By dawn, the entire Highlands of Throm Vale had been dominated and claimed.
Charles stood alone at the mountain's highest edge, chest clenched so tightly it felt like an iron vise, shoulders sagging beneath the crushing storm of guilt and exultation within him.
As the last stars bled into the cold dawn, the world below blazed with sharp, intimidating intensity—a landscape of crystalline danger, monstrous shadows, and hidden gold. Every detail stabbed at him with simultaneous promise and peril.
It was his—won not by decree, but by sacrificed blood and the wild, razor-sharp focus of desperation. Pride surged in him, fierce and burning. Terror lanced through his gut. Need twisted him apart, trembling on the brutal edge between escape and giving in.
He had already siphoned seventy percent of the vault's treasures into his SIGMA inventory. And that alone could buy a continent. But the rest?
Fifteen percent would remain here, dedicated to the temple, the towers, the mines, the walls, the hidden cultivation sanctuaries, the Verdant Hollow. It was enough to build not just a base, but a high-tier metropolis. A city-state. A hidden kingdom.
And the final fifteen percent?
Slated for phased teleportation to East Wing Manor... assuming he ever found ten vaults large enough to hold it.
He chuckled darkly.
"Even the royal treasury would collapse under the weight of this fortune," he mused.
But the coin weighed far less than the gnawing ache tearing at his chest: defiance surged, searing his veins with heat, while longing and loss tangled painfully beneath his skin. Fear clawed up alongside ambition and need. He did not hunger for hollow treasure—these were furious, desperate bids for a legacy indelibly stamped by pain.
Throm Vale had long been labeled a danger zone. No noble had dared claim it. It was written off, forgotten, and handed over to wandering adventurers as a hunting ground. Technically, it was territory governed by the northern Dukedom, which meant one man had the final say over its ownership.
His father.
Duke Alaric Ziglar.
Charles narrowed his eyes.
"Now I have to convince a man who thinks my shame is a wound that never heals that I deserve to rule a land fierce enough to shake the world itself.
Once the Dragon Temple was complete… once the mines were operational… once the mutated herbs were sold to elite alchemists in royal cities…
Once the Dragon Temple rose, once the mines roared, once mutated herbs drew frenzied alchemists from royal cities—then, not just acceptance, but desperate hunger for his claim would follow. They would beg, and all his wounds would crown him with proof of worth.
He would accept it graciously. With royal seals. With guild recognition. With an army, if needed.
And then?
Then Throm Vale would cease to convulse as his hidden shame—a haunted void pulsing with age-old fear and self-loathing. He would redeem it. He would flood it with the jubilant triumph denied him for so long.
It would be the beginning of a kingdom reborn.
Ride of the Skyborne
As thoughts of a kingdom reborn lingered, dawn spilled like molten gold across the peaks of the Highlands of Throm Vale, but it was not the sun that first broke the sky. The stillness atop the mountain yielded to motion, as a new chapter unfolded.
It was a dragon.
With a rush of wind and thunder, Nimbus, the Azure Tempest Sovereign, spread his wings. In the morning light, his scales sparkled and threw colors across the mountains.
Eight people climbed onto Nimbus: Charles, the leader, decisively issued orders and checked the group's readiness. Kael, acting as strategist, monitored everyone's positions, keeping the group coordinated and alert. Karel, bold and adventurous, provided constant updates about their surroundings and egged on quieter members, keeping excitement high.
Their roles overlapped in subtle ways: Kael often double-checked Karel's rapid observations, verifying details before reporting to Charles, while Karel proactively energized those less vocal, making sure even the hesitant felt involved.
Wendy and Borris communicated in subtle ways, and Borris kept the group safe by watching for danger. Their smooth, wordless coordination showed that they understood and supported each other by letting them handle unexpected risks.
Donald tracked resources and adjusted their strategy when needed, providing concise updates on their supplies and plans so no one was left in the dark. He mediated between more focused and distracted members to keep things running smoothly.
Andy watched for signs of tension, offering humor and timed jokes when anxiety peaked. By reading the room, he kept people from getting overwhelmed and gave brief comic relief at key moments.
Rob paid close attention to everyone's emotional state. Whenever someone faltered, especially under stress, he encouraged them directly, sometimes just with a few words or a steady presence.
Their teamwork was intricate—a network of trust where each member anticipated and responded to one another, balancing individual initiative with group cohesion. They constantly checked in: pairing up to spot threats, correcting errors, and openly encouraging each other, making their unity the group's greatest strength against the unknown.
Charles stood at the front with his arms crossed and the wind whipping his black cloak as he led the way. A glowing tether rune on his waist linked him to a safe scale-lock point on Nimbus.
