The Essence Empire and the Happy Baker
Several months had passed since Amon the Chosen One returned from investigating the White Dawn Dungeon. During that time, White Dawn had been acquired by Recetio Corporation. Other companies only learned the dungeon's secret later and beat their chests in regret, but by then, it was permanently under Recetio's ownership. No one had suspected a thing until the very day of the acquisition—a testament to how flawlessly Kashi had orchestrated everything. Beaming with pride at her perfect victory, she puffed out her chest.
"I pulled so many all-nighters for this."
To prevent any leaks, she'd run the company like a prison. Beyond that, she'd greased palms in government offices, tightly controlled the media, and even staged distractions elsewhere to keep stock charts from reflecting any intent. As a result, the other corporations hadn't noticed a thing and lost White Dawn without a fight.
"Amon. You have no idea what you've brought us, do you?"
Amon nodded. A dungeon that probabilistically dropped essences? Yeah, that was insanely powerful. But White Dawn was mega-corp tier even as a dungeon. Acquiring the dungeon itself didn't fall under the Dungeon Special Act, which only applied to scavenging items from inside for free. Owning the dungeon outright meant claiming all future rights to it, so even if it was just the hollow shell left after something like 3Dollar Group extracted the elixir, the acquisition price was sky-high. Recetio had to burn through years of reserves and even leverage stocks to pull it off.
Amon and Sonia couldn't quite grasp just how overpowered that made it.
"You guys were in real danger once, right?"
Amon pointed that out. During the acquisition, Recetio had teetered on the brink. One solid external attack, and they would've crumbled without resistance. Mobilizing 50% of their full strength was that risky a gamble. Even now, after succeeding, they hadn't fully recovered their weight class and were still on a knife's edge.
Amon and Sonia couldn't understand why she'd risk such tightrope walking. But Kashi saw it differently.
"First off, correct this misconception: it wasn't gambling. I considered everything."
They'd gone all-in because her precognition assured no fatal raids in the interim. It wobbled, sure, but it wouldn't fall. To outsiders, it looked like a beast's reckless heart, but to her, it was rational judgment.
"And second, we'll recoup all the costs in a year. Hell, once we're fully recovered, we'll be untouchable compared to before."
She explained the value of essences to the still-tilting Amon and Sonia. Essences handled concepts themselves. Amon's Sky Step applied to any act of stepping in midair. Prices varied by application, but they were useful everywhere.
"Remember when I tried to get you an essence for your gear, but there weren't any on the market?"
When Amon was gearing up, Kashi had wanted to custom-fit an essence too. But his desired one wasn't available. Supply couldn't keep up with overwhelming demand.
"That's why essence suppliers have popped up, but they still can't meet demand."
Some companies acquired high-drop-rate dungeons and churned out essences factory-style with endless employee rotations. But even they couldn't satisfy the market. Essence trading was a total blue ocean.
"Imagine a business stably supplying legendary essences in that market."
Game-changer didn't even cover it. Thinking they'd just charge whatever they wanted was one-dimensional. With legendary essences, Recetio would dictate prices across the board, forcing other suppliers to follow. If some essence firm crossed Recetio? Flood the market with identical essences at legendary quality, and they'd go bankrupt overnight.
And that was just the start—endless possibilities branched out. In short, Recetio now owned the essence market outright.
"Ooh."
Now Amon and Sonia got it. Monopolizing a market was massive. It was absolute power.
"Thanks. You filled the last gap our company needed."
Recetio boasted overwhelming capital from precog-guided investments. But surprisingly, they often lost power struggles among megacorps—irreplaceable unique powers couldn't be bought off. They scraped by with precog-fueled intrigue, politics, and survival tactics, but that only aligned their shoulders so many times. Covering shortfalls that way scraped pride raw and exhausted everyone, from rank-and-file to the chairman herself.
"Bigger weight class means fewer provocations from the start, easier handling when they come, less mental drain elsewhere, higher efficiency..."
The benefits went on all day. Why wouldn't the chairman adore Amon?
"D-Dad... I mean, Amon, thanks to you, we won't have those tiring megacorp mind games anymore. He was thrilled."
Kashi barely swallowed "son-in-law." It was premature, and the chairman hadn't praised Amon so genteelly anyway.
"Our son-in-law is the best!!"
Recalling her father popping champagne the moment he heard, Kashi passed on his gratitude.
"He said ask for anything. He'll grant it."
Amon looked awkward at the blank check. Between the 3Dollar Group contract and Recetio's payout, he was rotting in cash. They'd moved to a ritzy neighborhood, built a mansion rivaling Kashi's family home. Meals could now feature real meat on demand. Gear was top-end; all that remained was personal training. What more could he want...?
"Ah."
"Thought of something?"
Amon asked Kashi cautiously.
"Ever thought about running an orphanage?"
*
A few more months passed. At Amon's suggestion, Rose Bud Orphanage was established. It mirrored the Perfumrose Orphanage he'd grown up in: a 10-story building doubling as a welfare center by day, packed with facilities. With Perfumrose as precedent, operations would be smooth. Just needed a solid director.
And Amon had one in mind.
"Amon. You see me as some unemployed bum? I've got plenty of exorcist work, you know?"
It had been ages since he'd seen the Squinty Priest. Sonia met him often as uni adjunct prof to student, but Amon hadn't heard his voice in over a year. Then out of nowhere: "Run the orphanage."
