[Null POV] Year 0, Day 42

  A few hours later, they were back to their games.

  Null had just lost another round—her fourth in a row this session—when a knock came at the door.

  All three of them paused. Visitors were rare. Especially visitors who knocked rather than just calling up from downstairs.

  Void stood carefully, moved to the door, opened it partway.

  A dwarf stood in the hallway. Young-looking by dwarf standards—maybe equivalent to human mid-twenties. Well-dressed in craftsman's clothing that was clearly expensive but practical. And prominently displayed on his chest: a large emblem, ornate metalwork showing hammers and anvils intertwined.

  Dwarven Union symbol. Official, Void thought, recognizing it immediately.

  The dwarf bowed respectfully. "Young master. Forgive the intrusion. My name is Tornin Steelhammer. Might I have a moment of your time? Business matter. Won't take long."

  His tone was pleasant. Polite. Almost too polite. There was an undercurrent of... desperation? Eagerness?

  Void glanced back at Null. She shrugged slightly. Null said through their connection: "Might as well hear what he wants."

  "Of course," Void said, stepping aside. "Please, come in."

  Tornin entered, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

  And the moment it latched, he dropped to his knees in front of Void.

  "Please let me build your maid café!" The words came out in a rush. "I'm begging you. I'll do it perfectly. Best work you've ever seen. Whatever you want. Just please, please give me this contract!"

  Void stared down at the kneeling dwarf, completely blindsided. "I... what?"

  Tornin looked up, his expression a mix of desperation and hope. "I heard about your plans. The maid-themed hotel. I need this project. Need it more than anything. I'll work for half my normal rates. Quarter rates. I don't even care about profit. I just need something significant in my portfolio or my father will disown me!"

  "Your father?"

  "I'm Tornin Steelhammer," he repeated, as if the name should mean something. When Void's expression remained blank, he elaborated quickly. "Son of Guildmaster Borin Steelhammer. Head of the Dwarven Union's continental operations. I'm his twenty-seventh child. Fifth wife. Not important in the family hierarchy at all."

  He was still on his knees, words tumbling out rapidly now that he'd started.

  "I have dozens of brothers and sisters. Many of them already run major operations. Some manage production facilities overseas. They're successful. Important. Respected. I chose construction as my specialization because I love it, because I'm good at it. But our family philosophy is simple: prove yourself or be ignored. Father doesn't help unless you've already succeeded. Circular logic, I know, but that's how it works."

  Tornin's hands clenched. "So I came here. To Borderwatch. Eleven years ago, this place barely existed. Just a frontier outpost. But the Guild buried a fortune into development here. Quiet fortune—they didn't advertise it. And the Ley Line coming so close to the surface in this area? Perfect for construction. Easy foundation work. Abundant magical stone. Rich mineral deposits for quality materials."

  "I thought if this city grew as fast as I predicted, there'd be opportunities everywhere. Projects to prove my worth. Ways to show my skill to my father and the Union."

  His expression turned bitter. "Total disaster. The city more than doubled in eleven years. Population exploded. Development everywhere. And I've built nothing significant. Just low-end inns. Simple rental houses. Basic structures any journeyman could handle. Nothing challenging. Nothing impressive. Nothing that would make my father look at my portfolio and think 'this one has talent.'"

  "I've talked to every business owner in Borderwatch. Asked if they wanted something new, something better, something ambitious. Some don't have money. Others have no interest. I even begged Guild Master Torvan to let me design a new guild house. Bigger. More impressive. Worthy of the city's growth."

  Tornin's voice dropped. "He told me the current building was adequate and refused. Lately he just ignores me when I try to pitch ideas. I'm becoming a joke. The desperate dwarf builder who can't get real work."

  "I had huge hopes for the mega-auction," he continued, pain clear in his voice. "Made an offer to the Guild. Proposed a massive permanent auction house. Could be completed in a month if we hired a thousand builders. Proper scale. Proper grandeur. Something worthy of the event."

  "Lost to a temporary tent," he said flatly. "A tent. My detailed architectural plans lost to canvas and poles."

