The glass-and-steel towers of New York cast long shadows across the realm as autumn winds swept through the canyons of Manhattan. Six moons had passed since Li Trum had knelt before Wang Wei Ke and sworn his silent oath of allegiance. Now, within the sanctum of his newly established keep—a modest office overlooking the southern edge of the financial kingdom—he presided over his small council of loyal advisors.
"The time has come to test our blade," Li Trum declared, his voice carrying the quiet authority of a battle commander. Before them, the viewing screen displayed the sigil and lineage of House Nova Tech, a minor house in the financial realm with a market value modest enough to escape the watchful eyes of greater lords, yet substantial enough to yield significant plunder.
Zhao Ming, now Master of Whispers for House Trum, leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "Their stock trades thinly. Few great houses have taken positions. The smallfolk investors show interest in their solar convergence technologies, yet know little of their true worth."
"Perfect," Li Trum's fingers traced the stock's erratic movement patterns displayed on the screen. "Begin the accumulation. Slowly. Quietly. Like shadows creeping across a battlefield. No single purchase large enough to draw attention."
For a fortnight, House Trum's coffers gradually filled with Nova Tech shares, acquired through a dozen different brokers and as many offshore accounts. The price rose imperceptibly, climbing from six-and-forty coppers to just above fifty—a movement so gradual it raised no alarms among the market watchers.
When their position was secured, Li Trum summoned Chen Yang, a former court scribe from House Goldman who now crafted messages for "Voice of the Financial Master," the digital scroll through which Li Trum now spoke to tens of thousands of eager smallfolk investors.
"It is time for the maesters to reveal what they have discovered," Li Trum said, his eyes gleaming with the cold calculation of a seasoned commander. "Prepare the proclamation."
Three nights hence, as darkness blanketed the Eastern realms, a special edition of "Voice of the Financial Master" appeared like wildfire across the digital kingdom. The missive bore an imposing title: "EXCLUSIVE INVESTIGATION: Nova Tech—The Hidden Dragon of the Energy Realm."
The scroll unfurled with masterful craft, beginning with humble observations before building toward revelation:
"While the great houses focus on lumbering energy giants, a nimble dragon stirs in the shadows, preparing to take flight..."
The composition melded ancient wisdom with modern prophecy, speaking of "revolutionary convergence technology" and "partnerships with Eastern kingdoms" that would soon be announced. Most potent was the carefully crafted fear-mongering:
"Those who hesitate shall watch from the ground as others soar. The wise have already taken their positions..."
As dawn broke over New York, Nova Tech shares began their ascent with the fury of a dragon awakened. By midday, trading volume had increased tenfold, the price soaring past seventy coppers. Smallfolk across the realm, their eyes wide with the fever that gold brings to men's hearts, poured their life savings into the fray.
The Voice's subscriber count swelled by thousands with each passing hour, all desperate to learn which dragon Li Trum would name next. Messages flooded in from those who had heeded the call, filled with gratitude and worship:
"Master Trum has opened my eyes!" "Twenty years in the market, and only now do I understand its ways!" "My children shall eat better this winter because of your wisdom!"
For three days, the fervor mounted. Nova Tech climbed to six-and-ninety, then breached the hundred-copper mark as Li Trum's prophecy appeared to fulfill itself through the very belief it had engendered.
On the fourth day, when the stock reached one-hundred-and-twenty, Li Trum gave a silent nod to his council. Their sell orders executed with surgical precision—small enough to avoid detection, large enough to extract their prize. By sunset, House Trum's coffers had swelled with profit, their Nova Tech position entirely liquidated before any could notice the dragon had been slain by its own handlers.
That evening, as the last light faded from Manhattan's spires, Li Trum stood alone in his solar, a goblet of rare Arbor gold—a thirty-year Macallan—cradled in his palm. Through the window, he watched the smallfolk scurrying home from their labors, unaware that many now carried Nova Tech shares that would begin their inexorable descent come morning.
"The sheep have been shorn," came Wang Wei Ke's voice from the doorway.
Li Trum did not turn. "Not sheep. Wolves who believed themselves lions."
Wang approached, his footfalls silent on the thick carpet. "Do you feel remorse for them?"
A cold smile played across Li Trum's features as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Does the falcon feel remorse for the field mouse? Does winter apologize to those who failed to store grain during summer's bounty?"
He raised his glass toward the city sprawled before him. "I was once among them—believing skill and diligence would be rewarded, that the game was fair. Now I understand: there are shepherds, and there are sheep. I have merely changed my role."
"And how does it feel," Wang asked quietly, "to stand on the other side of the blade?"
Li Trum's eyes gleamed in the half-light, cold and beautiful as dragonglass. "It feels like justice."
Later that night, after Wang had departed, Li Trum sat alone with the financial scrolls, watching as Nova Tech began its descent in the Far Eastern markets. By week's end, it would return to its starting price, leaving thousands of smallfolk investors with empty purses and bitter lessons.
On his desk sat a ledger showing their first true harvest: eight-and-forty million gold dragons in profit from a fortnight's work. Beside it lay plans for their next conquest—a larger prey, a more elaborate scheme.
Li Trum ran his finger along the parchment, feeling the texture of power beneath his skin. The long game had only just begun, the opening gambit in a campaign that would eventually lead him to the highest throne in the land. But for now, he savored this first true victory—the day the former prey became the hunter.
Outside his window, the lights of Manhattan burned like a thousand candles, each flame representing dreams and ambitions of those who believed themselves players, when they were merely pieces on a board whose true dimensions they could not comprehend.