Chapter 143: The Meeting
Valerius stepped out of the Department of State.
The biting night air hit his face, chilling the frantic thrumming of his mind just enough to restore a modicum of clarity. The Merchant Coalition was safe. For now.
The Speaker of Freeport, a man who usually moved the markets of the world with a single word, found his silks clinging to his frame, drenched in a cold sweat that made him feel greasy and small. But beneath the lingering terror, a familiar fire began to smolder once more.
The fear was receding; the predatory instincts of a merchant were reclaiming their throne.
A group of his most trusted associates—men who lived and died by his favor—swarmed him the moment he cleared the gates. Their faces were etched with anxiety.
"Mr. Speaker!"
Valerius straightened his spine, instantly assuming his usual mask of cold, unshakeable authority. One would never have guessed that minutes ago, he had been trembling like a kitchen apprentice in Greed's office. His voice was steady and carried the weight of steel.
"Go. I want an audit," Valerius commanded, leaving no room for debate. "The Sunflower Merchant Guild. I want to know its lineage, its ledgers, and its leverage. Utilize every agent we have in Iron Fortress. I want to know who their Chairman is, where he sleeps, and whose hand he shakes every morning!"
"At once, sir!"
His assistants vanished into the shadows of the city.
Valerius hadn't paid much attention to the internal affairs of the Evernight Empire before. When this land was still the Eastern Border of the Odri Empire, he had known a few notable traders in the region. He assumed he would be "partnering" with one of those old rivals.
But the report that landed in his hands shortly after was a slap to the face. The efficiency didn't surprise him—the Coalition's eyes were everywhere, especially when their survival was on the line—but the name on the parchment did.
Hans.
A common human. A small-time huckster who used to scrounge for scraps in Leaf City. He lived with a pack of orphans and had survived purely on speculation and petty schemes.
The report even contained a humiliating footnote: Hans had once applied for membership in the Merchant Coalition. He had been rejected because he couldn't—or wouldn't—pay the hundred-gold-crown entrance fee.
Valerius rubbed his eyes, checking the ink again. The sole designated trade arm of the Evernight Empire? The organization mentioned by the Undead Generals themselves? And its head is this... nobody?
But the shock was quickly replaced by a far more comfortable emotion: Contempt.
An orphan. A nouveau riche upstart with no foundation.
Perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as he feared. He could utilize the Coalition's gargantuan resources and centuries of experience to seize the reins of this partnership. He would be the one holding the leash.
"Prepare the carriage!" Valerius barked, adjusting his expensive velvet collar. "We're going to meet this... 'Chairman' Hans."
The new headquarters of the Sunflower Merchant Guild was no longer the dilapidated courtyard of Hans's beginnings. He had bought up the largest plot of land in the Commercial District and erected a three-story limestone building.
The architecture screamed "new money"—it was gaudy, packed with unsorted crates and piles of ledgers, but the facade was imposing enough to cow the average traveler.
When Valerius's carriage, pulled by four pure-blood white stallions, pulled up to the front doors, it caused an immediate stir.
Sinclair and Tate were currently crouched by the entrance, engaged in a high-stakes game of Rock-Paper-Scissors over who got the last skewer of roasted pork. They looked up as the extravagant carriage rolled to a halt.
"Holy sh*t," Sinclair muttered, staring at the stallions. "Look at that. Someone's trying way too hard."
Valerius stepped down from the carriage, flanked by a phalanx of junior partners. He led with his barrel-like stomach, every step a calculated announcement of his wealth and status. He spared a brief, unimpressed glance at the two "clowns" by the door.
One of Valerius's aides stepped forward, his voice dripping with condescension. "We seek an audience with your Chairman, Mr. Hans."
Sinclair and Tate shared a look. Sinclair stood up, dusting the dirt from his backside. "Looking for the Boss? Sure. Cool your heels for a minute."
Sinclair turned and sprinted into the lobby, shouting at the top of his lungs: "CHAIRMAN! There's a super-rich fat guy out here! Look at that carriage! I bet we can sell him for a mountain of silver!"
Valerius's face twitched. His associates bristled with rage, but the Speaker raised a hand to silence them.
Moments later, they were ushered into Hans's office.
The "office" was just the largest room on the third floor. It lacked any royal finery. Instead, it featured a gargantuan oak table buried under maps, documents, and a half-eaten apple.
Hans was currently leaning back in a chair that looked far too comfortable for a working man, his legs crossed on the desk. He had his eyes closed, listening to a subordinate read a report.
Valerius cleared his throat, forcing a smile that was meant to be "magnanimous." "Chairman Hans. I have heard much of your rise."
"I am Valerius, Speaker of the Merchant Coalition."
