Chapter 996 – "The Pillar of Solari"
The world was spiraling. Protests burned, currencies devalued, and faith in governments cracked like glass. It was in this storm that Africa's new leaders stepped forward, flanked by the Magic Association's highest representatives.
Broadcasts lit up every continent as the African Union chairwoman spoke, her voice steady, carrying both reassurance and power:
"The world has been betrayed by fragile paper. Solari was not created for greed. It was created for trust. A trust sealed by magic, bound by contract, and impossible to counterfeit. We extend this to all nations. The choice is yours — continue to cling to what is breaking, or embrace what is unbreakable."
Beside her, an elder of the Magic Association added with quiet finality:
"We swear by contract and law — Solari cannot be forged. Those who bear it are shielded by the same runes that have safeguarded our world for centuries. This is not merely currency. It is order."
The effect was immediate. For weeks, governments had stumbled in silence and secrecy. But now the alternative was being offered openly — by leaders who appeared calm, confident, and united.
And then came the shock: the first major powers accepted.
Japan was the first to move. Prime Minister's speech broke tradition with centuries of caution:
"The yen has served us faithfully, but it cannot serve us now. From this day, Japan recognizes Solari as an official reserve currency."
Australia followed within hours, its parliament rushing through emergency measures. Italy's government collapsed in the middle of crisis talks, but the newly formed coalition announced Solari adoption as its first act. France and Germany — once the defenders of the euro — both shifted after mass protests shook Paris and Berlin, their leaders bowing to the inevitable.
Brazil's president gave a fiery televised address, waving a Solari coin between his fingers:
"This is more real than the money in our banks!"
And India, struggling under counterfeit floods, delivered its statement at dawn:
"We will not let illusions destroy us. Solari will protect our future."
The world reeled. Within a single week, Solari — once dismissed as a regional experiment — was now recognized by some of the world's largest economies.
Stock exchanges convulsed. The IMF held emergency midnight sessions. Old currencies fell further as citizens rushed to exchange whatever they could.
And across Africa, temples of Aten and halls of the Magic Association rang with a new chant whispered on every tongue:
"Solari is truth."
At first, the United States, the United Kingdom, China, and Russia drew a hard line.
Washington declared Solari "a foreign destabilization attempt" and insisted the dollar remained "the foundation of the global economy."London's Prime Minister called it "a dangerous experiment," urging citizens to stand by the pound.Beijing thundered about "currency sovereignty," promising that the yuan would never be replaced.Moscow derided Solari as "an African fantasy," claiming it would collapse within months.
But while leaders resisted, the people were living a different reality.
In New York, ordinary families watched the price of bread double within weeks as counterfeit floods shredded confidence in the dollar. In London, thousands stormed banks demanding gold, only to find vaults emptier than rumors suggested. In Moscow, black markets bloomed, where Solari was already being traded at three times the value of the ruble. In Beijing, students and entrepreneurs whispered about Solari as the "only safe future," their phones flashing black-market exchange rates faster than state censors could delete them.
The tipping point came after one month. Citizens no longer believed the speeches. They had watched Japan, Germany, France, India, and Brazil transition with visible stability. They saw global trade shifting. They saw investors moving quietly but decisively.
The backlash at home was fierce.
In America, protests swelled outside the Federal Reserve, with placards reading "Stop Printing Lies" and "Give Us Solari."In Britain, strikes crippled industries as unions demanded Solari-backed wages.In Russia, oligarchs began secretly stockpiling Solari, turning against their own government.In China, regional governors and private corporations began hoarding Solari reserves despite Beijing's bans.
Under this unrelenting pressure, governments were forced to bow.
The US Treasury issued a grim statement first:
"While the dollar remains sovereign, Solari will be recognized as a reserve currency for stability."
London followed with nearly identical phrasing, a quiet surrender masked as compromise.
Moscow seethed, but announced Solari "would be held in strategic reserves."
Even Beijing — once the fiercest critic — conceded, with a cold declaration:
"Solari will be incorporated into our reserve basket. This decision is for the people, not for politics."
The irony was bitter. The very nations that mocked Solari had now acknowledged its dominance.
Citizens, however, did not miss the truth. They no longer trusted their governments to act first. Instead, they trusted Africa and the Magic Association, who had given them stability when their own leaders could not.
And so, within a single month, Solari was not just a reserve currency — it had become the backbone of global finance.
Three months after the first great wave of acceptance, the global financial map looked unrecognizable.
By 2031, non-superpower countries had already completed their transition, abandoning their fragile national currencies and adopting Solari as their main currency.
From Latin America to Southeast Asia, governments quietly announced the same shift:
Chile, Argentina, and Peru declared their central banks would issue only Solari from this point onward.Thailand, Vietnam, and the Philippines made similar announcements, citing "public demand and regional trade stability."In Africa outside the Union, nations still finalizing their own democratic reforms accelerated their adoption, seeing the clear strength of Solari as a foundation.Middle Eastern economies — smaller Gulf states, Jordan, Lebanon — followed, driven by pressure from citizens and merchants.