Kael, who was tense and analytical, stood right behind Charles. Karel, who was always bold and full of energy, hovered nearby to quickly look around the area.
Wendy crouched down to get a stealthy edge.
Borris stood up, ready to react.
Donald, diligent and responsible, checked fastenings before securing himself; Andy made everyone laugh even as he prepared, and Rob, always attuned to the group's tension, quietly encouraged unity.
The group's positions and actions subtly signaled both their unique strengths and their reliance on one another in this new challenge.
"Ready for a real ride?" Charles called.
"Ready!" Karel whooped. "Finally, an airshow!"
Andy thumped his chest rune. "If I throw up, it's on you, Karel!"
Kael's grip said it all: ready to kill gravity.
Wendy crouched low, eyes glittering. "Permission for a stealth flip?"
Charles smirked. "Denied. Unless you promise not to fall."
Rob planted his feet. "At last—my poetry soars."
Nimbus gave a low rumble of amusement and leapt from the cliffside.
The world dropped.
And then it screamed upward into color and speed.
They soared across the highlands with childlike glee. Nimbus twisted, glided, and rolled, always steady and responsive. He adjusted to their learning curves with endless patience, lowering altitude when Kael nearly slipped during a gust and slowing down for Borris when his size caught the wind.
And yet, no one fell.
Because Charles was watching. And Nimbus obeyed him like a living extension of will.
They dove low over rivers of mana, raced past jagged cliffs crackling with storm energy, and looped around spires of glowing quartz. On a daring impulse, Charles had Nimbus bank hard to the right, just enough to make Karel and Andy shriek with both joy and panic.
"AHHHHHH—THIS IS AMAZING—WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"
"Not before my redemption!" Andy shouted.
While this was going on, SIGMA worked quietly in the background, its mind flowing through the winds and ley lines like an invisible god of math. Charles's right gauntlet had arcane circuits that glowed softly and were connected to the projection node above Nimbus's saddle.
Mapping in Progress...
• Mana levels: 83 high-density nodes found
• Beast activity clusters: 17 moderate-risk areas, 4 mutation anomalies (Tier 5 threat level)
• Mineral veins: Adamantite, Skyglass, and Phantasmal Ore have been confirmed. There are two extinct-class minerals per the Old World Apothecary Codex.
The best way to get to Velmora. It takes about 3 hours by air and 6 hours by land to get there. The climate stabilization zones are 6 ideal for terraforming arrays. There may be an underground cavern network that is 7.2 km deep.
He heard SIGMA's voice in his head like the voice of a cosmic banker:
[Suggestion: Mark the area as a high-value frontier estate. Projected value after development: more than 900 million gold coins in three fiscal cycles.]
Charles's eyes narrowed. Below, the vast stretch of Throm Vale appeared like a sleeping giant under aurora-lit blankets, untamed and untouched by empire, noble, or sect.
Crystalline ridges sparkled with mana-rich veins. Lakes shimmered with alchemical runoff. Deep green forests pulsed with natural qi, but there were no cities, no flags, and no settlements to mark the land. It was a raw continent of potential, a paradise waiting for its master.
His mind started working, plans forming behind his calm expression.
"Eighty-three mana nodes… that's eighty-three cultivation farms."
"Phantasmal Ore—perfect for artifact cores and military gear lines. Skyglass for enchantment panels. Adamantite for heavy combat frames."
"Those extinct-class herbs?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "I'll monopolize them. Patent the derivatives. Every Sect Master will beg me for tea leaves that can stabilize core ruptures."
He swiped a sigil in the air, bringing up the terrain overlay from SIGMA. The mountain valleys formed natural protection barriers, perfect for fortification. The central basin was an ideal alchemical mega-hub. The spiraling leyline convergences above the canyons marked the best place for a Mana Crystal Refinery and Skyforge Array Platform.
And beneath it all… that anomaly SIGMA mentioned.
A sprawling subterranean network, unmapped, likely forgotten by time. A vault. A ruin. Or perhaps a beast-lair from the era of the Ancients.
"Mine," Charles said under his breath.
Nimbus roared as if in approval.
This wasn't just land.
This was a frontier dominion, a business empire in the making, and a testing ground for new cultivation technology, relic production, elite academies, hybrid combat labs, and herbalist sanctuaries.
A stronghold under Ziglar control.
"First, we build an estate. Then a citadel. Then… a Shadow Market with VIP-only auction access."
"High-tier inns, teleportation hubs, artifact boutiques. We bring the market to the wilds—and we own the wilds."
A flash of inspiration struck him.
"Elites pay for danger. Adventurers crave legend. So we sell them the illusion of risk… and control it from the inside."