  Void exchanged glances with Null. This was... pathetic. But also somehow genuine. The dwarf's desperation was real.

  "How did you even know about our plans?" Void asked carefully.

  "Rumors travel fast in Borderwatch," Tornin said immediately. "I heard today that the new elf—the one who feeds his battlemaid with gold—wanted to open a maid café. Maid-themed hotel, actually, because of the lodging requirements. I went directly to Mira at the Wayward Traveler. Asked if it was true. She confirmed you'd been asking about the process."

  "She confirmed it," Spy noted through the connection. "Didn't keep it private. Talked to someone. And that someone talked to more people."

  "Small city. News spreads," Void replied mentally. "Expected, really."

  "I came here immediately," Tornin continued. "Before anyone else could offer their services. Before you could commit to another builder. This is exactly what I need. Something ambitious. Something unique. Something that would actually matter in my portfolio."

  He was still kneeling. Still looking up at Void with desperate hope.

  "I also know a lot about maids," he added quickly. "Regular maids, I mean. Not battlemaids. We have over a hundred maids working in our family estate. All well-trained. Military-level discipline and presentation. My father is obsessed with them. Collects and trains maids the way some nobles collect art."

  "If you let me build your maid hotel, I can also help set up the operational side. I know maid trainers. Quality instructors who could teach your staff proper service, presentation, discipline. We could make this a truly high-end establishment. Not some cheap imitation. The real thing."

  "And you're wealthy," Tornin gestured at Null, at the obvious implications of their resources. "You can afford to do this properly. Not cutting corners. Not compromising on quality. Exactly the kind of project that would showcase my abilities."

  He took a breath, realizing he'd been rambling. "Please, young master. I'm begging you. Let me build this for you. I'll make it perfect. I swear on my family name and my Union credentials. You won't regret it."

  Void looked at the kneeling dwarf for a long moment.

  Through the connection: "Thoughts?"

  "He's desperate," Null observed. "Genuine desperation. Not a scam. He really needs this."

  "Which might make him work harder," Spy added. "More committed. Though desperation can also mean cutting corners or making mistakes from pressure."

  "He mentioned maid trainers," Null said. "That's actually useful. We need staff training. Proper service standards. Someone who knows that world could help."

  "And he's Dwarven Union certified," Void noted. "Guild requirement anyway. We'd need Union builders regardless. At least this one is motivated."

  "Also pathetic enough that he won't ask questions," Spy said pragmatically. "He needs us more than we need him. Good negotiating position."

  Void made his decision.

  "Stand up," he said.

  Tornin stood immediately, hope flickering in his eyes.

  "I haven't committed to anyone yet," Void continued. "We're still in early planning stages. Haven't even submitted our application to the Guild. But I'm willing to discuss this further. Hear your actual proposal. See your credentials and examples of previous work."

  "Yes! Of course!" Tornin pulled papers from his satchel immediately. "I have everything here. My Union certifications. Portfolio of completed projects. References from previous clients. Design sketches. Material cost estimates. Timeline projections. Everything!"

  He spread the documents on the table, pushing aside the board game they'd been playing.

  "And the maid training contacts?" Null asked quietly.

  Tornin looked at her—briefly surprised the battlemaid spoke—then addressed Void. "That's where it gets complicated, young master. True high-quality maid training takes time. In my father's house, proper noble-standard training runs one to two years minimum. Many candidates fail. It's rigorous. Demanding. Not everyone can meet the standards."

  "And the trainers themselves?" Void asked.

  "Rare. Expensive. Very expensive." Tornin's tone was apologetic. "The best trainers are always booked months in advance—sometimes years. These aren't people you can just hire on short notice. Their services are planned and scheduled by major noble houses far ahead of time."

  He paused, then added, "Though my father always said the best maids aren't trained from scratch—they're recruited from retired adventurers. Nothing below C-rank, preferably B-rank or higher. They're already trained. Already strong. Already disciplined."

  "Adventurers?" Void asked, skeptical.

