Tiberius looked at the slaves in front of him, already running the numbers in his head while his face wore a warm, spring-breeze smile.
He walked straight up to the merchant in charge of this batch, pointed at the seventy-eight debt slaves cordoned off to one side, and spoke like he was buying a basket of fruit. "Boss, I'll take all seventy-eight of these. Here's one hundred and eighty gold dragons—sound fair?" He tossed a heavy coin purse onto the wooden table with a satisfying thump.
The merchant's eyes lit up. A professional smile instantly plastered itself across his face as he weighed the bag in his hand and nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes! Young master is very generous!"
The price was fair for seventy-plus debt slaves—he had no complaints.
But Tiberius wasn't finished. He stepped closer, almost whispering in the man's ear, lowering his voice into a more private register. "I actually have another order I'd like to discuss… somewhere a little more discreet." He pulled out a second, smaller purse.
The merchant's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.
Lord of Light above—this young lord carried that much gold on him? What a rich kid!
"Certainly, certainly! Young master, please come inside!"
Tiberius sat down like he owned the place and got straight to business.
"Boss, I want the wives and children of these contract slaves as well…" He saw the merchant's face darken and immediately raised a hand to calm him. "Don't worry—I won't short you on the money. You're a reasonable man. Think about it: once the men are gone with me, who's going to take care of the women and kids left behind? They'll have no one in this world. How pitiful. Do a good deed and the Lord of Light will notice!"
The merchant's face turned hard, his tone suddenly rude. "Young master, that's against the rules! Some of the women and children have already been reserved by other customers. No deal!"
"Besides, buying this many people at once—do you even have the coin? I have my doubts."
Tiberius's smile never wavered, but his eyes sharpened with quiet authority. "Listen, friend, just do me this favor. Money won't be an issue." He placed another small purse on the table. "Here's eighty gold dragons as a deposit. I only have this much on me right now, but I'll have the rest sent over tomorrow without fail…"
"Who the hell do you think you are!" The merchant exploded, voice rising in genuine anger. "Coming in here telling me how to run my business? You think this is some backwater village market where you can just buy on credit? Careful I don't give you a couple of punches…"
His tone turned outright disrespectful.
"From your accent, you're from Westeros, aren't you? Let me tell you—this is Essos. You follow our rules or you get the fuck out!"
Faced with the merchant's rage, Tiberius's smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew more relaxed. He spoke slowly, deliberately. "Listen, friend, don't get angry. Why don't you go ask around the market about me and my uncle? Our credit has always been excellent in Lys—and across the rest of Essos." He paused, deliberately not giving his name yet, but his eyes flicked meaningfully to a small, inconspicuous crest on the merchant's robe.
"You work for House Haen, don't you? You answer to Governor Regar Haen?"
The merchant froze the instant his background was named so accurately. Before he could recover, Tiberius casually adjusted his collar, letting the light catch a finely crafted ring engraved with the unmistakable Rogare family sigil on his finger.
"Funny coincidence—I work for young master Lysaro Rogare." Tiberius's voice stayed calm, but it now carried an invisible weight. "My name is Tiberius. Tiberius Mord. Some people call me 'Lightning Kid.' My uncle is Jules Mord, captain of the White Company—'the Honorable' Jules. I assume those names still carry a little weight around here?"
The words hit like thunder. The merchant's face went from iron-gray to deathly pale, then flushed a terrified, obsequious red. His back bent like a bow. His hands twisted together nervously, and his voice turned into pure groveling.
"Ah! This… Lord of Light above! Oh my, oh my… forgive my blind eyes!" He looked like he wanted to slap himself.
"So you're young master Tiberius! My deepest apologies! Truly, my deepest apologies! Money? Oh, money is nothing between friends!" He frantically pushed the small purse of thirty gold dragons back toward Tiberius. "One hundred and eighty gold is more than enough! Take the men, take their families—everything!"
Seeing that Tiberius was still just smiling that unreadable smile, the merchant grew even more desperate. He gritted his teeth like he was carving off his own flesh and said, "Fine! Young master Tiberius, let's be friends! Eighty gold! Just eighty! Take them all! Consider the money my gift to you and young master Lysaro. Please, just say a few kind words about me to him…"
Tiberius finally nodded, still smiling warmly, and gently pushed the purse back into the merchant's hands. "See? That's the spirit. I, Tiberius Mord, never mistreat friends. I value friendship… and I value face." He put a little extra weight on the word "face."
The merchant clutched the purse like it was burning coal, not knowing whether to accept or refuse. His smile was uglier than tears as he nearly dropped to his knees. "Young master… you… you are too generous! Done! I'll have them brought to you tonight, washed clean, with every document in perfect order! Not a single one missing!"
Only then did Tiberius look fully satisfied. He patted the merchant's shoulder like they were old friends—though a twelve-year-old patting a thirty-something merchant looked a little ridiculous.
"Excellent. Remember, we're friends now. Who knows? There may be more opportunities for us to work together in the future."
"Bring me some milk, please—add honey, no cane sugar, thank you." When the merchant moved to pour him a cup of wine, Tiberius covered the cup with his hand.
"I'm still too young, aren't I?"