Who'd say yes to that? The priest's reaction was natural.
"Sigh... I'm such a pushover... Let's grab a meal sometime."
Grousing aside, he accepted the director role. With the new orphanage sorted, Amon returned to his main gig: mercenary work. It was less about survival now, more self-actualization and training. His merc credit rating hit platinum, earning him the nickname Crusader, but that was minor.
As requests piled up, a direct commission from Kashi arrived.
"Perfect timing. Nothing much on lately."
Amon accepted gladly. Brokerage jobs felt too easy now—something that'd horrify others, but he craved tougher, riskier missions. Kashi's fit perfectly.
"Prep thoroughly this time."
Unlike White Dawn, she stressed real tension. Amon rushed home to check gear.
"Subspace coat, twenty-eight daggers, five longswords, pistol, crossbow..."
As he meticulously inspected each piece, Sonia approached.
"Can't come this time..."
She rested her chin on his sitting head. Amon patted her whining one's.
From atop his head, Sonia mumbled,
"Come back before my internship starts. No delays."
"Promised, didn't I? I'll be there."
"Pinky swear."
She rolled her head onto his shoulder, turned sideways, and whispered firmly into his ear.
"Don't get hurt."
"Obviously."
Amon turned, bumping her lips to his cheek.
The next day, Amon headed to the airport for Kashi's commission. As his plane landed, his phone buzzed. Squinty Priest.
"Amon. Didn't we say grab a meal sometime?"
"Yeah."
"Amon? Hold up? You planning another year ghosting me? Hey, you bastard—!"
Amon hung up. He boarded the waiting vehicle with light steps.
Destination: Lloyd & Life, android specialists.
*
En route from the airport, Amon recalled Kashi's briefing.
"Lloyd & Life is one of the megacorps we invest in."
Easy to forget, but Recetio was fundamentally an investment firm. Shorting to crush foes was fun, but investments were core. Backing megacorps wasn't odd.
The issue was the request.
"Surface mission: Go as our corp rep, verify investment funds are well-managed."
Amon blinked. He was a sword-slinger, not a suit. No clue how company money worked.
Kashi knew that.
"That's just cover. Real mission's separate."
She pulled a slim box from her drawer, divided into three compartments, each with a cigarette-rolled paper.
"Instructions here. Open left on arrival, middle post-resolution, right before leaving."
Special paper self-ashes after one minute; open only at specified times, she emphasized.
Amon frowned.
"Why the hassle?"
She explained her precog limits.
"My power peeks threads of fate tied to people. I see their actions toward me, but not everything about them."
Weaving connections let her infer futures indirectly, but limits remained. Like sending Amon to the dungeon: she knew he'd accept, succeed, report—but not the report's exact contents. Conversations approximated, but weren't as sure as seeing.
That was her ceiling. She couldn't fully prophesy Amon's path, just shard it like this. Another reason: "Precog only realizes if someone acts."
No action, no future—even knowing didn't negate sending investigators.
Amon got it, pocketed the box.
...
Back to now, Amon pulled the box. Just before the company, he unrolled the leftmost paper.
Act as you see fit, follow your heart. You are always right.
He reread it several times; suddenly, it crumbled to ash and vanished. As he brushed it off, the car arrived.
"We're here, sir."
The driver spoke. Employees swarmed, opening his door in welcome. Assigned a guide, Amon toured, hearing investment pitches.
"This is our new Heriter 3.0. Unlike old models mimicking just behavioral patterns for bereaved chats, it factors in search history and environment for more natural responses."
"Mm-hmm."
Amon nodded blankly, clueless. On investment queries: "We'll discuss at HQ."
His mind swirled with Kashi's words. 'I'm always right?' He wasn't even sure nodding.
Just trusting her. The tour neared end, utterly mundane.
'This the mission?'
Too peaceful—raising his hackles.
Then, sirens blared.
Entity escape in Sector 3! Isolating affected area.
Amon demanded explanation from his startled guide. As an investor, he had rights; she described the escapee.
"Entity name: Baker of Happiness. Bakes human-shaped cookies."
Per her, it baked specific employee-shaped pastries based on mood. Oven-fresh replicas were indistinguishable from originals externally—looks, personality, speech perfect. Bodies and magic differed, but they passed as human. Useful for experiments, behavior analysis, entity sacrifices.
"Many of our products built big data from those cookies' actions."
Problems arose meeting originals: three traits. First, cookie tries killing original—strong enough for researchers, not elites. Second, success grants original's physique/magic. Third, cookies aid each other replacing originals.
Combined: weak researchers swapped first, then guards, then security teams. Escape protocol: seal the whole sector, vet survivors cookie-by-cookie.
Guide finished: "We're in Sector 5—safe. Might get risky; recommend evacuating."
Amon nodded, following to exit. But near the door, he halted, staring.
"So... that's what she meant."
Guide eyed his sudden stop. "Problem...?"
Slash.
Amon's sword severed her neck. Head flew; red sprayed late from the stump.
"Kyaaak!"
A watching employee screamed. Guards drew weapons in panic. But as "blood" pooled...
Not blood. Strawberry jam.
The nearest guard realized first. Amon addressed him:
"So sealing just Sector 3's enough?"
Guard paled, radioed. Soon, the whole building locked down.