Time to Buy Low
Imperial Palace, the emperor's audience chamber. Beneath a ceiling woven from lattices of silver and gold, the throne loomed high above. Kasian knelt in the center of the chamber. The emperor's gaze turned downward. From the deep crevices of wrinkles, pupils gleamed like those of an aged hawk. Forty years on the throne must sharpen one's senses enough to read even the fluctuations in a son's heartbeat.
"Report."
What Kasian held up with both hands was—blackened fuse debris. Vacuum-sealed. The jagged metal fragments clung to the transparent plastic, looking utterly pathetic under the chamber's radiant lights.
"Your Majesty. I present debris recovered from the outskirts of the Zone 17 containment barrier."
Kasian's voice didn't waver. He'd rehearsed this report in front of a mirror for three days straight. The angle of his jaw, the depth in his eyes, even the tremor at his fingertips—all meticulously designed.
"Traces of residual energy from the national treasure Tear of the Sun have been detected."
The emperor's gaze settled on the fuse.
"Solon."
The chief priest, waiting in the corner of the audience chamber, stepped forward. His aged knees hit the cold marble floor with a dull thud.
"Command me, sire."
"Verify it yourself."
Solon took the fuse. The procedure was the same as in the private chamber. Threads of holy power rose from his fingertips, flowing over the fuse's surface. But this time was different. In the private chamber, it had been verification before Kasian. Now it was before the emperor. Solon's holy power enveloped the fuse more deeply and densely than usual. Not threads, but a net. Meticulous enough to catch even the tiniest mana particle.
Five seconds. Ten seconds. Solon's hands began to tremble again.
"Your Majesty." His voice cracked. "Mana fluctuations from the Tear of the Sun remain. And they overlap with traces from the mana used in the Zone 17 containment barrier. That this debris is a byproduct absorbed from nearby energy in Zone 17 and then expelled... leaves no room for doubt."
The emperor's fingers tapped the throne's armrest twice.
"Why was the national treasure's energy sucked into Zone 17?"
Kasian bowed his head deeper.
"On the night of the banquet, a fireworks display utilizing the Tear of the Sun was performed. I believe that energy release stimulated the sealed entity underground in Zone 17."
Silence descended. Sweat trickled down Kasian's spine. This was the crux. If the emperor asked, "What proof do you have it wasn't your fault?" Kasian's script would crumble. But the emperor didn't ask.
The old hawk's eyes fixed on the fuse. Reflected in those pupils wasn't suspicion of his son, but fear of the "mana-devouring predator" reported by Kellun. Mana from the containment barrier and the national treasure detected simultaneously. The entity in Zone 17 drawing in external energy through the barrier. Kellun's report. Solon's double verification. And the physical evidence before them. The moment three points connected into a line, the emperor's conviction swallowed all doubt.
"Maintain the Zone 17 containment."
The emperor's voice echoed through the audience chamber. Low, but heavy enough to shake the stone pillars.
"Reinforce the barrier twofold. Ensure no energy leaks out."
Kasian's jaw slackened ever so slightly. Relief. Glorious, wretched relief.
"As you command."
The fuse debris was carried away in a silk-lined box by the emperor's attendant, destined for the treasury annex. The industrial waste Ayla and I had swapped in the sewage was now enshrined in the imperial vault. An irony history wouldn't record.
Solon watched from his knees as the fuse was loaded into the silk box and borne away. His head was bowed, but a single question pierced his mind like a thorn.
The absorption pattern. The direction the mana had been drawn was off. If the demon king of Zone 17 had absorbed it from afar, the energy pull should have been radial. A spherical pattern sucking from all directions. But the traces on this fuse were different. A straight line. As if someone—intentionally—had funneled the energy in one direction only.
Solon opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at the emperor's fear-filled eyes. At Kasian's jaw slick with relief. Speaking of an "odd pattern" in this audience chamber was tantamount to shoving one's head into a lion's maw. Solon buried the doubt deep in his chest. But buried didn't mean gone.
The same night. Imperial Palace, Kasian's office. The moment the door shut, Kasian collapsed into his chair. His fidgeting fingers on his cuffs stilled. For the first time. The convulsions eased. Tension drained from his muscles, sensation returning to his fingertips.
He'd survived.
He stared at the ceiling for five seconds. Not the silver-and-gold lattice of the audience chamber, but the rough stone of this office—never had it looked so beautiful. But Kasian allowed himself no more than five seconds of relief. He rose from the chair. Walked to the window.
The imperial capital sprawled below in the night.
"Shadow."
A black-masked figure knelt from thin air.
"The woman who appeared at the abandoned exchange today. Report the tracking results."
