Geo's eyes lit up with excitement. "And we're all in it?"
Charles grinned and ruffled the boy's hair. "You'll be the next alchemists. One day, you'll write your own big ideas."
Anton straightened with a stretch, exhaled hard, then slapped his thigh and laughed. "Guess this beats haggling in Zebu."
"Survive another tasting with Rydan and you're regional director," Charles said, grinning.
"Noted," Anton said dryly. "But I draw the line at karaoke."
Rob clapped a hand on his back. "You'll learn. Charles gets into your bones."
Diana sat back, observing as the group interacted—Geo's youthful curiosity, Anton's dry humor, Rob's seasoned perspective, and Wilson's skepticism. Some were bound by family, others by shared ambition, but together their varied skills and personalities blended into a dynamic team, each member filling gaps the others could not.
They gathered around the silver-haired young man who built empires one rune at a time.
Charles was at the center: schemer, visionary, warrior, tycoon.
Velmora was only the start.
Charles leaned back, tapping his fingers on the black armrest. Blue alchemical lanterns flickered over his sharp eyes, their light playing in his silver hair.
He drew out spectral, blue-flamed contracts that hummed softly, almost threateningly.
"Before we eat," Charles said smoothly, putting the stack on the polished stone table in Glowroot Remedies' underground chamber, "let's make sure we have what we need most: betrayal insurance."
Wilson leaned forward and frowned. "Contracts that bind the soul?"
"Just in case. Betray me, you'll have seven hundred problems—starting with your knees."
Geo blinked. "Which kneecap?"
"Left," Charles said, deadpan. "It always starts with the left."
The contracts pulsed with runes, loyalty wards, and SIGMA's cipher. Even the ink hissed with power.
Diana picked up a contract, rolled it open, and signed it first. The gold of her signature flared as the magic accepted her, and she pressed her thumb to the mark, sealing it with a drop of blood.
"I wouldn't follow a crazy person," she said, sealing the deal with a drop of blood. "But I will follow a visionary."
Next was Anton, who said under his breath, "This better come with hazard pay."
Charles said, "Hazard glory. And probably lawsuits."
Alvin laughed. "Okay. I'd give up my soul for an early retirement."
Wilson signed with a theatrical sigh. "At least my ghost stays employed if I die."
Geo's hand trembled as he gripped the quill. He signed, eyes wide. "I've never had a contract that sparkled before."
With the pacts sealed, the chamber pulsed once in acknowledgment. Charles leaned in, hands steepled.
"Congratulations," he said. "You are now officially mine."
"Charming," Diana said dryly.
Charles got up and pointed to the bright stairs.
"Now let's raise a glass to your loyalty with steaks and drinks that bite back."
They stepped into Velmora's dark night as a group united by a shared goal, despite their differences.
Despite their differences, the group operated with remarkable cohesion. Their contrasting backgrounds fueled creative problem-solving, while mutual respect bound them, and their teamwork emerged from both diversity and collaboration.
Diana led the team—each with new roles and expectations—up to Crestwyn Spire, home to one of the city's elite taverns.
The Drunken Gryphon.
Not as posh as Tre Sorelle, but it didn't need to be. Nobles played commoners, mercenaries acted friendly; jazz, laughter, and grilled magibeast filled the air.
They were led to a private, enchanted loft with windows revealing Velmora's skyline.
The moment they sat, Charles dropped a black obsidian card on the table. It was a Stellar Bank Infinite Tier card.
The waiter's face went pale.
"Sir… would you like to reserve the entire second level?"
"Please. And dim the lighting to 'brooding genius.'"
The server fled with the speed of a man chased by tax collectors.
Once the drinks arrived, Charles conjured eight spatial rings, orbiting his hand like moons.
"Let's begin the unwrapping," Charles said with a grin.
Charles selected a shimmering ring from the floating cluster, flicking his wrist with a flourish. The ring spun through the air and landed neatly in Diana's waiting palm, as if the universe acknowledged her claim.
Diana caught the ring smoothly, closing her fingers around it as if it belonged there all along.
Inside," Charles said smoothly, "is Lumenveil: a mage staff of sunroot bark, radiant crystals, sealed for healing, regeneration, and protection.
Diana closed her fingers on the ring. Radiant resonance pulsed, like the start of a divine song.
But Charles was far from done.
Next: a living library, herbs sorted by element, moon cycle, fusion risk, recipe. Over 300 strains—many rare or extinct.
Diana inhaled sharply. "Skyroot? Those haven't grown in over a century."
"Well, I found a druid with memory issues and a debt problem. Now they grow."
Her eyes widened; reverence shimmered as her thumb traced the ring's edge with slow, deliberate care.
He offered a ten-million-gold budget for SIGMA AeterPharmaceuticals' HQ—enough to staff and mass-produce elixirs—plus stasis vaults, infusion scrolls, and two SIGMA forbidden tomes.
He paused, then added with a smirk, "Also… a 1,000,000 gold coin signing bonus. No taxes. No questions. Use it for wine, fortresses, or bribes. I don't judge."
