Where Is the Bottom?
Bleak and desolate.
That was the sole thought running through the mind of Count Necker, the Empire's Minister of Justice, as he prepared to leave for work.
Just yesterday, he had spearheaded the interrogation into the Second Prince's misconduct. More than half of the scathing inquiries leveled during the inquest had come from his lips alone. When shocking revelations burst from the prince—the complete slaughter of the paladins and the Hero's desertion—Necker had nearly collapsed from the mind-shattering shock. Yet he had gritted his teeth, forced himself back to his senses, and relentlessly pressed the attack.
"Where is the Hero right now? Nazak? Isn't that a luxury resort? Are you certain he is hiding there?"
"Why did you accept five billion from him? Don't tell me it was compensation for abetting his escape! How could someone of imperial blood commit such an utter disgrace?!"
The Minister of Justice had been the decisive spearhead who sealed the Second Prince's deposition and the confiscation of his fortune.
Why did I fight so fiercely?
Was it to resolve this unprecedented Kodana disaster even a single day sooner?
Certainly not.
Catastrophe was already guaranteed, no matter what confessions tumbled from the Second Prince's mouth. Even as Necker cross-examined the prince, the Cardinal had wept inconsolably, and the provincial lords stared blankly into the void with expressions hollowed of all will to live.
Necker had poured every ounce of his strength into the interrogation for one reason alone: had he not, he would have truly lost his mind. Spewing venomous rebukes had been his only way to survive the crushing despair.
Well, I lived to see the morning sun... so I suppose I achieved my goal.
Necker managed a hollow smirk, letting out a breath of empty laughter before taking a quiet look around his bedchamber.
From the lavish canopy bed to the polished dressers, every piece of furniture was an exorbitant masterwork. Even the pair of candlesticks on the side table was worth over eight million liras—though ever since the mania of Kodana took hold, such a sum felt like mere pocket change.
The bedroom was only the beginning. He lived in a sprawling mansion situated squarely in District 1. While the capital's density left no room for vast private hunting grounds, provincial nobles had always envied the court nobility for enjoying the height of luxury at the center of the continent's culture and wealth. For years, Necker had lived a deeply satisfying life within these walls. Barring some divine upheaval, he had expected to finish his days in this exact splendor.
Now, that dream was dead.
"Dear."
At his wife's gentle call, Necker pasted on a reassuring smile and turned around. He felt sick to his stomach, but he refused to let his wife and children see him break. He knew how terrified they were that he might choose a drastic end.
Given the gruesome purge at the palace yesterday, their anxiety had only deepened.
"Don't worry," Necker said softly. "I tossed and turned all night, thinking things through. I spent hours considering how to keep our family safe through this crisis."
"..."
"I'm truly sorry, but... I don't think we can keep the house. I weighed every option, but I simply see no other way."
He would have to put the mansion on the market immediately.
There was no alternative. The gold coins his family had accumulated since his grandfather's generation were swallowed whole by Kodana. He had even sold off imperial heirlooms and treasured antiques granted by past emperors to feed the beast. When that proved insufficient, he had dragged in the assets of his wife's baronial family. At this moment, the Minister of Justice possessed literally zero cash, alongside staggering mountains of debt.
"If we just tighten our belts for a while—"
"We employ twelve servants in this house," Necker interrupted gently. "I cannot withhold their wages. Then there is our child's Academy tuition, and above all, the debt we owe to your father..."
"I can ask my father to wait. You're carrying far too heavy a burden right now."
"If I don't repay that money, your family's estate will collapse. An estate of eight thousand souls barely makes ends meet on a good year. How could I turn a blind eye to their ruin?"
Necker looked at his wife with profound guilt. Even if he were stripped of every copper, he was still the Minister of Justice. His family would not starve tomorrow, as his imperial salary was quite substantial. Yet their glamorous, aristocratic life was finished.
Where will we even move?
Finding a modest home was one thing, but paying down the debt to his in-laws meant cutting their living expenses to the bone. For his wife's sake, he intended to keep a single maid, but every other luxury had to be discarded. Without a private carriage, he would have to walk to the Imperial Palace on foot every day. Given that they would have to relocate far from the capital's wealthy center, a grueling road lay ahead.
And an even more jarring reality awaited him: earning money purely to survive.
For commoners, working for daily bread was as natural as breathing, but for Necker, it was completely uncharted territory. He was likely the first high-ranking court noble in imperial history to hold the office of Minister of Justice simply to collect a paycheck.
"Will you truly be all right?" his wife asked softly. "No one in the Court Department took a harder hit than you. What if you become an outcast among the other ministers?"
"It doesn't matter. I have to ensure our children graduate from the Academy."
Offering his wife a warm, determined smile, Necker departed for the Imperial Palace earlier than usual. His claim of having much to do was no lie.
Despite the clear morning skies, a suffocating gloom hung over the Imperial Capital.
