Plans.We all make them.When done well, we agonize over every detail, map out every contingency, and consider every variable. We layer them like an intricate house of cards, placing each element just so, confident in our architectural brilliance. And then, inevitably, reality happens.Adom understood this principle better than most. His strategy with Crimson Scale had been meticulously orchestrated—a pressure campaign of escalating defeats designed to corner them until they made a fatal mistake. Each move calculated, each response anticipated. Push Deroq's guild into increasingly desperate positions. Strip away their allies. Undermine their contracts. Whisper just the right rumors in just the right ears. All while keeping his own hands seemingly clean.The auction house was to be the masterstroke. Every major merchant guild from across the Empire had representatives present. The Inspector himself was in attendance. Even the Archmage had deemed the event worthy of his presence. The perfect audience for Crimson Scale's final, reputation-destroying blunder.See, in merchant circles, diffamation is practically a death sentence. One's reputation isn't merely valuable—it's the only currency that truly matters. Contracts, handshakes, promises—the entire economic ecosystem functions on the bedrock of reliability. Break that, publicly, and you might as well close up shop and take up goat herding in the northern provinces.And so, to openly accuse a merchant of a crime without any proof was often suicide.Adom had anticipated angry words. He expected Deroq to lash out verbally, to make wild, unsupported allegations that would be quickly dismissed by the assembled dignitaries. That would have been sufficient. That would have been perfect.What he hadn't anticipated was the disruptor.Not that disruptors themselves were unusual. Quite the contrary.Although very expensive, in high society, any merchant (...)