  "Think about it, young master. These are people who've seen death. Who've survived years of dangerous work. Who've learned discipline through necessity. Many of them reach three hundred, four hundred years old and lose their taste for risk. They want easier lives but still have that iron discipline. Still have the strength and awareness that made them successful."

  Tornin's enthusiasm was growing. "They're perfect for high-end service positions. And they're willing to take long contracts in exchange for good pay and life-extending elixirs. The elixirs alone are worth fortunes to them at that age—getting another few centuries is worth more than any salary."

  "So instead of spending two years training novices who might fail, you recruit experienced people and teach them the specific skills they need. Service protocols, presentation standards, guest interaction. That's months, not years. And you're starting with candidates who already have the discipline and reliability you need."

  "That's... actually brilliant," Void said slowly.

  "My father's been doing it for decades. Half our household maids are former adventurers. They're loyal, competent, and never cause problems. Plus, with their backgrounds, they can handle difficult guests. Drunks, troublemakers, people who get aggressive—a B-rank adventurer doesn't flinch at that."

  Through the connection: "He's not wrong. Experienced adventurers would be perfect. We could screen for people who want out of the dangerous life but still need income. Offer them stability and life extension. The seed could provide even better life extension than normal elixirs."

  "Though finding and recruiting them might take time," Spy noted.

  "I also know someone who might be interested in training your staff," Tornin added. "Master Ealdred. Recently retired. Extremely famous in certain circles. He spent decades training maids for the highest nobility across multiple continents. Even worked for the Church State—trained personal attendants for a Pope, actually. Multiple Popes, if the rumors are true."

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  Tornin's expression showed genuine respect. "He retired two years ago. Said he'd done everything, seen everything, trained everyone worth training. Now he just... exists. Lives comfortably on his savings. Probably bored out of his mind, honestly."

  "And you think he'd be interested in this?" Void's skepticism was clear.

  "Maybe. He likes challenges. Unique situations. The absurdity of opening a high-end maid-themed establishment in the middle of nowhere might appeal to him. Just for the novelty."

  "Though I should warn you," Tornin added quickly, "even if he agrees, he'll want time to do it properly. Master Ealdred doesn't do rushed work. Never has. If he takes this project, he'll insist on full training cycles. Proper candidate selection. Complete curriculum. Two years minimum, probably."

  Void looked at Null. Through the connection: "Two years is a long time."

  "Do we have any reason to rush?" Null asked. "We have money. We have safety here. And if we're doing this, shouldn't we do it properly?"

  "She has a point," Spy added. "Quick and mediocre versus slow and excellent. Given our resources and situation, why compromise?"

  "The longer timeline also gives us time to properly recruit staff," Null continued. "Find the right people. Not just whoever's available immediately."

  "And a two-year construction timeline means we can be ambitious with the building," Spy noted. "Not just functional. Actually impressive."

  Void considered this carefully. They weren't in danger. The Blood Cult was destroyed. Cardinal Vescari was gone. They had hundreds of millions in gold and no pressing threats.

  What was the rush?

  "Two years," Void said aloud. "What if we planned for that timeline from the start? Not trying to open in four months. Actually taking the time to do this right. Proper building. Proper training. Proper everything."

  Tornin's eyes widened. "You'd commit to a two-year project? Most people want things done yesterday."

  "Most people don't have our resources. Or our patience." Void gestured at the room around them. "We're not desperate for income. We're not racing against debt. We can afford to be patient. To build something that actually matters rather than something rushed."

  "That would change everything," Tornin said, excitement creeping into his voice. "With two years, I could design something truly special. Not just functional. Architectural. A landmark. The kind of building people talk about. The kind that gets featured in trade journals and impresses Union leadership."

  "Which helps your career goals," Void observed.

  "Exactly! And for training—if you give Master Ealdred two years, he'd have time to implement his full curriculum. Candidate selection. Foundation training. Specialized skills. Practical experience. The works. Your staff wouldn't just be good. They'd be exceptional. Noble-house quality."

  "And recruitment?" Null asked.

  "Much easier with a two-year timeline. We can be selective. Find the right candidates. Offer them contracts that start months from now, giving them time to wrap up their current lives. Former adventurers would appreciate that—time to finish final contracts, settle affairs, prepare for the transition."

