“Those,” Leroy said as he stood, distributing the sealed envelopes across the table, “are your six months of unpaid contracts from the Council. I figured you’d all be a lot more talkative once the money came first.”

  That earned a wave of laughter.

  The five leaders eagerly took their envelopes, slipping them into coats and satchels. Inside each was a payment note, redeemable at the Unus Bank, the financial heart of the All Realm.

  To the Council, Weapon Masters were vendors of precision warfare — mercenary armies hired for discreet, politically inconvenient work.

  To the kingdoms and commonfolk, they were instant armies — the last resort for internal uprisings, border disputes, or silent purges.

  And to themselves?

  They were the balance — enforcers of order through the gray line of law.

  “Leroy, leave the rest of the envelopes to me,” Balthazar said with that too-wide grin. “I’ll make sure they get to the ones who didn’t show.”

  “I don’t trust you, you lunatic,” Leroy said flatly, sliding the remaining envelopes back into his book.

  Balthazar laughed and sat back down, feigning offense.

  Lisa leaned forward, her smile brightening the dim hall.

  “You know, it’s strange to think how far we’ve come. Each of the Nine now commands—what—millions of subordinates?”

  Her voice carried pride rather than arrogance, the kind born of survival.

  Leroy smiled faintly, nodding.

  He was proud of them — not as a superior, but as someone who’d seen how far chaos could evolve into structure.

  This was the Weapon Masters greatest achievement: not dominance, but stability.

  “Even my deputy has deputies now,” Zaragoza chuckled, swirling his drink.

  “I’ve forgotten half of my deputies names,” Burgess grumbled, though his tone was more amused than bitter.

  Cheng leaned back, arms crossed.

  “The downside of command,” he said. “We can’t act directly anymore, only watch our people move for us.”

  “That’s the price of leadership,” Leroy replied. “You think I don’t get bored of sitting in Council table.”

  That made them all laugh again, but the laughter this time was quieter — not joy, but the shared understanding of leaders who carried too much.

  Then came a knock at the door.

  Four servants entered, carrying small gilded crates and scrolls bound with silver ribbon.

  “Deliveries from Mia, Nolan, Axel, and Solana,” said one of them. “They send their apologies for not being able to attend in person.”

  The gifts were lined up neatly at the front of the room — from the four absent leaders, along with letters of apology addressed to Leroy.

  He sighed softly.

  “That’s… unnecessarily formal,” he said, though there was a trace of warmth in his voice.

  “Leave them there.”

  The servants nodded.

  "Leroy,” Burgess began, his deep voice calm and sincere, “you’re more than just a councilman to us. You’re the First brother. It would be disgraceful to ignore your summons without bringing something in return.”

  “I agree with furball’s,” Zaragoza added, smirking as he drained his glass. “We’d be fools to bite the hand that feeds us.”

  Burgess sighed, one massive hand rubbing his temple. He’d long given up reacting to the pirate’s jabs.

  Leroy only smiled faintly — amusement flickering like a shadow across his face.

  “How have your operations been these past few months?” he asked.

  Burgess reached for the bottle, refilling everyone’s glasses before answering.

  “Smooth enough,” he said. “Though my underlings, not as smooth.”

  That earned a sharp snicker from Balthazar.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” he muttered.

  “I took a contract with the Shogun before the Colosseum match,” Burgess continued. “He pays in both coin and harvest”

  “Working with the Shogun is always rewarding,” Cheng added, his tone thoughtful. “Their honor system might be archaic, but they know the value of an agreement.”

  Burgess grinned, the lion’s teeth flashing.

  “Leroy, on that mission I learned a new tricks. Want a demonstration?”

  He half rose from his chair, the wooden frame creaking under his weight.

  “Another time,” Leroy said simply, motioning for him to sit back down.

  “Tragic,” Balthazar sighed, mock offended.

  Lisa had begun polishing her long silver rifle, her movements slow and deliberate. The weapon gleamed beneath the chandelier’s warm light.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Still, nothing beats working with the Extraterrestrial Houses,” she said. “Their payments are clean, their contracts cleaner.”

  “Can’t argue there,” Zaragoza said, raising both hands in mock surrender.

  Cheng nodded, his tone suddenly more pragmatic.

  “Every one of those Houses fills our coffers. Doesn’t matter if the job’s noble or filthy, they always pay.”

  “And never in debt,” Balthazar added with a sharp grin. “That’s the exciting part.”

  The laughter lingered for a moment — until it didn’t.

  Leroy’s smile faded. The warmth in his face vanished, replaced by something steady and cold.

  When he spoke, his tone carried the weight of a law no one dared challenge.

  “But you haven’t forgotten my restrictions, have you?”

  The table went still.

  Every leader there turned their gaze to him — even Balthazar straightened in his seat, smirk dimming.

  Lisa was the first to answer. Her voice was crisp, professional — the tone of a sniper reporting a clean shot.

  “Of course not. None of us have taken contracts from the Cogworks,” she said.

  “Yeah… we remember that,” Cheng added, nodding.

  “Besides,” Zaragoza said, gulping down another mouthful of wine, “no payment’s worth it. People said their leader’s a pure devil.”

  “Good,” Leroy replied, his tone easing into relief. “Let Professor Bjorn deal with that mess. He seems to enjoy it.”

  Chaotic, unpredictable, and often lawless in their methods,

  the Nine Syndicate Masters were nonetheless bound by their own code with several restrictions that must be honored by all of them.

  It was what made the Weapon Masters feared, and ironically—trusted.

  “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Cheng said suddenly, his tone soft.

  Everyone’s eyes turned toward him.

  “We used to get paid in harvest or raw ore,” he continued with a half-smile. “Now people pay us in both.”

