Weaves of Ashes-Chapter 113 - 108: The President’s Justice

Location: Oldstrand - Merchants’ Guild Hall → Private Tea Room

Time: Day 523 | Telia: Day 13 (same afternoon)

Realm: Telia (Mission World)

The silence in the hall was absolute. Even the Treasurer, on his knee,s seemed to hold his breath.

A small, sweating man pushed through the crowd—High Merchant Creseul, his round face pale, his expensive robes disheveled. He bowed deeply to the elderly man.

"President Andillevé! I... there’s been an incident—"

"I can see that, Creseul." President Andillevé’s voice was deceptively calm, but everyone in the hall could hear the steel beneath. "What I asked is what happened. Explain. Now."

High Merchant Creseul swallowed hard, clearly terrified. His eyes darted between Jayde, the ash piles, and the smoking crater.

"The... the Treasurer’s daughter," he began, his voice shaking. "She whipped that man." He pointed to Master Whitestone. "Without provocation. When this young lady confronted her, Miss Lastorm ordered her guards to..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "To burn the girl’s face. And then... to violate her. Repeatedly. And to skin the blacksmith alive."

The younger man—Counsellor Andillevé—sucked in a sharp breath.

President Andillevé’s face went rigid. "Is this true?" He looked at the crowd. "Did anyone else witness this?"

Heads nodded throughout the hall. Dozens of witnesses, all confirming the same story.

"And you," President Andillevé said to Jayde, his tone careful, "defended yourself and your companions."

"Yes," Jayde said simply.

The President nodded slowly. Then he turned to the Treasurer, still prostrate on the floor.

"Johro Lastorm. Stand up."

The Treasurer scrambled to his feet, blood from his leg wounds staining the marble.

"You raised a monster," President Andillevé said flatly. "You allowed her to terrorize this city. You have brought shame upon this Guild." He paused. "Guards."

A dozen men in proper Guild colors stepped forward—not Lastorm’s personal guards, but the hall’s security.

"Remove Treasurer Lastorm and his daughter from this building. They are hereby dismissed from their positions and blacklisted from the Merchants’ Guild. Effective immediately."

The crowd gasped. Blacklisting—the harshest penalty the Guild could impose.

"President, please!" Johro Lastorm’s composure cracked completely. "I have served this Guild for twenty years! You can’t—"

"I can. I just did." President Andillevé’s voice was iron. "Be grateful I’m not having you arrested for assault and attempted murder. Now GET OUT."

The guards moved forward, grabbing Lastorm by his arms. Other guards pulled Jenfer to her feet—she was still staring at nothing, her mind apparently broken.

"This can’t be happening," she whimpered as they dragged her toward the entrance. "Father! Father, do something!"

But Johro Lastorm said nothing as they were hauled through the crowd. His face was gray with the realization that everything—his position, his wealth, his future—was gone.

The crowd parted silently. When the massive doors closed behind them, the sound echoed like a tomb sealing.

President Andillevé stood in the center of the ruined hall, surveying the damage. Then his eyes found Elder Ryunzo.

Something flickered in his expression—recognition, followed immediately by concern.

"Jothan?" he said, and his voice had changed—softer, uncertain. "By the forge, is that you?"

Elder Ryunzo managed a weak smile. "Hello, Andil. It’s been... a long time."

"Twenty years." The President shook his head slowly. "We used to trade together, before the wars drove everyone apart. I heard Tardide had fallen on hard times."

His gaze moved to Elder Ryunzo’s patched robes, then to Master Whitestone’s bleeding chest, then to Jayde standing amid the carnage.

"You came to my Guild," he said quietly, "and this is what happened." The shame in his voice was palpable.

He turned to his son. "Clear the hall. Everyone out except Guild security. Then have my personal healer attend to the blacksmith."

Counsellor Andillevé began issuing orders. The crowd dispersed quickly, merchants and nobles fleeing before they could be questioned further.

