The days following the kingdom’s request were tense. Word spread across the frontier that Dustfall’s Mana Exchange now supplied data to the Royal Mana Bureau. Merchants arrived asking whether the exchange was now under royal control. Adventurers wondered if the church would retaliate. Even small villages sent messengers requesting help in understanding the new price patterns. Dustfall had become more than a market. It had become a compass for everyone who lived by mana.

Alan could feel the weight of every question placed on him. He could feel the expectations of the villagers. The suspicion of merchants. The fear of adventurers. The curiosity of the kingdom. And somewhere unseen the hungry gaze of the Thieves Guild. But nothing prepared him for the arrival of all three factions at once.

It began in the early morning when a royal carriage rolled into Dustfall. The horses were pure black with silver armor plates. The Royal Mana Bureau emblem glowed faintly on the carriage door. Out stepped Darin Holt the royal scribe who had met Alan once before. But he was not alone. A second figure stepped out wearing a crimson cloak. A mage. A high ranking one.

Darin greeted Alan politely. The capital has questions about your forecast accuracy. They wish to observe the exchange directly. Alan nodded. He expected this.

But before they could enter the exchange another presence arrived.

From the west path three white robed priests marched toward Dustfall. At their center stood Inquisitor Maros. His steel staff glowed faintly with holy light. He carried the authority of the Radiant Faith like a blade ready to strike. Villagers stepped back fearfully.

Maros approached Alan with cold calm. The church demands full inspection of your exchange activities. We must ensure mana is not being abused or sold unlawfully. He placed emphasis on every word as if each one was a warning.

Alan felt the tension rise. The kingdom wanted data. The church wanted oversight. And the Thieves Guild wanted chaos. Dustfall stood in the center of a storm.

As Alan prepared to answer a shadow slipped between the villagers. A man with silver hair and that familiar mocking smile. Varrin. He walked forward openly as if attending a festival.

Three factions in one morning he said. How fortunate. The perfect audience for a market demonstration.

Ressa nearly drew her blade. What are you doing here. Varrin shrugged. Observing the consequences of progress. You built a beacon boy. Every moth in the world wants its light.

Darin frowned. Why is a known criminal here. Maros raised his staff. He should be arrested.

Varrin laughed softly. You can try. But I think you all want the same thing. To control the boy. Control the market. Control mana. Am I wrong.

No one responded.

Alan stepped forward before the situation collapsed. This exchange belongs to Dustfall. Not the crown. Not the church. Not the thieves. If you each want something from us then you will meet together. Not separately.

A stunned silence followed. Alan had just done something unthinkable. He summoned a meeting between the three most conflicting powers in the region. He stepped toward the exchange building. We speak inside. Publicly. With witnesses.

Darin exchanged a look with the mage. Maros narrowed his eyes. Varrin smirked with open amusement. Yet all three followed him inside.

The hall filled with adventurers merchants and villagers standing along the walls. Clerks clutched their ledgers nervously. The air heavy with tension. Alan took a place at the front with Ressa at his side.

Darin spoke first. The kingdom wishes cooperation. We need your forecasts to stabilize mana supplies. We do not want control. We want accuracy.

Maros countered coldly. Mana is divine essence. No mortal should dictate its value. This exchange risks turning sacred energy into mere coin. We demand the right to monitor every transaction.

Varrin leaned back smugly. And we want nothing but opportunity. Chaos creates profit. But your system reduces chaos. So we must adapt. Working with you or against you both produce gains for us.

The crowd whispered.

Alan raised his hand. Enough. You each want something. And Dustfall wants something too. Stability.

He laid out three points. One. The exchange would provide simplified reports to the kingdom. Not detailed enough for manipulation. But enough for stability. Two. The church may send observers but they cannot dictate prices. They may only verify that no mana is used unlawfully. Three. The exchange will never knowingly cooperate with the Thieves Guild. But we will not pretend they do not exist. If they threaten the village the entire frontier will know.

For a moment the three factions looked at each other instead of Alan.

Darin spoke first. Acceptable. The kingdom prefers cooperation over conflict.

Maros hesitated. The church will observe. But if you cross a line we will intervene.

Varrin laughed. A pity. But expected. You reject my offer again. Very well I will wait for the moment your precious order creates weakness. Because order always cracks.

He bowed mockingly and left.

The meeting ended with a fragile understanding. Not peace. But balance. Dustfall remained independent but watched from every direction.

As the hall emptied Ressa stared at Alan. You just held the three most dangerous groups in the same room. And survived. Alan exhaled slowly. Not survived. Delayed. They will return. With bigger demands.

He glanced at the price board. The numbers steady. But the stakes higher.

Dustfall was no longer just a market. It was the center of a power struggle that no one could ignore.

Alan whispered. Then we must become stronger than all three.

The true war had begun.