  “Ha!” Zaragoza chuckled, his hand slapping the table. “Once, I got paid in kitchen utensils! The whole region was known for crafting, so they just gave me pots and pans!”

  “You think that’s bad?” Balthazar countered. “I once got paid with a damn festival. A whole town threw a party instead of paying me.”

  Leroy chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Peace does strange things to people,” he said. “But at least it keeps things stable.”

  The laughter faded as Leroy gestured toward the nine heavy crates stacked near the wall.

  Each was sealed with the insignia of the Council.

  “Those,” he said, “are your rewards from the Council — gold, this time. Payment for six months of restraint.”

  His voice carried both pride and gravity.

  The Council knew the truth — keeping this many syndicates from tearing each other apart within the Mainland was no small feat.

  In a world where strength was its own law, six months without internal war was a miracle worth celebrating.

  “If you all keep behaving yourselves,” Leroy said with a small, approving smile, “I might just make this program permanent. It certainly makes Rufus’s job easier keeping order across the Mainland.”

  For Cheng, Lisa, Balthazar, Burgess, and Zaragoza, this was more than a reward — it was validation.

  They had kept their millions of subordinates from turning the Mainland into chaos, not for gold, but out of loyalty to Leroy Livingstone, the Green Wraith himself.

  And now, for once, their commander was returning that respect.

  But amid the laughter and toasts, Lisa leaned forward, her tone sharpening into seriousness.

  “Leroy,” she said, “I’ve heard the Council’s military forces have been expanding lately.”

  Leroy didn’t answer right away. His expression didn’t change, but his silence drew the others’ attention.

  “If they keep growing,” Lisa continued, eyes narrowing slightly, “will the Council even need us anymore?”

  Her words settled over the table like a cold draft through the cellar.

  Even Balthazar stopped tapping his knife.

  Leroy exhaled slowly — not in frustration, but thought. Then, faintly, he smiled.

  “I knew you’d bring that up,” he said. “But don’t worry, my friends. Every member of the Council knows how vital external vendors are to maintaining stability.”

  He raised his glass slightly, as if to punctuate the statement.

  “No matter how large the Council’s private army grows, third-party forces like yours will always be needed.”

  That line — “always be needed” — carried more power than any reassurance could.

  The syndicate leaders exchanged knowing glances, tension melting back into comfort.

  “He’s right,” Balthazar said finally. “If we were cut off, the balance among the Seven Factions would collapse overnight.”

  “At last, something intelligent out of your mouth,” Leroy quipped dryly.

  The room erupted in laughter again — the kind that comes from relief, not amusement.

  When the noise faded, Leroy reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of neatly folded papers.

  “Alright,” he said, flipping through them. “Enough celebration. There are still matters that need handling.”

  He spread the documents out on the table — reports, sealed notes, and letters bearing the sigil of the Council.

  “These were sorted by Elysius,” Leroy explained. “Minor cases, not critical enough for Council resources, but important enough to keep on our radar. I’m assigning them to you.”

  He glanced toward Lisa, his tone turning formal.

  “Lisa, I have a personal task for you.”

  Her posture straightened immediately — the soldier replacing the friend.

  “District Four has grown… unruly,” Leroy continued, eyes skimming the report. “Rufus patrols have been halted due to local unrest. There’s also evidence of black market activity — stolen batteries being sold, apparently interfering with the Cogworks reconstruction efforts.”

  He handed her the document.

  Lisa took it with a short nod, scanning the text quickly.

  The light from the chandelier flickered across her face — and for a moment, her usual sharp composure hardened into something colder.

  “Listen,” Leroy said, glancing at each of them in turn. “I’m giving you all personal tasks. You’ve been complaining that your ‘flight hours’ are getting rusty since you’ve got too many subordinates doing all the work.”

  He flipped to the next paper, tapping it lightly.

  “Consider this… a warm-up. A little reminder you’re still capable of using your power.”

  The group nodded in agreement.

  Before Leroy could continue, Balthazar raised a hand, pulling a small card from his coat and sliding it across the table toward Lisa.

  “Here. My network’s base,” he said. The card bore of his smuggler unit.

  “If you need a place to stay, show this. Tell them Purple Blast sent you.”

  Lisa took the card, studying it for a moment before tucking it into her jacket.

  “Thanks,” she said simply.

  Leroy blinked, his tone caught between amusement and disbelief.

  “Purple Blast? What kind of name is that?”

  “In District Four you’ll want an alias,” Balthazar replied with mock seriousness.

  “Your alias is ridiculous,” Cheng muttered, eyeing Balthazar’s two-toned purple hair.

  The Blasphemer only chuckled — unbothered, unashamed, entirely himself.

  Leroy cleared his throat and continued.

  “Next, Zaragoza. You’re heading to the southern Abyss. King Darkon’s miners are expanding operations down there, but there’s been talk of subterranean beasts surfacing. He wants them eliminated before the tunnels open—”

  He didn’t even finish.

  “Spare me the cases,” Zaragoza interrupted, snatching the file from Leroy’s hand. “I’ll read it at home. It’s rare to spend an evening with our First Brother — I’d rather not waste it on this table.”

  He grinned, flashing his golden teeth.

  Lisa leaned back, smirking.

  “Speaking of which, I heard from D’Hertz that you’ve been interested in street fights again, Leroy. That true?”

  “Yeah,” Leroy admitted, chuckling softly. “But that’s not until—”

  “Relax,” Balthazar cut in, grinning like a wolf. “We can make it happen tonight. The streets are never quiet when a councilman shows up.”

  Burgess slammed his massive fist onto the table with a booming laugh.

  “Then it’s settled! Meeting’s over, we’re going to the streets!”