Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage

Chapter 874: Enormous Trade

CH8674 Enormous Trade

***

In a secret room within the underground facility, Bedlam, Raven Horn—Alex’s Syndicate liaison—and Wayne Achard—the dwarf-like, middle-aged manager of Dragonstone Town’s Adventurer Association—could be seen in discussion.

“Holding a showcase for a product like this, have you and the Elders gone senile, Admon?” Wayne Achard said harshly.

“Maybe the old men have, but I am still very much sane, Wayne,” Raven Horn replied.

He folded his arms and fired off a set of questions. “If not like this, how do you expect us to be able to sell such a hot product? Go to each of them and sell to them one by one like a travelling merchant? Which do you think is more risky?”

Wayne was taken aback by the questioning, and he couldn’t refute it.

“Still, directly selling this product under the name of the Syndicate, in a Syndicate’s facility… surely, there was a better way to go about it without putting all of us at risk!” Wayne argued.

“We can’t keep going with half-measures, Wayne. This war has commenced, whether we want it to or not. We need to take a firm stance now with the opportunity the Legatee has given us,” Raven Horn responded.

He patted Wayne’s arm. “This is a test, old friend. A test mixed into an opportunity. The Legatee wants to see how far we are willing to go. And he will use that to gauge how much we are willing to sacrifice and be of use in this unavoidable war.”

“What did the boy say to you and the Elders that the lot of you seem to respect him so?” Wayne couldn’t help asking.

Raven Horn looked away for a moment. He looked through the glass at the people already gathering within the hall on the other side.

“There are people who command respect with their strength. And there are people whose charisma—more than their strength—draws you in helplessly,” he replied, seemingly beside the point.

He turned back to Wayne. “Young Master Alex is the latter, yet with the potential of the former. We lot, as you mentioned, have been drawn in by his charisma, allowing us to glimpse the potential power he will wield. Thus, we are striving to be able to stand by his side when the time comes that he will change the world.”

“Are you listening to yourself? You sound like the clergy and cultists we make fun of,” Wayne said.

“Maybe you are right. I have stood by his side the longest of us, so I have been drawn too close to his orbit.” Raven Horn chuckled, much to Wayne’s displeasure. “Don’t worry, old friend. I am not about to bow to him in worship or something. I am pretty sure he would skewer me first even if I lose my senses enough to do so.”

“It is just… he inspires, at least in me, a hope for a different future than what our world has now. And it is a hopeful future that I am genuinely willing to fight for. That’s all there is to it,” Admon Alston said.

Wayne studied his friend’s expression. He sighed, scratching his head.

“Is he that great?” he asked.

“Great? No. At least, not yet.” Raven Horn shook his head. “I would say… he is genuine, and has promise.” He chuckled.

“That’s all?” Wayne raised an eyebrow.

“What else do you want? Come on, don’t be a woman, Wayne.” Raven replied as he placed an arm across Wayne’s shoulder. “Think about it. Within a few months of finding out about him, and he became the Legatee, he casually pulls out a big card like this and hands it over to us with little care. He also opened up a bridge for us to Drumvale during the process of handling an idiotic bully.

“Doesn’t it make you wonder…? What else he can do, and will do?”

“Ah, fine.” Wayne pushed Raven Horn’s arm off his shoulder. “Looks like there’s no choice but to follow your judgement,” he said.

He gazed at Raven Horn seriously. “You better be absolutely certain about this.”

“I am,” Raven Horn replied, almost immediately.

He adjusted his suit, ensuring he looked sharp. Then he put on a mask that concealed his identity, and they walked out of the room with a powerful, confident gait.

The usual sloppy, languid Raven Horn was gone. In his place was the scion of a former Imperial house, Admon Alston.

The masked Admon appeared on the podium of the hall.

“Good day, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to this season’s week-long Bedlam Auction, where you will have access to purchase all of the organisation’s goods, as well as participate in daily auctions for carefully curated goods,” Admon opened the proceedings.

“This season will be a little—no, significantly different. Not only will we be presenting a monumental product, we will be putting this product up for sale to everyone present who is willing and able to purchase it.

“This product takes some time to take effect—which so happens to be a week. Thus, without further ado, let’s begin the product reveal and testing.”

Immediately, a group of people wheeled in a cloth-covered cage.

“What?!”

The attendees jumped in shock when they saw the caged creature—a Second Circle Berserk Human seemingly on the cusp of further mutation and progression.

Without wasting time, Admon Alston took a medium-sized injector from one of the auction staff and injected the stabilising potion into the Berserk Human.

The Berserk Human became sedated and compliant.

Admon then shoved a pill into the creature’s pre-opened mouth, ensuring it swallowed it.

While that happened, a formation scroll was set on the ground at the corner of the podium, and a transparent chamber was placed over it.

The sedated Berserk Human was thrown into the chamber and locked in. Admon then activated the scroll by placing a hand on it and channelling his mana through it.

Without explaining much, Admon casually said, “By the end of the auction week, we will see the result of the product. Before then, enjoy the auction.”

With that said, the Alston family scion left the podium, and a professional auctioneer took the stage. The auction began immediately, though the transparent chamber to the side of the stage drew most of the attention.

“What?! Is that a cure?!”

Even before the week elapsed, the noticeable change in the Berserk Human—the gradual withdrawal of the hideous mutation—drew attention.

There were already people inquiring about the cure as early as the fourth day.

