Opening the Floodgates
As a man who made his living from human pleasures, Ahmed Hashim ranked among the wealthiest on the continent.
His first impression was so favorable one would never have guessed he ruled a pleasure city. His copper-toned body was taut and free of excess flesh, and a certain brilliance seemed to gleam in his eyes—the complete opposite of the bleary-eyed nobles so common in Halim.
Ahmed personally offered the tea the serving girl had prepared.
“Assam tea. Word reached me that you enjoy it, so I brought this in place of liquor.”
“I will drink it gratefully.”
“It is an honor to receive you in private like this. Though I did not attend the Grand Council myself, I heard your remarks were most impressive. I sincerely hope for the prosperity of the Far East.”
Anyone can speak pretty words.
“I thank you even for the words alone.”
“‘Words alone’? Would this Ahmed Hashim ever do anything to anger Set?”
Set was the god of the southern deserts. Ahmed stroked his long beard as he continued.
“Still, if only there were a gift I could place directly in the Regent’s hands… Ah.”
He snapped his fingers.
“I have just the thing.”
Ahmed whispered something to the maid fanning him nearby. She understood at once and slipped out the door. He turned back to Ferda with a smile.
“You know, of course, that visitors to our city enjoy gambling?”
“Of course. I have gambled here myself once.”
“For those who find it a pity to leave after wagering only the coin they brought, we have prepared something.”
“A pawnshop, you mean?”
Ahmed nodded.
Though he was called the lord of Halim, only two of the city’s twelve casinos operated under him. In return, every pawnshop was run by his subordinates—and those shops alone brought in three times the combined profit of the other ten casinos.
“We take collateral and grant six months. After that, the item is mine to dispose of as I please.”
“And you mean to give me such an item.”
“Precisely. You may look forward to it.”
The auction scheduled after the exhibition would no doubt have been stocked largely with goods from Ahmed’s pawnshops. Mentioning them now meant he intended to hand something over from those vaults.
This has long since surpassed a mere pawnshop.
Halim’s clientele were mostly nobles and wealthy merchants. Beyond ordinary jewels, the shops sometimes held true heirlooms. Of course, most of those were reclaimed by their houses even if it meant taking on debt. Offering an heirloom as collateral was little better than usury. What remained would be jewels or middling magic items at best.
Still, a part of him was curious. Ahmed had told him to expect something worthwhile; that alone made it worth the wait.
A short while later, four maids in dancer’s attire entered with careful steps, bearing a palanquin. The reverence with which they carried it left no doubt that the contents were treasures no one was permitted to handle lightly. Even Ferda could not help but feel anticipation.
Atop the palanquin rested a long, slender case—large enough for a single dagger. Ahmed himself drew the object out and laid it open upon the table.
“This is…”
Ferda’s eyes widened. A lifetime spent pursuing strength as a mage made recognition instantaneous.
“You know what it is?”
“A branch of the World Tree struck by Reverse Heaven’s Lightning… is it not?”
Ahmed looked startled by the accuracy of the guess.
“Exactly so. You recognized it at a glance. Most would never know…”
A World Tree branch holds pure mana until it is broken; lightning transforms that property into one that amplifies magical power. For any mage who specialized in lightning, it was an essential staff material. Ordinary lightning-struck branches, however, numbered more than a thousand and held little rarity.
Reverse Heaven’s Lightning was another matter entirely.
The lightning only the first witch, Lucy Philiaz, could wield.
The witch who had possessed the sole power to defy providence and stand against the gods—Lucy Philiaz. Her signature was Reverse Heaven’s Lightning: crimson rather than blue, a bolt that pierced the heavens themselves.
Only seven World Tree branches had ever been struck by it. One rested with Erdes, one in the Blue Eye Magic Tower, and the remaining five had been divided among renowned mage houses. Two of those houses had fallen, and the branches had vanished with them.
So this is where the lost ones ended up?
Any number of paths could have led here. A gambling-addicted mage scion might have stolen the family treasure, then claimed it lost out of shame. Or a true thief might have taken it and squandered everything at the tables until only this remained. Whatever the history, it paled beside the shock of the branch’s existence.
