The Collapse of the Golden Castle
In the heart of Oraria rose a colossal dome-shaped edifice—the headquarters of Armand's Trading Company.
Normally, the air here would have been alive with the clamor of merchants and nobles from every corner of the Empire, their gold coins clinking together in a symphony of wealth. But now, the atmosphere was frozen with an eerie chill, as if trapped beneath an eternal winter's ice, suffocatingly cold and unnatural.
Beneath the flickering glow of the golden chandeliers, Armand's voice struck the premium mahogany desk with a harsh, distorted edge.
"What nonsense! The Empire's central bank has frozen all our company's promissory notes! Do you think that's possible?!"
Dark circles had sunk deep beneath Armand's eyes, as if he had not slept for days. His hands gripped the desk, fingers trembling faintly despite the glittering rubies and sapphires that adorned every knuckle.
Last night, to snatch Roza—the scarred beauty who had once belonged to the Genoa Duke—and the Duke's devoted slave Ella, Armand had unleashed every resource at his disposal. He had sent the Empire's premier underworld assassination guild, the Black Scorpion, its elite forces.
He had believed failure was impossible. After all, these were killers who would stake their very lives for money.
But at dawn today, not a single assassin had returned on his own two feet. No, precisely speaking, only one living piece of meat had been tossed into the courtyard of Armand's estate like garbage. The commander of the assassin unit had been reduced to a mangled corpse, his limbs severed by saws, his tongue ripped out, foaming at the mouth.
On his forehead was branded the Wolf Imbued with Blood seal of the Genoa Ducal House—bright red and unmistakable. It was no mere warning. It was a death sentence.
And before the morning sun had even fully risen, the Genoa Duke's true counterattack had begun. It was not the simple bladework of knights that Armand had expected.
Crash—!
The massive doors of the study burst open with a deafening splinter, and a breathless messenger tumbled inside, his face ashen.
"M-Master! It's an emergency! All land routes and canals leading north have been perfectly sealed by the Genoa Duke's Black Iron Knights! Without a pass stamped with the Duke's seal, not even an ant can escape Oraria!"
"What?! A mere duke is blocking the Empire's direct territory—the neutral city of Oraria without permission?! Contact the capital's guard immediately!"
"T-That... The capital's guard has also been disarmed and detained by the Duke's soldiers. What's more... All the major noble families of the Empire have sent letters declaring they will sever all transactions with our Armand Trading Company!"
The messenger collapsed onto the floor, gasping out his desperate report.
"His Highness the Duke... Sent a letter this morning. 'Anyone who trades even one gold coin with the Armand Trading Company is an enemy of the Genoa family and a traitor, and I will exterminate their bloodline.' Even the bank guild master has completely cut off our company's financial lifeline to save his own skin!"
Armand staggered backward with a thud, sending expensive crystal ornaments crashing to the floor in a shower of shards.
Ten million gold? The Empire's greatest trading hub? All those grand figures and ledgers were nothing but scraps of toilet paper before overwhelming force and pitiless iron-blooded power.
He had believed money could buy the world. With money, he could flatten the noses of nobles and bend the laws of the world to his will. But reality had been cruel. Touching the heart of the real monster—the Genoa Duke—had cost him everything.
The golden castle he had built his entire life was collapsing like a sandcastle in the span of half a day at the Duke's cold gesture.
'Roza... my Roza...'
In the abyss of despair, what filled Armand's mind was not the lost money. It was the face of his first love, twisted and scarred, from the night of the auction where she had stood dazed, pulled by the Duke's carriage.
The powerless rage of his impoverished youth had driven him mad with obsession over money. He had believed that with money he could reclaim her, compensate for the hell he had failed to protect her from, and control the entire world.
But even squeezing every last drop from what he had left could not scratch the leather of the Genoa Duke's shoes. The bitter helplessness had gnawed away at Armand's sanity.
"This... arrogant, insane monster..."
Armand's eyes were bloodshot, veins bursting. Rational calculation and merchant prudence were over. The rational fuse in his head had snapped completely. With the company ruined and funds cut off, the only option left was to throw away his own life and cut down the monster to steal Roza back.
Armand yanked a sharp sword from the wall decoration.
"M-Master! Where are you going?! If you charge in blindly, you'll lose your head!"
Armand ignored his retainers' shouts and charges, spitting fury as he kicked open the trading company's doors. His destination was the finest estate in Oraria—the Golden Crown, where Cayen and Ella were staying.
The rear garden of the Golden Crown, Oraria's most luxurious estate.
