When the trio sat back down, the table seemed to buzz with fresh ambition. They ignored their steak, left their wine unfinished, and their eyes shone with excitement.
Each of them now held the start of an empire in a small enchanted ring.
Charles raised his glass again. "To the shadows we weave, the beasts we tame, and those too blind to notice our coming."
Wendy whispered, "To war."
Borris said, "To whispers."
Rob raised his glass. "To wings."
Charles smiled, and his blue eyes sparkled with the confidence of someone who always seems to be one step ahead.
"And to the empire that is below the empire."
They were already feeling overwhelmed when Charles told them one last thing.
"SIGMA encrypts all of the rings. Tracking in real time. Records of costs.AI budget optimization."
"What if we get rid of them?" Wendy said.
"They turn into normal rings. Put snacks away. Or bodies. No judgment."
The laughter burst out, loud and bright. Even Geo toasted, even though his drink was really enchanted fruit soda with a touch of spirit dew.
"To chaos!" Rob said, matching the group's bold energy.
With a crooked smile, Alvin swirled his drink. "To war without taxes!"
Diana raised her glass and said, "To this madness."
"One more thing."
It was as if everyone in the room was holding their breath.
Alvin leaned forward. "Here it comes."
Charles set his red wine down with purpose. He reached under his dark cloak and pulled out a small, glowing rectangle covered in intricate runes and a polished lock.
He placed it on the table with a soft click.
It was a miniature chest of space, the kind usually reserved for powerful bankers or ambitious rulers.
The lock clicked open, revealing rows of gold bars marked with platinum, glowing warmly with an undeniable seal.
Geo's jaw dropped again. "How much is that?"
"Thirteen million gold coins," Charles replied smoothly, and turned to Borris.
"Your job, starting tomorrow, is to find us a manor. A real one. I want land that can cradle an empire and a view that terrifies the neighbors."
Borris looked at Charles, then the chest. "You're giving me all of it?"
"I trust your taste," Charles said flatly. "And more importantly, I trust you to intimidate any seller who resists."
Borris let out a long, slow whistle. "You want something extravagant, then."
"No," Charles said.
Everyone turned to him again.
He gazed past the group, out the tall glass walls where Velmora's skyline sparkled against the dark city below.
"I want something that makes nobles choke on their heirloom soup."
He turned back to the group, his voice taking on the commanding tone they all recognized.
"I want you all, in pairs, scouting Velmora at first light. Diana and Anton, you'll hit the noble districts—look for high ground. Alvin and Rob hit the merchant zones. Bribe whom you need to. Wendy and Borris explore the outskirts—find the forgotten gems. Something massive. Something old. Something meant for gods and not yet claimed."
Anton leaned back, arms crossed. "Let me guess. You want something that screams mystery, menace, and money."
"Correct," Charles said. "Three teleport pads, a banquet courtyard, barracks for five hundred."
"Anything else? Floating shrine? Dragon stable?" Diana asked.
"Actually…" Charles began.
Alvin muttered, "Don't tempt him."
But Charles was already caught up in his vision, describing the plans as if he could see them right in front of him.
He described the Main Manor as a luxury building at the estate's center, with fortress-grade outer walls protected by defensive magical arrays and internal windows crafted from mana-glass, which allows natural light while maintaining magical security. The support beams, made from energy-resonant soulwood, would harden the structure and enable mana flows for security and comfort. The estimated cost for these main features: 4 million gold.
Three guest wings, each extending from the primary manor, would complete the estate's eastern, western, and northern borders. These wings would connect directly to common areas while maintaining guest privacy.
Each guest wing would meet noble standards, featuring secluded private gardens for quiet reflection, meditation baths with restorative enchantments for recovery, and moonlit floor tiles that provide magical luminescence to enhance atmosphere and nighttime security.
The total cost for these wings: 2 million gold.
The southern perimeter of the estate would be lined with extensive barracks, featuring dedicated indoor training courts, fortified external defensive walls, and sleeping quarters designed to accommodate and train 2,000 elite troops on-site.
Additional training facilities, both for standard drills and advanced techniques, would be integrated with the barracks area. The proposed allocation for all training infrastructure and land required is 3 million gold, ensuring room for future expansion.
In the heart of the central grounds, a garden pavilion would sit between the manor and the wings, equipped with concealed magical arrays for meditation and relaxation, and as an emergency escape zone if needed. The value for constructing and enchanting the pavilion: 1 million gold.
A teleport-linked war chamber below would house a SIGMA center, scrying mirrors, and networked servers. Cost: 800,000 gold.
The additional budget includes all necessary personnel.
"Thirteen million total," Charles said at last, tapping the spatial chest with one finger. "We start building the moment you find the land."
Borris cocked an eyebrow. "Do we keep leftovers?"
Charles: "Only if the manor has a spare demiplane and its own sun."
Geo raised a hand timidly. "Um. Can I live there?"
"You'll all live there," Charles said. "Eventually. Diana, Anton, Alvin, Geo—you'll relocate once it's done. The manor will be our anchor. Our official Velmora residence. And our enemies' sleepless nightmare."
Wendy smiled. "And if nothing meets your wild standards?"
Charles smiled slowly and with silver.
"Then we buy three nearby estates, tear them all down, and build on the ashes."
The group laughed, but Charles's words stayed with them, leaving them feeling as if something important had just been decided.
Velmora shone outside the window—beautiful and strange.
But something even bigger was starting inside their booth at the Sky Harbor.