Hans cracked one eye open, spared him a glance, and then slowly sat upright. "Oh. The Speaker."
Hans let out a wide yawn and waved the subordinate away. "You're dismissed."
He picked up the apple, took a loud, wet bite, and spoke with his mouth half-full. "Lord Greed mentioned you people. Said the Coalition was... very good at sensing which way the wind blows."
"Find a crate and sit down."
Aside from Hans's chair, the only seating in the room consisted of several heavy wooden shipping crates. Valerius's smile froze. One of the young merchants behind him moved to protest, but Valerius's glare pinned him to the spot.
The titan of industry actually found the sturdiest-looking crate and lowered himself onto it. The wood let out an agonizing creak under his weight.
"Chairman Hans," Valerius began, attempting to seize the initiative. "I presume General Greed has briefed you on the Empire's currency reform. The Coalition possesses transportation lines and hubs spanning the continent. We can, in the shortest possible timeframe—"
"Stop."
Hans raised a hand, cutting Valerius off mid-sentence. "Spare me the pitch."
Hans tossed the apple core over his shoulder; it landed in a wastebasket in the corner with a dull thud. He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. He revealed a smile that made Valerius feel a strange sense of déjà vu.
"Speaker Valerius, let's be direct. The Sunflower Guild is the only official partner of the Empire."
"You... are just the help."
He emphasized the words only and help with a predatory sharpness.
"My terms are simple," Hans continued, holding up one finger. "You are responsible for the collection of all 'Old World' currency. You bring it to me. The Sunflower Guild handles the exchange into the New Currency."
"For your trouble, you may retain one-thousandth of the pre-tax total."
"ONE-THOUSANDTH?!"
Valerius nearly levitated off his crate. "Chairman Hans! We are mobilizing the entire Coalition! Countless men! Mountains of logistics! And you offer us a one-thousandth commission?!"
"Is it too little?" Hans arched an eyebrow. "That's the profit margin of an entire continent. Take it or leave it."
"You...!" One of the merchants behind Valerius finally snapped. "If it weren't for the shadow of the Undead King, an unranked orphan like you wouldn't be fit to scrub our boots!"
Hans let out a sharp, jagged laugh, cutting through the insult. "You're right. I am an orphan."
"But as an orphan working alone, the worst that happens is I work a bit slower. I spend a few more months, use a bit more brainpower. But you, the Coalition? I heard that That Personage was quite... 'disappointed' with your previous investment in the Crusade."
Valerius stared at the youth. Beneath that harmless, boyish face lay a bottomless well of greed and absolute lack of fear.
A threat.
A naked, unshielded threat!
He realized then that Hans had his throat in a vice. There was no room for negotiation.
Valerius took a breath and forced a jagged smile. "We... accept."
Hans snapped his fingers. "Smart man."
He pulled a heavy burlap sack from beneath the desk and dropped it onto the wood.
CLINK—!
A heap of brand-new gold and silver coins spilled out. Valerius and his men were mesmerized. The minting was exquisite, the weight was perfect.
But the design...
It featured a simple, clean line drawing. It was a skull with two large, round eyes and a tiny, upward-curving mouth.
A Chibi Skull.
Valerius picked up a gold coin. "This... this is the new Imperial Currency?"
"Yup," Hans said, flipping a coin across his knuckles. "Cute, isn't it? Word is the Supreme Master drew the design himself."
Valerius tried to imagine it. An entire continent, forced to trade with coins bearing a "funny" skull.
"Alright, you've seen the samples," Hans said, sweeping the coins back into the bag. "Now, get back to work. We're on a tight schedule."
Valerius said nothing more, leading his troupe out of the headquarters. As their backs disappeared, the grin vanished from Hans's face.
He walked to the window, looking down at the street. Below, Sinclair and Tate were playing with the children of Sunflower House. Lily was on her tiptoes, trying to place a flower crown on Tate's head. Miguel was arguing with Sinclair, drawing some complex "magic circle" in the dirt with a stick.
Hans watched them in silence.
He remembered the word the merchant had spat: Orphan.
It was a word Hans was used to. It held no power over him. But he decided, then and there, that he would never let a single child in that courtyard hear that word again.
Hans turned and walked downstairs. He didn't disturb the fun; he simply sat on the stone steps of the yard. Lily spotted him first, fluttering over like a butterfly and diving into his arms.
"Hans-nii! Look! I made a crown for Uncle Tate!" The girl held up her work, eyes begging for praise.
"Hmm. Very pretty," Hans murmured, ruffling her hair.
"Hans-nii, are you hungry?" Miguel walked over, holding a skewer of meat. He had saved the largest piece for last. "We kept dinner for you."
Hans took the warm meat and took a massive bite, thinking to himself:
I am an orphan, certainly.
But they aren't.
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