Dustfall’s Mana Spot Exchange continued to grow even under the shadow of the church’s warning. Adventurers still crowded the building every morning. Merchants still brought carts of beast cores. Prices still changed by the hour. But something new crept into the atmosphere. A quiet unease. People looked over their shoulders more often. They whispered about strangers near the forest edge. They spoke of footsteps at night that did not belong to villagers.

Alan sensed it too. The church was watching. The kingdom was observing. But neither one brought the same heavy pressure that now spread through Dustfall like smoke. This was different. This was silent. This came from the shadows.

Ressa noticed it before anyone else. On the third morning after the Inquisitor left she approached Alan while sharpening her blade. The exchange is busier than ever she said. But there are too many people who do not trade. They watch instead. They study the building. They study you.

Alan nodded. He had counted at least six unfamiliar faces in the crowd who never bought or sold cores. They whispered among themselves and carried themselves with the confidence of people who were not afraid of fights or laws. Shadows do not watch unless they want something.

Ressa’s team grew more alert. They guarded the exchange doors even when Alan said they did not need to. But their caution proved right. On the fifth evening something finally happened.

A young clerk named Mier ran into the exchange hall pale and shaking. Sir Alan he gasped. Someone tried to rob our storeroom. Ressa reacted instantly. Where. But before Mier could answer three figures slipped through the doorway with the ease of ghosts. They wore dark travel cloaks and loose leather armor. Their movements were too quiet for adventurers and too purposeful for travelers.

One stepped forward and lowered his hood. His hair was silver and his eyes sharp like a hawk. His voice calm. No need for alarm. We are not here to fight. Not yet.

The room grew tense. Ressa placed a hand on her sword. Alan watched the man with steady eyes. And you are.

The man bowed with a mocking smile. I am Varrin. Liaison of the Thieves Guild. Some call us the Shadow Market. Others call us the Black Hand. Call us whatever helps you sleep at night.

Murmurs erupted. Even adventurers paled. The Thieves Guild was not a rumor. It was an underground network that controlled illegal mana trade across the continent. They dealt in stolen cores forbidden artifacts rare monster parts and anything too dangerous or too valuable for normal markets. If the kingdom feared chaos and the church feared sacrilege the Thieves Guild feared only one thing. Competition.

Varrin walked closer as if examining a piece of art. This is the famous Dustfall Exchange. The place that drained half our black market routes. The place that stabilized prices we worked so hard to keep unstable. You made a mess for us boy.

Alan remained calm. If your business suffers because people stop being cheated then you built your business wrong.

Varrin laughed. Sharp tongue. I like that. But let us speak plainly. You are creating a system that threatens our trade. Adventurers who once bought our maps and paid our fees now follow your price boards. Merchants who once sold us cores at discount now come here for fair prices. Your precious transparency is killing our business.

Ressa stepped between them. Then leave. The guild is not welcome here.

Varrin ignored her. Instead he leaned closer to Alan. We do not mind competition boy. We mind disruption. And you are disrupting an entire continent. So we offer you a simple choice.

He held up two fingers.

One. You cooperate with us. Allow the Thieves Guild access to your exchange. We will use your classifications to control supply from the shadows. We will push high grade cores through your market. In return we keep you safe and Dustfall prospers.

He raised the second finger.

Two. You refuse. And we make sure you drown in chaos. Flooded supply. Fake cores. Stolen shipments. Adventurer disappearances. Your beautiful exchange collapses. Dustfall returns to dust. The guild does not like losing money.

The room felt cold. Even the lanterns seemed dimmer. Alan stared at Varrin. For a moment he considered the offer. Cooperation might keep the village safe. But it would corrupt everything Dustfall stood for. The exchange existed to protect adventurers from manipulation. If he allowed the Thieves Guild into the system then the exchange would become just another tool of exploitation.

Alan’s voice was steady. I refuse.

Varrin sighed dramatically. Such a shame. You could have become very rich. He turned toward the exit. The shadows will move. And when they do your exchange will crumble. You cannot fight what you cannot see.

Before leaving he glanced back one last time. You declared war on the wrong people boy. We will show you what real economic destruction looks like.

When he and his men vanished into the night the room finally breathed again. Mier collapsed onto a bench. Adventurers whispered in panic. Ressa looked furious. Alan felt his stomach tighten. Not with fear but with calculation. The guild had declared a quiet war. One fought not with swords but with supply chains and sabotage.

That night Alan wrote until dawn. He analyzed every weak point the guild could exploit. He listed countermeasures and strategies. He studied patterns of black market behavior. He understood something important. Price stability created two reactions. Trust from honest traders. Hatred from those who profited from chaos.

Dustfall would not survive unless he predicted every move the Thieves Guild made before they made it.

At sunrise Alan looked at the nearly full notebook and whispered a promise. I will build a system even shadows cannot break.