Chapter 6: Seeds of Doubt

Valen leaned back on a crate in the corner of the gang's hideout, his sharp eyes scanning the group assembled before him. Most of the Black Fang members were engrossed in their tasks—counting coin, sharpening blades, or exchanging hushed conversations. But Valen's focus was on a cluster of individuals at the far side of the room, where an argument had broken out.

"I don't like this," a wiry man named Elric said, his voice loud enough to cut through the low hum of activity. His face was scrunched with disdain, and he jabbed a finger at a younger member who had just finished recounting one of Valen's suggestions. "Why should we trust this newcomer? Bastien's been leading us fine without his meddling."

"I'm not saying we overthrow anyone," the young man stammered, clearly intimidated by Elric's outburst. "But Valen's plan could work. He's right about the guards—their patrols have been too predictable lately."

Elric scoffed. "Predictable? You mean the same guards who nearly caught us last week? Yeah, great plan."

Valen didn't react to the hostility. Instead, he stood slowly, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat. The subtle movement drew attention, and the room quieted as more eyes turned toward him.

"Let me guess," Valen began, his tone calm and deliberate as he approached the group. "You think Bastien has it all figured out, right? That he's infallible?"

Elric crossed his arms, glaring at Valen. "I think Bastien knows this crew better than you ever will. And I think you're stirring up trouble where none exists."

Valen stopped a few paces away, his expression unreadable. "And yet, you're here arguing with your own crew about me. Funny how I'm the one causing division, isn't it?"

The remark drew a few snickers from the crowd, but Valen didn't let the distraction linger. He turned his gaze on Elric, his voice dropping just enough to make the tension palpable.

"You think I'm here to play games? To 'stir up trouble' for the fun of it?" He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "I'm here because I see cracks in this foundation. Cracks that will shatter if we don't strengthen them now. But if you'd rather keep patching them with the same flimsy methods, then by all means, keep arguing. Keep doubting. And when the guards finally bust down that door because we were too slow, too sloppy, I'll be the first to say, 'I told you so.'"

Elric opened his mouth to retort, but Valen didn't give him the chance.

"Or," Valen continued, his voice rising slightly, "you can stop clinging to the past and start looking at the future. A future where we're not running from guards every other night. A future where we don't have to scrape by on coin because Bastien's too proud to adapt. A future where the Black Fang isn't just surviving—it's thriving."

The room was silent, the weight of Valen's words settling over the group. Even Elric seemed at a loss for a comeback, his mouth snapping shut as he glanced at the others.

Finally, one of the older members, a grizzled man named Rurik, spoke up. "And what's this 'future' you're talking about, Valen? What's your grand plan?"

Valen smiled faintly, sensing the shift in the room. "For starters, we take control of the docks. The merchant routes are ripe for the picking, but Bastien's been too cautious to seize them. We can hit their shipments when the guards change shifts, redirect the goods to our own buyers, and establish a foothold that no one—not even the nobles—can ignore."

"And how do we deal with the guards?" Rurik asked, his tone skeptical but not dismissive.

Valen's smile widened. "Leave that to me."

As murmurs broke out among the group, Valen stepped back, letting the seeds he'd planted take root. He knew it wouldn't happen overnight—convincing a group this fractured required patience. But he also knew that doubt was a powerful tool, and Elric's outburst had given him the perfect opportunity to exploit it.

Later that evening, Valen found himself seated across from another member—a young, talkative thief named Garvin, who had a knack for finding humor in even the direst situations.

"You've got some stones, I'll give you that," Garvin said, tossing a coin up and down. "Elric's not one to back down so easily. He'll come at you again, you know."

Valen leaned back, a faint smirk on his lips. "Let him. The louder he gets, the weaker his position becomes. People don't follow noise—they follow results."

Garvin chuckled, shaking his head. "You're either the smartest man I've ever met or the craziest. Maybe both."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Valen replied dryly.

Garvin's grin widened. "Still, I gotta ask—what's the deal with you? Why go through all this trouble? You don't strike me as the 'team player' type."

Valen's smirk faded slightly, his gaze hardening. "Let's just say I have unfinished business. And the Black Fang is my way of finishing it."

Garvin whistled, tossing the coin one last time before pocketing it. "Well, here's hoping you don't get yourself killed before you figure it out. I kinda like having you around—keeps things interesting."

Valen didn't respond, his mind already racing ahead to the next move. He had made progress tonight, but there was still much to do. The Black Fang was a means to an end, and he wouldn't rest until every piece was in place.

For now, though, he allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction. The seeds had been sown. All that remained was to nurture them—and to cut down anyone who dared stand in his way.