For these countries, the decision was not a question of prestige but of survival. Counterfeit floods had destroyed confidence in old banknotes, inflation was eating through savings, and citizens themselves were refusing to accept national money. Street vendors, landlords, and farmers alike demanded payment in Solari — or not at all.
And so, one by one, governments capitulated. The Solari symbol appeared on ATMs, credit cards, and official government seals across the globe.
What astonished observers most was the speed. Never before in history had a currency gone from invention to global adoption in less than two years.
By early 2031, the tally was clear:
Superpowers (US, UK, China, Russia) grudgingly used Solari as a reserve, with their citizens pressuring for more.Major powers (Japan, Germany, France, India, Brazil, Australia, Italy) had fully integrated it.Small and mid-sized nations — more than 120 countries worldwide — now treated Solari as their main national currency.
In just three months, the world had flipped.
The International Monetary Fund itself, once skeptical, admitted in a reluctant press briefing:
"Solari is no longer a regional experiment. It is a global reality."
The World Bank followed with an even starker warning:
"Any country refusing to integrate Solari risks isolating itself from global trade."
Africa, once considered the "forgotten continent," now stood as the anchor of world finance. Its leaders, once mocked, were now being courted by diplomats and investors from every corner of the globe.
And so, the year 2031 began with a truth none could deny: Solari was not just money. It was the new world order.
Chapter 997 – "The Fall of the Old Giants"
Four months passed. By now, every nation on Earth had adopted Solari as their main currency.
What began as a cautious experiment had become absolute. Banknotes of the old world — dollars, euros, pounds, yuan, rubles, yen — were now relics, collected by museums and curious citizens as souvenirs of an age that had collapsed almost overnight.
For major powers like Japan, Germany, France, India, Brazil, Australia, and Italy, the transition had been relatively smooth. These nations had embraced Solari early, allowing their economies to stabilize quickly. Their industries, backed by strong infrastructure and educated populations already empowered by Aten rice, had suffered minimal disruption. If anything, they were thriving — their economies now free from the volatility of counterfeit-driven collapse.
But for the superpowers of the old order — the United States, the United Kingdom, China, and Russia — the story was different.
They had resisted Solari longest, clinging to their currencies, trying to impose regulations, and flooding their media with propaganda. But resistance only deepened the damage. Citizens, distrustful of their governments, had moved their wealth into Solari anyway — legally or illegally. When the governments finally capitulated, it was too late.
The United States saw its global dominance crumble. The dollar, once the undisputed backbone of world trade, was now worthless paper. Wall Street was no longer the world's heart; New York financiers found themselves begging African institutions for access to Solari markets. Protests shook Washington as ordinary Americans realized their government had gambled away their stability.The United Kingdom, already weakened by years of political instability, saw London dethroned as a financial hub. British banks closed by the dozens, unable to cope with Solari transfers they had resisted for too long. The pound collapsed, and Britain's influence in Europe and beyond evaporated.China, once an unstoppable rising power, suffered equally. The yuan had been a pillar of Beijing's global strategy, but counterfeit floods had gutted its credibility. Factories remained strong, but without currency dominance, China lost its leverage in global trade negotiations. Citizens whispered that the "Century of China" had ended before it had truly begun.Russia, reliant on resource exports and financial control, collapsed hardest. Oil and gas buyers demanded Solari only, leaving Moscow scrambling. The ruble had lost all legitimacy, and oligarch fortunes dissolved overnight. For a nation that prided itself on strength, the humiliation was absolute.
Meanwhile, Africa stood tall. Its leaders, who had once been dismissed, were now receiving endless delegations. The African Union's central bank in Addis Ababa, backed by the Magic Association, had become the most important financial institution in the world.
For the first time in modern history, power no longer lay with the old empires or the so-called great powers — but with those who had embraced change.
The people called it plainly:
"The old giants have fallen. A new world has risen."
And so, as the fifth month dawned, Solari was not just a currency. It was the symbol of a new era, where the balance of power belonged to those who adapted, not those who clung to the past.
The stage was set in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia — now called "the beating heart of Solari." Delegations from every corner of the globe had arrived, not as conquerors, not as rulers, but as guests in a city that had become the new axis of financial power.
Flags lined the streets, but none stood higher than the gold-and-black banner of Solari, the sigil of runes interwoven into a radiant sun. The entire city vibrated with anticipation.
Inside the grand assembly hall, leaders, bankers, CEOs, and representatives of magical families sat shoulder-to-shoulder. The atmosphere was charged, not just with mana from protective wards but with the weight of history itself.
The chairman of the African Union Solari Authority stood and spoke clearly:
"We are gathered here today for the First Solari World Summit. Let the world know — Solari is not a tool of oppression, nor a weapon of control. It is a shield against corruption, against counterfeiting, and against collapse."
Murmurs echoed, but his next words silenced the hall.