President Andillevé walked to Elder Ryunzo and clasped his shoulder—a gesture between old friends.

"Come," he said. "We need to talk. Privately. All of you." He looked at High Merchant Creseul. "You too, Creseul."

The High Merchant’s face went from pale to white.

They followed President Andillevé through a side corridor, up a flight of stairs, to a private meeting room. It was smaller than the tea room would be—more intimate, with a large table and comfortable chairs. The door closed behind them with a solid thunk.

A Guild healer entered immediately, examining Master Whitestone’s chest wound. The blacksmith winced as she cleaned and bandaged it, but the bleeding stopped quickly.

President Andillevé waited until the healer finished and left. Then he settled into his chair and looked at Elder Ryunzo.

"Now then," he said. "What brought you to Oldstrand today, old friend?"

Elder Ryunzo glanced at High Merchant Creseul, who was sweating profusely. Then he looked back at President Andillevé.

"We came to sell charcoal," he said carefully. "A new product. Very valuable. We thought the Merchants’ Guild would be interested."

"Charcoal?" President Andillevé frowned. "Like... for heating?"

"Not ordinary charcoal. Something different. Revolutionary, actually." Elder Ryunzo nodded to Master Whitestone.

The blacksmith reached into his basket—still somehow intact despite everything—and withdrew a piece of charcoal. Black, rough-textured, unremarkable to the untrained eye.

"May I?" Master Whitestone gestured to a brazier in the corner.

"Of course."

The blacksmith arranged several pieces in the brazier and lit them. Within minutes, the charcoal was burning hot and clean. The heat radiating from it was intense—much hotter than wood would produce. And there was almost no smoke.

President Andillevé stood and approached, holding his hands over the brazier. His eyes widened.

"By the gods," he breathed. "This heat... and no smoke?"

Counsellor Andillevé joined him. "This is extraordinary."

"It’s made from hardwood," Jayde explained. "Heated in a low-oxygen environment to remove moisture and volatile compounds. What remains is almost pure carbon. Burns hotter, cleaner, longer than wood."

President Andillevé turned to Elder Ryunzo, his expression bright with interest.

"This is remarkable, Jothan. Absolutely remarkable. Blacksmiths would pay fortunes for this. The Mages’ Guild too—their alchemists need consistent high temperatures." He was already calculating. "The Guild would love to distribute this. What are your—"

"No," Elder Ryunzo said quietly.

President Andillevé stopped mid-sentence. "What?"

"We won’t be doing business with the Merchants’ Guild." Elder Ryunzo’s voice was steady but cold. "I’m sorry, Andil. I thought your Guild would be different. But it’s just as corrupt as everywhere else."

The President’s face went very still. "Explain."

Elder Ryunzo looked at High Merchant Creseul, who had gone from pale to ashen gray.

"I had a meeting with High Merchant Creseul earlier today. Before..." He gestured vaguely toward where the hall incident had occurred. "I showed him our charcoal. Demonstrated its properties. Explained that Tardide could produce it in quantity."

"And?" President Andillevé’s voice was dangerous now.

"He offered me one gold piece per sack." Elder Ryunzo’s jaw clenched. "And insisted I sign an exclusive contract. Not with the Guild—with him personally. He claimed it was standard procedure."

The silence was deafening.

President Andillevé turned slowly to look at High Merchant Creseul.

"One gold piece," he said very quietly.

"President, I can explain—" Creseul started.

"An exclusive contract. With you personally."

"I was going to negotiate with the Guild afterward! I was just—"

"You were going to defraud both Tardide and this Guild for personal profit." President Andillevé’s voice was arctic. "You saw a revolutionary product from a desperate village, and you tried to steal it."

"It wasn’t stealing! It was just good business—"

"GOOD BUSINESS?" The President’s roar made everyone flinch. "You tried to con my oldest friend out of a product worth millions! You violated every principle this Guild was founded on!"

He stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Creseul, you’re fired. Effective immediately. And you’re blacklisted from the Merchants’ Guild."

"But President!" Creseul’s voice rose to a panicked shriek. "I’ve been with the Guild for fifteen years! You can’t—"

"I just did. Get out. Now."

"This is insane! First the Treasurer, now me? Over some country peasants with their fancy wood?"

President Andillevé’s hand moved faster than Jayde expected for a man his age. The slap echoed in the small room.

Creseul staggered back, hand to his cheek.

"Those ’country peasants’ are worth more than you’ll ever be," President Andillevé said coldly. "OUT. Before I have you thrown out like the Lastorms."

Creseul fled, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

The door slammed behind him.

President Andillevé stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he turned to Elder Ryunzo, and the anger drained from his face, replaced by profound shame.

"Jothan," he said quietly. "Old friend. I... I don’t know what to say."

He walked over and bowed. Deeply. Formally.

"I am so sorry," he said. "For everything. For Creseul’s attempt to cheat you. For the Lastorms’ attack. For the corruption that has infected my Guild." His voice cracked. "This is not what I built. This is not what we stood for."

Elder Ryunzo stood and clasped the President’s shoulder, pulling him upright.

"Andil, you couldn’t have known—"

"I should have. I’ve been semi-retired, letting others run things, and look what happened." President Andillevé shook his head. "No more. Starting today, things change."

He looked at Counsellor Andillevé. "Son, I need you to investigate the Guild’s operations. Top to bottom. Anyone taking bribes, anyone defrauding clients, anyone running personal schemes—fire them. Blacklist them. Clean house."

"Consider it done, Father."

President Andillevé turned back to Elder Ryunzo. "Now. Your charcoal. Will you give me a chance to make this right?"

Elder Ryunzo looked at Jayde. She studied the President carefully.

Body language: genuine remorse. Tone: sincere. Actions: immediate justice. Assessment: trustworthy.

She nodded slightly.

"One chance," Elder Ryunzo said. "But we need real terms. Fair terms."

"Name them," President Andillevé said. "Whatever you need."

Elder Ryunzo took a breath. "Exclusive distribution through the Guild. We supply the charcoal, you handle all sales."

"Agreed. What price?"

"Sixty gold pieces per sack. Forty to Tardide, twenty to the Guild."

President Andillevé didn’t hesitate. "Done. How much can you supply?"

"One hundred fifty sacks per week initially. We can scale up as demand grows."

The President and his son exchanged glances.

"Father," Counsellor Andillevé said, "if we price this at sixty gold to start—targeting wealthy blacksmiths and the Mages’ Guild—we could create enormous demand."

"And Tardide earning forty per sack..." President Andillevé calculated quickly. "Six thousand gold per week. Over three hundred thousand annually."

Elder Ryunzo’s hands trembled slightly.

(That much gold? We could rebuild everything. Feed everyone. Maybe even thrive.)

"We accept your terms," President Andillevé said formally. He extended his hand. Elder Ryunzo clasped it.

"But Jothan," the President added, "I suspect charcoal isn’t everything you came to discuss. Am I right?"

Elder Ryunzo smiled slightly. "You always were perceptive."

"So." President Andillevé sat back down, gesturing for everyone to join him. "What else?"

Elder Ryunzo looked at Jayde.

She set down her hands on the table and met the President’s gaze.

"Quite a bit, actually," she said. "But before we continue, we need certain... assurances."

"Such as?"

"That you’ll keep our meeting private. That you won’t reveal Tardide as your source. That you’ll protect us."

President Andillevé nodded slowly. "You have my word. And my son’s word as Oldstrand’s leader. Whatever you’re about to tell us, it stays in this room."

Counsellor Andillevé leaned forward. "You have our complete discretion. And our protection."

Jayde studied them both for a long moment.

Risk assessment: manageable. Potential benefit: enormous. Recommend proceeding.

"Alright," she said. "Let’s talk about what else Tardide has to offer."