Entrance Exam (1)
The underground laboratory of the Gos Merchant Group still reverberated from the thunderous roar of six shots. The thick steel breastplate of a knight lay scattered across the floor, reduced to an unrecognizable rag.
Laurie Gos, the powerhouse merchant who controlled the continent's economy, felt her red lips tremble with a mix of unknown terror and thrill. This overwhelming destructive power had been unleashed without a shred of aura or incantation—just thin bundles of paper and lead balls.
"Th-this… what is this…?"
Laurie picked up the feather fan she'd dropped to the floor with shaking hands, struggling to reclaim her elegant poise as an honorary countess.
Flint blew away the heat rising from the revolver's barrel and flashed his signature shameless grin. "So, what do you think? Not a bad use for a month's budget from the imperial capital branch, right? Now that the demo's over, shall we get to negotiating?"
Laurie's eyes instantly sharpened into those of a cold, keen merchant. "Let's hear it."
"First: No sales or leaks of this 'Silver Revolver' to anyone outside the merchant group until I graduate from the academy. Of course, if the imperial family or some filthy-rich grand noble comes knocking, we could consider a special transfer under 'mutual agreement' between me and the group."
Laurie's brow furrowed. "I don't get it. Releasing this revolutionary weapon across the continent right now would bring in gold like rain. Why bury it in some academy?"
Flint replied with feigned nonchalance. "It's the ultimate marketing strategy. A mana-less commoner crushing arrogant noble geniuses with one of these? That's proof of performance that'd turn the whole continent upside down."
Flint's justification sounded plausible, but his real thoughts were far shallower and crystal clear. I've gotta rack up some serious military or academic achievements with this gun at the academy if I want that army exemption. It was nothing more than a desperate bid for legal draft dodging.
Meanwhile, grand illusions began whirring in Laurie's mind like interlocking gears. Maximizing scarcity to torment the imperial family and grand nobles, then squeezing every last coin from their vaults? This guy's no amateur merchant—he's a bone-chilling businessman through and through.
"Second: If this weapon ever gets adopted as the imperial army's standard issue, I want 40% of the merchant group's net profits from consumable ammo deliveries as my share."
Flint shook the thin paper cartridge like a final nail in the coffin.
Laurie's breath caught in her throat. This boy wasn't just selling a weapon—he was scheming a national-level monopoly on military supplies. But true to her reputation as the continent's top merchant guild leader, she quickly regained her composure, her merchant's eyes gleaming sharply.
She snatched the paper cartridge from Flint's hand and examined it closely.
"Impressive foresight. Consumables monopoly, eh? But Flint, this ammo… it has a major flaw."
A chilling, razor-sharp critique slipped from Laurie's red lips.
"Paper and gunpowder? If it rains or gets wet, it turns into useless soggy trash, doesn't it? Battlefields aren't as cozy as indoor auctions."
Flint didn't flinch—instead, he grinned wider, as if he'd been waiting for it, his capitalist smile deepening.
"Spot on, Countess. That paper ammo you just saw? It's just a teaser—a 'transitional consumable.'"
"Transitional?"
"Yep. Which brings me to my third condition—and a new investment proposal. Pour the merchant group's capital into developing the perfect cartridge: one that fires even if submerged, stores indefinitely, and packs double the power. 'Metal Cartridges (Casings).'"
Laurie's eyes widened in shock.
"Sealing gunpowder in metal…? My god, that'd conquer even the weather."
He nodded casually, but inside, Flint was pumping his fist. Yes! Carving brass casings and casting impact primers? No way with current gear. Raiding the countess's fat vault instead of my thin wallet is the only breakthrough.
"This revolver's just the start. Once metal cartridges are done, mages' shields will shatter. True firepower era. So, what do you say? Bet on a military supply monopoly for the history books?"
Laurie hid her trembling lips behind her feather fan. Sell the weapon, then its fatally flawed ammo first. Dominate the market, then drop upgraded metal ammo for another astronomical haul. An endless golden loop.
Where does this kid's bottom end? Not hiding the flaw—he baited me to spot it and leveraged it for new investment. Damn… tempting.
"…You're a scary one. Fine."
Laurie elegantly folded her fan and extended her hand to Flint.
"We'll fully fund and staff metal cartridge development. But profit share at 20—no, 25%. We can't yield more."
"Call."
Their hands clasped, sealing the birth of the empire's most ruthless military-industrial complex.
After Flint left the underground lab humming a tune with leisurely steps, only Laurie and her trusted aide remained amid the lingering gunpowder stench.
The man glanced at the scrap-metal breastplate on the floor and ventured cautiously, "Madam, powerful as it is… isn't that too generous for a commoner kid? 25% on military supplies, unlimited funding? Could just be a lucky toy inventor…"
Snap! Laurie folded her fan with graceful menace, glaring icily. "Foolish talk. You were utterly played by that boy and still don't see his value?"