"Every single individual who works within this system has already entered a binding magical contract. They cannot betray their duty, they cannot manipulate the system. If they attempt to do so, the contract will seize their lives."
The weight of those words hit the crowd like thunder. Cameras zoomed in on leaders' faces as they exchanged stunned glances. It was no mere metaphor — everyone in the hall could feel the magical pressure in the air, the silent enforcement of the contracts that bound every Solari banker and technician.
Another official, a high-ranking envoy from the Magic Association, stepped forward:
"This is not optional. It is the foundation of Solari. Without unbreakable trust, a currency is meaningless. Here, betrayal itself has a cost — your life."
Gasps rippled across the audience. Some shifted uncomfortably, but others nodded in grim respect. The system was ironclad.
The envoy smiled faintly and added:
"Do not be misled. Many of us went even further. Some chose harsher punishments for themselves if they should ever betray their duties. There are those among us who willingly inscribed death into their contracts. Immediate death."
The hall erupted into whispers. Reporters scribbled frantically, leaders muttered to aides, and financial elites swallowed hard. Solari was not simply a currency backed by technology — it was a currency enforced by the laws of mana itself, unforgeable and incorruptible.
One delegate, a Japanese finance minister, leaned back and whispered in awe:
"No wonder… no wonder even the supernatural families bowed to this system."
For the first time in history, the world's leaders were gathered under the leadership of Africa, united not by fear, not by conquest, but by the absolute trust that only magic could provide.
And so began the First Solari World Summit — the day when humanity admitted, openly and without denial, that the age of ordinary money had ended forever.
Chapter 998 – "Policies of the First Solari World Summit"
As the solemn weight of magical contracts settled over the assembly, the chairman of the Solari Authority raised his hand, and the great hall fell silent again. Behind him, a shimmering projection of golden runes unfolded into charts, maps, and glowing figures.
"Now that trust has been established, we move to the next step. The policies of Solari shall reshape global finance — not with chains, but with balance."
The Solari Trade Framework
Delegates watched as trade routes lit up across the world map.
All international trade deals conducted in Solari would bypass the volatility of collapsing national banknotes.Countries that adopted Solari would receive lower transaction fees and enhanced trade protections enforced by magical contracts.To prevent hoarding or monopolization, no single nation could store more than 15% of the Solari reserves outside its borders.
The chairman's voice rang clear:
"Trade shall no longer be decided by whoever prints the most paper. It shall be decided by fair exchange and trust."
Mana-Backed Reserves
Next, the envoy from the Magic Association spoke. A sphere of glowing light floated in his palm, pulsing with raw mana.
"Solari is not just paper or data. Every Solari unit is tied to a mana reserve vault. The reserves are maintained and audited by the Association itself, impossible to falsify. The strength of mana — immutable and incorruptible — ensures its value."
The policy was revolutionary: instead of being pegged to gold, Solari was pegged to mana itself, the very essence of the supernatural era.
Infrastructure Funds for Developing Countries
On the screen appeared images of bridges, power plants, and mana academies.
A global fund was announced: The Solari Development Reserve.10% of all Solari transaction fees would automatically funnel into this fund.It would be used to rebuild roads, ports, energy grids, and most importantly, mana education centers across Africa, South America, and Southeast Asia.
A minister from Kenya rose proudly, saying:
"For the first time, our children will study in schools not built on scraps of foreign aid, but on wealth we ourselves created."
Supernatural Community Integration
To applause, it was declared that supernatural groups, magical families, and awakened mercenaries would be formally given access to Solari banking. Their treasures could be secured, exchanged, or loaned with magical guarantees.
This was more than finance — it was the first time the supernatural world and the human governments acknowledged each other openly in a single system.
Anti-Corruption Safeguards
The last decree stunned the world.
"Any government official who manages Solari funds must also enter into a magical contract. No exceptions. Betrayal of public wealth shall equal betrayal of life itself."
The announcement sent shockwaves through the hall. Some delegates broke into applause, others stiffened with unease. But the decision was final — Africa had declared that corruption itself would be punished by death.
By the end of the day, journalists were already calling it "The Solari Charter."
For the first time in modern history, finance was bound not just by law or economy, but by mana, oath, and blood.
And as the summit closed, it was clear: the world had entered a new financial order, one born in Africa and enforced by magic.
The applause in the great hall slowly ebbed, leaving only the flickering glow of the runic displays. Reporters hailed the Solari Charter as the birth of a new age. Delegates signed contracts with trembling hands, knowing the weight of the magic now tied to their very lives.
And yet, far from the cameras and the shining halls, another truth remained hidden.
All of this—every safeguard, every rune woven into Solari's design, every layer of the impossibly intricate production cycle—had begun with Alex.
Years ago, when whispers of a new African currency first reached him, Alex had quietly reached out through the shadows. He had not built Solari himself, nor claimed any credit. Instead, he had simply imparted knowledge—a handful of ideas, fragments of technical insight that no ordinary mortal could have conceived.
