Chương 71: Departure

The heavy iron lockbox snapped open. Resting on a bed of faded black silk was a heavy gauntlet. It was forged from a dark metal that did not reflect the bright stage lights. The moment the box was opened, the air in the massive amphitheater seemed to drop a few degrees. Jack leaned forward, feeling a very faint, unnatural chill brush against his skin even from the high balcony.

"Behold," the Silver Core auctioneer announced, his magically amplified voice dropping to a serious, cautionary tone.

"The Accursed Gauntlet of the Warlord. Recovered from a sealed tomb on the Atera continent." The merchants in the lower benches murmured nervously, shifting in their seats.

"Let me be clear, esteemed guests," the auctioneer warned.

"This is not a standard weapon. The metal is incredibly dense and nearly indestructible, but the artifact is heavily cursed. It actively feeds on the vitality of the wearer. If a living man puts this gauntlet on his hand, it will slowly drain his life force until his heart stops beating. It is lethal to the user." A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the crowd. A weapon that killed its own master was entirely useless to an adventurer or a mercenary.

"Because of its dangerous nature, it is being sold purely as a historical curiosity," the auctioneer stated.

"The bidding will commence at a mere five thousand Imperial Gold." The amphitheater was completely silent. No one raised a paddle. Even the wealthy nobles in the other VIP balconies didn't made any move. No one wanted to waste five thousand gold on a piece of metal that would kill them if they accidentally touched it. Jack's eyes, however, lit up with intense excitement. A weapon that drained life force was absolutely worthless to the living.

But Jack had a guard standing in a dark crypt who did not have a beating heart. Elias Varna was a preserved corpse. He had no life force left to drain. If Elias wore that gauntlet, the curse would do absolutely nothing to him, but it would be devastating to anyone Elias punched. It was a lethal upgrade for his flesh-bound mage. Jack reached out his hand, but then stopped as he remembered Silas was still beside him.

But before his skin could touch the metal, a bright flash of light illuminated the massive amphitheater from the highest tier of the VIP boxes.

"Five thousand gold from the anonymous Platinum box!" the auctioneer announced, looking relieved that someone had finally bid. A Platinum-tier box. That meant whoever had just bid was either Major royalty or an individual with unimaginable, continent-spanning power. Jack slowly pulled his hand back, resting it on the head of his cane.

"Going once! Going twice! Sold!" the auctioneer boomed. Jack leaned back in his plush chair, his excitement replaced by a curiosity. He didn't get the gauntlet, but the event had revealed something. People in the absolute highest echelons of society liked collecting cursed relics. As the auction continued into its final, most expensive hours, Jack stopped bidding entirely. He simply watched.

He watched the true elites of the continent fight over a glowing red crystal that could instantly heal a shattered limb, driving the price up to two million gold. As Jack watched the unimaginable fortunes being thrown around, a profound realization slowly settled over his mind. Earlier in the evening, when the Abyssal Drake corpse had sold for over four million gold, Jack had felt incredibly small. He had felt like a peasant playing in a world of gods. But looking at the auction now, a smile formed on his lips.

The auction had shown him his exact place in the world, but it had also revealed a massive, glaring blind spot in the continent's economy.

"They're completely blind to the dirt they stand on," Jack thought to himself, his eyes scanning the screaming, bidding nobles.

"They only care about the flashy magical stuff. They want immortality, rare beasts, and explosions. No one here gives a damn about the mundane infrastructure." These massive merchant consortiums, the royal alchemists, and the Gold Core mages were entirely obsessed with high-tier magical items. Because they were so focused on the absolute peak of magical power, they completely ignored the foundational industry that kept the world turning. This was Jack's golden opportunity.

If he tried to compete in the magical market right now, these continent-spanning organizations would crush him without even noticing. But if Jack focused all his energy on monopolizing the mundane, common-folk economy—if he became the absolute master of standard industry and raw materials—the magical elites wouldn't even look in his direction. He could build an unshakeable empire of industry right under their noses.

