The Obsidian Lord's Return
I paused, my hand halting midway as I was about to set down my glass. What word had I just heard? Marriage? Suddenly? Here? My mind's rationality and merchant's calculator kicked into overdrive.
What was this cunning Winchester branch manager's angle in tossing the keyword "marriage" at me right now?
Aha. Got it. I slapped my knee and nodded with a look of utter conviction.
"You're worried about pushback from the Commercial Council, aren't you?"
"......What?"
"Combining my factory's monopolistic production power with your Golden Fleece Guild's distribution network means we've got way too much market dominance. They might try to force our alliance apart soon. So you're suggesting a political marriage to merge us legally into one entity. Right?"
Aila's mouth fell half-open at my flawless logical deduction. Seizing the moment, I launched into a tirade.
"But Aila, that's such an outdated idea. We don't need a marriage disguised as a contract—we're already bound by the sacred Veritas Oath Scroll. Plus, merging assets through marriage skyrockets our chances of getting hit with inheritance taxes or guild fees from the city hall. From a tax minimization standpoint, it's the worst move imaginable."
Judging her business acumen had momentarily clouded, I added some sincere advice.
"We should stick strictly to an A-and-B, partner relationship. It's the most efficient way to save on taxes and spread out risks......"
"Y-You......!"
Her shoulders began trembling like aspen leaves before I could even finish. Her face, which had been flushed peach-like moments ago, now burned crimson like an erupting volcano.
"What's wrong? Did I mess up the tax math? Or is it the equity shares......?"
BAM! Aila slammed her crystal glass onto the table hard enough to shatter it and shot up from her seat.
"You, you absolute......!"
Hurt, rage, and searing humiliation swirled in her emerald eyes, exploding outward. She snatched a fluffy stack of parchment from the table and hurled it straight at my face.
Whoosh!
"Ow! Hey! What the hell, throwing documents like that!"
"You're the one being a total asshole, you machine-hearted bastard! Taxes? Tax savings?!"
"No, you brought up the business proposal first......"
"How can you be so goddamn clueless, you idiot!!!"
Aila bellowed loud enough to shake the office, then snatched her overcoat, stomping toward the door in a huff.
SLAM! Even though it was her own office, she slammed the door as if trying to break it before storming out. From down the hall came her echoing voice: "What was I thinking talking to that oblivious fucker!"
"......"
Left alone on the sofa amid the scattering parchment scraps, I scratched my head and stared blankly at the closed door.
"What the hell set her off?"
Was there some tax break I didn't know about? Or maybe an internal restructuring issue at the Golden Fleece Guild? No matter how hard I crunched the numbers with Kang Woojin's engineering math and Carnoble's commercial knowledge, I couldn't derive the exact formula for her fury.
"Tricky. Human hearts don't run on precise mechanisms, after all."
I shrugged and sipped the remaining brandy. Whatever. By morning, she'd sniff the money trail and be back to her sharp branch manager self. What mattered right now wasn't Aila's moody whims—it was the blueprint I'd launch with this capital.
*
The dankest, filthiest back alley of the trade city Peluah.
"Hey! That 9-foot-2-inch pig bastard's passing by!"
"Scammer Muller! Oink oink! Even measuring your gut with a ruler, it comes up short, huh?"
Stones and rotten vegetable scraps sliced through the air, thwack-thwack embedding into a man's back.
"Y-You bastards! Do you even know who I am? I'm from Peluah's First Commercial District...... Guhk, my gold! My silk clothes!"
Muller, once the textile market mogul who ruled Peluah's fabrics. But now, he was worse off than a beast. Crushed by Carnoble Factory's overwhelming standardization, he'd lost all credit. Astronomical fines and penalties had stripped him of his guild, mansion, and even the underwear on his back.
Half-mad, he groped blindly at the air with unfocused eyes, reduced to rummaging through trash bins. He couldn't even properly fight back against the neighborhood kids' cruel taunts, just dribbling saliva as he backed away.
That was when it happened.
Screech-clank.
A massive, heavy black carriage—devoid of any crest—tore through the alley's gloom, halting before Muller.
"Eek! W-Who is it? I've paid all my debts! There's nothing left to take!"
Muller shrieked, diving behind a trash pile, but two burly men from the carriage seized his arms like sacks of garbage, twisting them viciously.
"Let go! Release me!"
"Quiet down, Muller. The boss wants you."
They shoved the thrashing Muller into the carriage and whipped the horses toward Peluah's highest plateau—the enclave of absolute powerholders.
"Ugh......"
Dazzling lights blinded him. He was flung onto thick, luxurious carpets that sank underfoot like quicksand. The opulent office reeked of overwhelming wealth and power, utterly mismatched with Muller's nauseating stench.
"Tsk tsk. Even for a loser, you're a disgrace, Muller branch manager."
