Chapter : 1279

And then, with a deep, theatrical sigh of profound, and utterly fabricated, regret, he would speak of the price. The ten thousand gold coins. A sum so astronomical, so utterly, comically outrageous, that it was an insult.

And it was a work of pure, unadulterated genius.

The price was not a deterrent; it was a filter. It was a barrier that instantly transformed the Light-Catcher from a mere luxury item into a thing of almost mythical status. It was a price that said, This is not for you. This is not for the merely wealthy. This is for the gods. This is for kings.

And in a world that was built on a fragile, intricate, and deeply, profoundly insecure pyramid of social status, there was no more powerful, and no more seductive, message.

The first sale was made to the Duchess of Thorne, the woman who had been the subject of his first, miraculous image. She paid the ten thousand gold without a flicker of hesitation, her transaction a public, and very loud, declaration of her own, superior status.

The second sale was to the Muramasan delegation, a gift from King Yuto to his daughter, the Sun Princess.

And the third… the third was the most interesting of all.

King Liam Bethelham summoned Lloyd to a private, and very informal, meeting in his personal workshop, a messy, chaotic, and wonderful room filled with half-finished clocks, intricate mechanical toys, and the smell of sawdust and machine oil.

The King was in his shirtsleeves, a pair of strange, glass-lensed goggles pushed up on his forehead, a small, intricate-looking screwdriver in his hand. He was not a king; he was a fellow tinkerer, a brother in the quiet, holy church of the machine.

“It’s the power source,” the King said, without any preamble, as he gestured to the open, and very complex, back of one of Lloyd’s Light-Catcher boxes. “I’ve spent the last two days trying to deconstruct it. The mechanics of the lens and the shutter are simple, elegant, a work of genius. The alchemical process of the paper is… well, it’s a form of witchcraft that I will never understand. But the flash… the contained, instantaneous, and perfectly focused burst of light. It requires a power source of a magnitude and a stability that should be impossible to fit into a box this small. How in the seven hells did you do it?”

Lloyd simply smiled. “Trade secret, Your Majesty.”

The King let out a bark of frustrated, and deeply appreciative, laughter. He put down his screwdriver. “Very well, you brilliant, infuriating young man. You have won. I cannot steal your secret. So, I will have to buy it.”

He then made Lloyd an offer that was not just a purchase, but a partnership. He would not just buy one Light-Catcher. He would buy twenty. One for every member of the royal family. And he would pay the full, astronomical price. Two hundred thousand gold coins. A sum that could fund a small war.

But in return, he wanted more than just the boxes. He wanted the man.

He offered to make Lloyd the first-ever Royal Minister of Innovation, a new cabinet position created just for him. He would be given a limitless budget, a staff of the kingdom’s finest minds, and a single, simple mandate: to create. To invent. To drag their beautiful, ancient, and hopelessly antiquated kingdom, kicking and screaming, into a new, and much brighter, and much more profitable, future.

It was a staggering offer. A chance to change the world, not from the shadows, but from a seat at the very heart of its power.

And Lloyd, the man who had just wanted a quiet, simple, and very profitable life, was now being offered a kingdom of his own. A kingdom of gears and levers, of science and logic. A kingdom of the mind.

The King’s offer was a crossroads, a moment of profound, and very dangerous, choice. He could accept. He could step into the light, become a public figure, a minister of the Crown, and dedicate his life, his two lifetimes of knowledge, to the service of the kingdom. It was a noble path. A good path.

It was also a trap.

A beautiful, gilded, and utterly inescapable trap.

To become a minister would be to become a known quantity. A public asset. A man with a title, a residence, and a predictable, daily schedule. It would be to surrender his greatest weapon: his anonymity. His freedom to move through the world as a ghost.

Chapter : 1280

The war was not over. Beelzebub was still out there. The Seventh Circle was still plotting in the shadows. And Rosa… the ghost of Rosa, and the terrible, unanswered questions she represented, was still a wound that had not yet healed.

He could not be a king of the light while he was still fighting a war in the darkness.

He needed to refuse. But to refuse the King’s personal, and very generous, offer would be a political suicide, an insult that would shatter the fragile, new alliance he had just forged with the Crown.

He was trapped. A checkmate of his own, brilliant making.

He looked at the King, at the brilliant, patient, and terrifyingly perceptive man who was watching him with a look of quiet, knowing amusement. The King knew. He knew the game. He had laid the trap, and he was waiting to see how the clever, Northern lion would try to escape it.

And so, Lloyd did the only thing he could do. He changed the game.

He gave the King a slow, respectful, and deeply, profoundly, and almost comically, sad smile.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice a masterpiece of humble, and utterly fabricated, regret. "You do me an honor that I am not worthy to accept."

The King’s eyebrows arched in a look of polite, and very interested, surprise.

"I am a merchant, Your Majesty," Lloyd continued, his voice taking on a note of simple, honest, and utterly disarming sincerity. "A tinkerer. A man of numbers and gears. I am not a courtier. I am not a politician. I would be a disaster. A bull in a china shop. I would offend the right people, I would praise the wrong ones, and I would, within a week, probably, and completely accidentally, cause a diplomatic incident that would lead to a very messy, and very expensive, war."

He sighed, a sound of profound, and very well-rehearsed, self-awareness. "My talents, such as they are, are best suited to the quiet, dusty world of the workshop, not the bright, glittering, and very dangerous world of the court. I would be honored to serve you, Your Majesty. But I can serve you best not as a minister, but as a humble, and very loyal, supplier of… innovative solutions."

It was a masterful performance. A beautiful, self-deprecating, and utterly convincing refusal that was wrapped in the language of loyalty and service.

The King simply stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then, he threw his head back and roared with genuine, unrestrained, and deeply, profoundly appreciative, laughter.

"You magnificent, slippery, and utterly shameless young devil," the King bellowed, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "That was the single, most elegant, and most beautifully constructed ‘no’ I have ever had the pleasure of receiving in my entire, long, and very frustrating reign."

He had not just seen through Lloyd’s performance; he had appreciated it as a fellow artist.

"Very well, Lord Ferrum," the King said, his laughter subsiding into a warm, and very genuine, smile. "You have made your point. You will not be a minister. You will remain my humble, and now absurdly, ridiculously wealthy, ‘supplier’."

He picked up a small, exquisitely crafted, and very expensive-looking clock from his workbench. "But the offer of a partnership remains," he said, his voice now a low, and very serious, thing. "The kingdom will still need your mind. And I will still need my dagger in the dark."

He handed the clock to Lloyd. It was a gift. An acceptance of his terms. A symbol of their new, and now much more interesting, and infinitely more complex, secret alliance.

"Just try," the King added, a final, mischievous twinkle in his eye, "not to bankrupt my entire nobility before the war even starts. It would be terribly inconvenient to have to fight it on credit."

Lloyd simply smiled, a quiet, respectful, and utterly, absolutely, and finally, victorious smile. He had not just escaped the trap; he had been paid, handsomely, for the privilege of not walking into it.

He was not a minister. He was not a courtier. He was a merchant king. And he was, for the first time, truly, and absolutely, free to wage his own, secret war, on his own, very profitable, terms.