One million two hundred thousand golden.
A sum even kings would struggle to offer. The price had been so legendary that Ferda still remembered it. For lightning mages, few materials were rarer or more precious.
“I have a question.”
“Yes, yes—ask.”
“How much was this branch pawned for?”
Ahmed grinned as though he had been waiting for exactly that.
“Ten thousand golden.”
A hundred and twenty times its value. Ferda felt anew how thoroughly gambling could ruin a man. Someone had handed over an item worth one million two hundred thousand golden for a pittance.
That was not the important part.
Ahmed knows precisely how valuable this is.
Even if not the full sum, he would have expected to fetch at least five hundred thousand. To offer it lightly as a gift was extravagant. Which meant Ferda himself was worth more to Ahmed than that fortune.
Ahmed had finished his calculations.
“Are you certain you wish to give me something so precious?”
“Things have a way of finding their rightful masters. Is it not fitting to present lightning to one who commands it?”
The spells Ferda had used against the wolf monsters—Lightning Spear and Lightning Bolt—had apparently marked him as a lightning mage in Ahmed’s eyes.
Even so, a staff crafted from this would certainly help.
Help it would give; never would it become a burden. Ferda accepted the gift.
“I receive it with gratitude. After accepting such a present, I hardly know whether I can simply sit still.”
“No need for worry. Should not comrades in the same predicament aid one another?”
“The same predicament?”
“Yes. Are we not both forced to build from bare earth?”
Ahmed rose and walked to the window. Ferda followed. Beyond the glass stretched a wasteland baking under a fierce sun.
“Halim was once just another dying town upon parched ground. When the mages spread their ambitions, our city too became a target.”
Magical interference in southern affairs was commonplace. Water was always scarce in the south; anyone who could command the water element was treated with deference. Those who could command ice as well could name their price.
“So my grandfather devoted himself to reviving Halim. For this land the mages schemed over and the gods were said to have abandoned, he poured out every effort.”
Tears gathered in Ahmed’s eyes, as though he himself had tasted that old sorrow.
“Everyone cursed us to ruin—yet look at the end result! They called this place unholy, god-forsaken, yet we have grown so strong that none dare ignore us. This was built by human hands!”
A city of luxury and civilization rising from barren soil. Many southern towns had adapted to the desert, but none matched Halim’s opulence or refinement.
“And my father, Abdul Hashim, always taught that one must never hesitate to aid a brother in the same plight. The Far East is our brother—a nation that walks the same road and is entitled to the same prosperity!”
Ahmed burned with a passion that seemed ready to set the world ablaze. Anyone might have been moved by the fervor he poured forth.
Ferda, however, did not take the words at face value. To hold this land of madness required remaining sane three hundred sixty-five days a year—not a choice, but a necessity. Simple gratitude could not explain such generosity.
Burnel must have made quite an impression.
Ahmed had glimpsed the value of Magic Engineering—the chance to obtain weapons that could slay monsters in a single strike. He had no intention of letting that opportunity slip away.
Having reached his conclusion, Ferda spoke.
“As it happens, we are already building villages under Baldrova Castle for the reclamation of the Far East.”
“I have heard as much. Labor and materials will be desperately short. When is the planned completion?”
“Foundation work and water systems will take a year; surrounding the whole with walls will require five years at the shortest.”
“Five years!”
Ahmed stroked his beard in thought, then suddenly held up two fingers.
“Two years.”
“Pardon?”
“We will supply materials and manpower so that your construction plan can be shortened to two years.”
The offer was so extravagant that its feasibility was hard to grasp. Three full years cut away. Only materials and labor were lacking; if Ahmed filled those gaps, the city’s rise would accelerate dramatically.
“For a project of this scale, a direct road to Baldrova Castle will also be needed. We will assist with that as well.”
“Is there not already a road?”
“That one leads through the Empire—it is not a direct route. The detour is troublesome. More importantly…”
Ahmed made a show of glancing about like a sycophant checking for eavesdroppers.
