Chapter 729: The Merchant
The image projected from the crystal began its third repetition. Without a high-quality arcane network terminal to enlarge and filter the image, the raw projection from the crystal appeared blurry and slightly distorted. Yet, as Kord stared at it, his heart refused to settle.
Not everyone, upon encountering something entirely new, can immediately grasp its potential. Pioneering a new field is often as challenging as breaking new ground. It requires more than just intelligence and knowledge—often, it demands exceptional talent, a bit of luck, and the courage to defy convention.
Archaeologists say that primitive humans hunted with stones and sticks, but it may have taken them thousands of years to conceive of tying a stone to a stick.
A voice from the doorway pulled Kord from his thoughts. It was his eldest son, Pal: “Father, the representative from Marlin Trading Company will arrive soon—and it’s already been over twenty minutes.”
“Go greet them,” Kord said without looking up. “I still have work to do here.”
“But Father, they want to discuss—”
“Go greet them,” Kord repeated firmly. “You know what to do. Now go.”
“Yes, Father.”
Pal left, and Philm, the young merchant, glanced nervously at Kord. “Mr. Kord, am I interrupting you?”
“No need to worry. Business never ends, but creative ideas can’t be missed,” Kord smiled, then studied the blond young man before him more closely. “Tell me, have you thought about what you want to do with this invention of yours?”
Philm instinctively smoothed the hem of his coat and adjusted his bow tie, trying to appear as presentable as possible. “Sir, honestly, I’m not sure. I just had an idea. The crystal itself isn’t my creation, nor are the runes. I only thought of recording plays inside the crystal and then playing them on an arcane network terminal… But I don’t have my own troupe, and I don’t know how to buy a terminal or sell the recorded plays.
“Mr. Kord, I don’t know how to put a price on an idea. That’s why I came south—because the arcane network terminals come from here. I heard there are many new things here, and people skilled in using them. Maybe someone here can guide me.”
Kord’s gaze grew serious. “I want to confirm something first—have you told anyone else about your ‘idea’?”
Philm answered honestly, “No… well, I mentioned it to one traveling companion. He’s an honest and insightful man. He advised me not to rush blindly but to first inquire at the New Immigrant Consultation Office in the Administration Bureau.”
“That was good advice. But regardless, child, your ‘idea’ needs to be turned into cash as soon as possible.”
Hearing this, Philm took a slow breath and finally spoke: “Sir, two thousand gold coins—I mean, Ansu gold coins, or oval coins.”
Kord blinked, as if he couldn’t believe the price he’d just heard. Philm, thinking he’d asked too much, quickly added, “Sir, two thousand gold coins, and the idea is yours—completely yours. Of course, if you think it’s not worth that much, I can lower the price…”
Kord looked at Philm with a complicated expression.
Such a naive boy… The moment you pull out the crystal and let people see the images recorded inside, your idea is already on shaky ground.
Perhaps most visionary geniuses are too innocent when it comes to the ways of the world.
Philm still looked nervous, unsure of the relationships and distinctions among the southern nobility, merchants, citizens, and the Administration Bureau under the new southern order. He assumed this great merchant before him might be part of the new southern aristocracy. His family had served nobles for generations, and in front of someone like Kord, he felt only anxiety and unease.
As for two thousand gold coins… that was enough to pull his father’s troupe out of crisis, and even enough for Philm himself to start his own troupe here in the south. To him, this was the starting point of his struggle on this unfamiliar land.
Kord withdrew his gaze and sighed quietly to himself.
Two thousand gold coins… This young man from the north had no idea how much money flowed daily between the new-style companies in the south, nor could he imagine the future his invention might have under the arcane industrial system.
The merchant instinctively clenched his fist, eyes fixed on the crystal and the rune device on the table.
Just two thousand gold coins. Just two thousand gold coins!
He could even pay nothing at all—because this wasn’t a complex technological invention, just an idea. An idea that, to a merchant like him, was easy to realize!
His fist slowly unclenched, then clenched again.
The silence made Philm uneasy.
In that quiet moment, Kord stared at the crude, outdated rune boards and the artificial crystal—likely a discarded product from a southern factory.
He recalled the first heating platform he and his friends had built.
He remembered the machine tool salvaged from an old warehouse.
He remembered the frustration and confusion when, after painstakingly buying a batch of cheap rune boards from Kant’s factory, they found all of them unusable due to a standard mismatch.
He remembered standing outside the technical academy all day just to persuade a mage technician to visit his factory.
In a daze, he seemed to hear a clear, pleasant voice whispering to him: “Mr. Kord, this city is paved with gold.”
Kord clenched his fist and lightly tapped the table, as if tapping on his own heart.
Startled by the movement, Philm was about to ask a question when the merchant shook his head gently. “Child, I’m not going to buy it.”
Philm immediately said, “Sir, please reconsider—”
“Child, I haven’t finished,” Kord waved his hand and pulled two blank sheets of stationery from a drawer. Taking a quill, he began writing swiftly, speaking as he wrote, “I’m not buying it because it’s worth more. I’ll write you two letters. These letters should be very helpful to you…”
Philm looked on, puzzled. Before he could ask, Kord continued, “Have you decided what to call your invention?”