By the time they finally realized how much power and wealth the Frost-Grip fief actually held, Jack would have the authority and the capital to finally step onto their stage.

"The auction is concluded!" the auctioneer's voice boomed like thunder, snapping Jack out of his thoughts.

"The Golden Scale Consortium thanks you for your patronage!" A few minutes later, a soft knock came at the door of their private balcony. An attendant in a sharp black suit entered, carrying a large silver tray. Resting on the tray were the twin spatial rings and the Ever-Ember formation stone. Jack then paid the amount with his vow token. Silas picked up the items and looked at Jack, his golden eyes narrowing with a hint of amusement. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road.

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"You showed remarkable restraint tonight, Lord Jack," Silas said smoothly, handing the items over.

"I saw you looking at that cursed gauntlet earlier. For a moment, I thought you were actually going to bid on it." Jack tucked the spatial rings and the heating rune safely into his coat pockets, his expression entirely calm.

"I thought about it," Jack lied smoothly, slipping the spatial rings into his pocket.

"The auctioneer said the metal was incredibly dense and nearly indestructible. If you can melt the curse out of it, that's top-tier material." Silas raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think such material could even be melted. So why didn't you bid?"

"Because I'm not stupid enough to get into a bidding war with a Platinum-tier noble over a piece of cursed scrap metal," Jack said flatly.

"It's terrible business. Though I do wonder why someone of that status would want a trinket that stops a user's own heart." Silas stared at him for a long moment, searching the young lord's face for a lie. Then, the Inquisitor let out a short, quiet chuckle.

"The Platinum buyer… the elites have their dark hobbies. We don't ask questions. Come, let's head back to the inn. Tomorrow, we secure your trade routes for your coal." The next morning, the sun rose brightly over the Western Market City. Jack left Karen resting safely at the stone inn and walked through the busy streets with Silas. Their destination was the second most powerful merchant faction in the city: The Iron-Route Syndicate.

Unlike the lavish, gold-lined halls of the Golden Scale Consortium, the headquarters of the Syndicate looked like a fortress of industry. It was built from massive blocks of dark gray stone. This was the guild that controlled the raw materials of the continent. Silas led Jack into a large, sturdy office on the second floor. Sitting behind a wooden desk was a broad-shouldered man with a thick, graying beard. He wore a fine coat. This was Master Toris, one of the primary trade factors for the Syndicate.

Toris stood up immediately, offering a deep, respectful bow to Silas.

"Your Eminence. It is a rare honor to have a Gold Core guild mage in my office. How may the Syndicate serve the Holy Church today?"

"You are not serving the Church today, Master Toris," Silas replied smoothly, taking a seat in a leather chair. He gestured toward Jack.

"You are doing business with Lord Jack of the Frost-Grip fief. I am merely here to act as his guarantor and to ensure the negotiations are… equitable." The threat was subtle but absolute. Silas was telling the merchant that if he tried to cheat the boy, he would answer directly to him. Master Toris swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Jack.

"Of course. Lord Jack. Welcome. What exactly are you looking to buy?"

"I am not looking to buy, Master Toris," Jack said, leaning on his cane as he stepped up to the desk.

"I am looking to sell." Jack reached into his coat and pulled out a large, heavy chunk of black rock. He set it firmly on the desk.

"Coal," Toris said, looking slightly disappointed.

"Lord Jack, with all due respect, the Syndicate manages the timber and stone for entire provinces. A few carts of coal from some mountains is hardly worth writing a contract for."

"That is not surface coal," Jack corrected him calmly.

"It is from the deep veins of the Frost-Grip mine. Pick it up." Toris frowned, but he reached out and picked up the dark rock. His eyes widened slightly. It was significantly heavier and denser than standard lump coal. It didn't leave a thick layer of crumbling black dust on his fingers.

"It burns three times as hot as standard fuel," Jack stated, leaning forward slightly.