  Tornin was practically vibrating with enthusiasm now. "This could actually work. Not just work—excel. A two-year project with proper funding, proper expertise, no corners cut. This is exactly what I need in my portfolio. Something ambitious. Something that shows vision and quality, not just speed and quantity."

  Through the connection: "He's sold on it. And honestly, so am I. Why rush when we don't have to?"

  "Agreed," Null said. "Two years to build something proper. Something that would last. That's worth more than something thrown together in months."

  "And it gives you time to learn more," Spy added. "More language skills. More social understanding. More preparation for actually running a business."

  "Alright," Void said to Tornin. "Two years. We commit to that timeline. You design something ambitious. Recruit Master Ealdred if he's interested. We find the right staff and train them properly. We don't compromise on quality anywhere."

  "And in exchange," Void's tone became more serious, "you guarantee excellence. Not just competence. Excellence. This becomes a showcase for both of us. Your architectural masterpiece, our operational success. Deal?"

  Tornin stood straighter, something like pride replacing desperation. "Deal, young master. You won't regret this. I'll make sure of it."

  "Good. Now—"

  "Bath," Null said quietly.

  Both Void and Tornin turned to look at her.

  "Bath?" Void asked.

  "Fancy bath. Big. Nice." Null's vocabulary was still limited, but her intent was clear. "Include... in building?"

  Tornin's expression lit up with understanding. "A bathhouse! Of course! Young master, she's brilliant—that's perfect for this kind of establishment!"

  "Explain," Void said.

  "Bathhouses are extremely popular in high-end establishments," Tornin said enthusiastically. "Especially ones that cater to adventurers and nobility. After a long hunt or journey, people want to relax. Proper bathing facilities—not just a room with a tub, but a real bathhouse with hot springs if we can access them, multiple pools, proper amenities—that elevates your establishment significantly."

  "Hot springs?" Null asked, interested.

  "The Ley Line proximity," Tornin explained. "We're close enough to the surface here that tapping into geothermal heat is absolutely feasible. Not guaranteed without surveying, but highly likely. Even if we don't find natural hot springs, we can create heated pools using magical heating systems. Less authentic but functionally identical."

  He was getting more animated. "Think about it—guests come to your maid café for the unique dining experience. Then they can relax in your bathhouse afterward. Full-service luxury. The maids could even provide bathing services if appropriately trained. Washing, massage, grooming. All within proper professional boundaries, of course."

  Spy noted: "This actually makes a lot of sense. Bathhouses are common in Japanese culture, which is what maid cafés originally come from. It fits thematically."

  "And I liked bathing," Null added. "When I tried it here. The water. The weight of it. The pressure. How it held me. That was good."

  "This also solves part of the 'price-setting' problem," Spy noted. "Bathing services are legitimate, professional work. Gives staff non-food-related duties that fit the theme and justify higher employment numbers."

  "How much would this add to the project?" Void asked Tornin.

  "With a two-year timeline? Not much proportionally. Bathhouse construction is specialized but not impossibly expensive. The real cost is in the finishing—quality tiles, proper water systems, heating enchantments if we don't find natural springs, luxury amenities. But you have the budget for it."

  Tornin pulled out a small notebook and started sketching rapidly. "We could integrate it beautifully. Main building for the café, inn rooms, and staff quarters. Connected bathhouse wing—architecturally distinct but physically attached. Guests can access it internally without going outside. Separate entrance for non-guests if you want to sell bathhouse access independently, which I'd recommend. Additional revenue stream."

  "How large?" Null asked.

  "Depends on ambition. A modest bathhouse might have two or three pools—hot, warm, cold—plus private bathing rooms for those who prefer privacy. Changing areas. Rest areas. Basic amenities."

  "Or?" Void prompted.

  "Or we go ambitious. Eight to ten pools at varying temperatures. Sauna rooms. Steam rooms. Massage areas. Elaborate changing facilities. Lounge spaces. Outdoor sections if the weather permits. Garden integration. The works."