"Played… how?"
Laurie ground the remnants of a paper cartridge under her heel.
"He knew the paper ammo's fatal flaw from the start. No—he led me to point it out, then used it as bait to tie our astronomical capital to the real jackpot: metal cartridges monopoly."
"…!"
"And his real aim with the academy? Using stuck-up noble geniuses as targets to prove that demonic weapon to the whole continent. That arrogant, perfect guts to throw himself on the biggest stage…"
Laurie's red lips curved in a mix of ecstasy and dread.
"The era of aura and magic is fading. Soon, brutal firepower will reign, and that boy will stand at its peak. We must bind him to Gos Merchant Group, whatever it takes."
She tapped the man's chest with her fan. Her eyes burned with unprecedented manic ambition.
"Cedric. From today, you're his personal handler. Escort him to the academy in our top carriage on enrollment day. And buy that secret forge site on the capital outskirts for metal cartridge development—now."
"B-but the land price there is astronomical…"
"Money's no object. Drain the capital branch dry if needed. Keep that monster happy—it's our only path to owning the new era."
Cedric swallowed hard at her iron command, bowing 90 degrees.
"Understood, Madam!"
* * *
A week later.
In the heart of the grand empire, the imperial capital glittered with magical engineering lights and soaring spires. A luxurious black obsidian carriage from the Gos Merchant Group glided smoothly through the bustling streets.
Sunk deep into the plush premium leather seat, Flint gazed boredly at the scenery outside.
"Not nervous, Sir Flint?"
The man speaking politely from the opposite seat was the same one who'd come to their house weeks ago for the order at the countess's command.
Flint didn't even know his name—they hadn't properly introduced—but he was clearly Laurie's right-hand man, a key player with real savvy. His initial businesslike gaze had treated Flint like any commoner kid, but now it held clear fondness. Natural, after witnessing that brutal firepower firsthand in the lab.
"Nervous? Nah. This boring carriage ride's the real ordeal."
I yawned widely in reply.
"Haha, bold as ever. The countess has high hopes for your entrance exam. She's already ordered the secret forge site purchase for metal cartridges."
Once metal cartridges are ready, all sorts of guns open up. Can't wait.
As the two traded idle banter and unspoken assumptions, the carriage slowed.
Through the window loomed the massive main gate of the Imperial Academy, said to gather only the empire's elite talents. Fitting for exam day, noble carriages emblazoned with ornate crests clogged the entrance.
"We've arrived, Sir Flint."
The man opened the door first, bowing deeply as he stepped out. I patted the heavy leather holster at my waist and hopped down lightly.
Noble examinees in silk finery, noses in the air, whispered and glanced at the dirt-streaked shirt commoner emerging from a top merchant carriage. Classic noble disdain, but it bounced off me like nothing. I flashed a grin back.
Ignoring the prickly stares, the man spoke to Flint with genuine warmth.
"Then, may your 'excellent means of conversation' shine today. We'll meet right here after the exam."
I waved in response.
Passing the academy's hefty iron gates revealed a world apart from the outer bustle.
Premium marble floors everywhere, glowing statues lit by mana. Elegant noble examinees strolling between them. Pure opulence and intimidation.
But beneath the splendor lurked thick contempt and discrimination.
"Ugh, what a disgusting stench. More of those lowly scum this year than usual."
"They're just bugs who wormed in with recommendation letters or luck. Practical exam'll weed 'em all out—why even bother showing up?"
Groups in frilly dresses and uniforms made no effort to hide their disgust, murmuring loudly. They pinched noses with handkerchiefs or sneered at plainly dressed commoner examinees like they carried plague.
"Ah, s-sorry!"
"You little shit! You dare get dirt on my shoes? Where'd you get eyes, you mana-less trash?!"
Up ahead, a burly noble punk brutally kicked a commoner boy's shin for an accidental bump. The boy groveled on the ground, bowing repeatedly, while the nobles cackled.
Most commoner examinees huddled mouse-like in the arena's corner, cowed by the vicious vibe.
All except me.
Predictable as hell. Medieval fantasy wouldn't feel right without it—bloodline flexing, mana boasting, peasant stomping. Don't they get bored?
I clicked my tongue at the groveling boy but had zero intention of playing hero. My goals were a quiet academy life and draft exemption, nothing more.
I just yawned hugely and casually stroked the leather holster at my waist. Cold, heavy metal met my fingertips—the revolver.
Mana ocean nobles or street-rat commoners… in front of this baby, they're all equal meat sacks.
With a smirk, I strode boldly through the rowdy nobles toward the center of the Grand Tournament Grounds, where the practical exam awaited.