Chapter 76 - 10
The small caravan of newly purchased non-human specialists walked in a neat formation through the dusty southern thoroughfare, leaving the shadow of the city walls behind.
To any onlooker along the road, the sight was nothing short of extraordinary. At the center of the group walked Arthur, his tall, lithe frame and sharp, striking features instantly drawing the eyes of every female traveler, merchant, and guard along the highway. In a world where males were an exceptionally rare, coddled, and expensive commodity—so scarce that even low-born boys were hoarded like priceless heirlooms—a handsome young man walking freely among a squad of capable non-human women was unheard of.
Female mercenary guards on watchtowers leaned over the wooden ramparts, their mouths agape, their hearts thumping wildly against their iron breastplates as they tracked his movements. Female merchants passing in carriages slowed their horses to a crawl, casting desperate, longing looks toward Arthur, amazed by his sheer grace and completely unbothered posture.
Despite his newfound wealth, Arthur had deliberately avoided purchasing male laborers or guards. In this world’s distorted market, a single unskilled male captive cost upwards of a hundred gold crests—an absurd, inflated bubble driven by aristocratic vanity rather than practical utility. To Arthur’s cold, analytical mind, paying a premium for prestige assets made zero economic sense. He needed skilled production units, not expensive trophies.
Lyra walked tightly at Arthur’s right hip, her small lips pulled into a sharp, irresistible pout. Her violet eyes darted back and forth, glaring fiercely at every woman along the road who dared stare at him for more than a second.
He doesn’t even realize how everyone looks at him, Lyra thought, her cheeks burning with a mixture of intense pride and simmering jealousy. She squeezed his arm a little tighter, her full, voluptuous curves pressing against his side as if marking her territory. He’s thinking about numbers and trade routes, while all these women look like they want to kidnap him on the spot!
Arthur, completely immune to the romantic tension swirling around him, focused entirely on the strategic horizon. He halted the group in a quiet, sunlit clearing near an oak grove, turning to face his newly assembled workforce.
Beside Lyra stood the golden-haired Elf botanist, Elaria; the steel-bearded Dwarf master blacksmith, Greta; three sharp-eyed Halfling accountants; two Gnome draftsmen carrying intricate measuring tools; and four tall, muscular Beastfolk warriors whose ears twitched attentively.
"Listen closely," Arthur began, his voice dropping into a smooth, commanding register that instantly captured everyone’s undivided attention. "You were purchased as captives, but under my command, you are functional executives of an impending industrial conglomerate. However, to operate safely in a society that aggressively regulates and targets independent males, our operational hierarchy will be inverted."
The group blinked, exchange confused glances. Elaria the Elf raised an eyebrow. "Inverted, Master Arthur?"
"In the eyes of the public, the kingdom’s tax collectors, and the noble merchant houses, I am merely a humble butler and personal secretary," Arthur declared smoothly, adjusting his cuffs with practiced elegance. "Lyra will act as the public founder, CEO, and sole proprietor of our enterprise."
Lyra’s jaw dropped. She froze mid-pout, her violet eyes dilating in sheer shock. "M-Me?! Arthur, I’m just a slum girl! I can’t act like a big boss in front of nobles and merchants! I’ll ruin everything!"
Arthur stepped closer, reaching out to gently cup her flushed cheek, his thumb brushing over her soft skin with absolute confidence. "You won’t ruin anything. You have the poise, the beauty, and the sharp memory for it. You will speak the words I write, sign the contracts I draft, and sit at the head of the boardroom table. I will stand behind your chair, managing the calculations, negotiations, and strategic moves from the shadows. Operating behind a proxy ensures total security while we scale."
Lyra felt her heart hammer furiously against her ribs at his tender touch, her jealousy instantly melting into a breathless, fluttering warmth. "I... if you’re right behind me... then I’ll do it," she whispered, her voice filled with unwavering trust.
Arthur turned back to the rest of the specialists, his eyes flashing with the cold brilliance of an apex strategist.