Despite the horrific slaughter from last night and the company's collapse outside the estate, the greenhouse air in the garden was perfectly calm. Warm afternoon sunlight filtered through the transparent glass ceiling and poured down lazily.
Cayen lounged comfortably against a red velvet sofa, savoring the aroma of tea. On the premium Persian rug at his feet, Ella, wearing only a thin, soft silk slip, crouched and rubbed her cheek against the man's knee.
The most perfect and bewitching beast in the world, clutching its own leash and craving its master's touch.
Cayen's long fingers slowly stroked Ella's raven-black hair. Ella let out a soft, cat-like whimper and clung to Cayen's firm thigh. It was their private sanctuary—peaceful yet lethally sensual.
But that tranquility would not last long.
BOOM—!
The heavy iron door of the garden was violently torn off its hinges with a thunderous crash. Shards of metal flew, dust billowed, and a man with bloodshot eyes staggered in, gripping a sword.
"Cayen Genoa—AAAAH—!"
It was Armand. The once-mighty tycoon who had dominated Oraria and bent even the imperial capital's nose with money now looked more pitiful than a mad dog thrashing in the streets. His hair was matted with sweat and dust, his once-lavish uniform wrinkled and torn.
He took two steps forward, swinging his sword toward Cayen.
Thud—!
Crash—!
"KRRK—!"
Cayen's personal knights appeared like ghosts, kicking Armand's back and slamming his knees from behind. With a sickening crack of bones, Armand crashed onto the marble floor. His arms were twisted behind his back, and the knights' cold blades pressed against his nape.
"Noisy uninvited guests."
Cayen slowly set his teacup on the table, looking down at the crushed Armand with a cold, arrogant gaze.
"The price for trying to steal what is mine was already paid in full this morning's bankruptcy. The ten million gold you boasted about has already left the Empire's central bank vault and is being transported to my estate. Why are you still crawling in here, not even sparing your own life?"
Armand panted like a beast beneath the knights' weight. His eyes burned with vicious hatred toward Cayen, but beneath that was a deeper, more desperate despair—that nothing could be done before this man's power.
"Give me back... Roza, you demon! You already have everything, so why are you keeping that broken girl locked up and humiliating her...!"
"Why should I?"
Armand's breath hitched at Cayen's cool question. Cayen's gaze held no emotion, no trace of pity. Only thorough control and rationality gleamed in his eyes.
"Because she's the woman you love? Because her tragic past moves you? Armand, you've made a grave mistake. To me, that woman is nothing more than a pitiful 'pet' my bride is raising."
Cayen looked down at Ella, who was crouched with her cheek against his knee, and offered a faint smile. Ella showed no fear even in the face of the one-sided violence unfolding before her eyes.
Instead, the fact that even this grand duke was nothing but dirt beneath his man's feet filled Ella's twisted possessiveness and sense of security perfectly. She pressed her lips to Cayen's palm, lovingly imprinting the cruel violence there.
"AAAAH! I'll kill you! I'll tear out your throat...!"
Armand thrashed in madness, but he could not escape the knights' iron grip. Finally, Cayen rose slowly from his seat and walked toward Armand. His overwhelming presence and killing intent crushed down on Armand's head like a mountain.
"You may have bought Oraria with money, but there are things in this world that money can never touch—ranks."
Cayen's black leather shoe mercilessly crushed Armand's hand on the floor.
Crack—!
"KRRAAAAH—!"
Armand's scream tore through the garden at the horrific pain of his bones shattering. But Cayen didn't even blink, drawing a silver silver pistol from his waist and pressing it to Armand's forehead.
The cold barrel touched Armand's sweat-slick skin, and his struggles ceased for a moment. A chill of deathly fear surged up his spine.
"I said I would empty everything out of you. What remains is nothing but your pathetic pride and one last breath of life."
Cayen's fingers twitched slightly, as if ready to pull the trigger.
"If you want to save my bride's pet... then tell me. What should I do?"
Cayen's low, mocking whisper was a devastating notification that shredded away the last remnants of Armand's dignity. The arrogant merchant who had believed he could solve everything with money finally bit his trembling, bloodied lips and slowly bowed his forehead toward the Genoa Duke's bloodied shoe.
A man's desperate surrender, head pressed to the floor, tears streaming down his face.
Ella watched the moment with a gaze of indescribable ecstasy—the moment when the god who had held her now brought the entire world to its knees. The once-lavish gold of Oraria was fading away in a perfect, bloody sunset.