Though it was inappropriate to dwell on it, he found himself recalling the ancient calamity from 140 years ago—back before the Empire had achieved its modern supremacy, when the Demon King's vanguard laid siege to the capital's gates, demanding total annihilation rather than surrender. The capital had survived back then thanks to the Hero timely dispatching the Demon King.
Perhaps it's a stretch to compare this to an army threatening our walls...
Yet in practice, the panic felt far more destructive. At least to certain ruined nobles.
And I am right at the front of that line.
Necker composed his features and stepped into his private office. His subordinates looked at him with troubled, uneasy eyes, visibly torn between offering condolences or tactfully pretending not to notice his ruined state. Necker deliberately ignored their glances.
"Ugh..."
Perhaps the sheer stress had finally taken its toll. The moment he sank into his desk chair, a sharp cramp tore through his lower abdomen, and sour bile surged up his throat. Yet rest was an impossible luxury. He knew full well that his recent neglect of his duties during the Kodana craze had severely damaged his standing.
They surely wouldn't dismiss a man already backed into a corner... but I cannot rely on pity alone.
Necker gritted his teeth and gathered his resolve. Moments later, a court mage entered with cautious steps and began channeling mana into a violet communication crystal. Every minister had been assigned a personal mage for the day.
This measure had been enacted to monitor the civil unrest expected to erupt across the capital in real time. Under direct imperial decree, the Imperial Guard responsible for city defense and public order had already been placed on maximum readiness.
Necker stared blankly at the crystal ball. Its violet luminescence was so radiant and clear that unbidden tears nearly threatened to spill from his eyes.
Meanwhile, at the Kodana Exchange.
The moment the trading floor opened, scenes reminiscent of the historic crashes replayed in grotesque detail.
"Selling two at yesterday's close!"
"To hell with the close! List mine at 170 million—no, 165 million! Hurry, damn it, hurry!"
An avalanche of sell orders poured in, stacking up the ask volume like an insurmountable pile of corpses. In stark, terrifying contrast, buying demand had evaporated entirely.
At a glance, it looked no different from previous panic days. The agonized wails echoing through the hall whenever the trading board dropped were identical. Yet there was one critical difference: the downward plunge was infinitely steeper.
"134 million liras... Are you serious, my lord?"
"It won't sell even at that price! Watch the board and lower it further if you have to!"
"Then list mine at 130 million! I have to get out right now! Damn it all! Let me out!!"
The market price plummeted with sickening speed. There was no support line to catch the fall; by now, every soul in the room treated the catastrophic collapse as an inevitable certainty.
A desperate group of twenty traders relentlessly slashed their orders, obsessed with discovering at what absurd floor a buyer might finally appear. Around a hundred and fifty others sat with hollow, bloodshot eyes in the waiting lounge. Hundreds more had abandoned the trading floor entirely.
They hadn't gone home; instead, they slumped across the broad stone steps outside the exchange, heads buried in their hands or chain-smoking tobacco. They instinctively knew disaster was unfolding, but lacked the courage to witness the numbers firsthand. The crowd outside was a bizarre tapestry of society, ranging from young Academy students to collateral imperial relatives.
Before two hours had even passed since the opening bell, the price collapsed below 90 million.
Perhaps it was the psychological shock of watching the 100-million mark shatter so effortlessly, or perhaps the sheer horror that not a single buyer had emerged even at that discount. One man suddenly broke from the crowd and sprinted toward the counter, unable to endure the agony any longer.
"...Forty million."
"Excuse me? Sir, could you repeat that?"
"Sell them all at forty million. Please."
It was a suicidal order, slashing the prevailing quote by more than half.
The man placing the order was Professor Weber, a full professor in the Imperial Academy's Magic Faculty. He was an accomplished 6th-circle earth mage and an educator held in high esteem throughout the capital. Yet now, he looked subserviently at the youthful counter clerk, awkwardly pushing forward a handful of Kodana coins with trembling hands.
"Four coins at forty million each... Are you truly certain you wish to list them at this price?"
"...Just let me out, please."
I will never touch Kodana again. I am so sorry. Please, I beg of you.
Professor Weber muttered the same apologies over and over, clutching the sleeve of the powerless young clerk. The surrounding crowd could only stare in stunned silence as a tenured Academy professor—a decorated veteran who had served on the front lines in his youth—practically begged on his knees before a junior employee. The clerk taking the coins froze, his eyes wide and speechless.
"...Understood. Order registered."
Perhaps forty million seemed too absurdly cheap to ignore, for a buyer finally emerged to absorb Weber's coins: an oblivious foreign noble. It was the very first transaction executed since the market opened.
The moment Professor Weber received his payout, he stumbled out of the exchange like a broken phantom. The foreign noble who had taken on his coins cleared his throat loudly, self-consciously brushing off the dozens of shocked stares boring into him.
"Moments like these are when a man must seize opportunity."
It's not as if the Hero is dead, right? he thought, puffing his chest out slightly. His face radiated smug satisfaction, convinced that his bold decisiveness had just caught the absolute bottom.
Yet the glorious rebound he envisioned would never come.
A few minutes later, the freefall resumed.