s doing well here.*

He glanced at Gorde, waiting for his next move.

Gorde’s expression remained unreadable as he studied Lanche. "You’ve always been silver-tongued. I see you’ve charmed Miss Christia too."

"Naturally. She’d be lost without me now," Lanche replied smoothly.

Gorde turned to the maids for confirmation. One stared back coldly; the other smiled, flawless and impenetrable.

Gorde gave a slow nod. "A useless man, but with a few petty tricks."

He turned abruptly. "Let’s go."

Frel blinked, shot Lanche a venomous glare, and hurried after him.

"Safe travels," Lanche called after them, his voice devoid of warmth.

Once the carriage left the estate, Frel couldn’t contain himself. "Father, we’re just leaving?"

Lucien answered for him. "Lanche’s situation proves the Claires won’t accept our terms. Words are pointless now. Action is our only path."

Gorde’s silence confirmed it.

"So... we force Miss Christia to remarry?" Frel pressed cautiously.

"That’s one goal. We’ll also make the Claires surrender their brewing formula and techniques. Semos Trading Company will handle production," Lucien explained.

"Controlling both merchant families secures commerce across the territory. Is that correct, Father?" he asked respectfully.

"Hmm." Gorde nodded calmly.

His heir could manage the territory well enough—except for lacking martial prowess. His other sons showed no exceptional talent either. It disappointed him.

Widely had once been promising—a rare Level 3 sword talent—but died young.

To ensure a smooth succession, Gorde had arranged Lucien’s marriage into a militarily powerful family, compensating for his weakness.

Now, commerce was the final piece of his grand design. He *would* claim it.

---

Meanwhile, Kestia and her three allies convened in the study.

"Gorde is our true enemy now. We must neutralize him to continue our business," Kestia stated.

"Gorde’s obsession with absolute control led him to wage constant wars against defiant tribes in the territory. Their fierce resistance bled the treasury dry—forcing him to turn to commerce," Sileus explained.

"If he’d merely encouraged trade through policy, it might be tolerable. But his arrogance demands total control."

"His pattern suggests he’ll eventually resort to force against us too," he warned Kestia.

"If he attacks, we fight back, right?" Lekui said earnestly.

She genuinely enjoyed using force. Liya sighed inwardly at her sister’s enthusiasm.

Kestia nodded. "Exactly. We’ll fight fire with fire."

Other matters proceeded as planned.

Foamy malt wine dominated Fokxas City, but hadn’t yet conquered the wider Bernoas Territory. Expansion was key.

"Our four breweries can’t meet demand. But expanding further risks losing control—and exposing our ingredients and techniques," Sileus reported.

Kestia waved a hand. "Exposure isn’t a problem. We should even offer them willingly. Hoarding secrets makes us a scapegoat."

"But not yet. We wait until Gorde crushes the smuggling rings. *Then* we reveal them."

Their position was strong. All eyes were fixed on the smugglers—leaving their true plans untouched.