Chương 104: Chapter 101 – Fallout

The letters began arriving before breakfast and did not stop. Seren was holding up at least ten, they were at what Alric considered his inn, she had headed to the brewery earlier and came back with these. Some were sealed with care, wax pressed cleanly and bearing marks that suggested pride in the act of writing.

Others had been folded once, twice, and then again until the edges no longer aligned, as if the sender had not quite decided whether the contents were worth sending and had resolved the matter by sending them anyway. Several had no signature at all, which in Alric's experience usually meant the writer was very sure of their feelings but less sure of the consequences. He sighed, having expected this, Seren passed him a handful and went to her own desk. The tone shifted from page to page.

The earlier ones had been measured, phrased in the careful language of men who still believed that reason might produce a different outcome. They spoke of concern, of imbalance, of the need for moderation in supply and the preservation of livelihoods. In some, accusations simply appeared. Not shouted, not quite, but carried in the shape of statements that did not expect to be contradicted. He read enough to understand the pattern, then continued reading anyway. Across from him, Seren let out a long sigh.

Seren had reached the stage of reading where the sigh came before the letter, which Alric suspected was an efficiency she would refine further. Alric set one letter down atop another and rested his hand against the edge of the desk, feeling the slight give of wood that had not been intended to bear this much weight in a single place. They are not wrong, but the alternatives are worse. That thought was not a new one. He had expected disruption.

He had planned for it, in the way one plans for rain by ensuring there is somewhere to stand that is not entirely exposed. The arena had not simply drawn demand. It had consolidated it. He leaned back slightly, the chair creaking. A ledger lay open to one side, numbers recorded in a hand that had grown increasingly confident over the past months. The margins bore small notations, adjustments, reminders that had once been relevant and were now simply evidence of a process that had already moved past them.

It was not that he had outcompeted the others. That would have been simpler. Competition implied that alternatives remained, that choice still existed and had merely been resolved in his favour. What had occurred was something else entirely. The presence of a single, reliable source, reinforced by temple endorsement and amplified by the draw of the arena, had not left room for preference to operate.

Where he had once thought craft was dying, it now appeared to have completed the process and been given a modest burial, attended mostly by people who had expected to be next. The door opened without ceremony, as it tended to when Vale entered a room he already expected to be in. Vale paused just inside, his gaze taking in the arrangement of paper with a brief narrowing of his eyes that suggested both recognition and a quiet calculation of scale.

He closed the door behind him with care, as though preserving the contained nature of the problem, and stepped forward.

"That is more than yesterday," he observed. He wore what seemed like a sad look at Alric. Alric did not look up immediately. He simply nodded and shrugged. Vale moved to the side of the desk and picked up one of the unopened letters, turning it slightly as if the weight might reveal something the seal did not.

"Complaints."

"Concerns," Alric corrected, though without conviction.

"Followed by complaints, then accusations and sometimes, pleading." Vale broke the seal with his thumb, scanned the contents, and allowed the page to fall back to the desk with a small shift of air.

"Accurate complaints," he said. Alric's mouth twitched, not quite into a smile.

"And there lies the issue." Vale rested his hand on the back of the chair opposite, though he did not sit.

"What choice did you really have?" he asked, the words said carefully. He put the letter back. Alric leaned forward again, gathering a small subset of the letters into a neater stack, aligning edges that resisted the effort.

"No," he agreed.

"Doesn't change that they're right though." Alric let that settle, then reached for a blank sheet of paper and drew it toward him.

"Get comfortable Vale, we need to respond to these." Vale's brow lifted a fraction.

"Why?"

"To explain," Alric said as he reached for a stick of charcoal. He avoided quills where possible.

"They should at least know that much." Vale did not argue further. He moved around the desk, selecting a second sheet, and began to write as well. They chose their words with care. Not defensive or dismissive, measured in a way that acknowledged the reality being described without conceding that it could be altered by the act of describing it. They spoke of smuggling rings, crime and risk. Alric would add a note about how the arena had bought the berry wine this time, next time they may not.

Also it was the taverns who sold it to the arena in the first place. By midday, the first replies had been sent. By late afternoon, the next set of letters had arrived. They were shorter. There is a particular tone that emerges when explanation fails to satisfy. The letters did not argue with the responses. They simply restated the problem, now without the expectation that it would be addressed in a way that improved their position. Alric read one, then another, and set them aside with less attention than before.

