The air in Vila dos Cordeiros was thick with coal dust.
Marcos arrived before sunrise, walking the last stretch alone, leaving the wagon at a nearby ridge. He wanted to feel the ground — not just see the village, but understand its rhythm.
The miners worked with short tools and bent backs. Children sorted stones. Water was scarce, and the nearby well had run dry weeks earlier.
The village had no official representative, no town hall, no noble protector. What it had was ore — low-grade, but abundant. And desperation.
Perfect.
Marcos didn't come to offer pity.
He came with a wheelbarrow.
Or more precisely, a prototype of one — built with local timber, designed for rugged terrain, and reinforced with linseed-treated rope around the wheel to absorb shock.
It was basic. Crude, by modern standards. But here?
It was revolutionary.
One man could carry what three used to struggle with.
The miners didn't trust him at first. But when Marcos left two wheelbarrows at the edge of the quarry and said nothing, by the third day, they were in constant use.
On the fourth day, the village elder approached him.
His name was Mateus Braga. Tall, old, and suspicious by nature.
"You're not a priest. You're not guild. What are you?"
Marcos didn't answer directly.
"I'm a man who believes that effort should yield more than blisters."
Braga snorted. "You sound like a politician."
"I'm worse," Marcos replied. "I make things work."
That earned a chuckle.
By the end of the week, Marcos had signed a deal: exclusive supply of soap, oilcloth, and wheelbarrow kits in exchange for ore and raw clay at a fixed rate. Braga offered loyalty — and workers.
Not soldiers. Laborers.
Exactly what Marcos needed.
He added a new entry to the system's ledger:
"ShadowMarket Capital Reserve: 49,400 réis
Quarterly Revenue: 14,120 réis
Allocations:
– Nine Fingers Operations: 2,824 réis (20%)
– Infrastructure Expansion: 4,000 réis
– Reserve: 7,296 réis"
Nine Fingers would receive formal investment starting immediately.
That same week, Gaspar traveled north under cover of trade escort. His true destination: a hill cave near the river bend — an abandoned stone shelter once used by poachers, now chosen by Marcos to become the first Nine Fingers base.
Gaspar delivered crates hidden under linen: custom tools, compact racks, and three sets of new uniforms.
All black.
Linen-dense fabric treated with charcoal dye. Edges reinforced. Hooded, with detachable mask. Small red stitching on the left shoulder: a circle broken at the ninth segment.
The symbol of Nine Fingers.
The cloak bore a faint oil sheen to resist weather. Light enough for movement. Heavy enough to blend into night.
Marcos paid handsomely for the tailor's silence.
Training began under torchlight.
Gaspar oversaw physical conditioning. Élio began teaching pattern memorization using rocks and leaves. Vicência taught herbal toxins — not to kill, but to confuse, delay, or sedate.
Each "finger" was tested in different terrain, light, and fatigue.
Tobias, though young, began practicing code embedding — leaving signals inside song lyrics, pottery cracks, even cuts in rope.
Marcos visited only once.
And left without a word.
Their job was to learn without him watching.
Meanwhile, in the heart of the valley, ShadowMarket's reputation soared.
Ana's idea of oilcloth bundles became a hit during a week of sudden rain. She began adding handwritten notes with each shipment — small sayings, reminders of safe storage, sometimes even jokes.
People started referring to the packages as "whispers from the mountain."
Marcos approved.
It was subtle influence. Emotional branding.
It created loyalty, not just dependence.
A merchant from Mariana, a minor noble by marriage, visited ShadowMarket on the sixth day of the new moon.
He expected arrogance, perhaps a poorly-run operation.
Instead, he found Ana — organized, educated, unshakable — and a production structure that mirrored the best in Lisbon.
He returned with a personal request: exclusive polish for his family's carriages.
Ana sent him home with a wax-sealed pouch containing samples and a sealed note.
The next week, he sent 20 mil réis in deposit.
Marcos didn't even meet him.
That evening, as Marcos reviewed the map of influence again, the system pulsed:
[Mission Completed: Establish Regional Anchor]
✔ Vila dos Cordeiros Loyalty Secured
✔ Strategic Trade Established
✔ Manual Labor Efficiency Boosted by 33%
Reward: Schematic – Water Filtration Barrel (Portable)
Clean water.
He stared at the schematic for a long time.
This wasn't just a health improvement.
It was political.
Villages that could store clean water during dry seasons could become self-sufficient — and owe their resilience to ShadowMarket.
And self-sufficiency breeds allegiance.
He smiled, then quietly murmured:
"One village at a time."