Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 71

Edward walked through the long corridor that led to the Marquis office. The guards stationed along the hallway straightened the moment they saw him. The servants lowered their heads. The atmosphere inside the manor had changed over the past month. There was still tension in the air, but there was also order. The rebuilding had not only been physical. It had been psychological. Everyone understood now that the young master who once could not form a single circle of mana was no longer the same person.

He reached the heavy wooden doors of the office and pushed them open without hesitation.

The Marquis office was large but not extravagant. The previous Marquis had preferred displays of wealth, with golden ornaments and decorative trophies from past hunts. Edward had ordered most of those removed. The room now carried a cleaner, more focused presence. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers, territorial maps, and legal texts. A large desk sat near the center, carved from dark oak, sturdy and practical. Behind it stood a tall window that overlooked the central road leading into the territory. From here, Edward could observe both commerce and movement without leaving his seat.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Today would not be ordinary.

In his previous regressions, he had learned to pay attention to certain fixed events. No matter how the details shifted, some things always happened within a narrow window of time. The arrival of the northern merchant guild representatives was one of those fixed points. It had occurred in almost every timeline where he secured the Marquis title within this period.

He sat down behind the desk and folded his hands calmly.

The three northern merchant guilds were invited by Thaleia under Edward instructions. With the Crown pressuring his territory, trade routes unstable, and rumors of political unrest spreading, he wished to show them clarity and stability. They would want guarantees. Most importantly, they would want leverage.

Edward’s gaze shifted briefly to the window.

He already knew what each guild would want.

A firm knock sounded against the door.

Right on schedule.

"Come in," Edward said calmly.

The door opened, and Thaleia stepped inside. She carried a stack of documents pressed neatly against her chest. Her posture was straight, her expression composed, but there was a faint tension in her eyes.

"My Lord," she said, giving a respectful bow. "The representatives from the northern merchant guilds have arrived. They are currently waiting in the reception hall."

Edward nodded once. "All three?"

"Yes, My Lord. Representatives from the Golden Wheat Consortium, the Frostveil Exchange, and the Azure Caravan Assembly."

Edward leaned back slightly in his chair. Unlike small traders or independent caravans, merchant guilds operated as structured economic powers. They were not noble houses, yet their influence rivaled lesser lords. They controlled supply chains, regulated pricing standards within their networks, financed infrastructure, and often funded mercenary escorts for long distance routes. While nobles ruled land and armies, merchant guilds controlled movement of wealth. In many ways, they were the veins through which the kingdom’s economy flowed.

Within Luminaris, guild authority was semi recognized by the Crown. They were required to register charters, pay annual levies, and follow royal trade decrees. In return, they received protection, arbitration privileges, and limited autonomy over their internal affairs. Guild disputes were often resolved within guild councils rather than royal courts, unless noble interests were involved.

In the northern region of Luminaris, where the Vistro territory lay, economic activity was dominated by three major guilds.

The Golden Wheat Consortium specialized in agricultural trade. They controlled grain storage facilities, milling operations, and supply chains that fed both local populations and military garrisons. Their caravans moved wheat, barley, livestock, and processed food goods across the north. Without them, famine could spread quickly in winter months.

The Frostveil Exchange dealt primarily in minerals and cold region resources. Iron ore, silver veins, enchanted stone fragments from mountain quarries, and even ice preserved goods passed through their hands. They maintained contracts with blacksmith unions and magical tool crafters. Their influence extended into weapons production.

The Azure Caravan Assembly was different. They were not tied to a single commodity. Instead, they specialized in long distance trade and route management. They maintained fleets of carriages and contracted sea vessels along northern rivers. Their strength lay in logistics and information. If one wanted goods moved quickly and discreetly, the Azure Caravan Assembly was often the chosen intermediary.

Together, these three guilds formed what many called the Northern Tripoly. They competed fiercely in certain markets but cooperated when necessary to maintain regional stability.

Thaleia stepped forward slightly.

"My Lord," she began carefully, "may I offer some input before you receive them?"

Edward looked at her without irritation. "Speak."

She seemed slightly relieved that he did not dismiss her immediately.