"After leaving the exchange, she headed east through back alleys toward the old town. Vanished near the Zone 17 outer containment line."
Kasian's eyes narrowed.
"Near Zone 17?"
"She didn't enter the containment line. Sight was lost in the dense abandoned buildings of the old town. By the time the tracking team arrived, all traces were gone."
Kasian's fingers drummed the windowsill. Rhythmically. He was thinking.
Vanished near Zone 17. Not inside the line, but nearby. Someone who knew the area well. Familiar with the sewers or layout of abandoned buildings.
"Anything unusual in the guard knight's report?"
"The woman was armed. Weapon inside her jacket, left waist. Appeared to be a sword. And—"
The shadow paused.
"What."
"The guard knight reported her reflexes exceeded those of an ordinary combatant. When the knights in the chamber reached for their sword hilts, her right hand reacted first."
Kasian's drumming stopped. Trained combatant. Sword user. Knew the terrain near Zone 17. And behind the 2 billion gold deal. Kasian's lips curled. Not a smile. The reflex of a predator spotting prey.
"Find that woman and her backer."
Kasian turned as he spoke.
"She's the one who took 2 billion. Just surveil. No contact. Map her network, trace the money flow, chart where she sleeps and eats—everything."
"Deadline?"
"None."
Kasian sat at his desk and picked up a pen.
"She won't run. Someone with that kind of nerve will come back."
Eight days later. Zone 17 Bunker control room.
Three induction burners. Three frying pans. Three servings of spam.
In eight days, the bunker had changed. Two days to activate the water purifier, connect ventilation filters, and link the boiler pipes to the purifier. One day to assemble the hydroponic kit and mix the nutrient solution. Three days to mount solar panels on the upper vent exterior and connect to batteries. Two days to install LED lighting panels on the ceiling and affix insulation mats to the walls.
Ayla and Lenia hauled cement and wrestled pipes. I wired circuits and ran tests.
In eight days, the bunker had transformed from a concrete box over the sewer into—a space where people could live.
And today, the first lettuce sprout emerged from the new hydroponic kit. Barely five centimeters of tender green, but under the purple LED, it greedily drank the nutrient solution, growing.
"Eat your veggies."
I roughly stir-fried onions and bell peppers in the pan as I spoke. Not dried veggies from the system shop, but real onions washed through the purifier. Bought from old town shops via Viscount Vail.
Under the Iron Blood Relief Foundation name, with the pretext of "procuring relief supplies near disaster zones," merchants offered wholesale prices instead of noble markups.
"Boss a veggie tycoon or what? Veggies veggies veggies since yesterday!"
"Vitamin C deficiency means scurvy. Can't build a dentist with SP if your teeth fall out in the bunker."
The moment oil met onions, a spicy-sweet caramel scent exploded. I diced the spam, piled it on, dumped in rice. Half turn of oyster sauce, drop of soy, high heat, quick stir. Three plates. Lined them up on the camping table. Topped each mound of fried rice with a half-runny fried egg. The yolk quivered, draping over the spam.
"Cheers?"
Ayla raised her water cup. Clear, odorless water from the purifier.
"Special reward today."
I opened the system shop. Three red cans dropped from thin air. Original Coca-Cola.
Ayla's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Cooooola!!"
She snatched the can faster than a rat hound. Chiiiik, clack. Carbonation bubbled up, sweet foam scent spreading.
"Ahhhhhh! Like melting all the world's jewels and pouring them in my mouth!"
I slid a can in front of Lenia. She stared at it. Red. Aluminum. Condensation beading the surface.
The first time, she'd ignored it. Left it on the control room shelf untouched. But now was different. After eating. After eight days of installing fixtures.
Lenia picked up the can. Pulled the tab. Chiiiik. Bubbles rose. Sweet, sharp fizz tickled her nose. She brought it to her lips. One sip. The liquid hit her tongue, carbonation slamming the roof of her mouth. Sweet, cold, fizzy, and—
Lenia's eyes narrowed faintly.
0.1 seconds. Eyelids contracted three millimeters, then relaxed. That was it. Too subtle for an expression, but for her, it was an earthquake.
And then.
"Sweet."
One word. Low, dry, emotionless. But she'd clearly said, "sweet."
The control room went quiet. 0.5 seconds.
"Huh?!"
Ayla froze mid-sip, eyes wide.
"What'd you just say?!"
Lenia didn't reply. She closed her mouth, set the can down. Back straight, gaze forward. As if that single word never happened.
But it had. Definitely.
"She said sweet!! Just now!! You heard it, boss?!"
Ayla shook me.
"Heard it."
I stabbed my chopsticks into the fried rice, nonchalant.
"Lenia. Eat your veggies."