Thanks to this, the Syndicate was naturally able to inflate the price of the cure set to the sky-high price of 1 High-grade Berserk Stone or a whooping 12,000 low-grade berserk stones—the total annual earnings of a medium-sized territory—yet many of the attendees, many of them nobles, bought the product without a single thought.

The cure set contained a reusable Formation scroll (up to a thousand times, depending on the quality of ambient mana), a clear observation chamber, a hundred servings of immersion liquid, a hundred servings of injected stabilisation potion (with only ten included syringes), as well as a hundred potions.

Unlike the Formation scrolls used by Alex’s party, he and Eleanore decided not to make the scrolls infinitely reusable, mostly as a control measure. Now, the scroll was susceptible to corrosion from the ambient mana used.

The greater the Berserk property concentration in the mana used to power the scrolls, the faster the scrolls degraded, and the fewer times they could be used.

This was a strict control mechanism to ensure the scrolls didn’t end up in the wrong hands—or at least, there was a measure of control over the people who got their hands on the scroll.

This way, if the wrong people got the scrolls, at least they wouldn’t be able to use the scrolls infinitely and would need to purchase new ones—opening new possibilities to the controlling party.

Alex would have preferred to limit the usage to a hundred; however, Eleanore lobbied for a thousand, since this change would adversely affect many innocents.

It was a measure between control and availability to the people who needed it.

Suffice to say, the Black Scar Syndicate made a lot of profit this week—perhaps more than about five years’ worth of auctions combined with one trade product.

However, the Syndicate didn’t keep all that earnings to themselves.

About three days after the auction, Admon Alston—no, Raven Horn of the Black Scar Syndicate—stood before a large caravan preparing to leave Blood Iron.

The caravan hosted about fifty thousand people of different backgrounds: warriors, artisans, labourers, family members…

It also included thousands of carriages carrying different goods, mostly precious ore and scarce construction materials.

One might think it was juicy prey to steal from. However, the different flags of merchant houses and mercenary corps would quickly dissuade any such sensible individuals. After all, even empires would think twice before attacking the caravan.

Not because of its strength, but because of the influence of the groups whose flags were being flown.

A small distance away, at the city gate, a luxurious carriage strolled towards the gathering caravan.

Raven Horn urged his horse over upon seeing the carriage. Arriving beside it, the window of the carriage swung open to reveal its occupant—Lady Wintermere, the representative of the Drumvale Merchant Consortium in Blood Iron.

“As agreed, we have dispatched different caravans across the continent to deliver the goods to the Celahan Empire’s Frontier March. We have also taken special measures to ensure discretion, so you can be rest assured,” Lady Wintermere informed him.

“Thank you for your help, Lady Wintermere.” Raven Horn gave a gracious bow of gratitude.

“There’s no need to thank me. With the amount of money you paid, if you asked us to help slap a pope, we would do our best to facilitate it,” Lady Wintermere replied.

Raven Horn chuckled.

“Well then, my lady. I must be on my way,” he said.

“Wait.” Lady Wintermere called out to him.

“Is there a problem, my lady?”

“Your young master… Young Master Alex, you truly expect me to believe he is merely a survivor of a fallen noble house?” she asked.

“It is up to you to believe whatever you want, isn’t that right, my lady?” Raven Horn said with a smile. “You are free to treat him as a scion of a fallen house… or as someone greater than that, pretending—or rather, gaining experience.

“Whichever you choose to believe, it won’t matter much beyond affecting how you do business with him.”

With that said, Raven Horn bowed in greeting, then returned to the head of his caravan.

‘A person who can make and spend 50 million Berserk Stones without batting an eye is the scion of a fallen noble house? Don’t make me laugh.’ Lady Wintermere mused to herself.

She took a breath.

‘Well, he is right. It doesn’t matter what his identity is. All that matters is how I treat and trade with him. I should petition the council to raise Young Master Alex to a black-level customer.

‘I just hope I can still pull something like this off, lest the Denim Shop and the greater Consortium lose such a valuable customer.’

Lady Wintermere’s instincts as a merchant told her that there was only more to gain from maintaining at least a good business relationship with Young Master Alex. And for that, she was willing to spend the political capital she had gathered over the last few years for the Denim Shop to make it happen.

If she was right, and Alex was indeed a golden goose, then there was only more profit to be made.

And who could blame her for thinking such?

The total trade agreement between Lady Wintermere and Alex, with the Syndicate acting as intermediaries, totalled more than 50 million low-grade Berserk Stones.

That was roughly a 50 billion shards deal in a world where the average commoner earned 10–100 shards per month. Such a deal was no doubt astronomical.

And this was only the wealth used to purchase goods. In Lady Wintermere’s eyes, it likely didn’t come close to her projection of Alex’s total wealth.

Raven Horn smiled to himself after leaving Lady Wintermere, as he was sure they had established a firm link to the Drumvale Consortium.

With astronomical figures like this at stake, it would take a potent stimulus before even a merchant consortium of Drumvale’s size let go of the relationship.

‘With all these resources coming in, any territory and beyond would experience massive growth within a short time.

‘Now, I can’t help but wonder what his territory will look like after its growth. Perhaps, Celahan might have a kingdom within its borders before it even realises it.’

Raven Horn couldn’t help but get excited as he thought about the potential future prospects.

And thus, the caravan began its journey to the Frontier March, which was expected to take up to a year, barring unforeseen circumstances.

***