A tall, weary figure entered, sharp eyes alert. Diana grinned and turned. "Anton!"
Anton Gust, her husband, bowed. He used to be a knight and now he's a merchant, but he still has the grace of a warrior.
He said, "I came as soon as I could," his voice strained.
"We lost the Zebu deal. Outbid again. And they... they made it apparent. People from the North aren't welcome."
He gripped the rolled parchment tightly.
Diana placed a hand on his arm. "It's all right. We found something better."
Charles stepped forward, composed and mischievous, his silver hair sharp against his suit.
"Zebu slammed the door on you? Good. That door was rotten. Velmora's gate is wide open, gleaming gold and ripe for conquest. Come in. Walk with me. Forget Zebu."
Anton blinked, looking worried. "You sound like a poet trying to sell me something."
Charles said, voice steely, "I don't sell. I hire. No apologies needed. Come with me."
He pointed to Diana. "Your wife is already on board with the cause. Geo as well. I want the whole set. The Collection of Marnel."
"Now in fancy packaging with free tea blends that heal the soul," Rob said.
"You see what Zebu can't: rare contracts, exclusives, teleport trade, real power. Want to change pharmaceutical history? Stand with me. Zebu is obsolete. Claim your skyline."
Anton raised an eyebrow in doubt. "That sounds a little over the top."
"Everything I promise is gold, fire, and iron. This isn't sales. It's a threshold. Lose an offer? I'll make you a builder, never a beggar."
Anton met Charles, Diana, and Geo's eager nods.
"I don't know if this is fate or insanity," Anton said, rubbing his temple. "But I trust Diana's instincts."
He exhaled, smiled wryly, and nodded. "Fine. I'm in."
"Excellent!" Charles said. "Welcome to the madness."
Rob elbowed Borris. "That's how he got me, too. One minute you're fixing armor, next you're signing a blood-sealed contract with a dragon mount."
Wendy smirked. "He tried recruiting me by tossing wind daggers at my face. Very inspiring."
Anton raised both brows. "Seriously?"
Charles shrugged. "Recruitment is about knowing your audience."
Charles gave a two-finger salute. "Excellent. SIGMA, begin legal and acquisition sequences."
He said, "Start the urban scan protocol."
The group's funny and helpful AI assistant, SIGMA, had already made its presence known in the room, helping with strategy as it unfolded.
From the air, SIGMA responded, [Terrain mapping started. Starting at the lower elevation behind the merchants' villas. Looking for leyline activity, springs, and soil that is rich in mana.]
Charles watched glyphs spin, smirking.
"Scan for scenic views, prime feng shui, and winds fit for legends. My boardroom will intimidate the sky."
Borris crossed his arms against the wall. "You really about to outbuild half the empire with just a smirk and a ledger?"
"Please," Charles said. "I'll outbuild the empire fashionably."
SIGMA went on, [A preliminary scan shows that there are 12.4 kilometers of usable land. No noble claim. Three shadow brokers and one depressed land steward with a gambling problem can get it.]
"This is my kind of seller. Give the cottage, wine for life, and a dog that can do magic. He'll be grateful to us."
Wendy tried not to laugh. "You mean you're going to buy all of this now?"
"Of course. Five-year forecasts? Fearfulness. We pay now. SIGMA—do the math again. Immediate purchase. Use the SIGMA PSY Conglomerate shell. Before my tea cools, I want it all."
"Processing," SIGMA said flatly, with the audible sass of an AI drowning in paperwork.
Golden lights shaped hovering projections, each zone shimmering like a dream.
"Western Velmora: Bloomrise Convergence Hub," SIGMA announced.
"Intended use: full-scale magical commercial district."
"A mall," Rob muttered.
"Not a mall," Charles snapped, striding forward. "Ground: enchanted boutiques. Second: food towers. Third: magical entertainment—sky coasters, illusion theaters, beast-tamer arcades. One time-dilation maze: kids enter for an hour, exit with beards."
Geo's eyes widened. "That's… terrifying."
"That's customer retention," Charles quipped.
He snapped his fingers. Another district appeared in arcane light.
"Southern artisan sector," SIGMA intoned.
"Alchemy boutique alley, potion parlors, magical candy stalls, and small clinics."
Charles smiled. "All Diana. Picture cobblestone above, secret labs below. Visitors come for wrinkle cream, leave refreshed, a little scared, richer."
Wendy said, "Add a beauty spa." "With magical hair oils and facials."
Charles nodded. "And a shampoo that sings. Smart."
The third projection came next.
"Central Logistics Zone: A regional warehouse and teleport-linked storage space."
"Bland warehouse out front. Inside: vaults, traps, cold rooms that shame the nobility's chill. Forget suspicion—invite incompetence."
Even Anton chuckled at that one.
The final image: an elevated crag looming over Velmora.
"Mage Tower. Location: Mountain overlook sector. Proposed: Tower Myridian."
"Ten floors," Charles said in a lower voice. "Four up, six down. Storm rods, mist-glass domes, and a telescope that might be able to listen in on politics."
"I'm not sure if you're a businessman or a crazy person," Wilson said, half in awe.
"Why not both?" Charles said yes, shrugging.
"Project Cost," SIGMA cut in, sounding almost tired.
"Estimated 184 million gold coins in five years."
"Too long. Pay up now. SIGMA: What's the real cost?"
"43 million upfront."
"Done," Charles said.
SIGMA blinked in blue.
"All acquisition offers transmitted. Brokers contacted. Land steward bribed—er, 'relocated with lifetime amenities.' All preliminary contracts executed under proxy. Estimated total consolidation time: ninety-six hours."
Everyone stared as if he wore a crown, Emperor of Real Estate.
"You're… serious?" Anton finally said, breaking the silence.