It was he who suggested that the material components be ordinary, so as not to arouse suspicion…
It was he who revealed that the true security lay in the runes of impossibility, inscribed with mana resonance so precise they could not be counterfeited by any human hand…
It was he who taught them to cycle production in rotating magical harmonics, ensuring that no two batches of Solari were ever identical.
Even the Magisters of the Magic Association had been stunned by the elegance of the system. They had assumed it was one of their own who conceived of it, never realizing that the knowledge had come from outside.
Alex had never asked for recognition. He had never demanded to be named as a founder. To him, it was nothing more than planting a seed.
Now, that seed had grown into a global tree whose roots were binding nations, economies, and the supernatural world itself.
Ciel, sitting beside him in the quiet of his home far away from the Summit, gave him a knowing look. She had seen the curve of his smile when the words "unforgeable currency" first spread across the world.
"You really don't plan to tell them, do you?" she asked softly.
Alex only chuckled, shaking his head.
"No. Let them believe it was their own hands that built it. Pride will drive them to protect it harder than if they knew it came from me."
Ciel's lips curved into a faint smile.
"And yet… the world is dancing on a stage you designed."
Alex leaned back, eyes glimmering with the same calm certainty that had carried him through countless battles.
"I don't need them to know. I only need the world to keep moving forward."
Outside, the first news broadcasts of the Solari Summit were replaying across the globe. Nations trembled, banks scrambled, and people whispered in awe of a future shaped by magic.
None of them realized that the architect of it all was quietly watching from the shadows, content to let the world believe it was their own achievement.
Yet even as Alex's quiet guidance ensured Solari's strength, another current had been running beneath the surface — one he had not foreseen.
Far away, in the quiet corners of fate's tapestry, Skuld had been watching. His little sister, ever playful, ever mischievous, had seen what her brother was doing. She saw the knowledge he had seeded into Africa's rise, how carefully he had built Solari's foundations.
And, in her own way, she decided to imitate him.
With a laugh that only she could hear, Skuld whispered fragments of forbidden knowledge into the ears of men who should never have had it. She nudged criminal guilds, shadow cabals, and rogue financiers — the very same networks that would later flood the world with counterfeit banknotes.
Where Alex had given tools of order, she had given tools of chaos.
"If big brother can shape the future," she giggled to herself, "then so can I. Let's see how he dances when the strings are pulled from the other side."
The counterfeit surge that had baffled governments, the endless waves of false dollars, euros, yuan, and more — it was no mere accident of mortal cunning. It was a twist of fate, guided by her playful hand.
To the world, it looked like a storm of crime. To Alex, it appeared as the inevitable collapse of outdated systems. But in truth, it was a sister's prank, a deliberate push meant to mirror her brother's actions in reverse.
The irony was perfect: while he had armed the world with a currency that could never be forged, she had armed its underbelly with the ability to forge everything else.
Neither force canceled the other. Instead, they worked in tandem, tearing down the old order while lifting the new.
And Skuld? She sat cross-legged in a realm only she could see, grinning with childlike mischief as she watched markets tumble and nations panic.
"Don't be mad, brother," she whispered into the wind, "I'm only helping you make the world more interesting."
Chapter 998.5 – "Everyday Solari"
The morning sun lit the glass facade of a café in downtown Nairobi. Above the door, a new digital board displayed glowing runes, the shimmering numerals unmistakable:
Coffee – 8 Solari
Croissant – 5 Solari
Soft Drink – 3 Solari
The runes pulsed faintly with mana, a subtle reminder that each number was unforgeable. Customers lined up, waving their crystal-embedded cards or simply pressing their palms against scanners that linked directly to the Solari network. No one worried about counterfeits anymore—the enchantments woven into every transaction were absolute.
Inside, a group of university students laughed over steaming cups.
"Back then, this would've been… what, three hundred shillings?" one said, shaking his head.
"Now it's just eight Solari. And the flavor's better too—guess Aten rice really changed the farms."
Across the street, a small market bustled. Farmers from nearby villages had set up stalls, proudly displaying handwritten signs in both chalk and rune-lit tags:
Tomatoes – 4 Solari/kg
Chicken – 10 Solari/kg
Eggs – 6 Solari/dozen
The sellers grinned as buyers paid without haggling. Trust in the system was absolute; the rune-stamped coins and digital transfers couldn't be faked.
Meanwhile, on the government side, the Ministry of Finance broadcast its daily bulletin. The Solari exchange rates scrolled across every public screen, not against other currencies—they were gone now—but against goods:
1 Solari = 1/3 soft drink = 200 ml milk = 1/5 loaf bread.
It was simple. Tangible. Citizens understood instantly.
In Tokyo, neon-lit vending machines had already switched. Where once yen had flashed, now Solari glowed. "3 Solari" blinked under the picture of a cold can, while "5 Solari" lit up under bottles of tea. Commuters tapped their wristbands without hesitation.
