Chapter 292: Money Really Does Solve Everything
With the Armorless Union now firmly under his heel, getting his hands on the K.G.C.C's intel—specifically the documents about Area 0—was child's play for Steven.
Even if Centaurea didn't know, and the two Lazurites hadn't a clue, there was no way the top three Darksteel didn't. After all, they were the final gatekeepers, hired directly by the General Chamber of Commerce itself. How could they not know where the good stuff was stashed?
Once he got the intel he came for, he had absolutely no interest in sticking around to chat with his new subordinates.
In fact, to be accurate, this group shouldn't even be called the Armorless Union anymore.
That name? Outdated. Dead.
He just… hadn't come up with a new one yet.
Naming things was hard, okay?
At least, he had come up with a name for himself—a proper code name, in the tradition of the Armorless Union's mineral-themed hierarchy.
He actually liked their naming system: Platinum, Lazurite, Darksteel… mineral-based codenames had a certain Minecraft charm. Fit his whole vibe, really.
So, he kept that part of the system.
And for himself? He picked something extra cool.
Bedrock.
Sure, following the hierarchy's logic—stronger members having "lower-tier" materials—he probably should've gone with "Cobblestone" or "Dirt." But "Cobblestone" sounded too much like "Originium," and "Dirt"… well, it lacked presence. No thanks.
But Bedrock?
Now that was a good name.
The hardest block in Minecraft.
In theory, unbreakable. And yet, ironically? Also the most fragile, the most untouchable.
It couldn't be mined, it couldn't be moved—but it also couldn't do anything.
Perfectly suited to him. Plus, it sounded sick.
Then. he issued one last order to the Darksteel trio, to have them clean the house.
Get rid of the chaos, the rats, and the freeloaders.
Only keep those truly trustworthy.
He didn't need a bloated organization; just a lean, loyal one.
With that, he stepped out of the infirmary, leaving the real work to the others.
That's what subordinates were for, after all—so the boss could live easy. Otherwise, what was the point?
Still, he wasn't some tyrant who ruled with only fear. He knew how to play the game—stick, then carrot. If you wanted someone to follow you loyally, brute force only went so far.
So, he left them a gift.
A giant, glistening gold bar. One entire block of pure gold.
On the table. No strings attached.
"Think of it as a startup fund," he said, waving it off like it was nothing. "Also to show you that by sticking with me, money won't be a problem anymore."
The room went dead silent.
Monique and Roy stared, dumbfounded. Even the two battle-hardened Darksteel couldn't keep their jaws from dropping. Their eyes practically glowed.
This thing… this block of gold… was worth more than they could ever imagine. You could buy out a top-tier company in Kazimierz with this.
And the young man?
He just tossed it over like loose change, saying "if it's not enough, come ask me for more."
What. The. Hell.
Was their new boss… insane?
But after the shock passed, the realization set in—an employer who pays well is a good employer.
And Steven? Steven really paid well.
Not one of them dared complain. In fact, they exchanged glances, silently reaching the same conclusion.
This might actually be… the best job they ever had.
To be fair, Steven's little stunt with the gold block earned him an instant popularity boost. Even Monique, who'd been visibly salty about being forced into this "employment," found her attitude softening considerably.
Because… money.
That's why she joined the Armorless Union in the first place, wasn't it? Money had always been the goal. And if nothing else, money was very good at changing people's minds—fast.
Of course, Steven couldn't care less what they were thinking. To him, that golden block was just that—a block. Practically worthless.
So, no big deal.
As he stepped out of the hospital, he originally planned to swing by the K.G.C.C and pick up those documents. You know, casually tick another box off the to-do list.
But then an unexpected appearance changed everything.
More precisely, it wasn't a person that showed up.
It was a duck.
Wearing a tailored suit, carrying a briefcase, and standing like it owned the world.
"Well now, you're faster than I expected," Steven greeted, raising a brow at the unusually professional waterfowl. "What do you say? Should we find a quiet spot to talk this over?"
After all, this is a guest from Columbia. A little hospitality wouldn't hurt.
