CHAPTER 216: THE SILVER SPIRE

Chapter 212: The Silver Spire

The Silver-Spire was not subtle.

It was a monolith of glass and polished steel that shot up from the center of Rolune’s Financial District like a spear challenging the gods.

It dwarfed the surrounding brick-and-mortar guild halls, a testament to new money and aggressive ambition. It was the kind of building that screamed power, wealth, and a complete lack of humility.

And apparently, I owned the top three floors.

The mana-taxi glided to a halt at the curb. I stepped out, the wind of the city tugging at my Academy uniform.

Pedestrians in expensive suits hurried past, ignoring the student standing on the pavement.

I looked up.

The logo—a stylized shield that I had doodled on a napkin back in Selorn—now glimmered in massive, holographic blue light above the entrance.

"Subtle, Victor," I muttered, adjusting my bag. "Very subtle."

I walked through the revolving glass doors. The lobby was a cathedral of marble and expensive abstract art that moved on its own canvas.

The air smelled of filtered mana and money. A receptionist sat behind a desk that likely cost more than my parent’s entire guild hall.

She looked up as I approached, her eyes scanning my student uniform with practiced dismissal.

"Deliveries are in the back, kid," she said, not even pausing her typing on a crystal slate.

"Students aren’t allowed past the security barrier unless they have an appointment or a parent."

I didn’t stop. I didn’t speak. I just kept walking toward the private elevator bank at the back, the one marked Executive Access Only.

"Hey! You can’t—Security!"

Two large golems, polished chrome and shaped like men in suits, stepped out from the wall alcoves, blocking my path.

Their eyes glowed red.

I didn’t flinch. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a thin, black card made of obsidian glass—the master key Victor had mailed to me weeks ago.

I placed my hand on the scanner panel next to the elevator.

BEEP.

[Identity Confirmed: Chairman Michael Wilson.]

[Mana Signature Verified.]

[Welcome back, sir.]

The golems immediately stepped back, bowing their metal heads. The elevator doors slid open smoothly.

I stepped inside and turned around just in time to see the receptionist’s jaw hit her desk. I offered her a small, polite nod as the doors closed.

The elevator shot upward, the city shrinking below me through the glass walls. The sensation of rising above the smog, above the noise, was intoxicating. This was the view from the top.

When the doors opened on the penthouse floor, chaos greeted me.

The office was a sprawling open-plan space filled with analysts, clerks, and magical projection screens showing stock tickers from three different kingdoms. It was a war room of finance. People were shouting, papers were floating through the air on lazy mana currents, and the hum of high-speed trading crystals filled the room like a hive of bees.

And in the center of it, pacing back and forth while shouting into a crystal comms-stone, was Victor Arkwright.

He looked exhausted. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, his tie was loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up. But his eyes... his eyes were manic with the thrill of the game. He looked like a man who had been running a marathon for three months straight and was winning.

"No! I said sell the grain futures! The harvest in the South is going to be bad, trust me! Sell now, buy back when the panic hits! Do I have to teach you how to breathe, too?!"

He slammed the comms-stone down onto a desk and turned, running a hand through his messy hair. Then he saw me.

For a second, he froze. The entire room seemed to pause as the CEO stopped moving.

Then, his face lit up with a grin that threatened to split his face.

"BOSS!"

He rushed over, dodging a floating pile of paperwork and a startled intern carrying a tray of coffee.

"You’re here! You’re actually here! And... wait." He stopped a foot away, squinting at me. He took a step back, his grin faltering slightly. "Is your mana denser? You feel... heavy. Like, standing-next-to-a-cliff heavy."

"Tower benefits," I said simply, walking past him toward the main office area. I dropped onto a leather sofa that was softer than my bed back in the dorms. "I cleared twenty floors. I picked up a few tricks. And a dragon."

"A dragon?" Victor blinked, then shook his head. "Never mind. I don’t want to know. Welcome to the nerve center! Aegis Holdings, Rolune Branch. Not bad, right? We have the best view in the city."

"It’s loud," I noted, gesturing to the chaotic office floor. "But impressive. You’ve been busy."

Victor beamed, pride radiating off him. "We’re managing assets across four cities now. The Gillton Potion stock? We cashed out at the peak, just like you said. We’re sitting on a war chest. The real estate investments in the outer districts are already up 15%. We are swimming in liquidity."

"Good," I said, my expression serious. "Because we’re going to need it. Status report on the Dawn Guild."

Victor’s smile vanished instantly. He straightened his tie, his demeanor shifting from manic friend to serious lieutenant. He sat in the chair opposite me, leaning forward.

"Chairman Denzo has been busy. With the funding we provided, he secured two local D-Rank dungeon contracts here in Rolune. It’s a good start. Recruitment is up. They have a solid team of rookies."

"But?" I prompted. I heard the friction in his voice.

"But we’re hitting resistance," Victor said, his voice dropping low. "Hard resistance."

"Who?"

"The ’Iron Syndicate’," Victor spat the name like it was poison. "They’re the local heavyweights in Rolune. Not a hunter guild, strictly speaking. A merchant consortium with a private army. They control the equipment market and the mid-tier auction houses. They don’t like new players, especially ones backed by foreign money."

I drummed my fingers on the armrest. "What are they doing? Hits? Sabotage?"