In Rome, a luxury restaurant proudly displayed its menu in Solari for the first time. Grilled Wagyu – 120 Solari.Mana-rich Salmon – 150 Solari. Tourists marveled not at the dishes, but at the currency itself, watching as glowing rune symbols shimmered across payment slips.
And in Washington, government employees gathered at a press conference, the official standing stiffly at the podium.
"The United States Treasury now recognizes Solari as legal tender for all federal contracts and international trade. Citizens are reminded that counterfeit currency issues remain under investigation—but Solari remains secure."
The room buzzed with reporters. One asked bluntly:
"So, are you saying people should stop trusting the dollar?"
The official paused, jaw tightening. "I'm saying they should trust Solari."
Back in Nairobi, the café's cashier handed a young boy a chocolate bar. "That'll be 6 Solari." The boy tapped his wristband proudly, the runes glowing as the payment was made. He grinned at his father.
"It feels like magic, dad."
His father chuckled, ruffling his hair. "That's because it is. Welcome to the new world."
While citizens grew used to buying bread and milk with Solari, the upper markets told a different story.
At the bustling central exchange hall in Johannesburg, merchants carried velvet-lined cases and heavy steel chests. Security was tighter than ever, but not because of fear of theft—because of the sheer value on display.
A trader lifted a polished gold ingot and placed it onto the rune-scanner. The rune flared, confirming authenticity.
"Forty-two thousand Solari," the clerk declared. The ingot glowed faintly as its weight and purity were etched into the system. The buyer, a jeweler from Mumbai, transferred the payment with a simple touch of her bracelet.
Nearby, a diamond dealer from Antwerp opened a case of brilliant stones. Each one shone under the rune light, their facets scattering mana-glimmers.
"This lot—twelve thousand Solari," he announced. Bidders raised rune-stamped paddles, voices echoing across the hall.
Emeralds from Colombia, sapphires from Sri Lanka, jade from Myanmar—all passed under the enchanted scanners. No counterfeit stone or flawed jewel could slip through; the rune light revealed everything, even tiny cracks invisible to the naked eye.
In Dubai, luxury houses began advertising with bold signs:
"Gold Bracelets – 800 Solari"
"Mana-Gem Rings – 1,200 Solari"
"Royal Necklace – 5,000 Solari"
Transactions that once required wire transfers and guarded vaults now happened instantly, secured by contracts woven into the Solari system.
Even governments joined the trade. The Bank of France quietly auctioned part of its gold reserves for Solari, while Brazil's state mines released shipments of emeralds. In return, they received a currency that couldn't be forged, siphoned, or undermined.
On the news, anchors reported breathlessly:
"Not only are groceries, drinks, and daily necessities priced in Solari—now, for the first time in history, the trade of global valuables is being carried out seamlessly. Gold, diamonds, jewels… all tied to this unbreakable currency."
A jewelry merchant in New York summed it up simply before the cameras:
"Solari doesn't just buy food—it buys the future."
As the world adjusted to Solari for bread, milk, gold, and diamonds, another market quietly exploded — the magical item trade.
In Lagos, inside a vast glass dome repurposed from an old stadium, the first official Arcane Auction began under the joint supervision of the African Union and the Magic Association. The air shimmered with enchantments; runes carved into the walls suppressed destructive spells and ensured honesty in transactions.
The opening lot stunned everyone: a low-tier enchanted sword, its blade glowing faintly with a flame rune. The auctioneer's voice rang out:
"Starting bid — 10,000 Solari."
Hands shot up immediately. In less than a minute, the sword sold for 32,000 Solari—worth more than ten bars of gold.
Next came a mana crystal the size of a man's fist, harvested from a dungeon in the Congo. Under rune-light it pulsed like a living heart, radiating warmth.
"Eighty thousand Solari," declared the clerk as a Japanese consortium secured it with a single transfer.
By the time the tenth item rolled onto the stage — a pair of Phoenix-feather earrings, glowing softly with regenerative magic — the price had climbed into the hundreds of thousands of Solari. Reporters whispered that no necklace, diamond, or sapphire on earth could rival such treasures.
Cameras panned to show international bidders:
Italian magical families, their heirs cloaked in silks, calmly raising rune-paddles.Middle Eastern magnates, long famed for oil wealth, now hungry for enchanted artifacts.North American corporations, quietly represented by mercenary guilds.Asian arcane dynasties, their scions bidding aggressively.
One merchant from Germany shook his head as the bids soared past half a million Solari.
"Gold feels cheap now. Jewelry feels cheap. These magical artifacts… they are the true treasures."
On social media, clips of the auction spread like wildfire. Ordinary citizens stared wide-eyed as prices they could barely imagine were spent on cloaks that could resist bullets, rings that restored stamina, or potions brewed to extend life.
A headline scrolled across the bottom of global broadcasts:
"With Solari, magical items enter the global economy."