The act of answering had not reduced the volume. Beyond the walls of the inn, the city had already begun adjusting. By the time the request for a meeting arrived, it felt less like a new development and more like a continuation of the same conversation, now seeking a different venue. The note was brief, written in a hand that suggested practicality over presentation. A group of tavern keepers wished to speak with him at the brewery.

There was no mention of accusation, no hint of demand, only a time and the expectation that it would be honoured. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Alric read it once, then again, noting the names at the bottom. Berrin. Denner. He folded the note and set it aside.

"We will meet some of them at the brewery," he said, glancing toward Vale. Vale, who had been reviewing inventory records with the quiet intensity of someone who preferred numbers to letters, looked up.

"I'm not surprised."

"No," Alric agreed.

"Think it will be fun?" Vale closed the ledger and rested his hands against it.

"If you asked if I had to choose between it and the matchmaking dinner again, I'd have to think about it."

"What is your problem with the arena, Mister Alric? It just seems to be a tavern with entertainment." Seren asked, she had been working with ledgers before now, specifically of the recent construction work.

"It's.. a lot of things but the gambling bothers me. How many kids are going hungry because dad lost a bet?" Alric asked with no small amount of self-righteousness.

"Hmm.. Who can say, most of the stories I hear is because dad spent too long in a tavern." Seren countered with a shrug. There was a long silence. Alric made a small noise before saying, "Well... there is... also I think it's cruel. For monsters and... We made the beer much safer." Alric trailed off under Vale's gaze.

"The beer we are making is very strong Mister Alric, we could make a lighter one. No one is being forced to go to the arena, I suppose, it's just how people are, we don't decide for them Mister Alric." Vale said, gathering his papers. Have I made this place worse? When they arrived the next day, it was with less noise than Alric had anticipated. There were no raised voices, no visible agitation carried ahead of them like a warning.

Instead, the group entered the brewery with the measured pace of men who had already exhausted the usefulness of anger and had moved on to something more practical. Their clothing bore the signs of work interrupted rather than abandoned, and their expressions carried the quiet strain of calculation rather than outrage. They carried themselves like men who had come to argue and, somewhere along the way, realised the argument had already been lost and decided to attend anyway.

Berrin and Denner stood among them, not at the front, but not concealed either. Their presence shifted the tone of the meeting before it began, lending it a weight that suggested this was not merely a complaint, but a discussion that required resolution, even if no resolution was available. Alric met them near the central space, where the noise of the boilers provided a constant backdrop that made raised voices unnecessary and private conversation unlikely to remain entirely so.

"We thank ya for seein us guv," one of the tavern keepers began, his voice steady, though his hands remained occupied with the edge of his apron. Alric inclined his head.

"You are still my customers you know." There was a brief pause, not uncomfortable, but deliberate.

"What do we do bout the arena?" another asked outright, the others glanced at him expecting it to be politer than this. Alric let the request stand for a moment, acknowledging it without interrupting it.

"I understand why you ask," he said with a sight, his gaze moving across the group, not settling on any one face for too long.

"I don't like the arena any more than you do." He shifted slightly, resting his hand against the edge of a nearby table, grounding the explanation in something physical.

"Here's the problem. If I don't sell to them?" he continued.

"What then? They will get their beer somewhere."

"Can make their own." Came from the back.

"Would your customers drink it? Will theirs? They won't even try." Alric said with a sigh. He let that settle, watching as the logic was received not with surprise, but with recognition.

"If I don't sell to them, they will still get the beer. It will come from your bars, in the night. You know this. My own people will be at risk." One of the tavern keepers nodded slowly, his expression tightening.

"I already did the only thing I can, they are buying beer for thirty percent more than I sell to you." Alric explained.

"So they pay more, their beer will be more expensive. People won't go there to drink. That was the best I could do." Many nodded but were clearly not satisfied.

"You know they also bought the berry wine from taverns right? This doesn't make me very sympathetic." Alric said crossing his arms and regarding them.

"Weren't us though, we didn't get wine." One of the tavern keepers said avoiding eye contact.

"Still, I get all these complaints and I'm sure many resold anyway. So it's fine if they do it but I mustn't?" Alric asked getting annoyed.

"Well, times be tough guv." Another tavern keeper said keeping his chin raised high as if this explained the issue. There was a long silence that followed.