Lenia's gaze dropped to the onions and peppers on her plate. She picked up her chopsticks, speared an onion. Put it in her mouth. Chewed. That was all.
Ayla gaped at me, then Lenia, back and forth. Looked like she had thirty things to say, but what came out was—
"...God, everyone in this bunker is totally nuts."
She grumbled and chugged her cola.
I shoveled a spoonful of fried rice, glancing at Lenia. The Coke can sat on the table, barely sipped. But her left hand—not the right holding chopsticks, her empty left—lay unconsciously a centimeter closer to the can.
I saw it but said nothing. That's Coke for you. The first sip is sweet. The second sip? You need it.
"Plates clear? Meeting time."
I pushed my dish aside and fired up the monitor. Ayla clutched her cola can and scooted next to me. Lenia, plate empty—inhaled it the moment she sat, as usual—perched ramrod straight across the table.
"Kasian issue's closed. Next order."
I opened the system shop. 80,000 SP. Leftover after fixture buys and eight days' ops. Nowhere near enough for a small reactor unlock, but plenty to shift the bunker from "livable" to "self-sustaining base."
But my eyes snagged on the catalog's end.
All grayed out. Untouchable icons. Surface infrastructure. Simple reason for the condition. Breakers, hoists, lifts—meant for surface ops. No underground bunker has inbound routes for materials, storage sheds, or space to cure concrete.
Unlock the gear, and what happens? Punch vertical shafts linking bunker to surface. Haul materials. Expand bunker perimeter with concrete. All scalable to a villa basement or warehouse. Looks like an empty villa from outside. Inside? Bunker expansion in full swing.
First thing you need in a post-apocalypse ruined city.
But surface infrastructure. Zone 17's a Class 1 disaster zone, sealed. To legally own surface buildings—
"Lenia, what'd you say on surface recon?"
"Zone 17 containment barrier doubled. Confirmed two grand mages added. Emperor's direct inspectors surveying surface near Zone 17."
Lenia helped with fixtures over eight days, but every other day climbed the vent to scout old town. Procure food, monitor containment. My orders.
"And—rumors spreading among locals. Demon king breaking its seal. Three shops near Zone 17 shuttered. Villas in noble district flooding the market."
Ayla frowned.
"Doubled... Kasian must've reported. Emperor's even more spooked."
Right. The fuse I sold amplified the emperor's fear, fear tightened the seal, inspectors stirred rumors, rumors tanked real estate. Thicker bunker shield? Good. But my eyes were elsewhere.
Flooding the market.
"Lenia. Noble villas, you said. Price checked?"
"Yes."
She gathers bonus intel unprompted. Perfect.
"Moonlight Hill district. Checked two realtors. Twelve retired noble villas dumped in a week. Zero buyers."
Ayla cut in.
"Moonlight Hill's got the Erzen villa too. Demon king rumors mean even listing at fire sale gets no takers?"
"Realtor said originals at 30 million gold now listed at 5 million. Still no bites."
30 million to 5 million. Over 80% crash. I glanced back at the monitor's gray construction gear.
Scoop crashed real estate dirt cheap. Villas near Zone 17, but outside. Beyond barrier. Legal trades possible. Buy panic-dumped noble villas via Iron Blood Relief Foundation's tax-free pipeline. On paper: "Relief outpost near disaster zone." Reality: Secure bunker surface infra.
Villas in hand? Gear unlocks. Surface workshop. Material routes open. Build logistics linking bunker and surface.
Post-ruin? Ruined villa district becomes sole bunker-surface hub.
No other time for this price. Fear crushing prices now, nobles dumping to cut losses—this moment only—
My lips curled.
"Ayla."
"...Boss, that smile always chills my spine."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
I reclined the camping chair back.
"Shopping trip."
"Again?!"
Ayla nearly spat her cola.
"House prices near Zone 17 bottomed out. Lenia confirmed nobles dumping villas cheap on demon rumors."
I tapped the monitor's gray excavator icon.
"Not the world's priciest shopping. The cheapest."
Ayla's silver eyes widened. Read the condition text, looked at me, back to monitor.
"Wait. You didn't... spread the demon king rumors, right?"
"Not me. Kasian did. I just sold the fuse. He fed it to the emperor, emperor doubles seal, inspectors poke around, rumors spread, market crashes."
I raised my empty coffee mug.
"I'm just reacting to the market."
Ayla's mouth dropped. Closed. Opened again.
"...You're insane. Totally insane."
Lenia withdrew her left hand from the can, head tilting faintly.
"Next mission?"
"Not yet."
I stood, leaving the monitor on. Schematics of gray construction gear—unreachable future—glowed faintly on screen.
Every disaster comes with discounts.
And I never miss a sale.