Chapter 26

Chapter 26: A Man Who Can Paint the Future

“A… preposterous tale, my Lord?”

“Whether you choose to believe what follows is entirely up to you. Merely listen.”

“I… I will listen attentively.”

Stephan assumed a respectful posture, just as directed.

Though his mind was spinning violently enough to make him sick, maintaining focus was entirely within his power. Ferda began his account.

“This is the horizon I intend to construct.”

Ferda did not speak like a merchant pushing an investment. He merely described what he had witnessed, studied, and lived through with absolute precision.

Listening closely, Stephan began picking out revolutionary concepts one after another.

Carriages propelled without the need for beasts. Utensils driven by ambient mana, functioning without a single sorcerer to command them…

Stephan had been hailed as a mercantile prodigy from his youth, gifted with sharp commercial instincts. A merchant’s philosophy was elementary: seize the profitable and discard the liability.

What was Ferda truly describing?

An impossible illusion.

By every metric of common reasoning, it was a fantasy fit to be dismissed immediately.

And yet… it sounds startlingly tangible.

It lacked the sugary deception of a confidence trick. There was no theatrical exaggeration typical of a fraud, nor any subtle evasions suggesting hidden traps. It sounded like an elder recounting history to a descendant—calmly detailing matters he had experienced with his own hands.

Because of that grounded delivery, the astonishing scenes painted themselves with sharp clarity in Stephan’s imagination. He lacked the precise terms for such wonders, yet a sudden, piercing intuition struck him.

This will generate unimaginable wealth!

Stephan’s thoughts cleared instantly, his fingers twitching with nervous excitement.

“That encompasses the foundation. That is the horizon I envision.”

Stephan, who had held his breath through the explanation, finally spoke up.

“That future… it directly involves the venture you are currently pursuing, does it not, Regent?” Stephan asked, his pulse racing. The sheer shock of the revelation caused him to forget his stammer entirely.

“Naturally.”

“I-In that case! Would you grant me the privilege of knowing its name?! I implore you!”

Overwhelmed by anticipation, Stephan practically begged the youth before him.

“It is known as Magitech.”

“Magi…tech.”

It felt like a term he had encountered once in the past. Yet the reason it had slipped his memory was simply because it had carried no commercial value at the time.

If I dismissed it back then, I should logically dismiss it now…

Yet this was the first time he felt the acute terror of letting an extraordinary enterprise slip through his fingers. He could not afford to lose this opportunity.

“If beast remnants are required for this development, would you permit our house to assist you?”

“Are you offering a partnership?”

“Yes. We will supply every material you require.”

Ferda leaned comfortably back against his seat, his gaze piercing. “And what do you demand in return?”

“I desire our firm to hold exclusive rights over the transport and production of these Magitech innovations.”

Stephan laid his ambitions bare. Ferda’s tone grew considerably sharper.

“Only transport and production?”

“I am asking for an absolute monopoly, naturally,” Stephan stated without hesitation.

A sole distribution covenant. In the world of commerce, holding an unshared grasp over a product was an unmatched weapon.

“I recognize the immense audacity of this request. Because of that, I am prepared to align every condition to match your requirements, Regent. I only request that you grant us sole control over the commercial fruits of this venture.”

Stephan pressed his claim for exclusivity with absolute resolve. Ferda, however, maintained an air of detachment.

“The work we are undertaking will reshape the world. If you seek an absolute monopoly, you must present something far more substantial than simple research materials, wouldn’t you agree?”

“What conditions do you require of me?”

Ferda seized the opening to lay out his terms.

“I require heavy resources for infrastructure and the expansion of the Archduchy’s lands, alongside absolute first priority regarding grain reserves.”

Stephan recoiled at Ferda’s demands, which had rolled off his tongue effortlessly.

“You are demanding an extraordinary sum…”

“Is there any fault in a leader prioritizing the prosperity of his realm?”

“None at all. Haha…”

Though he offered a self-deprecating laugh to play the fool, Stephan was locked in severe internal conflict.

Delivering those three requirements is not impossible.

The capital and reserves Stephan commanded vastly outstripped the assets of his two older siblings. Laying roads was an endeavor they would need to undertake regardless if they entered a trade alliance. He possessed surplus building supplies and grain reserves in abundance.

Yet the true hesitation stemmed from a different term entirely.

Absolute first priority…

Stephan understood the lethal nature of that condition. “First priority” dictated that even if an outside party offered mountains of gold for his goods, he would be forced to refuse them, supplying the stock entirely to Ferda at the pre-determined rate.

Every commercial instinct in his gut urged him to reject such a restriction.

“Your complexion seems poor.”

“Pardon? Ah, it is nothing…”

“I take it the demand for unconditional priority displeases you?”

“Not at all. How could I object?”

Even if it were an outright lie, protocol demanded total denial. That was the foundational rule of negotiation.

“Consider your position. Regardless of how vast a fortune you accumulate, what good is that wealth if you do not survive to wield it?”

Stephan stiffened. “A-are you issuing a threat against my life?”