"Of course, Mister Steve. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like a warm cup of coffee. A clear mind makes for better deals."
The duck replied smoothly, tipping its head with an air of seasoned business etiquette. As if this was perfectly normal.
And just like that, it followed Steven through the front entrance, briefcase in wingtip, drawing stares from every passerby in the street.
Most people assumed it was someone's overly pampered pet—until it spoke.
Loud. Clear. And unmistakably intelligent.
Gasps followed. Pointed fingers. Even a few kids tugging at their parents' sleeves, wide-eyed with wonder.
But the duck? Completely unbothered. It strutted behind Steven like it owned the pavement, eyes forward, posture proud, wings tucked like a CEO on a mission.
Fortunately, the gawking subsided once Steven picked a nearby café—conveniently a franchise under the K.G.C.C—and booked a private booth.
Only once they sat down did he explain the situation.
"We've got about thirty minutes before this place kicks us out," Steven said, sipping from a glass of complimentary lemon water like it was aged wine. "So let's talk business, Mister Duck."
"Please," the duck replied with a bow of his feathered head. "Call me Duck Lord."
He ordered a black coffee from a staff member who couldn't stop staring, then turned his gaze back to Steven with a small smirk.
"Judging by your tone, you don't seem to be enjoying the best hospitality around here."
Steven chuckled. "It's fine. That'll change soon enough. Actually, if today's deal goes smoothly, this whole 'problem' might just vanish altogether."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming with purpose.
"Now, let's get straight to it. I only have one question for you."
Duck Lord blinked. "Ask away."
Steven smiled.
"I want to confirm—any legal, reasonable trade… can be done through you. Is that correct?"
Steven tapped the table lightly as he gazed at the duck across from him.
Specifically, he looked at the deep crimson text floating just above the duck's head:
[Authority: Trade]
Yeah, titles could be faked, sure. But something like this? This wasn't something you could forge so easily.
"I wouldn't say anything is possible," Duck Lord replied, finally setting his coffee down. "But the more capital you're willing to offer… the easier it becomes for me to facilitate what you want. Of course, that's assuming it's something I can get my hands on."
He wasn't the direct party in a trade. More like a conduit. A middleman of the highest order.
But for Steven, that was more than enough.
"Perfect," he said, a grin tugging at his lips. "Then let me ask you—how much would it cost to acquire the K.G.C.C of Kazimierz?"
Duck Lord blinked.
"…Pardon?"
"You heard me," Steven continued cheerfully. "From what I know, they call themselves a 'Chamber of Commerce'—which means there has to be a shares system in place, right? So, all I want to know is this: how much would it take to become the K.G.C.C majority shareholder?"
Eyes narrowing, he explained his logic in a calm, almost lazy voice.
He didn't know all that much about how the K.G.C.C operated.
But he didn't need to.
The solution was simple. Blindingly so.
If you can't fight capital—become the biggest damn capitalist in the room.
Wasn't it these guys who loved to value everything with numbers and price tags? Well, guess what—He wasn't sure who the richest person in Kazimierz was, but one thing was certain:
None of them were richer than him.
They said capitalists would sell the rope that'd be used to hang them, as long as the price was right.
Well, he was ready to buy the rope—and the lamp post, too.
Duck Lord looked serious for a moment. Then slowly nodded.
"…Shares in the K.G.C.C aren't easy to obtain. Most are owned by local Kazimierz guilds and merchant lords. Outsiders trying to buy in? Not likely."
But then, he smiled.
"Still, that doesn't mean it's impossible. If that's all you want, then yes. I can make it happen… as long as you're ready to pay the price."
He adjusted his tie slightly, feathers fluttering with the motion.
After all, this duck wasn't just a trader—he is a Beast Lord, one that holds the dominion over economic authority, and one of the top figures in Columbia's most powerful financial factions.
And as long as the trade was legal, profitable, and possible?
There was no reason for him to refuse.
Even if Steven wanted to buy the entirety of Kazimierz itself, Duck Lord would only ask: "Do you have the money?"
After all, so long as humanity lives, trade never dies.
And for beings like him, that was more than business.
It was purpose.
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M
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