“One cannot trust the folk of the imperial capital.”
Ferda quietly agreed. For all the theatrical gestures, the depth of thought behind them was formidable.
Still—can he truly make such a radical proposal?
Promising completion in two years plus a new road went far beyond the usual noble pledge of “cooperation in development.”
Just as all roads are said to lead through the Empire, every road in the south leads through Halim.
Known as a pleasure city, Halim was also the south’s most vibrant commercial hub. The finest southern goods flowed here to be sold to the nobles who gathered from every region. In short, Ferda was about to secure direct exchange with the south.
Burnel has proven even more useful than I imagined.
Without this meeting, such an opportunity would never have arisen. The winds of innovation and the progress they brought drew an unbidden smile from Ferda.
Yet he remained vigilant to the end. Ahmed’s true intent emerged next.
“What I have offered so far is merely provision. Now I would like to make a proposal of my own.”
Ahmed extended his hand.
“What do you say to forming a partnership between Halim and yourselves?”
After concluding his talk with Ahmed, Ferda returned to Stefan.
“Hahahaha!!!”
Stefan, for his part, was clutching Burnel’s hand and laughing like a madman.
“What is the matter?”
“Hahaha! We’ve hit the jackpot! The jackpot!”
“What? What?”
“Look at this!”
The stack of papers Stefan dumped onto the desk consisted entirely of investment proposals—ranging from a hundred golden to ten thousand, the largest reaching a full hundred thousand.
“Merchants and nobles alike—aristocrats from every corner of the realm are showing interest in our goods!”
“And that is good?”
“Simply receiving documents like these means we already hold the advantage! That they have thrown out such aggressive offers without even attempting half-measures carries enormous significance!”
“We have seized the initiative, then.”
“Exactly!”
Having been left in the background, Ferda watched quietly for a moment before speaking.
“So what do you intend to do?”
“Ah—Regent! As if we would simply accept! Only fools take the first offer when they are this desired. We have excellent strategies for the present situation—would you care to hear them?”
Flushed with excitement, Stefan handed Ferda a sheaf of business-model plans.
“The big players want us right now! Since Magic Engineering weapons are drawing attention from multiple quarters, I will consult with the new administrator and draw up strategies for real-estate auctions and investment!”
Everything he spoke of was money, money, money—precisely the means Isabella had most feared would be required to fill the coffers.
“With sums like these we could even found a new trading company. Headquartered entirely in the Far East—”
“A new company?”
Ferda cut him off.
“Yes. Not the existing Pascal Trading Company, but a fully autonomous eastern firm. His Grace would hold thirty-one percent, Mister Burnel twenty, myself twenty, and the remaining twenty-nine would go to outside investors.”
“Why bring outsiders into our own company?”
“To break into trade terms with the great houses, they often demand a percentage of the shares. In return we purchase a corresponding stake in theirs—so it is closer to an exchange. No great problem.”
Professional merchants dealing with professional merchants: complicated talk. Ferda had no desire to delve deeply into it.
“What do you think?”
“If it revitalizes the villages, I have no objection… yet I cannot understand why you are so delighted.”
Ferda scanned the documents Stefan had given him once more. Among the proposed strategies were more than a few that felt distinctly odd. He was no master of economics, yet he could sense the flavor of them.
“Many of the things you have suggested feel as though they must begin from absolute zero.”
Like digging a new well when one already stood nearby—starting everything afresh upon bare earth.
His instinct was correct.
“Yes. There are parts we must start from the beginning.”
“Why?”
“So that we can seize the company without relying on Pascal Trading.”
“In other words…”
Ferda’s gaze sharpened. Stefan tensed under those eyes for no clear reason.
“I am asking why you refuse to rely on Pascal.”
“That company… is not yet mine. It is my father’s. And…”
Words he could not easily speak. Yet Ferda’s stare forced the truth out of him.
“There is no particular need for that company to become mine.”
“I see.”
Slap!
Ferda tossed the papers he had been studying onto the table. To Stefan the sound was like a slap across his own cheek. Those blue eyes seemed to grow colder still.
“Then you are of no use.”