Charles grinned, clapping Anton's shoulder. "Zebu shut you out. Velmora just unlocked a golden gate built for dragons."
Anton looked wary. "Does the Golden Gate have taxes?"
"Only taxes worth paying," Charles said.
All preliminary documents have been signed under Umbra Incognito Holdings. Completion within 72 hours projected."
Everyone turned as the glowing glyphs converged.
Wilson whistled. "This is… not a startup."
Lanternlight threw shadows on Glowroot Remedies' stone walls. Charles reclined, silver hair catching blue, and eyes bright.
"SIGMA. List the land sharks blocking my deal. Give me names."
SIGMA's voice echoed through the room, calm and subtly amused.
"Negotiation targets for Velmora real estate acquisition, as requested," it said. "Four names, four headaches."
Charles raised an eyebrow. "Just four? You're being too nice to me."
Everyone leaned in—Diana, Anton, Alvin, Wilson, Wendy, Borris, and Rob in a semi-circle, faces showing both interest and readiness.
[First,] SIGMA said, [Rydan Valecrest. A landowner. Odd. He hoards spirit wines like a dragon hoards gold. He owns the western forest-edge zone where we want to build the Bloomrise Convergence Hub, which will include a mall, an amusement park, a teleportation hub, and more.]
Charles smirked. "So we buy his loyalty in bottles, not in words. Noted. Borris and Alvin—you're on Rydan. Bring him a casket of Emberfire '97 from the Ziglar reserve vault. Tell him it's a 'gift from a friend who appreciates fermented ambition.' Throw in an invite to the Tre Sorelle Velmora banquet, front row, nameplate in gold."
Borris cracked his knuckles. "So… bribery with class."
Alvin smiled. "My specialty."
Charles snapped his fingers. "Exactly. And don't forget—he must never know who's really buying the land. Let him think it's the mysterious Tre Sorelle investor group, with Sorelle and Damaris backing."
"Understood," the two men nodded.
SIGMA continued. [Second target: Serma Hestrel. She's the royal guild cartographer who holds the zoning rights for the southern artisan district—the Apothecary Street and Alchemy Boutique site.]
Charles scoffed. "Cartographers. Drawing lines, pretending to carve up kingdoms."
"Serma's meticulous, prideful, and she thinks every property deal is a page in history," SIGMA noted.
"Perfect," Charles said.
"Wendy, Rob—your turn. Give her an official invitation to the banquet, engraved with Sorelle sigils. Hand her a limited-edition enchanted quill—diamond-tipped, blessed by a scholar-monk of the Verdant Library."
Rob raised a brow. "You've had that thing tucked away for months. That's your rainy-day gift?"
Charles winked.
"This is that storm. Make her feel she's scripting the noble rise of pharmaceutical power—the magic renaissance. Keep it mysterious. Get the zoning codes changed with a smile, no questions."
"On it," Wendy said, adjusting her cloak.
Rob saluted lazily. "Time to charm and disarm."
[Third,] SIGMA said, [Chancellor Olmin Ters. The bureaucratic logjam of Velmora. He's got his thumb over the mage tower zoning approvals and the logistics sector where our warehouse will be built.]
Charles sighed. "Ah, the sacred order of red tape and rubber stamps."
[Olmin responds to two things: lavish 'philanthropic donations' and the illusion of influence,] SIGMA added.
Charles tilted his head toward Diana and Anton.
"This one's yours. Go in with full merchant regalia, high-fashion cloaks, embossed scrolls, the works. Say you're part of the Damaris and Sorelle Expansion Consortium. Lay down a donation of 300,000 gold to his favorite orphanage—the one he owns secretly under his wife's name—and hand him a personal scroll invitation to the Tre Sorelle banquet. Let him feel like he's been knighted."
Anton crossed his arms. "That's… bold."
Charles smiled. "It's diplomacy with a bottle of wine and a wink. If he thinks this makes him part of a noble resurrection project, he'll stamp our permits himself."
Diana laughed softly. "And if not?"
"Then offer to rename the clinic in his honor: The Olmin Health Pavilion for Civil Restoration. Trust me. He'll cry."
SIGMA chimed again, "All targets are likely to accept if handled with delicacy and misdirection. Current cost estimate for greasing palms, setting banquet illusions, and securing formal cooperation: 4.2 million gold coins. Bonus incentives if they sign within five days."
Charles stood. His voice shifted—deeper, sharper, charismatic like a lightning strike cloaked in velvet.
"Here's the deal. Close your targets in seven days or less, and each gets five hundred thousand gold coins, one legendary skill tome aligned to your affinities, and a rare artifact tailored to your path. Fail, and you just get my mild disappointment and a plate of leftover banquet crumbs."
Rob put his hand up. "Are the crumbs enchanted?"
Charles said, "Maybe cursed."
The room was full of laughter.
Wilson, who had been quiet until now, stepped up. "What if we close them in three?"
Charles's eyes shone. "Then SIGMA will move your artifact tier up, and you will be first in line for training tower rotation. Wilson, do you want to rise? Give me results. Tell Velmora that we're not just here to build. We're here to settle down."
The silver-haired visionary turned to the wall, where the city glowed and light threads outlined the different areas.
"This isn't just building. This is being in charge. Quiet, planned, and beautiful control. The kind that writes itself into the bones of a city without ever firing a gun."
He paused, then added, "Make sure they feel it. The banquet is the bait. The illusion is the net. And we… are the tide."
The room was silent for a beat.
Then Borris cracked his neck. "This is better than war."
Wendy rolled her eyes. "Says the man who's disappointed there's no decapitations."
Anton looked at Diana. "So… this is our new life?"
She gave him a small smile, eyes dancing. "Looks like it."
And as the chamber doors closed behind each departing team, the shadows curled with promise.
Velmora had no idea it had already been conquered.