"Economic strangulation," Victor explained, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "They’re squeezing our supply lines. They’ve blacklisted the Dawn Guild from every major potion and repair shop in the city. They won’t sell us mana potions, repair kits, or arrows unless we pay a 200% ’outsider tax’. They are pressuring the local smiths to refuse our repair orders."

I narrowed my eyes. "A blockade."

"Exactly. Without supplies, the Dawn Guild can’t raid. If they can’t raid, they bleed money on upkeep without bringing in revenue. The Syndicate is trying to starve us out before we even get a foothold. Denzo is furious, but he can’t fight a merchant war with swords."

"Predictable," I muttered. "The local dogs don’t like new wolves entering their territory."

I stood up. "They control the supply, right? They buy from local hunters and sell back at a markup?"

"Yes. They have a monopoly on C-Rank materials in the city. They buy low from desperate freelancers and sell high to the guilds."

"Well," I said, a cold smile touching my lips. "Let’s see how they handle a supply shock."

I walked over to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room—Victor’s desk.

"Clear it," I ordered.

Victor blinked. "Boss, those are import manifests—"

"Clear it."

He didn’t argue. He swept his arm across the desk, sending papers flying.

I opened my inventory.

The air in the office suddenly grew heavy, the temperature dropping. The smell of ozone, ancient ice, and raw magic filled the room, overpowering the scent of coffee.

I dumped the loot.

It poured out like a waterfall. Piles of glistening C-Rank monster cores clattered onto the polished wood. Bundles of rare, glowing herbs from the Forest of Trials—[Spirit Moss], [Moon-Bloom], [Iron-Root]. Refined Mithril ores from the Golem floor. Shadow-silks. Elemental crystals.

And finally, weapons—dozens of blue-tier and purple-tier drops I’d farmed while my team was sleeping or while I was solo-clearing side rooms. Swords that hummed with enchantment, shields lighter than wood but harder than steel.

The pile grew until it covered the desk and spilled onto the floor.

Victor stared. His glasses slid down his nose. The entire office floor went silent as the analysts turned to look at the glowing mountain of wealth.

"Boss..." Victor whispered, reaching out to touch a C-Rank core that pulsed with pure energy. "Is this...?"

"Floor 1 to 20 loot," I said. "High grade. Untaxed. Unregistered. From the hidden rooms and the elite mobs."

I picked up a C-Rank core—a Fire Core from a Flame Drake variant—and tossed it in the air, catching it.

"The Syndicate controls the local supply. They buy from local hunters who struggle to clear D-Rank dungeons. But they don’t have access to the Tower drops yet. The Academy students just arrived yesterday. The market is dry."

I leaned forward, my eyes locking with Victor’s.

"We’re not going to buy from them, Victor. We’re going to become the suppliers."

Victor looked from the loot to me, his mind racing, calculating margins. "You want me to sell this to the shops?"

"No," I said sharply. "I want you to auction it. All of it. Create a shortage by holding it, then flood it all at once. Hype it up. ’Exclusive Tower Materials from the Top Rankers.’ ’The only source of high-grade cores in the city.’ Make the independent hunters, the other guilds, and even the Syndicate’s own clients beg to buy from us."

Victor’s face transformed. The exhaustion vanished, replaced by the look of a shark smelling blood in the water.

"A supply shock," he whispered, grinning. "If we flood the high-end market with this quality at a competitive price... their monopoly breaks. They’ll have to lower their prices or lose their customers. We force them into a price war they can’t win because our acquisition cost was zero."

"Exactly. And while they’re panicking, the Dawn Guild buys what it needs from us, at cost. We supply ourselves."

"It’s beautiful," Victor said, adjusting his glasses. "It’s aggressive. It’s... it’s war."

"It’s business," I corrected. "Set up the auction. I want it live by tomorrow night. Use the hype. Use my name if you have to—’The First Year Monarch’s Collection’ or whatever nonsense sells tickets."

"Done," Victor said, already pulling out his comms-stone. "I’ll rent the Grand Hall. I’ll get the flyers out within the hour."

"Oh, and one more thing," I said, pausing at the elevator.

Victor looked up. "Yeah?"

"I need a specific item. It’s illegal, dangerous, and probably sold in the deepest pit of the black market. You won’t find it in a shop."

Victor paused. "What is it?"

"A [Void Stone]."

Victor paled visibly. The blood drained from his face. "Boss... that’s... that’s contraband. That’s used for summoning forbidden entities. Or enhancing dark artifacts. The Church burns people for holding those. It’s S-Class restricted."

"It’s for a pet," I said nonchalantly.

In my pocket, inside the dimensional storage, Nox sensed his favorite snack being discussed and chirped happily in my mind. ...Void... yummy... hunger...

"Get me a lead on a Void Stone. And set up the auction. I have to get back to the dorms before curfew."

I walked into the elevator.

"Boss?" Victor called out one last time.

"Yeah?"

"The Syndicate... they’re not just merchants. They have hitmen. Real ones. Not like the Vipers back in Selorn. If we do this, if we break their market... they will come for us. Physically."

I touched the hilt of Draken under my coat. The dragon within stirred, eager.

"Let them come," I said, the doors sliding shut. "I need to test my new ring anyway."

(To be continued)