“I call it ‘Magic Shadow Theater,’ sir,” Philm replied quickly.
“Good, I’ll write that down.”
After a burst of rapid writing, Kord sealed one letter with wax and wrapped it in special magical thread. He handed the other, unsealed, directly to Philm. “This is a certificate. Take it and your ‘Magic Shadow Theater’ to the Administration Bureau’s Patent Registration Office—as soon as possible. The other is a letter of introduction. Take it to the Arcane Network Communications Bureau and ask for Her Highness the Grand Regent Hetty, or to the Arcane Energy Department to see Her Highness Rebecca… Trust me, they will see you.”
Philm, a commoner whose family had served nobles for generations, was stunned. He couldn’t believe the names he’d just heard, nor that he might meet two imperial princesses. The situation had far exceeded his expectations, and he even let out a small exclamation.
After Kord confirmed again, Philm was sure he hadn’t misheard. He lowered his head and glanced at the certificate addressed to the Patent Registration Office, where he saw his own name—
To the Patent Registration Office of the Administration Bureau:
This certifies that Mr. Philm from Baren Town, Holy Spirit Plains, is the creator and holder of the “Magic Shadow Theater” technology. Mr. Philm holds full rights to the benefits, use, and disposition of this technology (idea) and is entitled to all corresponding honors.
Carol Commercial Association
Kord Bald
Kord exhaled deeply, a strange sense of relief washing over him.
“Sir…” Philm looked at the certificate in his hands. Though he didn’t understand the new laws regarding technology or the workings of the “Cecil Order,” he now grasped the significance behind these documents and Kord’s intentions. The young man from Baren hesitated, “How can I ever repay you?”
Kord looked into Philm’s pale eyes and saw sincerity mixed with a hint of unease.
“I have only one request,” the merchant said slowly. “One day, when your Magic Shadow Theater has grown and your ‘theaters in crystals’ are everywhere, I want you to give me half a minute at the beginning of every performance—until the day the Kord Family Affairs Company closes.”
“Half a minute?”
“Yes, to showcase my products—that’s my price.”
“Of course, sir, that’s no problem,” Philm replied quickly.
Kord nodded gently.
Perhaps a knight’s answer would be that no repayment is necessary.
But he was a merchant.
An excellent merchant.
The young man from Baren stood, clutching the two letters and his briefcase, wearing a smile of relief and determination as he took his leave.
Kord watched him head toward the door. Just as Philm was about to step through, Kord suddenly stood and called out, “Mr. Philm.”
Philm stopped, puzzled, and turned. “Yes, sir?”
“Welcome to the South,” Kord said with a smile, his voice ringing out. “This land is paved with gold.”
Philm paused, then returned the smile. “Yes, Mr. Kord. Thank you.”
Silence settled over the office.
Kord left his desk and slowly walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Snowflakes continued to drift down, whipped by the north wind into swirling veils. The factories and roads gradually turned silver-white.
As dusk fell, the arcane crystal street lamps along the road to the city center lit one by one. Passersby in winter clothes and black carriages thinned out, but the arcane network terminals near the square continued to glow, projecting images as always.
“Good luck, young man.”
…
Leaving the Kord Family Affairs Company, Philm’s heart fluttered with excitement as he returned to the main avenue. The anticipation of the future burned warmly inside him, making even the cold snowy day seem endearing.
He spotted a figure standing not far off, snowflakes swirling around like playful spirits.
“Hey! Findel!” Philm hurried over to greet him. “I thought you’d already left…”
Findel, with his short silver hair, smiled and looked at Philm’s beaming face. “I had nothing to do, so I thought I’d wait here for your good news. Judging by your expression, it must be good news?”
“Yes,” Philm said, pulling his gaze away from the dancing snowflakes around Findel. He had known Findel was a mage since their time on the ship, but Findel’s personality was unlike any other mage he’d met. Once his initial nervousness faded, Philm could only admire and envy Findel’s mastery over ice and snow. “It’s good news—though Mr. Kord didn’t buy my ‘idea.’”
“Oh?”
“He gave me two letters. One to the Administration Bureau, certifying my ownership of the Magic Shadow Theater, and another to the imperial capital, saying I can meet Princess Rebecca and Grand Regent Hetty…”
“Ah,” Findel murmured, then turned his gaze toward the Kord Family Affairs Company’s door. “This Mr. Kord… he really is an honorable man.”
“What did you say?”
“No, it’s nothing,” Findel said with a smile, shaking his head. “Looks like we’ll be traveling together for quite a while—I’m headed to the capital too.”
Philm’s face lit up. “Really? By the way, I never asked—what brings you down south?”
“I’m here to study,” Findel replied with a grin, spreading his hands. “My aunt thinks I should learn something I can’t get at home—she’s always comparing me to other kids to push me.”
“Ah… that sounds like a real nightmare.”
“Tell me about it.”
(End of chapter)