"We understand," Berrin said at last, stepping forward slightly, his tone carrying the weight of agreement rather than concession.

"But it does not make it easier."

"No," Alric agreed.

"It does not." He was slightly surprised that Berrin was on his side. Denner glanced toward the others, then back to Alric.

"If we can't change it then," he said.

"What can we do?" The question did not carry expectation. It carried necessity. Alric did not answer immediately. He considered it properly, not out of courtesy, but because an incomplete answer would be worse than none at all.

"The arena... is drawing for spectacle, gambling. What I suggest you do is don't try to fight it on the city's day off. Rather… do some spectacle of your own. Whole pig on a spit during the week, better food." Alric paused to draw breath. He shifted his weight, gesturing slightly as he spoke.

"You should know, you all sell the same drink now. How are you bringing customers now? Every tavern has the same. The arena is just like a tavern, it has its own draw. You need to figure out yours." He continued. Uniformity had its advantages. Unfortunately, attracting customers was rarely one of them. The group leaned in, not physically, but in attention.

"Food," Alric said.

"Not what you already serve. I've eaten enough stews here to know they all taste the same. You needed to always find a way to lure new customers now, the arena is just making you do it sooner." Every tavern had a stew. This was less a feature than a condition. He glanced toward the open doorway, where the air shifted with the faint scent of grain and heat. There was a murmur, not of disagreement, but of consideration. They exchanged looks, small nods passing between them as the idea settled.

"We can try," one said with a shrug, the words carrying both uncertainty and resolve. When they left, it was with less weight than they had arrived, though not with relief. Denner and Berrin remained behind. The absence of the others shifted the space, the conversation narrowing without becoming more comfortable.

"You are in a difficult position," Denner said, not unkindly. Alric shrugged, the movement minimal.

"Well, it is what..." he stopped not wanting to bring bad idioms.

"There is little you can do," Berrin added. Alric considered that, then allowed a small exhale.

"There are things I can attempt. Exclusives. Limited supply to some taverns. It may be a small advantage." Denner shook his head slightly.

"Will it change much?"

"No," Alric agreed.

"Not really, the arena will be taking a lot of coin through gambling alone." They stood in that understanding for a moment.

"The taverns will need to adjust," Denner began.

"But, we will lose a few before the city finds its new rhythm." It was not a solution. It was a strategy for survival.

"Where did this arena even come from? It just popped out of no-where?" Alric asked them.

"Uh.. well.." Denner began.

"The former guild leaders. They got the coin by calling in loans early, sold whatever their guilds owned, the guild warehouses are stripped bare. Your merchant bought out their grain warehouses I understand." There was no anger in his voice. Only a tired clarity. Alric was looking at him wide eyed.

"I do not blame you Alric," he added, as if anticipating the thought.

"I only understood when I saw their empty warehouses." Alric absorbed that, the pieces aligning into a structure that made sense of what had seemed, until now, merely inevitable. He found himself considering, briefly, the possibility of withdrawing. Ending the arrangement. Allowing the supply to collapse, forcing the arena to seek alternatives that would not exist in sufficient quantity. He followed the thought through, step by step, and found that it did not lead anywhere useful. Someone else would supply.

The demand would remain. If anything, it would worsen. He let the idea go.

"Do you know of any charities?" he asked instead, the shift abrupt but not unrelated. Berrin glanced at Denner, then back.

"The temple handles most." Alric nodded slowly, then raised his voice slightly.

"Tarrow." Tarrow appeared with the efficiency of someone who had been nearby and had chosen the moment of entry carefully.

"You called? Is there beer?" he asked which got a chuckle out of everyone present.

"Charities?" Alric said.

"Beyond the temple." Tarrow's expression did not change immediately. Then, slowly, it did.

"There are…" he said.

"Orphanages. Shelters. Though the temple is always involved…"

"That is a polite way of putting it," Denner observed. Tarrow inclined his head slightly.

"Coin with them has a tendency to go on adventures, but not like most adventurers, it doesn't come back a story."

"And goods?" Alric asked.

"Much less adventurous," Tarrow said nodding. There was a brief silence, not awkward, but acknowledging what had been said without being said. Alric exhaled, the sound quiet against the background of the brewery's constant work. It had become more complicated than he had expected. There were things he could do. None of them would be enough. He let out a slow breath, not quite a sigh. I'll have to figure out a way to give back, later.