"Our first objective is land acquisition," Arthur outlined, pulling out a map of the surrounding province. "We will buy a vast, neglected territory in the southern badlands—cheap, uncultivated, and ignored by the local nobility. Elaria, you will use your spirit-botany to purify the soil and accelerate high-yield crop cultivation. We will establish an agricultural monopoly, controlling the province’s grain, rare medicinal herbs, and livestock production within six months."
Elaria’s eyes sparkled with professional pride. "With the proper mana-channeling, I can make barren dirt yield harvests ten times faster than normal soil, Master."
"Greta," Arthur continued, turning to the Dwarf blacksmith. "You will oversee the construction of our automated iron forges and mana-engine processing plants. We will mass-produce standardized agricultural equipment, enchanted construction tools, and lightweight armor."
Greta grinned fiercely, slamming her fist against her leather apron. "Give me the raw ore and a mana line, lad, and I’ll build you a forge that puts the Royal Armory to shame!"
"The Halflings and Gnomes will handle logistics, surveying, and architectural blueprints," Arthur added. "The Beastfolk will secure our supply lines."
He rolled up the parchment map, looking across the eager faces of his team. His ultimate vision stretched far beyond a simple merchant guild.
Food is the primary anchor of human survival, Arthur analyzed in his mind, a cold, victorious smile touching his lips. By monopolizing the agricultural trade and industrial tool production first, we make the entire province dependent on our supply chain. Once civilization relies on our food and manufacturing, we introduce our private banking system, issue a standardized backed currency, and seize absolute control over the continental economy.
"Pack your gear," Arthur commanded softly, stepping back to take his place half a step behind Lyra like a dutiful, immaculate butler. "Our real work begins now."
The journey to the provincial governor’s estate required a complete transformation of their outward appearance. Using a portion of their remaining liquid capital, Arthur secured fine tailoring for the entire entourage.
When Lyra emerged from her dressing quarters, the sight drew a soft gasp from the Halfling accountants and Beastfolk guards alike. She wore an immaculate, deep-emerald gown crafted from crushed velvet, woven with subtle silver thread that caught the light with every step. Her silver hair was elegantly styled, held in place by delicate pearl pins, while her porcelain skin and striking violet eyes radiated an undeniable air of high-born nobility. Beneath the fine silk, her voluptuous, hourglass silhouette gave her an imposing, regal grace that belied her humble origins in the slum alleys.
Behind her stood Arthur, dressed in the crisp, tailored dark uniform of an elite personal secretary. His posture was stiff, formal, and impeccably disciplined, his gaze turned respectfully downward, perfectly mimicking a high-class butler devoted entirely to his lady’s service. Yet, beneath his downcast eyelids, his mind operated at peak strategic capacity, rehearsing every phrase, clause, and negotiation tactic for the meeting ahead.
They arrived at the grand manor of Baroness Vane, the local land overseer whose family held legal dominion over the southern territories. The baroness, a woman in her late forties adorned in garish jewels and heavy velvet, sat atop a plush velvet divan, fanning herself lazily in the heat of her reception hall.
In this regional district, civilization was crude, chaotic, and fundamentally unsystematic. The kingdom’s legal frameworks were ancient and broken; tax collection was arbitrary, land deeds were recorded on decaying parchment, and civic planning was nonexistent. The surrounding towns were filthy, disorganized settlements devoid of proper irrigation, road networks, or standardized commerce. Baroness Vane viewed her territory not as an economic engine to be cultivated, but as a dull, inconvenient backwater to milk for quick coin.
As Lyra stepped into the hall, flanked by her non-human specialists and her handsome secretary, the baroness’s indifferent expression vanished instantly. Her small, greedy eyes completely bypassed Lyra, locking instead onto Arthur’s broad shoulders, immaculate jawline, and refined demeanor.
A predatory, flirtatious smirk spread across the baroness’s powdered face.
"Well, well... what an unexpected delight," Baroness Vane drawled, waving her fan dismissively at her guards. "I was told a wealthy foreign investor wished to purchase the southern badlands, but no one mentioned she brought such an exquisite, rare treasure with her."