For the first time in history, the arcane and the mundane were priced under the same currency. And in this new world, even the glitter of diamonds seemed dull compared to a single vial of glowing elixir.
The glass-domed hall in Lagos that only yesterday had thundered with bids for mana crystals now brimmed with a different kind of treasure. The floor smelled faintly of saltwater and brine. Massive enchanted tanks lined the stage, glowing faintly blue, each one holding a creature so large it made spectators catch their breath.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer announced, his voice echoing, "today we present the **Seafood Auction — the ocean's bounty reborn by Aten rice. Sizes ranging from one meter to six meters. Creatures once thought impossible to catch, now brought here alive."
A cheer rolled through the crowd as the first lot rolled onto the stage — a 1.2-meter Alaskan king crab, its legs sprawling like polished scarlet spears. The claws clacked once against the enchanted glass, and murmurs spread.
"Minimum bid: 800 Solari."
Hands shot up immediately — restaurateurs from Tokyo, chefs from Paris, even royal representatives from the Middle East. The crab sold for 3,200 Solari, about the price of a gold necklace.
But that was just the beginning.
Next came a Dragon Lobster, its shell gleaming in shades of crimson and gold, faint wisps of steam curling off its body as though fire slumbered within. At 2.5 meters long, it dwarfed the handlers standing beside it.
"Starting bid: 10,000 Solari."
Within seconds, the number had climbed past 50,000. When the hammer fell at 73,000 Solari, the crowd erupted. Chefs whispered that even one tail from such a lobster could feed a banquet of fifty.
Then the true marvel appeared — a 6-meter Alaskan crab, its claws thicker than tree trunks, its shell shimmering faintly with golden streaks. It filled the entire enchanted tank, the glass straining against its size.
The hall went dead silent.
The auctioneer's voice trembled with excitement:
"Starting bid… 200,000 Solari."
Every hand in the room went up. Bidding was fierce, chefs against billionaires, magical families against luxury hotel chains. The numbers leapt — 500,000, 800,000, 1 million.
At 1.3 million Solari, half the crowd dropped out.
At 1.8 million Solari, only three bidders remained.
Finally, at 2.4 million Solari, the gavel slammed down. The crab was sold to a Singaporean seafood magnate, who immediately declared it would be unveiled at a global "Sea Banquet" streamed live to the world.
Cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions. The world's eyes were fixed not on jewels, not on gold, not even on magical artifacts — but on the ocean's transformed creatures, now treasures in their own right.
One chef, wiping tears from his eyes, summed up the mood in a single sentence:
"This is not food. This is history plated."
The auctioneer raised his hand for silence as the six-meter crab's tank was wheeled off the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, remember this," he said gravely, "these creatures are not like the old-world crabs you knew. To reach this size, they must survive for a full year in the deep seas without being hunted down. In those waters, predators abound — and so do awakened fishermen. Every specimen you see here today represents an extraordinary feat."
He gestured toward the handlers, their clothes still damp from saltwater.
"Even the smallest one-meter crabs require three E-rankers working together to catch. Anything above three meters demands C- or B-rank hunters. And these giants…" He paused, letting the silence linger. "…require no less than two B-rank fighters just to bring down alive."
A ripple of murmurs ran through the audience. Everyone knew what that meant: this wasn't just food. This was combat, risk, blood, and treasure pulled from the unforgiving sea.
On the stage, a Dragon Lobster thrashed, snapping its golden-tinged claws against reinforced chains. The sound echoed like steel striking steel. The auctioneer smiled faintly.
"You are not buying a meal. You are buying the impossible made real. That is why their price rivals gold, jewels, even magical artifacts. They are living legends."
At the back of the hall, a veteran chef whispered to his apprentice, "Do you understand? This isn't about flavor alone. It's about rarity. You don't just cook these creatures — you honor them."
And with that, the bidding resumed, fiercer than before.
The hall fell silent as the gavel slammed down.
"SOLD! The seven-meter Dragon Lobster goes for 11.2 billion solari!"
The winning bidder, a stern man in a black suit with silver hair at his temples, raised his hand calmly. His reputation preceded him: not just a billionaire industrialist, but also a patron of awakened fighters across Asia. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation — they knew what came next.
"Bring the chefs," he ordered.
Within moments, a team of world-renowned culinary masters arrived, blades gleaming under the lights. The Dragon Lobster was restrained and carefully dismantled with both knives and mana techniques, each motion surgical. Steam rose as its colossal shell split open, releasing an aroma so rich and layered that even hardened warriors in the crowd swallowed instinctively.
The chefs worked swiftly, preparing dishes on silver trays:
Mana-Steamed Lobster Claw with a faint golden glow.Charred Lobster Tail that shimmered with iridescent streaks.Broth simmered from its shell, a glowing amber liquid thick with mana.
When the dishes were ready, the industrialist didn't move to eat first. Instead, he turned to the men and women behind him — bodyguards clad in black, executives in tailored suits, loyalists who had followed him through decades of struggle.
