Thomas was panicking. "I'll get your money," he said. "Just… just give me a little more time."
The thugs didn't look like the patient type. Honestly, they'd already waited longer than most would.
"We had a deal," the leader growled. "You didn't pay. We gave you more time… and you still didn't pay. What do you expect us to do now? We're not leaving without our money."
Thomas wanted nothing more than to pay them and be done with it. Anyone would. But the problem was simple—he didn't have the money.
"Please. One more week. Just one more week," Thomas pleaded, almost begging.
The thug who seemed to be in charge turned his head, noticing Silas for the first time. His eyes scanned him up and down before his hand grabbed the front of Silas's leather jacket.
"What about your friend here?" he sneered. "Dressed pretty nice, huh? Maybe he can pay your debt."
Silas stared at him, stunned. How the hell did he end up dragged into this mess? One second he was thinking about setting up his shop—and now he was neck-deep in someone else's debt problem.
"How much are we talking about?" Silas asked, ignoring the thug and looking straight at Thomas.
Thomas shifted uncomfortably. "Around… eight thousand gold."
Silas blinked. "Eight thousand?" His voice rose. "What the hell were you thinking? What did you even do with that kind of money?"
It was obvious to him now—Thomas had probably borrowed it to fund the shop. Or so Silas had assumed.
Thomas dropped his gaze, visibly ashamed. Before he could speak, the thug burst out laughing. "Go on. Tell him. Tell him what you did with the money. Or should I do it?"
Thomas gritted his teeth. "I… I lost it. At the casino. And… well… on hookers."
Silas stared at him, dead silent. For a brief second, he genuinely considered punching Thomas right there in front of everyone. No. Not just punching—killing the idiot.
"You're a moron," Silas finally said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright. Here's the deal. I can give you two thousand gold right now—and the rest next month. How about that?"
The plan was simple. Get the shop running, make it profitable, and then force Thomas to work his ass off to pay back every single coin.
The thug grinned. "Yeah… we can work with that. I'm guessing you don't just carry that kind of money around, huh? Fine. I'll be back tomorrow."
With that, the thugs left.
As soon as they were out of sight, Silas turned to Thomas, glaring. "You realize you're gonna work like a damn mule in my shop until this is paid off, right? And for the love of everything, stay the hell away from gambling."
Silas had just lost a chunk of money — money he could've used to buy inventory for his shop and start turning a profit. That pissed him off more than anything. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Maybe Thomas could actually be useful and help run the shop. If not, then Silas might seriously consider beating the crap out of him.
"I ain't the same anymore," Thomas said. "No more gambling."
Silas didn't buy it.
"When was the last time you gambled? Be honest, or you're losing your job."
"Three days ago…"
A young man like Thomas was completely lost to gambling and wasting money on ladies of the night.
Silas didn't really care what Thomas did in his free time—as long as he did his job well and paid back the gold Silas had handed over to the thugs.
"We should hire more people once the shop opens," Thomas suggested. "At least two more. One guard for the day and one for the night."
Honestly, it wasn't a bad idea. Even though they were in the city, and in one of the safer areas—the main square—that didn't mean trouble wouldn't show up at their door.
Silas wasn't strong in a fight yet, and Thomas didn't look like someone who could handle himself either. They wouldn't stand a chance against anyone really dangerous.
"That's a good idea," Silas said. "But you're not telling them about your special salary. I'll have to pay them less. We're just starting out."
"What do you mean? You're talking like I'm the one doing the hiring…"
"Because you are. I'm heading back to my hotel. You go find us some good guards."
Silas turned and left. Thomas stood there blinking, frozen for a moment before finally moving. With the situation he was in, he didn't have much of a choice. He had to listen and do what Silas asked.
*
The city of New Castle was always lively, especially in the central district. Silas made his way through the streets, stopping at a food stall to grab a meat skewer.
It was ridiculously good. Maybe it was the hunger making it taste better than it actually was—or maybe it was just that good. Either way, Silas wasn't complaining.
He continued toward the hotel where Titus was staying. He still had the VIP card Titus had given him, and of course, there was no way he'd let that go to waste.
The hotel chain Titus co-owned was one of the most famous in the kingdom, with branches in every major city that attracted large numbers of tourists.
"Incredible…"
The hotel was massive, built entirely from fine marble by the best architects in the kingdom. Every detail was carefully designed, giving the place an air of nobility and elegance.
Not just anyone could stay there. The guests were nobles, powerful wizards, high-ranking warriors who made a fortune through their services, and wealthy merchants or business owners.
Sure, some guests didn't have that kind of money but still saved up just to experience staying there—and that was perfectly fine.
Silas, on the other hand, was about to get that experience for free. He walked up to the front desk, where a man in a well-tailored suit stood.
"Excuse me," Silas said, pulling the VIP card from his pocket. "I have this. How does it work, exactly?"
The man glanced at the card, frowned, and then made a quick gesture.
In seconds, a few armored guards closed in around Silas, swords at their sides, hands resting on the hilts.
Silas blinked, confused.
What the hell was going on?