Lyra took her seat at the velvet mahogany table, forcing her spine straight, her heart hammering against her ribs. Arthur stepped smoothly to her right shoulder, keeping his head slightly bowed, speaking in a low, perfectly controlled, and velvety tone that acted as her official spokesman and translator.
"My esteemed lady, Marchioness Lyra of the Southern Trade Union, extends her formal greetings," Arthur announced, his voice carrying an intoxicating, authoritative resonance that made the baroness shudder with delight. "My lady seeks to purchase the uncultivated badlands spanning the border of the Blackwood River for agricultural development."
Baroness Vane barely listened to the proposal. Her gaze remained glued to Arthur’s lips, her tongue tracing her own lower lip with unshielded lust.
"The badlands?" the baroness chuckled, leaning forward, resting her heavy chin in her hands as she stared at Arthur. "That land is useless rock and barren dirt, darling. But tell me... why should I sell mere dirt to a young lady when I could have something far more precious? Name your price for the boy, Marchioness. Leave this handsome secretary in my estate as part of the transaction, and I will hand over the deed to the badlands for a single silver coin."
The air in the room instantly turned sub-zero.
Lyra’s hands tightened beneath the table until her knuckles turned white. A surge of white-hot rage and possessive fury blazed through her violet eyes. She stood up abruptly, her emerald dress rustling violently, her voice cutting through the hall with sharp, aristocratic disdain that surprised even herself.
"My personal secretary is not for sale, Baroness Vane," Lyra declared coldly, her tone dripping with venom. "Nor is he a bargaining chip for your personal amusement. If you are incapable of conducting a serious, professional land transaction, my house will take our gold crests to the neighboring province."
The baroness flinched, surprised by the young noblewoman’s immediate, fierce hostility.
Arthur maintained his immaculately stoic expression, though a quiet, approving warmth touched his thoughts. Well played, Lyra, he thought, adjusting his position by half an inch. He stepped forward slightly, offering the baroness a tight, formal smile that carried a subtle, dangerous undertone.
"Allow me to clarify the terms on behalf of my lady," Arthur said smoothly, pulling a crisp, meticulously drafted legal document from his leather portfolio. "The badlands currently generate zero tax revenue for your estate while costing you twelve gold crests annually in border patrol maintenance. My lady offers a lump sum of one hundred and fifty gold crests in raw bullion—five times the actual market value of the dead soil—alongside a permanent five-percent tariff exemption on all future transit through your northern checkpoints."
He laid the contract on the table. It was a masterpiece of modern economic structuring—utilizing clear boundary coordinates, strict title transfer guarantees, and binding forfeiture clauses that the primitive regional law had never encountered before.
Baroness Vane looked at the massive pouch of gold bullion set beside the parchment, then at Lyra’s unyielding, protective posture, and finally at Arthur’s calm, absolute confidence. Realizing she was dealing with a force far beyond her petty regional influence—and terrified of losing a massive fortune in gold—the baroness swallowed her pride.
"A hundred and fifty gold crests..." the baroness muttered, her greed finally triumphing over her lust. She snatched the quill and signed her heavy seal at the bottom of the parchment. "The land is yours, Marchioness. Take your barren rocks."
Arthur smoothly retrieved the signed deed, folding it into his coat with practiced grace. "A pleasure doing business, Baroness."
As they exited the grand estate and boarded their carriage, the heavy iron gates of the town closed behind them. Lyra collapsed onto the soft leather bench, letting out a long, shuddering breath as the regal posture melted away, leaving her red-faced and panting.
"I... I did it, Arthur!" Lyra whispered, her violet eyes shining as she looked at him. "I stood up to a baroness! But... she was so disgusting, trying to buy you like that..."
Arthur sat down across from her, pulling off his butler gloves and looking out the window at the vast, desolate stretches of rocky plains that now legally belonged to them. The terrain was broken, chaotic, and primitive—devoid of roads, systems, or proper governance.
A cold, victorious smile spread across Arthur’s face as he held the legal deed in his hand.
"She gave away the foundation of the continent for a pittance," Arthur said softly, his eyes flashing with the light of a master strategist ready to reshape the world. "Now, we bring order to this chaos."