Chapter : 619

She drew another line, this one connecting several large towns. “Next, the guilds. The Bakers’ Guild, the Butchers’ Guild, the Tanners’ Guild. All of them require salt. We will offer them the same deal: a better product, a stable price, and the implicit political backing of House Ferrum. They will flock to us.”

Tisha saw a potential problem. “What of the common people? The miners who will lose their livelihoods?”

Lloyd answered before Mei Jing could. “A valid concern. We will offer them employment. The transport of our salt from the coast to the inland cities will require a massive logistical network of carters, guards, and warehouse workers. We will absorb the displaced workforce. We will offer them better, safer jobs. Tisha, you will oversee this transition. We are not destroying lives; we are improving them.”

Tisha relaxed, her faith in his vision restored. It was ruthless, but it was not cruel.

Mei Jing smiled, a shark’s smile. “By the time the Salt Guild even realizes it is under attack, we will have stolen all of their foundational pillars. Their profits will plummet. Their political influence will wane. They will be a giant with its legs cut off. That,” she declared, her eyes blazing, “is when Phase Two begins. And that is when we go for the throat.”

The room was silent, the sheer, beautiful ruthlessness of the plan hanging in the air. This was empire-building, raw and unveiled. Lloyd felt a surge of pride in his team. He had assembled a group of killers, each a master of their own discipline. And together, they were about to bring an entire industry to its knees and build a new one in its place, all for the singular purpose of funding his secret, desperate war for survival.

Mei Jing’s chalk moved across the slate like a fencer’s blade, each line a decisive, calculated strike. Her voice was a low, conspiratorial murmur, drawing her audience deeper into the elegant architecture of her strategy.

“Phase Two: Consolidation and Control,” she announced, underlining the words with a sharp flick of her wrist. “After six months, the Salt Guild will be hemorrhaging gold. Their institutional contracts will be gone. Their political allies, seeing their influence wane, will begin to distance themselves. They will be isolated and wounded. This is when we escalate.”

She began to sketch a flowchart, a brutal map of economic attrition. “We will finally enter the public market. We will not just undercut their price; we will shatter it. Our production cost is so low we can sell Ferrum Crystal for half of what they charge for their impure rock salt and still maintain a magnificent profit margin. The public, already hearing tales of our superior product from Tisha’s benevolent narrative, will abandon the Guild in droves. Their remaining income streams will dry up within weeks.”

Borin, who had been listening with a fascinated horror, interjected. “But surely they will fight back! A price war! They will lower their prices to match ours, even if it means taking a loss!”

“Of course they will,” Mei Jing said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And they will bleed to death doing it. Their entire infrastructure—the mines, the legions of miners, the long-haul transport—is colossally expensive. Our infrastructure is a series of shallow ponds and the sun. They cannot sustain losses. We can. Every day they engage in a price war with us, they are digging their own graves with golden shovels. We will let them.”

Lyra, ever the pragmatist, raised a finger. “This will create enemies. Powerful, desperate enemies. The families of the Salt Guild are old blood. They will not simply fade away. They will turn to political intrigue, sabotage, perhaps even violence.”

“An excellent point,” Lloyd acknowledged, stepping forward. “And we will be prepared for it. Ken Park and his network will monitor them constantly. Any hint of sabotage will be met with the full, crushing weight of Ducal law. But more importantly, we will offer them an alternative to ruin.”

Mei Jing’s eyes gleamed as she caught his intent. “A hostile takeover, framed as a lifeline.”

“Precisely,” Lloyd confirmed. “As their businesses crumble, we will approach the individual families of the Guild. We will offer to buy their mining rights, their transport fleets, their warehouses—not for their true value, but for a price that saves them from total bankruptcy. We will offer them a way out, a chance to salvage some of their pride and their fortune. Most will accept. Those who refuse will be left to wither on the vine.”

The sheer, cold-blooded brilliance of it was breathtaking. They weren’t just going to defeat their rivals; they were going to absorb them, picking over the corpse of their monopoly and integrating its useful assets into their own, vastly more efficient machine.

Chapter : 620

“And that leads us,” Mei Jing said, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper as she drew a final, bold box at the bottom of her chart, “to Phase Three: The Monopoly.”

“Once we control the majority of the production and distribution infrastructure, the Salt Guild as an entity will cease to exist. House Ferrum will become the sole, undisputed purveyor of salt in the duchy. From there, we expand. We use the political and economic leverage we have gained to forge trade agreements with neighboring duchies. We will offer them our superior product at a price their local industries cannot compete with. We will become the primary salt supplier for the entire southern region, and perhaps, in time, the entire kingdom.”

She put down the chalk, a fine white dust coating her fingers. She turned to face them, her expression one of triumphant, unadulterated avarice. “In three years, every soldier’s meal, every loaf of bread, every cured hide, every noble’s feast in this kingdom will be seasoned with our salt. The flow of commerce will be tied to us. The health of the kingdom’s economy will depend on us. AURA made House Ferrum wealthy. Project Brine,” she declared, her voice ringing with absolute certainty, “will make House Ferrum essential. It will make us a pillar of the state, as fundamental and as unshakeable as the royal throne itself.”

The silence that followed was thick with the weight of her words. Tisha looked both terrified and exhilarated. The alchemists were simply trying to process the scale of it all, their minds, used to dealing with flasks and beakers, now grappling with the concept of cornering a national market.

Lloyd looked at Mei Jing, a deep and genuine respect in his eyes. He had unleashed a monster, a brilliant, beautiful monster of commerce, and she had just handed him the keys to the kingdom on a silver platter.

He stepped forward and placed a hand on the map, over the depiction of the brine fields. “This is the plan,” he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. “This is our path forward. I know the scale of it is… ambitious. But our cause requires it. The security and prosperity of House Ferrum, and my own personal goals, depend on the resources this venture will generate.”

He looked at each of them in turn, the Major General assessing his troops before a decisive battle. “This will be difficult. It will be dangerous. It will make us powerful enemies. But we will succeed. Because our method is superior, our product is superior, and our will is absolute. Are there any questions?”

There were none. The vision was too clear, the strategy too flawless. They were no longer just a team running a soap factory. They were the architects of an economic conquest, the board of directors for a revolution. And as Lloyd looked at the determined faces of his allies, he knew that the quiet, world-changing work had already begun. The first grains of salt in their new empire were already crystallizing.

The Arch Duke’s study was a sanctuary of silence and power. The air was cool and still, smelling faintly of old leather, beeswax, and the cold, metallic tang of authority. Outside, the world bustled and schemed, but here, within these stone walls lined with ancient texts and maps of forgotten wars, Arch Duke Roy Ferrum presided over his domain with the quiet, coiled intensity of a slumbering dragon.

He sat behind his massive oak desk, his face an unreadable mask of stoicism. Before him lay a series of reports, each bound in simple leather, each detailing the explosive growth of his son’s ventures. The ledgers from the AURA manufactory showed profits that were, frankly, obscene. The reports from the ducal quartermaster detailed the new supply contracts that had been solidified, wresting control of military provisions away from long-standing partners. And the most recent report, the one that truly held his attention, was a preliminary feasibility study on something called ‘Project Brine.’

A soft knock on the heavy door announced the arrival he had been expecting. “Enter,” Roy commanded, his voice a low rumble.

Master Elmsworth scurried into the room, his usual academic composure replaced by the breathless, wide-eyed fervor of a new convert. He clutched a thick sheaf of papers to his chest as if they were holy scriptures. He bowed low, so low his forehead nearly brushed the plush carpet.

“Arch Duke,” he gasped, his voice trembling with an excitement that bordered on hysteria. “You summoned me.”