A man lounged in a massive chair padded with red velvet at the room's center, speaking in a languid tone. He swirled a crystal glass of blood-red wine.
Muller's dull eyes widened in horror upon seeing his face.
"V-Valerius, acting grand manager......!"
Valerius. Master of the Obsidian Guild, which gripped not just Peluah but the continent's trade routes. Peluah's most massive and potent powerbroker.
"While I was away handling foreign trade, something amusing happened in this little Peluah of yours."
Valerius sipped his wine, smiling chillingly.
"That idiot whose windpipe I personally crushed somehow popped the coffin lid and bit your throat, huh?"
Muller's body trembled like an aspen.
Valerius. When grand manager Theodore died and Elpanso squandered the guild in debauchery, he was the true "predator" who orchestrated the downfall from the shadows. Muller, a hardened alley merchant, had sniffed out that conspiratorial truth to some degree.
"What a mark. He blew through his old man's blood-and-sweat fortune like an endless spring. So I just hastened its drying up myself."
Valerius continued leisurely, as if reminiscing fondly.
"Who bribed old Barto to flee with Carnoble's core ledgers and seal? Who paid off the merchant fleet's escort captain on the southern route to collude with pirates? And who laundered those pirated Carnoble spoils at the most legal, cheapest prices? All under the Obsidian Guild banner."
Everything stayed strictly legal—or in perfect secrecy. Elpanso walked into self-destruction oblivious to the betrayal.
"That moron probably whined about bad luck or misplaced trust, even as he was played to the bone. A fine puppet dancing till collapse on my stage."
Valerius set his glass down, glaring at Muller with contempt.
"But Muller, how utterly incompetent are you to hand the entire market to that hollow shell and end up like this? Scared stiff by one factory of whirring machine scraps, falling for specs and word games?"
His mocking sneer. Normally, Muller's knees would've buckled under that aura, kowtowing for mercy. But the moment that arrogant voice hit the ears of a madman who'd lost everything and severed reason's tether—
A grotesque madness flickered deep in Muller's dull eyes.
"Kuh... kuhuhu...... KAHAHAHAHA!"
A bestial laugh erupted from Muller's mouth. The eerie cackle echoed in the quiet office, twisting Valerius's brow in disgust.
"What's so funny? Lost your mind?"
"Lost it? Hahaha! Sure, you see me as a lunatic! But Valerius, you arrogant fool...... you know nothing!"
Muller propped himself up shakily from the floor. No fear of Valerius remained in his eyes—only the overwhelming terror he'd witnessed at the Rene River factory and the Commercial Council.
"Past Elpanso? Puppet? Yeah, probably. But that guy's not the mark you knew anymore! His head's crammed with demonic calculus to crush every merchant in Peluah—no, the world—underfoot!"
"Quite the ramble of nonsense."
"You laughed at him like I did, right? Machine scraps, cheap tricks! But listen well, Valerius. Know what he whispered in my ear as he crushed me?"
Muller's voice turned serpentine and chilling. He spat Elpanso's icy declaration—word for word, the one that froze him to the marrow—as he glared down.
"A guy with a knife is just gutter trash. Know what really devours markets?"
Valerius's eyes flickered faintly.
"The one who reads the rules' essence first, then builds his own colossal fortress atop them. Competitors climb the walls and legally choke to death!"
Muller spat blood-flecked saliva onto the carpet, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Valerius.
"He's already built his fortress! Peluah's common sense, standards, laws—all gears turning to his design! Plot and sharpen your knives all you want from the shadows—you'll end up beheaded on his legal guillotine! You'll be like me! No, more pathetically crushed under metal heaps! UHAHAHAHA!"
Mad curses filled the office. But then—
Thud!
A guard shadowing Valerius kicked Muller's solar plexus mercilessly.
"Gack......!"
Muller croaked like a frog, tumbling backward, black-red blood gushing from his mouth.
Valerius rose slowly, approaching the gasping Muller. His face held no tremor—only the absolute ruler's icy rage. He stomped his gleaming leather boot onto Muller's face.
Crack. Muller's nasal bone crumpled.
"GRAAAAH!"
"Rules? Colossal fortress? Such romantic drivel."
Grinding Muller's face, Valerius whispered coldly.
"Defeated dogs bark loudest. Remember this, Muller. Before overwhelming capital and power, no rules or machine scraps are more than toys. Just as I killed his father and shoved him off the cliff, this time I'll burn that damned factory to hell."
Valerius wiped the blood from his boot on the carpet and nodded to his guards.
"Toss this trash out. And send word to that insolent brat by the Rene River in my name: Peluah's true master has returned."
Muller's mad laughter dragged away down the hall, fading.
"A fortress on rules? Insolent fool."
"Then I'll shatter the very ground you stand on."