He grinned, fierce hunger burning behind his eyes, raw ambition flaring wild and close to agony—each heartbeat a silent vow to the future only he could see.
"SIGMA, begin economic model projection. I want three tiers—basic exploitation, sustainable cultivation, and luxury-tier franchising. Cross-reference with Tre Sorelle expansion templates."
[Model A: Estimated ROI within 1.7 years. Model B: 2.9 years. Model C: High risk, high gain—sixfold profit margin.]
Charles's mind surged. He wasn't just building an empire.
He was about to birth an entire world economy from a forgotten wilderness.
And it would bear only one name: ZIGLAR.
As they descended near the isolation array, the shimmering barrier flickered in greeting—a silent nod from the mountain, as if acknowledging its new master.
Charles placed a palm to the edge of the array, and it parted like mist before a king.
The Price of a Kingdom's Fear
The storm above the Highlands of Throm Vale howled, a ruthless chorus for the man who dared to ride its heart. On Nimbus's back, Charles—no, Charlemagne Ziglar—stood surrounded by thunder and violet lightning. His hair whipped, cloak billowing around him like rebellion itself. Every heartbeat was wild defiance. Below, the wilds waited, both terrible and beautiful.
The heart of it all was the mountain—Dragonspire Peak.
Seventeen and a half kilometers of sheer, impossible height—twice as tall as Mount Everest. Its glacial plateaus, crimson-misted ravines, and spiraling arcane veins seemed alive. It did not just stand above the land; it ruled it.
And Charles wouldn't just say it. He would grab it, his heart racing with the reckless bravery of a king.
"SIGMA," he said, arms crossed and boots firmly planted on Nimbus's neck plating. "Keep mapping the area in detail. I want numbers that would make dukes nervous and kings question their inheritance."
[Mapping in progress. [Setting up resource points. Figuring out how much money could be made. Putting a noble valuation matrix on top of it.]
It started to flood in.
The alchemical herbs from Verdant Hollow alone could compete with the Royal Apothecary's yearly output. The mana crystal fields under Crystal Canyon were enough to power teleportation arrays in three duchies. The relic-fused veins and elemental clusters, especially the Emberdrake corpse's resting place, were worth whole battlefronts in coins.
[Value over ten years: more than 3 billion gold coins.]
Charles whistled softly. "That's disgusting. I love it."
[Yes, obscene. Maybe heretical. Definitely trying to avoid taxes.]
He smiled. "I like visionary restructuring better."
The land still bore the Kingdom's insult, as every map showed a red skull on it. Cursed. Not allowed. Not livable.
Charles said, "Idiots." "They wouldn't be able to tell a sleeping god from a court wig if it slapped them."
He reached out with one arm as if to offer the land a deal. "This isn't just a border. It's a kingdom that needs a crown."
"SIGMA," he said more forcefully now. "Get the most up-to-date land valuation metrics for red-zoned frontier land."
[Base value: 8,000–12,000 gold/km². Red zone penalty: -60%. ➪The estimated cost of the purchase is 180 million gold for 60,000 km².]
Charles's laughter was loud and raw. "Deal."
[Are you going to buy it? All of it?]
"Yes, of course. In full. In public. Very loudly. In front of a judge. In front of the Royal Council."
[For land that is not fit for living?]
"Which makes me look crazy. Great. "They'll be begging me to accept before I change my mind."
[Or they'll think it's a scheme.]
"It is a scheme. But a golden one. And the court loves nothing more than being bribed in public while pretending it was all done for honor."
Charles grinned widely, manic in ambition. "I'll offer 200 million gold. Round it up. Let them think they out-negotiated me."
[And you intend to pay this how, exactly? Your public identity is that of a useless, dying noble heir.]
"By being cleverer than they are."
He pointed ahead as Nimbus banked left, descending toward the base of Dragonspire Peak, where obsidian rock formed a plateau of potential.
"Start routing the payment via thirty separate ledgers. Use shell companies, merchant guilds, even phantom estate sales. Tag House Sorelle's commercial franchise as the leading backer."
[Using your recent agreement with Victor Sorelle as a smokescreen?]
"Exactly. Let the court believe House Sorelle is investing in high-risk frontier development. They think I'm just the mascot."
[In truth, 20% of the funds will come from your auction proceeds, 30% from relic exchanges, and the rest from covert Stellar Bank transfers via Tier-2 black vaults.]
"It's all perfectly unsuspicious," Charles said sweetly.
[You're laundering a sovereign-grade war chest.]
"I'm pioneering investment in neglected royal property."
[You are weaponizing capitalism.]
Charles beamed. "Let the king try to keep up."