Chapter 3: The First Test

Valen stood in the shadows of a dimly lit alleyway, his gaze locked on the bustling marketplace ahead. It was early morning, and the streets of Eldor were alive with the chaotic hum of commerce. Merchants shouted to attract customers, children ran through the crowd, and the clatter of wagon wheels against cobblestones echoed in the air. It was a scene that would seem ordinary to most, but to Valen, it was an opportunity.

The job was simple. The Black Scar had a small operation running at the market—extorting vendors, stealing from the weak, and smuggling goods through hidden channels. He had been assigned to oversee it, though it was hardly a task worth the effort for someone like him. But Valen wasn't looking to prove himself with brute force. He knew what he had to do.

The gang had its orders: intimidate the merchants, steal a few valuable goods, and make sure no one crossed them. But Valen had his own agenda. As he walked past the stalls, he could already see the nervous glances exchanged between the shopkeepers. A few, desperate for protection, were already slipping coins to a group of Black Scar members lounging nearby.

"Here for the usual?" a voice called out from behind Valen, startling him from his thoughts.

He turned to see Garen, a burly man with a thick beard, standing with a sly grin. Garen had always been a loyal member of the gang, but Valen didn't trust him. There was something too eager about Garen's smile, too willing to please.

"Just here to watch," Valen said, his tone colder than necessary. He had been assigned to this task by Bastien, who was growing suspicious of Valen's increasing quietness. But Valen had no intention of just watching. This was his chance to sow discord among the men and assert his influence.

"You're not gonna stop us from having a little fun, are you?" Garen's grin stretched wider, but his eyes were calculating.

Valen didn't respond at first. Instead, he stepped closer to the nearest merchant—a frail woman with graying hair, who nervously adjusted the wares on her table. Valen could see the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, the way her hands trembled as she glanced toward the men taking their 'payment.'

"Afternoon," Valen said casually, his voice low but firm.

The woman stiffened, her eyes darting to the group of Black Scar members before quickly returning to Valen.

"Sir," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din of the market, "I've paid my dues. Please, I—"

Valen raised a hand, silencing her. "You don't need to explain. I'm not here for that." He glanced at the group of men lounging by the stalls, the ones who were taking bribes. "I'm just here to make sure you don't get any more trouble."

The woman blinked, confused, and Valen could see the uncertainty in her eyes. She was clearly used to the Black Scar's usual methods, but this—this was different. It wasn't about the money or the goods. It was about control.

Valen stepped closer, his voice dropping even lower. "You've seen them, haven't you? The men taking your hard-earned coin. You don't want to be a part of that. But if you listen closely, you'll hear the truth."

The woman hesitated, but Valen's gaze remained steady, almost hypnotic. He wasn't threatening her, not directly, but there was a subtle power in his words. He could see her mind working, the seed of doubt being planted.

"You're not the first one to fall into their trap," Valen continued, his voice as smooth as silk. "But I can help you avoid making the same mistake."

Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope shining through the fear. "What do you want from me?"

Valen smiled, and the woman couldn't help but feel the weight of it. "Nothing at all. Just remember this moment when you see them coming again. When you realize who really holds the power here."

He turned, leaving her with that thought, and walked toward the group of Black Scar members. Garen was still standing nearby, watching him with an odd expression.

"You're trying something different today, aren't you?" Garen said, narrowing his eyes.

Valen didn't answer immediately. Instead, he watched as one of the men—Aric, a young member of the gang with a cocky smile and a quick temper—slammed a vendor's cart over, spilling apples everywhere. The man laughed, grabbing a handful of the fruit, and shoved them into his bag.

"That's enough," Valen said sharply, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The group froze, and for a moment, the marketplace seemed to quiet down, as if waiting for something.

Aric looked up, confusion written across his face. "What's the matter with you, Valen? You're usually all for this."

Valen's eyes never left Aric's. "You're making a mess. We don't need to remind everyone who runs this part of the city. We need them to fear us, not see us as thugs."

Garen stepped forward, clearly frustrated. "And how do you suppose we do that, then? Let them think we're weak?"

Valen turned to him slowly, his gaze calm but intense. "We show them who we are without lifting a finger. We take control with subtlety. No more theatrics."

There was a pause, the men exchanging uncertain looks. Valen could feel the tension shifting in the air, the first signs of doubt settling among them. They weren't used to this kind of approach, and they weren't sure how to respond.

"Leave the vendors," Valen said, voice unwavering. "Tell them we'll be back next week. And if they don't pay, they'll see the consequences. Not today, but soon enough."

It wasn't a hard message. It wasn't about the coin or the goods. It was about reminding them of their place, teaching them that fear didn't always come from violence—it came from control.

Valen walked back toward the alleyway where he had first arrived, leaving the gang members to grumble under their breath. They didn't understand yet, but they would.