The Imperial Council Chamber was usually a place of hushed whispers and subtle political maneuvering. Today, it was a slaughterhouse of decorum.
"My people are rotting in the streets!"
Duke Pendragon, the Lord of the Southern Duchies, was on his knees before the Throne. He was a proud man, a warrior who had held the border against beast tides for thirty years. Now, he was weeping.
"The Green Fog moves faster than horses, Your Majesty!" the Duke cried, clutching the hem of his cloak. "It rolls into a village at dawn, and by noon, there is nothing left but silence and green sludge. The Royal Healers? They catch the rot the moment they try to cast a cure spell! It consumes mana like fuel!"
Emperor Aldric III sat on the Iron Throne, his face a mask of grim frustration. He looked to his left, where the Chief Royal Alchemist stood, trembling.
"Well?" the Emperor barked. "Speak, man. Do we have a countermeasure?"
The Alchemist shook his head, looking ready to faint. "It... it is not a disease, Sire. It is a biological curse. A Void-based pathogen. Our potions turn to acid in the patient's stomach. Our light magic only accelerates the growth. We are helpless."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The Generals looked at the floor. The Ministers shuffled their papers. The Empire, for all its military might, was powerless against an enemy it couldn't stab.
"Then we quarantine," the Emperor said heavily. "We burn the infection zone. We sacrifice the few to save the many."
"No!" Duke Pendragon shrieked. "That is half my population! Millions of souls!"
"Do you have a better idea, Duke?" the Emperor snapped.
"I believe I do."
The heavy oak doors of the chamber swung open.
The guards didn't announce him. They didn't have time.
I walked into the room, flanked not by soldiers, but by the silence of absolute confidence. I wore a charcoal-grey suit tailored from Wyvern-silk, and in my hand, I carried a sleek, metallic briefcase.
"Baron Vayne," the Emperor said, leaning back. "You are late."
"A wizard is never late, Your Majesty," I said, striding to the center of the room. "Nor is a businessman. He arrives precisely when the market is desperate."
I looked at the sobbing Duke.
"I heard there was a catastrophic demand for a cure. I believe I have the supply."
"You?" The Chief Alchemist scoffed, finding his courage now that a student was in the room. "You are a merchant, Vayne! This is high-level alchemy! Even the Arch-Mages are baffled. Do you expect us to believe you brewed a cure in your dorm room?"
I ignored him. I placed the briefcase on the central war table and clicked the latches open.
Hiss.
Cold steam escaped the case. Inside, nestled in impact-resistant foam, sat a single glass vial containing a glowing, neon-blue liquid.
"This," I announced, "is Aegis-9."
I picked up the vial, holding it up to the chandelier light.
"The Green Fog is not a random plague. It is a spore-based attack originating from the Void Queen—the raid boss I killed last month. You see, while your alchemists were busy wringing their hands, Vayne Corp's R&D division was analyzing the Queen's poison gland."
I walked over to the table where the Alchemist had a sample of the Green Fog contained in a reinforced jar. The green gas swirled angrily against the glass, trying to eat through it.
"May I?" I asked.
The Alchemist stepped back.
I opened the jar. The gas hissed, lunging for my face.
I carefully let a single drop of Aegis-9 fall from the vial.
Drip.
The moment the blue liquid hit the green fog, a violent chemical reaction occurred.
SIZZLE.
The fog screeched—a high-pitched sound like a dying kettle—and instantly calcified. Within three seconds, the deadly gas turned into harmless grey dust.
The room went dead silent.
Duke Pendragon scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with hunger. He looked at the vial like it was the Holy Grail.
"It... it works," he whispered. "It actually works."
He turned to me, grabbing my shoulders.
"Name your price, Baron! I will pay anything! Open the Royal Treasury! Take half my gold reserves! Just give me the cure!"
The Emperor watched me closely. He knew me. He knew I didn't do charity.
"Gold?" I asked, gently removing the Duke's hands from my suit. "Gold is heavy, Duke. It causes inflation. And quite frankly, I have enough of it."
"Then what?" the Duke pleaded. "Land? Titles? My daughter's hand in marriage?"
"I want dirt," I said simply.
"Dirt?"
"I want the exclusive mining rights to the Blackstone Range in your southern territory," I stated, pulling a contract from my inner pocket. "In perpetuity. Tax-free."
The room paused. The Ministers exchanged confused glances.
The Blackstone Range was a desolate stretch of rocky mountains in the South. It was famous for being useless—the rock was too hard to build with, and it contained no gold, silver, or iron. It was a worthless wasteland.
"The... Blackstone Range?" The Duke blinked. "Baron, there is nothing there but black rock. It's a dead zone."
"I like the view," I lied smoothly. "It holds sentimental value."
I didn't tell him the truth. I didn't tell him that in the game lore, the "useless black rock" was actually Pitchblende—the primary ore for Mana-Uranium.
In two years, when the Magitech Revolution hit, that "useless" mountain range would be worth more than the rest of the Empire combined. It was the fuel for the future.
"If that is all you want..." The Duke grabbed a quill, terrified I would change my mind. "Take it! Take the whole mountain range! Just save my people!"
He signed the contract so hard the quill snapped.
I smiled, picking up the parchment.
"Your Majesty?" I asked, holding it out to the Emperor.
Aldric stood up. He walked down the steps of the throne, took the contract, and looked me in the eye.
"You are a dangerous man, Lucas Vayne," the Emperor murmured, taking the pen. "You profit from the apocalypse. You hold the lives of millions ransom for a pile of rocks."
He signed his name as the witness, then leaned in close, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"You play a dangerous game, Baron. One day, the Empire may have to collect on your debts."
I met the Emperor's gaze without flinching.
"Someone has to pay the bills, Your Majesty," I replied, tucking the contract into my jacket. "Heroes work for glory. I work for dividends."
I tapped the earpiece in my ear.
"Execute Order 66."
"Order what?" The Alchemist asked.
"Nothing. An inside joke."
I walked to the balcony and threw open the doors.
Outside, the sky over the capital darkened.
Not with clouds. With airships.
Fifty massive Vayne Corp cargo zeppelins, emblazoned with my logo, rose from the industrial district. They were fully loaded with crop-duster sprayers filled with Aegis-9.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked the screen.
[Sender: Seraphina] "The fleet is airborne. I'm leading distribution. Don't die before I get my cut."
I smirked. She was learning fast.
"The fleet is launching now," I told the stunned Duke. "Your people will be cured by sunset."
I watched the massive ships turn south, their engines humming a low, powerful note.
I had just saved millions of lives. I had just secured a monopoly on the pharmaceutical industry. And I had just bought the nuclear fuel of this world for pennies.
[ System Notification: Crisis Averted (Pending). ]
[ Monopoly Established: Pharmaceuticals. ]
[ Asset Acquired: The Blackstone Mines (Strategic Resource). ]
[ Reward: +2,500 Destiny Points. ]
"Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen," I said, picking up my briefcase.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a mountain to inspect."