"You have stood with me for years," he said quietly, his voice carrying despite the hush of the crowd. "Now stand with me in strength. Tonight, you share this power."
The trays were passed down the line. Followers bowed their heads in gratitude before lifting morsels of golden lobster to their lips.
The first bites drew gasps. Not just from the taste — though it was divine, soft and sweet with a depth that felt endless — but from the sensation that followed. Mana surged faintly in their veins, like a gentle fire coursing through the body. Muscles tightened subtly, their posture straightened, their breathing deepened.
A chef whispered to the cameras, his voice shaking:
"It's true… eating this isn't just food. It leaves a mark on the body. Permanent."
The bodyguards exchanged glances as they clenched their fists, feeling a faint but unmistakable increase in strength. The executives touched their chests, realizing their mana cores had grown slightly denser.
It wasn't much — just a sliver. But it was real. And permanent.
The billionaire smiled faintly, satisfied. "I told you. Wealth means nothing without loyalty. Now you carry my gift inside you."
The audience erupted into chaos. Some cried out to bid higher on the next lot. Others frantically called their assistants, desperate to secure seats at the next auction.
For the first time in history, food was no longer just luxury. It was power.
Chapter 999 – "The Year-Born Titans"
The auctions became even more frenzied after the revelation. It wasn't just flavor anymore — it was a question of legacy, of power.
Scholars and chefs, scientists and awakened alike, rushed to analyze the truth. Their findings spread like wildfire:
Young seafood, freshly grown from Aten-fed oceans, was delicious and nourishing, but gave only temporary boosts — stamina, sharper senses for a few days, a fleeting warmth of mana.Year-grown giants — those who had survived the wild for twelve months or more, growing to six meters or beyond — were different. Their bodies condensed the mana-rich nutrients of the ocean into permanent essence. Eating even a single portion would slightly increase a person's strength, endurance, or mana core density.
The difference was dramatic. A one-meter lobster required three E-rankers to catch and sold for the price of fine jewelry. But a six-meter lobster? That demanded two B-rankers working together and was auctioned for billions of solari — not just for its flavor, but for the subtle, permanent edge it granted.
Reporters called it "the Ocean's Blessing."
Merchants whispered of "power on a plate."
The world began to divide the catch into two categories:
Common Stock: one to five meters in length, prized for cuisine but affordable enough for the wealthy middle class.Year-Born Titans: six meters and larger, raised by time itself, their flesh dense with mana. These were rarer, hunted less, and worth fortunes.
The revelation set off a frenzy among nations. Governments declared new maritime zones, imposing strict controls to avoid overhunting, while private collectors hired awakened mercenaries to secure exclusive catches.
In Tokyo, a celebrity chef bowed before the cameras as he presented a glowing dish of dragon lobster tail. His words echoed across global broadcasts:
"Flavor fades, but strength remains. These creatures are no longer just food — they are living treasures of the sea."
The crowd's reaction was explosive. Auctions now sold not just meals, but fragments of permanent evolution.
The news spread faster than wildfire. Within hours of the first tasting demonstration, the auction halls of Tokyo, New York, and Geneva were transformed into theaters of history. These were no longer just seafood markets — they were grand arenas where power itself was carved, cooked, and sold by the slice.
The ones who moved the fastest were not governments, but the supernatural community.
Representatives of ancient magical families descended in force, their heirs and emissaries taking the front rows. Entire clans of vampires arrived in shadowed processions, bidding without hesitation for crates of golden-shelled lobsters. Elven delegations, tall and graceful, murmured about how such food harmonized with mana in ways no herb ever had. And from distant mountain strongholds, even a handful of dragon-blooded nobles appeared — their eyes gleaming with hunger not just for the taste, but for the permanence of the benefits promised.
The auctions turned into fierce battles:
A six-meter dragon lobster was unveiled, its shell radiating faint golden patterns. The auctioneer barely finished the opening bid before three magical houses shouted competing offers that climbed into the tens of billions of solari.An ancient vampire matriarch coolly raised her hand, doubling the price without blinking. "For my brood," she whispered, her voice like silk and ash.A high elf archmage countered, her voice carrying like a bell across the room. "This is no mere food. This is inheritance."And when a dragonkin patriarch finally slammed down his paddle with a bid that silenced the hall, the crowd erupted in awe.
The spectacle was overwhelming. Cameras broadcast the scenes worldwide, showing not just chefs preparing shimmering plates of crab and lobster, but also the supernatural elite fighting for them like emperors claiming relics.
When the tasting began, the winner — the dragonkin patriarch — did not hoard the meal for himself. With a smile both proud and arrogant, he gestured to his entourage of scales and cloaks.
"Eat," he commanded. "This strength is not mine alone. It is our lineage's."
His retainers obeyed, and before the eyes of thousands watching live, their mana signatures flickered and grew ever so slightly stronger. Subtle, but undeniable.
The world gasped. If even the most powerful races acknowledged this seafood as treasure, then its place was no longer in cuisine — it was in the annals of power.
