What Can 300 Million Gold Buy?
With three gold, what could you do? Wet your whistle with two bottles of cheap wine, or treat your ears to a single tune from a wandering bard.
With thirty gold? Buy a sturdy calf to grow into a loyal workhorse, or a slab of bacon to grease your evening table.
The road to 300 million gold is a long one. Let's look at 30,000 gold instead. That's the tuition for one year at the Imperial Capital Academy. Of course, tuition is just tuition—lab fees, tool costs, and material expenses are all extra, naturally.
What about 300,000 gold? That matches a provincial judge's annual salary. If you're clever, you might even commission a full plate armor from a capital artisan, complete with your personal crest engraved.
Sorry, 3 million, but let's jump to 30 million. Last year's Manrmursk domain revenue was about 25 million gold. Records show the Palatium's construction cost 3 million, so this is enough to build ten of them.
"Th-three... 300 million gold... sir?"
Hans Goldcoin, deputy manager of the Gold Mountain Manrmursk branch, felt his mind spin wildly. Three hundred million gold coins, each weighing about four grams... that's a staggering 120 tons. Even without cargo or coachmen, you'd need sixty wagons.
"Yes, 300 million gold. Of that, six million in platinum coins, twenty-four million by check. The remaining 270 million divided into twelve promissory notes, please."
To Hans, who had been counting the days to retirement, it was overwhelmingly stimulating. In stark contrast, Ilka Pavola savored his Moribwe Caracollo coffee with leisurely composure, his beard twitching idly.
'300 million? Did I hear that wrong? Not 30 million?'
Suhwa toyed with the cup before him, hiding cold sweat beneath his impassive face. The loan amount he'd requested from Ilka was 30 million gold.
With 100 gold a week, you could hire 3,000 mercenaries and mages—about 300,000 gold weekly, or 1.2 million monthly. Thirty million would fund mobile warfare for two years, even with emergencies. Plus, as raids on the Road Guard took their toll, expenses would naturally dwindle over time.
That's why he'd asked for 30 million.
'I thought it was more than enough!'
He couldn't fathom what the prisoner beside him, inhaling coffee aroma, was thinking. Surely not...
'Prep for an unauthorized breakout...?'
What if Ilka's long years in Utopia were all an act for this moment? What if he paid Suhwa six million as hush money and started a second life with 294 million gold—more than stars in the sky?
"I-I'm truly sorry, but could you wait a moment? This far exceeds my approval limit... I'll need to connect with headquarters via crystal communication."
"Of course. Ah, come to think of it, I recall going through a similar process with former branch manager Nikkelen last time."
Suhwa whispered quietly to Ilka, who wore a nostalgic, wistful expression.
"You said you'd shake the Empire with money, didn't you, Vice Warden?"
"Yes. That's right."
"I haven't personally audited the Empire's ledgers, but from my brief time facing them head-on, I can tell you this: thirty million won't shake the Empire—or even Manrmursk."
A faint crack appeared in Ilka's mask. In the eyes of the prime minister who had shed rivers of bloody tears to prop up a crumbling kingdom until they ran dry, gold now flowed.
"And about the promissory notes. I'm not lending you an extra 270 million right now."
"Meaning...?"
"It's my safety net for you, Vice Warden Suhwa. They'll disburse in stages as your path to my homeland's independence and revival draws nearer."
"What if I finish within the 30 million?"
"Hohoho... What an admirable thought. As expected of the Academy's top graduate—your ambitions are on another level."
Ilka smoothed his cloud-like beard and drained the last of his coffee.
'But, Vice Warden Suhwa, the moment you hear 300 million, 30 million will start feeling somehow... insufficient.'
Gold tempts humanity. No—humanity is drawn to gold. Among countless ores in nature, this golden rock gains value through social pact. One who has nine craves ten; one with ninety-nine struggles for a hundred.
Gold denies satisfaction.
'I was the same. I thought if I had gold too vast to count, I could win my country's independence.'
The young man seated beside Ilka now: Suhwa Romanov. Academy valedictorian whose name etched history, yet who volunteered for Utopia, abandoning it all. Approved by the perceptive Jepeto, he bested the mobile patrol captain and earned Cynthia's nod.
Yet he still harbored the naivety to shake the Empire with a mere 30 million.
'Can you keep your promise to me? Or...'
Gold, intolerant of contentment, demands blood—and spilled blood requires yet more gold to staunch.
'Will you crumble under the weight of coins, like all the others before?'
"Thank you for waiting! Crystal communication with headquarters is connected."
Ilka set down his nearly empty cup as the deputy's voice pierced his regrets and expectations. He turned toward the light spilling from the crystal.
A colossal mountain range cradled the site like a screen, accessible only by a narrow sea passage barely wide enough for one ship. At its heart, a small peak hollowed into the Golden Citadel.
Gold Mountain headquarters gleamed in splendor today as ever.
"An emergency board meeting's been called, has it?"
"Indeed. Cost me my ship. Tch..."
Even in Gold Mountain HQ, where the continent's banking elite gathered, only top directors donned deep purple robes—soft as a lady's skin, embroidered lavishly in gold thread.
"My sources say the crystal call requesting it came from the Manrmursk branch."
"Manrmursk? Wasn't that where the border lord just changed?"
"Yes. There was some noise in the process."
Ding! The clear chime of a magic stone elevator—rivaling those in the Imperial Palace or Mage Tower—signaled arrival at the top floor. Every mason on the continent had been conscripted to carve the mountain itself, leaving stalactites on the grand conference ceiling, stalagmites on the floor, and limestone pillars where they met.
"With the arrival of these last two, all directors within the mountain are accounted for."
The massive crystal orb at the table's center pulsed blue, as if thrilled by the rare contact.
"This crystal communication was requested by Hans Goldcoin, deputy manager of the Gold Mountain Manrmursk branch. In summary: a 300 million gold withdrawal via unlimited check."
"What...?"
"Unlimited check!?"
"Didn't we recall all of those?"
Turmoil rippled among the directors, who wielded the continent's gold like playthings. Not from the 300 million sum, but the words "unlimited check."
"The unlimited check's issuer is Gold Mountain, payable at any branch, issued to Ilka Pavola."
"...!"
"That man was still alive?"
"Heh... A ghost story worthy of dirges."
The astronomical sum stirred no awe in them—the ones holding the most gold, perhaps the most detached from it. As the clamor subsided, the chair continued.
"We now connect the crystal communication and convene the Gold Mountain headquarters emergency board meeting."
A bell-like tone emanated as the crystal orb spat white mist. Hans lightly touched it, transforming the band into a disc that soon projected a clear hologram.
The hazy image, like lime in water, sharpened. At a vast cavern table sat figures in purple robes, seats sparsely filled—not all present.