The map was odd. It showed three massive, mountainous islands arranged in a broken horseshoe, their inner shores facing a calm, central sea. Coral reefs marked the northern and southern passages, leaving only two narrow, fortress-able straits. It was a pirate's nightmare and a merchant's wet dream.

He didn't need trade routes with the outside world. He had created a closed-loop economy: tools, ore, wine, cloth, and bread circulating in a perfect, efficient triangle.

Adalric leaned over the railing, his mouth dry. "It’s a hoax," he whispered. "No map spawns this cleanly. Where's the flaw?"

He invited Serafine to visit. She arrived on a sleek corsair, smiling.

The battle lasted fifteen minutes. The pirates' mortar exploded their own magazine. The sandbar became a smoking crater. With the pirates gone, the Three Bridges awakened. The central bay was now a secure, glassy lake. Adalric built a massive warehouse on the sandbar's ruins, turning it into a neutral trade hub. Ships from the Western Keep could offload tools directly to the Southern Spire's ore barges. The Eastern Garden's wine reached the monastery in under a minute of sailing time.

The flaw was the center. The beautiful, deep central bay had one tiny sandbar. On it sat a single, hostile Bedouin pirate outpost. It didn't block trade, but its cannons covered both narrow straits. Any ship entering or leaving the inner sanctum would be raked by fire. The Three Bridges weren't a paradise; they were a cage. Adalric played the long game. He ignored the central bay. He landed on the Western Keep first, building a lumber camp and a fishing hut. He ferried stone from a tiny neutral island outside the northern strait. He did not build a single warship.