“Hardly. This is not an ultimatum; it is an evaluation of your destiny. Herman Pascal is nearing the twilight of his life, is he not?”

“Ah…”

Stephan grasped Ferda’s implication immediately, dredging up the harsh realities he had tried to ignore.

My wretched siblings…

Murchit and Tilda. Were they not tightening the noose around him from both sides?

“Even if it demands absorbing initial deficits, is not claiming the absolute leadership of the Pascal Merchant Enterprise the most enticing outcome?”

“The… supreme seat of the merchant house…”

The Pascal Merchant Enterprise represented everything to Stephan. It was not merely his fortune—it was his entire existence.

“To the degree that you commit your resources to me, I shall commit my influence to you. I will guarantee that everything Herman Pascal established, along with the commercial empire you expanded, falls entirely under your command.”

Stephan weighed the balance within his mind. The sacrifices Ferda demanded versus the immense future he promised.

On paper, the immediate exchange was overwhelmingly detrimental to Stephan.

The consort of the Archduchess—no, the Regent himself—could become my backing.

Ferda Valdrova. Initially, Stephan had dismissed him as a meaningless political pawn. To boast of an alliance with a mere consort would only invite ridicule; others would assume he was so desperate he was clutching at rotting straw. The world vastly underestimated Ferda, and Stephan had fallen into that exact misconception.

How blind I was.

Standing before him in the flesh, the truth was unmistakable. This youth possessed an overwhelming aura matching that of a sovereign ruler. Even as he sat here shaken, the suspicion that he was still underestimating the Regent would not leave him.

This man possesses the power to define the future.

These were not the idle scribbles of self-absorbed aristocrats; even his rough concepts possessed solid form. He possessed unshakable certainty and the absolute strength to realize it.

The single attribute I could never master.

Unrivaled, sovereign authority. Stephan lacked it entirely. And because of that void, he yearned to claim this chance. He was determined to secure this pact at all costs. The words welled up within him.

“May I present one inquiry?”

Yet he delayed his final answer slightly. Hesitating for a deliberate second was the mark of a seasoned trader.

“Speak.”

“I have both an elder brother and an elder sister. Why did you not approach them instead?”

Ferda answered without a shred of deception.

“To speak plainly: siding with them yields zero strategic advantage.”

A chilling, unvarnished evaluation.

“Furthermore, you are utterly destitute of allies. You make for an exceptional instrument.”

“Ugh…”

Ferda’s transparency was brutal. Stephan, who had paused to test the youth’s intentions, found himself completely disarmed.

“That is the reason I extend this offer to you. Will you endure temporary losses to survive and conquer, or will you simply be crushed beneath their feet?”

Stephan realized the sheer shallowness of his own mind. To think he had entertained the idea of testing such a figure.

“I accept.”

And he added the vow that cemented his fate.

“I will fulfill every term, without fail.”

Stephan dropped to both knees and pressed his head to the floor. Ferda leaned forward and extended a hand outward.

“I anticipate great results from our partnership.”

“The honor is entirely mine, Regent.”

Stephan realized in that moment: regardless of what deals the future might bring, nothing would ever match the thrilling weight of the compact forged today.

Within the borders of the Consilus Domain.

On this day, a warrior—both a parent and a spouse—had fallen in battle. He had met a valiant death buying precious moments for laborers to flee an assault of beasts upon the farmland.

Clerics conducted the final blessings, casting consecrated water over the remains, while fellow soldiers raised their steel in silent tribute to his sacrifice. Count Consilus himself attended the rites for the common footman. The venerable nobleman could no longer swing a blade, yet he refused to absent himself from a soldier’s burial, always arriving to share in the grief.

Such devotion was typical of him, yet today carried an unusual weight. Even when the rituals concluded, Ulvera Consilus remained rooted in place, his eyes fixed upon the fresh mound of earth.

“Arwen…”

He addressed the armored retainer standing at his rear.

“Command me, my Lord.”

“What word came from the imperial court? What was their response to our urgent missive?”

Arwen replied with clear hesitation in his voice.

“They claim matters require time. They insist that outfitting the imperial forces within the capital takes precedence…”

“Precedence… they call it?”

Ulvera Consilus gripped his gray beard. As a man who had navigated a perilous existence on the edge of ruin, Ulvera rarely allowed his composure to slip. In a borderland where an open show of anger could bring destruction, he had mastered the art of wearing a gentle smile. If success eluded him today, he would strive tomorrow; if not tomorrow, then the following dawn.

“Those treacherous bastards… they are lower than hounds.”

Even Count Consilus could no longer force a pleasant face.

“Prioritizing the capital garrisons? Are they claiming we are no longer children of the Empire? We, who hold the bloodstained frontier, enduring the claws of monsters day in and day out? Is the Emperor so terrified of petty rioting that he arms street watchmen while leaving the front to rot?!”

“Control your anger, my Lord, I beg of you.”

“It is pure wretchedness! I never claimed to live a life of flawless virtue, but I took pride in avoiding shame! Yet today, I am overwhelmed by absolute humiliation!”