Diana stared at him.
And stared some more.
Her grip tightened on the ring, knuckles whitening as if she clenched the gates of paradise itself. For her, it nearly was.
"I—Charles, this isn't a gift," she murmured.
"This is… this is a kingdom in disguise."
"No. This is your kingdom. Built on light, brewed in courage, delivered with encryption support."
Her voice got lower and lower until it was hard to hear. "You just gave me a kingdom in a box."
"Good," Charles said, his sapphire eyes shining with a devil-may-care look.
"Now make it shine so brightly that it blinds everyone who doubted you."
SIGMA added dryly in her ear, [Warning: side effects may include sleepless nights, perfectionist spirals, and uncontrollable empire expansion syndrome.]
Diana's laugh was low, breathy, and laced with awe.
"Challenge accepted."
Next, Charles turned to Anton with a grin that could set a bureaucrat on fire.
He raised his glass: "To our Flame Knight—protector, smiter, breaker of codes. In your ring: Emberbrand Fang, Ignirex."
He tossed the ring. As it neared Anton, a double-edged, rune-scribed longsword of molten-orange core appeared in illusion above it.
Anton blinked at it, shocked for a moment. "Is it... alive?"
Charles nodded solemnly. "Forged from a shard of a fallen Fire Sovereign Beast, quenched in magma, blessed under a solar eclipse, and cursed by at least three pyromancer sects. Very prestigious."
"Does it have a user manual?"
"No," Charles said, "but it responds well to compliments and controlled rage. Evolves as you ascend from Unity to Sovereign Tier. Also, if you name it something dumb like 'Flamie,' it might combust your pants."
Anton's lips twitched.
Charles wasn't finished.
Also in your ring: sunsteel armor—flame-resistant, heat-converting, impact-absorbing, self-adjusting, with color options and anti-chafing runes.
"Gods," Anton muttered, "this gear's better dressed than I am."
Charles gave him a solemn nod.
"Your job is bigger than just looking intimidating. You're leading the Velmora Urban Expansion Initiative. That's not just a fancy name—I mean, you're building the physical foundation of the empire."
He snapped his fingers.
Ten construction scrolls, each pre-set for quick use: reinforcement, stabilization, mana, teleportation, mood lighting.
Anton blinked. "Mood lighting?"
"People shop better when the ambiance is right."
Then Charles's voice dipped lower, more serious, but still with a mischievous lilt.
Also inside: leyline-synced blueprints for a teleport hub, mall, elemental warehouse, and a time-dilated amusement park for nobles and mercenaries.
"You built a war council and a tourist trap together?" Anton asked.
"It's called synergy," Charles replied.
"Military contracts and ice cream sales go hand in hand."
Anton let out a low whistle. "Okay… and the funding?"
Charles raised a hand and caught the second spatial ring as it floated beside him, spinning it before flicking it directly at Anton's chest.
Twenty million gold for sites, workforce, foundations, and city official incentives.
Anton's eyes widened slightly. "Twenty million… gods above…"
"And," Charles added, "one million gold coins personal bonus. Untraceable. Buy a villa. Or a flaming warhorse. Or five hundred flaming warhorses. Whatever makes you feel successful."
Anton held the ring up, turning it to catch every spark of magic glimmering inside as if it whispered temptations in a demonic tongue.
"Is this what love feels like?"
Charles winked. "It is, until the property tax bill arrives."
Anton held the ring in both hands as if it might explode or turn into a wyvern that needed a city permit.
"Are you really trusting me with this much infrastructure?"
"Anton," Charles said with a smirk as he leaned back.
"I've seen you quote trade laws while swinging a sword through a stone wall. You are the only one who can build a fortress of capitalist firepower that will last forever and look heroic at the same time."
He could barely hear SIGMA's voice in his ear.
[I've already sent you Velmora's zoning rules, how to get a permit, and information about the land's shape. 37% chance of burning out. You'll do great.]
"Thanks a lot," Anton said quietly.
Charles said, "Remember, you're not just putting up buildings. You're making the foundation for everything we are. This empire won't just be a part of prophecies and small worlds. It will have walls, floors, parking for warhorses, gardens on the roof, and more vaults than dragons would want."
Anton exhaled and looked around at the group, at the glittering skyline beyond the tall windows of the Sky Harbor. "I never thought I'd be a real estate baron."
"You're not," Charles corrected. "You're a flame-sword-wielding demigod of infrastructure. Totally different."
With a grin of disbelief, Anton slipped the ring onto his finger. A flare of heat pulsed through the room like a sun sneezing in delight.
"Guess I'd better start building," he said, eyes gleaming.
"Because if I'm doing this… I'm doing it bigger and better than the Empire ever imagined."
"Excellent," Charles said, raising his crimson-glass goblet. "To the birth of Velmora's new horizon."
They clinked drinks, with fire, steel, and future ambition ringing louder than the Sky Harbor's arcane jazz.