"And more importantly, it burns almost entirely without smoke. I know summer is approaching. But I also know what the artisan guilds need. When forging high-tier magical artifacts, using magical fire can cause elemental clashes that completely ruin the crafting process. You need pure, intense, non-magical heat to forge without interference. This coal gives you exactly that." Master Toris inspected the coal closely, his merchant instincts instantly recognizing the extreme quality of the fuel.

A smokeless, high-heat, non-magical source was a massive prize for the massive artisan guilds in the city.

"And I do not have a few carts of it," Jack added.

"I have a massive, operational mine that can produce tons of this material every single week."

"If this quality is consistent…" Toris murmured, looking back up at Jack.

"We would need a steady supply. The transportation costs from the deep north are incredibly high. The mountain roads are brutal."

"I am aware," Jack replied smoothly.

"Which is why I am offering you an exclusive, long-term export contract. You send the heavy cargo wagons to the base of my mountain every few months. I will have the carts filled and waiting for you. You handle the transport, and I provide the absolute best fuel on this side of the continent. In exchange, you will pay me slightly below the standard market rate, ensuring your profit margins on the transport remain high."

Toris looked at Silas, who was sitting quietly in the corner, radiating a faint, intimidating magical pressure. Then, the merchant looked back at the dense coal on his desk. It was a good business proposal. The boy was offering him a premium resource at a highly competitive price, backed by the terrifying authority of the Holy Church.

"We have a deal, Lord Jack," Master Toris said, a wide smile breaking through his beard. He pulled a thick parchment ledger from his drawer.

"Let us write the contract." An hour later, Jack walked out of the Syndicate headquarters with a signed, legally binding contract in his pocket. He had just secured a massive, steady flow of incoming gold for his fief that would last for years.

"That was well played, Lord Jack," Silas noted as they walked out into the busy marble street.

"You sacrificed a chunk of your profit margin just to make the transport their headache."

"Doesn't matter how much coal I mine if I can't move it," Jack shrugged, leaning on his cane.

"Without their wagons, I'm just a guy sitting on a pile of heavy rocks in the middle of nowhere. Now, I have a guaranteed income. I just need to make one more stop before we leave." Jack bypassed the elite magical shops entirely. Instead, he found a standard, municipal building supplier located near the outer edges of the Inner Ward.

"I need clear glass," Jack told the startled shopkeeper.

"High-grade, thick window panes. As much as you have in your warehouse." The shopkeeper happily obliged, selling Jack massive, heavy wooden crates packed tight with straw and clear glass panes. It cost Jack around a hundred gold coins—a fraction of a fraction of what he had spent at the auction.

"How will you be transporting these, My Lord?" the shopkeeper asked nervously, looking at the massive crates sitting in the alleyway behind the shop.

"You will need three heavy draft wagons." Jack didn't answer. He simply raised his right hand. Gleaming on his fingers were the Twin Silver-Thread Spatial Rings he had purchased the night before. Jack used one of the spirit stones to activate it infront of Silas. The silver metal flared with a brief, white light. A localized spatial distortion washed over the alleyway.

The massive, heavy wooden crates of glass simply vanished into thin air, sucked instantly into the void spaces hidden inside the simple silver bands. Jack lowered his hand, feeling completely fine. The rings were incredibly efficient, doing exactly what he needed them to do. He turned to Silas.

"I have everything I need," Jack said.

"We can go home." By late afternoon, the black carriage pulled by the four massive Ash-Striders was rolling out of the massive gates of the Western Market City. Inside the cabin, Jack sat back in his seat, listening to the rhythmic clopping of the magical horses' hooves. He pulled out his ledger and reviewed his trip. He had the Ever-Ember heat runes to warm the greenhouses. He had the spatial rings to haul massive loads of timber and coal without breaking the backs of his human workers.

He had the glass to expand his food production. And he had a signed export contract that guaranteed his village's financial future. Silas sat across from him, looking out the window, his expression entirely unreadable. The Inquisitor had fulfilled his orders from the High Cardinal, but he was still no closer to understanding why the Church was protecting this boy.