Learning the exact circumstances of the warrior’s demise had torn at Count Consilus’s spirit. The blade the soldier had held to parry the beast had snapped cleanly in two just as he attempted a decisive counter. It was a standard-issue weapon, yet it had endured five years of continuous conflict. It was a miracle it had not shattered sooner.

Count Consilus understood the paramount importance of border defense. He never slackened the regimen of his levies to secure the frontier, preaching that leaders must stand at the vanguard to foster unyielding discipline.

Yet the fiercest willpower was helpless against barren armories. While the heartlands of the realm enjoyed total tranquility, the border territories were locked in perpetual warfare, where mortal casualties against monsters were a daily reality.

“Pardon me…”

Count Consilus dropped to his knees, grasping the soldier’s burial marker.

“Forgive this useless old man… The failure rests entirely on my shoulders.”

“Do not brand yourself inadequate, my Lord! The fault is ours for being weak!”

“He speaks the truth, the blame is ours!”

“The failing is mine!”

Arwen fell to his knees, followed immediately by every soldier under his banner. Count Consilus wept bitterly against the cold earth.

Having poured out his sorrow, Count Consilus stood with Arwen’s assistance and began his return. As he approached the inner keep, an uproar echoed from beyond the outer defenses, loud enough to scale the towering stone ramparts.

Diverting his path from his personal quarters, Count Consilus questioned the sentinel stationed at the fortress gate.

“What causes this disturbance?”

“Hail, my Lord! I was on the verge of seeking you out!”

“Seeking me?”

“Indeed. A massive train of freight wagons is emerging from the tree line. They appear to be traders, but we have barred entry due to their suspicious nature…”

“Traders appearing suspicious?”

“They claim affiliation with the Pascal Merchant Enterprise.”

Such skepticism was natural. A commercial titan of the Pascal caliber had zero incentive to venture into the desolate Far East. The guards had logically assumed they were marauders using merchant banners as a ruse.

“Understood. I shall inspect them in person.”

A cold, lethal intent sharpened within Consilus’s gaze. If these travelers proved to be outlaws, he resolved to draw his weapon and paint the soil with their blood without delay.

Count Consilus passed through the postern gate. Stationed before the primary entrance, an elegantly attired middle-aged traveler sat mounted upon a steed.

“I seek an audience with Count Consilus. Our transport train remains exposed within the woods, which invites great danger. Would you permit the gates to be raised?”

“The lord you address stands directly before you: Count Ulvera Consilus. Mind your courtesies.”

Startled by Arwen’s stern reprimand, the traveler swiftly dismounted and dropped to one knee.

“A thousand pardons! My vision has betrayed me. My Lord Count, pray forgive my lack of decorum.”

“Rise. Declare your purpose. Marching such a vast caravan into these lands is certain to provoke alarm…”

“Forgive my delayed introduction. We represent the Pascal Merchant Enterprise.”

“So I was informed. Can you validate your claim?”

“Directly here, my Lord.”

The merchant produced an official credential bearing the high imperial seal and registry plaque—he was undeniably a legitimate agent of the Pascal firm.

“What business brings you to our frontier?”

“I have arrived to negotiate the foundation of a permanent branch within your domain, Count Consilus.”

“The Pascal Enterprise founding an outpost here… Are you implying your house seeks commercial operations within the Far East?”

Consilus was thoroughly bewildered. Establishing a dedicated branch signaled an intent to revitalize commerce across the surrounding region. Yet a merchant empire had no rational justification for investing in the perilous frontier. Commercial logic dictated expanding throughout the prosperous heartlands rather than sinking assets into the deadly Far East.

“Direct mandates were issued from our highest authority. We are tasked with providing unconditional priority support for logistics, territorial development, and transit networks, alongside securing a base in the Far East. We determined Count Consilus’s territory to be the optimal hub for this campaign. Should you grant your approval, we possess every resource to initiate work immediately.”

Count Consilus gaped at the endless procession of heavy wagons rolling out from the deep forest.

“Did you march here with the intent to erect an entire fortress?”

“Haha, not quite, my Lord. While construction supplies are included, word reached our leadership regarding the supply shortages you have suffered of late. Therefore, stepping in where the Empire has faltered, our merchant house has arrived to deliver the finest equipment from our master reserves.”

“Equipment…!”

Count Consilus stepped swiftly toward the rear of a nearby wagon to inspect the freight.

Gasp!

His weathered eyes went wide. The carriages were laden with provisions far more valuable to this land than mountains of gold.

The exact requisitions they rejected… every single one is present!

From freshly forged arms to upkeep materials, alongside mountains of preserved rations. Every necessity, from vital supplies to specialized gear, filled the wagons to the brim. Count Consilus lifted a standard-issue arming sword. Its craftsmanship was undeniably superior—a solid, reliable blade that would never fracture in the jaws of a beast.

“Why would the Pascal Enterprise… invest its might into the Far East?”

Count Consilus burned to know the truth. He could not rest until the mystery was unraveled.

The merchant offered a respectful bow and answered, “This entire initiative is being executed in direct collaboration with the sovereign representative of the Archduchess of Valdrova.”