  Tornin looked up from his sketching. "With your resources and a two-year timeline? I'd recommend ambitious. Make it a destination. People would travel to Borderwatch specifically for your bathhouse, never mind the maid café. Combined? You'd be the most unique establishment in the Republic. Possibly the continent."

  "Bathing services," Void said carefully. "What exactly would that entail for the staff?"

  "Washing guests. Professional and proper. Scrubbing, hair washing, that sort of thing. Some establishments also offer massage—therapeutic, not... other kinds. All of this would be covered in Master Ealdred's training if he takes the contract. He's trained bathhouse attendants before for nobility. Knows exactly how to maintain professional boundaries while providing excellent service."

  "And the price-setting law?"

  "Still applies. But bathhouse services are straightforward professional work. Makes it much easier to set reasonable prices for legitimate services while setting impossible prices for anything inappropriate. Creates clear categories of service."

  Void noted through seed connection: "This solves multiple problems. Gives staff legitimate work beyond food service. Provides additional revenue. Fits the thematic vision. And makes the price-setting law easier to navigate."

  "I want this," Null said firmly. "Bath was nice. Want fancy bath. Want other people to have fancy bath."

  "That's... surprisingly wholesome reasoning," Spy observed. "Also practical. But wholesome."

  "Include the bathhouse," Void said to Tornin. "Ambitious version. We're building something special. Might as well commit fully."

  "Excellent!" Tornin was practically bouncing now. "This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. A maid-themed café, luxury inn, and high-end bathhouse all integrated into one establishment. This will be talked about for decades. My portfolio just got infinitely more impressive."

  He scribbled more notes. "I'll include full bathhouse designs in my proposals. Multiple concepts at different ambition levels, but all of them substantial. We'll survey for natural hot springs immediately. Start planning the water systems. Consider the staffing implications for bathhouse attendants. This is—young master, your companion is a genius."

  Null looked pleased despite herself.

  "Good. Now, about those proposals—"

  "Three days for initial concepts," Tornin confirmed, still riding high on enthusiasm. "But now I'm designing an integrated complex, not just a building. This changes everything. Makes it so much better. I'll need to consult some specialists—bathhouse engineers, water system experts—but they'll be thrilled to work on something this ambitious."

  "Do what you need to do. We have the budget."

  "I will. And Master Ealdred—when I contact him, I'm mentioning the bathhouse. That might actually seal the deal. Training bathing attendants and restaurant maids simultaneously? That's the kind of comprehensive project he'd appreciate. Multiple disciplines. Complex integration. Exactly his style."

  "Make it happen," Void said simply.

  Tornin bowed deeply. "I will. Thank you, young master. Thank you, miss. This is exactly what I needed. What we both needed."

  He left, closing the door behind him, practically vibrating with excitement.

  The room settled back into quiet.

  "Bath," Spy said with amusement. "You just added an entire wing to the building because you like baths."

  "Fancy bath," Null corrected. "Big fancy bath. For everyone."

  "That's fair," Void admitted. "And honestly, Tornin's right. It fits perfectly. Makes the whole establishment more cohesive. More appealing."

  "Plus," Spy added, "watching Null discover she likes things and immediately wanting to share them with others is unexpectedly adorable. Character growth through appreciation of hot water."

  "Shut up, Spy."

  "Never."

  They returned to their game, but the atmosphere had shifted. Not just playing to pass time anymore.

  Planning. Building. Creating something that would take years but matter when it was done.

  It felt purposeful.

  And that, somehow, felt good.

  The next morning, they went to the Guild.

  Null had been expecting... something. Bureaucracy. Interrogation. Complicated processes. Hours of paperwork and questioning.

  Instead, it was completely anticlimactic.

  They walked into the Guild hall. Approached the registration desk. A bored-looking clerk barely glanced up.

  "Name?"

  "Void."

  "Just Void?"

  "Just Void."

  The clerk sighed and wrote it down. Pulled out a blank metal card, inscribed it with a few quick magical strokes. Handed it over.

  "That's ten silver for the card. You're registered. Next?"