"The guilds are going to test you," she told him. "They won’t say it out loud, but they will. They’ll ask about how stable things are, how you get along with the Crown, and any changes in taxes down the road. They might also try to get special trading deals if they back you for a bit."

Edward didn’t say anything.

Thaleia kept going, since he wasn’t stopping her.

"The Golden Wheat Consortium will probably talk a lot about having enough food. If they think things here are shaky, they might threaten to send extra grain to other places nearby. If that happens, our stores will be in bad shape. You should tell them they’ll be safe and maybe cut prices for storing grain."

She moved the papers she was holding.

"The Frostveil Exchange will focus on mining rights and transport safety. They will want guarantees that royal interference will not disrupt mineral shipments. If we can offer them exclusive access to new quarry expansions, they might commit to us."

She stopped for a second before talking about the last guild.

The Azure Caravan Assembly is the hardest to guess. They are all about figuring risks. If they think the Crown will punish any guild that works with you, they could leave. But if you tell them helping you is a win in the long run, they might put a lot of money in."

She took a breath.

"My Lord, I think you should give them a few things they want, but not too much. Just enough to be nice, but don’t look like you need them too bad. If you do, they will ask for more."

Edward noticed how Thaleia spoke with confidence. More confidence than she displayed when discussing the trade route conflict earlier. It seemed economic negotiations were closer to her comfort.

"You have given this thought," Edward said.

Thaleia straightened slightly. "It is my responsibility to prepare, My Lord."

There was a brief silence.

Edward turned his gaze toward the window again.

In earlier regressions, the meeting with the guilds had often gone poorly when he acted impulsively. In one timeline, he had threatened them to assert authority. They withdrew trade within two weeks. In another, he had conceded too much, allowing them to gain disproportionate control over storage rights, weakening his fiscal autonomy for years.

He then looked back at Thaleia.

"We will see how it goes," he said calmly.

The response was neither agreement nor rejection of her suggestions. It was simply a statement of intent.

Thaleia blinked slightly, perhaps expecting something more detailed.

"My Lord," she ventured carefully, "forgive me if I speak out of turn, but these guilds are not like the southern Baron. They are careful. If they sense uncertainty—"

"They will attempt to profit from it," Edward finished smoothly.

She nodded.

Edward stood up from his chair.

"I am aware."

Thaleia watched him carefully, trying to read his expression. It remained unreadable.

"Prepare the reception hall," he continued. "No unnecessary display of luxury. But ensure order and dignity. Refreshments, but nothing extravagant."

"Yes, My Lord."

"And inform Valerius to remain nearby, though not visible. I do not expect violence, but presence matters."

Thaleia bowed again. "Understood."

She hesitated briefly, as if debating whether to say something more.

"My Lord," she added quietly, "the guilds will also observe your demeanor. You are young. They know that. They will measure how firmly you carry the title."

Then after that, Thaleia lowered her head and stepped back toward the door.

As she exited, Edward remained standing for a few moments.

Merchant guilds did not kneel easily. They bowed to profit, not to bloodlines. To them, a Marquis was only as valuable as the stability he guaranteed. If he failed to protect routes, maintain law, or ensure growth, they would divert investment elsewhere without remorse.

Edward adjusted the cuffs of his coat.

In truth, he did not intend to beg for their cooperation.

The Crown’s pressure campaign aimed to isolate him economically. If he could secure guild alignment, the strategy would weaken. But he would not offer them unchecked authority in exchange for temporary relief. Instead, he would offer something they valued more than privilege.

Predictability.

He knew the future of this region better than any of them.

There would be a mineral vein discovered in the western ridge within two years. There would be crop shortages in neighboring baronies after a harsh winter. There would be bandit resurgence along the southern forest road unless preemptively suppressed.

He possessed knowledge that turned uncertainty into calculation.

He walked toward the door, his pace steady.

Negotiation was not about appearing strong or generous. It was about controlling perception. If he appeared too rigid, they would see inflexibility. If he appeared too accommodating, they would see weakness. The correct posture lay somewhere in between.

Outside, footsteps echoed as servants hurried to prepare the reception hall.

The Northern Tripoly waited.

And Edward Vistro, once dismissed as the mana less third son, was about to sit across from three economic powers who believed they were evaluating him.