Plans, pacts, and now a place.
Not just a base.
A banner.
A statement.
And across the city's dark skyline, in a kingdom unaware of what was coming,
The first signs of a new empire began to appear.
After dinner..
Borris and Wendy brought Wilson to Tre Sorelle Velmora's hidden vault. The underground room glowed with soft glyphs, lighting up rows of hidden surveillance runes. Wilson's eyes widened, and he could only nod in amazement.
Wendy grinned. "Welcome to the rabbit hole, kid."
Borris hit Wilson's back so hard that the young prodigy almost fell over.
"These aren't your average hotel charms. This is surveillance fit for a battlefield—layered arrays that go deeper than a nobleman's excuses at tax time."
Wilson took a breath. "I never thought a restaurant could be this complicated."
Wendy's eyes shone. "Believe me, this is just the appetizer menu."
For the next two hours, they showed Wilson how to use directional audio glyphs, terrain-scanning nodes, and passive mana-sensors.
Side Story: "Asset Unknown, Influence Assumed"
Duranth: Winterwatch Tower, Office of Victor Sorelle
Victor Sorelle carefully adjusted the red cuffs of his black robes, as if he were performing a ritual.
Outside, storm-touched peaks of Duranth clawed at the sky, snow swirling around the estate as mana lines pulsed in the skyglass windows.
He took a slow breath and tapped the glowing blue crystal orb on his desk. One tap to activate, two to connect. The magic pulsed and connected him to the only man in the kingdom who shared his love of bold plans and ambition.
"Lucien. Guest list confirmation. Tre Sorelle Banquet in Velmora. Five days. Will you attend?"
The reply came after only two seconds, his voice cool, clipped, and lined with velvet threat.
"I'm already packing."
Davona Royal Capital - Estate of Marquis Lucien Damaris
Elsewhere, Marquis Lucien Damaris stood before a black obsidian table, covered in scrolls, holographic ledgers, projection stones, and bank interface cubes pulsing with mana.
One black-gold VIP card pulsed at the center.
Stellar Tier 2. Embossed. Engraved. Beneath him.
And in the last hour, he had reviewed exactly 487 flagged transactions.
His fingers moved in a blur across the air-scribed ledger as his gaze locked onto one name repeated like a haunting refrain.
SIGMA PSY Conglomerate
Property Transfers: 46 million gold.
Tre Sorelle Northern Expansion: 2 million gold.
Shell Holdings: 19 separate entities.
Vault Interlink Access Name: Charlemagne Ziglar.
Lucien stopped moving. Not because the idea was against the law.
But it was terrifyingly perfect.
The deals were clear but hard to understand, like a well-played shell game.
"This isn't money laundering," Lucien said quietly. "It's a form of art."
He leaned closer, zooming in on one particular trail.
'Velvet Curtain Holdings'? A real estate broker that never made public transactions—but just acquired two leyline hubs, a winery, and a floating boutique tower.
Another shell read: 'Soulcore Investment Cell', a low-risk portfolio group that somehow generated 18% quarterly yield on spectral-based lending alone.
"He never asked me to invest," Lucien whispered, almost admiringly. "Yet I'm already earning dividends. He didn't even offer me tea."
He slowly realized the truth.
I'm already involved. Already stitched into his empire like gold thread in a noble's crest. And I didn't even notice the needle.
He turned to his steward with a deadpan sigh.
"Upgrade Ziglar's Stellar Bank status to Tier 3. Publicly. Quietly."
A pause.
"Actually—upgrade mine too. I'm still stuck at Tier 2. Unacceptable."
But in his gut, Lucien knew something worse:
If everything is tallied—his private holdings, shell fund flow, shadow estates—Ziglar might already qualify for Tier 4. Or worse… Tier Unknown.
He shuddered at the thought.
Back in Duranth at Victor's Office
Victor Sorelle was pacing now.
He wasn't panicking, but he was frustrated, realizing he had accidentally helped create an empire.
"We agreed on fifty thousand gold," he snapped to no one. "Fifty. Thousand. For a feasibility study. To see if people liked mana-chamomile and roasted firelily scones."
He grabbed the latest report:
Tre Sorelle: Northern Territory Expansion
Budget: 2,000,000 gold coins.
Scope: Ten full-service franchise nodes, floating cafés, portable teleport-linked food carts, aerial pastry delivery beasts (seriously?),
Bonus: Market feasibility studies in the Southern Territory, for some reason.
Victor stared at the bottom line like it owed him an apology and a sedative.
"He said 'low risk.' He said, 'experimental phase.' He now owns five mountains, a leyline, and the licensing rights to the word 'herbal.'"
Victor slumped in his seat, then picked up his wineglass only to realize it was already empty.
"I was supposed to own him."
"Instead, I sponsored him into a deity."
Two Men. Two Cities Apart. One Glorious Mistake.
Victor and Lucien sat in their studies, looking at reports and an untouched bottle of wine, slowly realizing they were no longer in control of the situation.
Their minds whispered in uncanny unison:
We need to rope Charles in deeper—real estate, banking, weapons development, and territory licensing. Before someone else does.
But what neither of them knew was that they'd already signed away half their influence three weeks ago.
In invisible ink.
On enchanted contracts.
Filed under: SIGMA PSY Umbra Holdings.
Owner on Record: Charlemagne Ziglar
Consent: Assumed.
Clause 9b: "All involved parties agree they were probably complicit from the beginning."