  Void blinked, taking the card. "That's... it?"

  "That's it. If you want to register for monster hunting, there's additional paperwork. Guild rank assessments, skill verification, all that. But for basic registration and business purposes? Name and fee. Done."

  The clerk looked at Null. "Does the battlemaid want a card too?"

  "No," Void said.

  "Fine. Next!"

  They left. The entire process had taken perhaps three minutes.

  Standing outside the Guild hall, Void stared at his new card. His name inscribed in simple letters. Official Adventurer's Guild registration.

  "That was..."

  "Underwhelming," Spy finished. "I was expecting interrogation. Truth magic. Extensive background checks."

  "Either the Republic genuinely doesn't care about verification," Void said slowly, "or someone pre-approved us. Guild Master Torvan, maybe. Smoothed the process before we even arrived."

  "Pre-approved?" Null asked.

  "It would make sense. We've spent weeks here. Spent massive amounts of gold. Killed Blood Cult members who were causing problems. Stayed out of trouble otherwise. Torvan might have flagged us as 'approve on sight' to make things easier."

  "Or," Spy added, "the Republic really is that efficient. Name and fee. Done. No questions asked."

  "Could be both," Void admitted. "Efficient system that can be expedited further for favored individuals. Either way, we're registered now."

  They walked back toward the inn, Void still processing how absurdly simple that had been.

  "Well," Spy said. "That's one hurdle cleared. Now we just need Tornin's proposals, land selection, Guild approval for the business application, and two years of construction and training."

  "When you put it that way, it sounds complicated again," Void muttered.

  "It is complicated. But the first step was easy, at least."

  "Small victories," Null said.

  "Small victories," Void agreed.

  They returned to their room to wait for Tornin's proposals.

  The long game had begun.

  Guild Master Torvan was reviewing reports when one of his clerks knocked on his office door.

  "Come in."

  The clerk entered, holding a registration card record. "Sir, the elf and his battlemaid just registered. Thought you'd want to know."

  Torvan set down his paperwork. "What information did they provide?"

  "Just a name. 'Void.' Nothing else. The battlemaid didn't register at all."

  "And the clerk processed it? No issues?"

  "None, sir. Standard procedure. Name and fee. Card issued immediately."

  Exactly as Torvan had instructed yesterday when Mira had come to him about their café plans.

  She'd reported the whole conversation—the maid-themed hotel concept, their questions about regulations, their obvious wealth and resources. And then, that same evening, she'd mentioned that Tornin Steelhammer had been in their room for quite a while. When he'd left, he was practically flying with happiness. Grinning like a madman. Clearly he'd gotten something he desperately wanted.

  That annoying dwarf builder had been pestering every business owner in Borderwatch for years. Begging for ambitious projects. Getting rejected constantly. For him to leave that room looking that happy meant they'd agreed to something. Something significant.

  Torvan had put it together quickly. The elf and battlemaid were serious about this café. And they'd just hired the most desperate, most motivated builder in the city. Someone who'd work himself to death to prove his worth.

  So Torvan had made a decision.

  'If they come to register, make it smooth. No questions. No delays. Just process them and let me know.'

  Better to facilitate than obstruct. Keep the wealthy foreigners happy. Keep them invested in Borderwatch. Keep them from feeling like the Guild was making things difficult.

  And honestly? He was curious. A maid-themed café and bathhouse in the middle of an adventurer town? It was bizarre enough to be interesting. If they actually pulled it off, if it became successful...

  That would be something worth seeing.

  "Good. Thank you. That's all."

  The clerk left.

  Torvan made a note in his private ledger. Void - registered. Battlemaid unregistered. Business application expected soon. Facilitate. Monitor but do not obstruct.

  They were planning something long-term. Investing in Borderwatch. That was good for the city. Good for the Guild. Good for everyone.

  As long as they didn't cause problems, he'd make sure their path stayed smooth.

  Simple risk management. Keep the dangerous people satisfied.

  Four hundred years of survival instinct told him that was the smart play.

  He returned to his reports, the elf and his maid filed away as 'handled.'

  For now.