What did you just say about milling, you petty farmer? I should tell you that I am the top archer in the ranks of the Milluminati, trained in the dense forests of Battania, and I have taken part in countless raids across Calradia. I have over300 confirmed legionary kills—each arrow loosed with deadly precision. I am the master of the bow and the blade, feared from Marunath to Pendraic. The Guild Master himself boasts of my skill, and my name strikes fear into the hearts of bakers and brewers alike. You are nothing but a serf, and another loaf of bread in my eyes. I will bake you with lethal force, and your blood shall flow like flour into my oven.

You think you can run your Weavery and Dyeworks in Praven? Think again, "boss." As my bread baked this morning, I summoned the finest Fian Champions across Battania. Your mills will be burned, your ovens shattered, and your coin—mine. I can find you in any holdfast, and I can end you in a thousand ways with nothing but my longbow and my oven. I am not only trained in combat with baguettes, but I command archers who rain death from the high ground. If only you had known the ruin your words would bring, maybe you wouldn’t have spoken. But you did—and now, I take all this week’s bread. Your party will disband, your stores emptied. I shut down your mill, and I keep the coin.