The auctioneer's gavel struck again and again, each sale climbing higher than the last. The public spectacle cemented a truth no one could deny:
The Year-Born Titans of the Sea had become the most coveted resource of the new age.
The gavel struck for the last time that night, its echo rolling like thunder through the vast auction hall. Billions of solari had changed hands, but the true weight of the evening was measured not in money, but in revelation.
Before the eyes of cameras and witnesses, the entourage of the dragonkin patriarch straightened in their seats, their mana flaring with a subtle yet undeniable shift. The air shimmered faintly around them as if the world itself acknowledged the change.
It was slight — a whisper of strength, a breath of deeper mana — but the truth was unmistakable.
Not temporary.
Not fleeting.
Permanent.
The realization rippled through the audience like a tidal wave. Gasps, murmurs, even stifled cries filled the room. Across the globe, viewers sat frozen before their screens, struggling to process what they had just seen.
The golden-shelled lobsters, the colossal crabs, the shellfish of this new age — they were not delicacies. They were artifacts of evolution, living treasures whose flesh carried forward strength itself.
The patriarch's smile, calm and proud, sealed the night.
"Only a fraction," he said softly, his voice carrying nonetheless. "But a fraction that lasts forever."
The hall fell into awed silence.
Though their power had increased only slightly, it was permanent, not temporary. And in that permanence lay the true value — not measured in solari, but in the very future of those who ate.
The auction ended, but history had already been rewritten.
Chapter 1000 – "The Living Treasure Farms"
The news of permanent power increases spread like wildfire across the supernatural world. By the following auctions, the atmosphere had changed completely.
No longer were the colossal lobsters and king crabs sold only for immediate feasting. Instead, the truly cunning elites began bidding not for meat, but for life.
"Alive!" barked a vampire noble, slamming down his paddle. "Bring it to me breathing!"
"I have coastal territory with abyssal trenches," countered an elven matriarch, her voice like silver bells. "I will raise it myself."
Even the dragon clans, usually disdainful of such dealings, leaned forward with rare interest.
Prices surged higher than ever. Living specimens — writhing, armored, snapping with golden claws — were hoisted onto reinforced platforms and auctioned like divine beasts. Some fetched double, even triple the value of the slaughtered ones, for they represented not a meal, but a renewable source of strength.
The reasoning was simple:
On private land by the sea, with waters deep enough and guarded by their own wards, the supernatural families could raise these creatures for a full year or longer. Each season they survived, their value multiplied — not only in size and flavor, but in the permanent mana increase locked within their flesh.
In hushed tones, whispers rippled across the hall:
"Imagine a six-meter lobster raised to ten."
"Or a crab allowed to live for two years… how much could its meat grant us then?"
"The first true cultivation farms of the sea…"
The auctioneer's voice strained to keep up with the frenzy. Guardians, bodyguards, and retainers lined the walls, for everyone knew — what was being sold tonight was no longer just food.
It was power itself, alive and waiting to be harvested.
The craze spread beyond the auction halls. Within days, coastlines across the world — human and non-human alike — were being transformed into private sanctuaries.
The dragons, proud and territorial, carved colossal trenches into the ocean floor using their breath and magic. There, beneath shimmering wards of fire and storm, they released their purchased lobsters and crabs. To the dragons, these sea-farms were not just food stockpiles but living vaults of wealth, guarded as fiercely as their hoards of gold.
The elves, ever attuned to nature, created enchanted marine sanctuaries. Using ancient druidic runes, they coaxed coral reefs to bloom overnight, weaving natural labyrinths where their "treasures of the sea" could thrive. Their approach was careful and elegant: each creature raised with harmony, the waters suffused with mana-rich seaweed cultivated to accelerate growth.
The vampires took a different approach entirely. On isolated cliffs and drowned castles, they built cages of blood-forged steel, reinforced with runes of night. They fed their creatures with a mixture of Aten rice and rare blood-essences, believing this blend would yield not only power when consumed, but bloodlines strong enough to resonate with their vampiric nature.
Even human billionaires and governments joined in. Nations with long coastlines — Japan, Norway, Brazil, Indonesia — leased their private waters to magical families, or else set up government-run facilities guarded like fortresses. Satellite surveillance and fleets of awakened soldiers patrolled them, their leaders determined not to let their resources be stolen.
The goal was clear:
Raise these creatures for 5, 6, or even 10 years. Let them grow from 1-meter juveniles to 10-meter leviathans. When harvested, their flesh would no longer provide a "slight increase" but a leap in permanent mana and strength — perhaps enough to rival years of cultivation.
But with power came risk.
Rumors spread of poachers and mercenaries eyeing the new farms. Some whispered that entire pirate fleets, armed with awakened divers, were already preparing to raid private waters. Magical sabotage was also feared — curses cast into the seas, toxic alchemy slipped into sanctuaries, rival families hiring assassins to cripple competitors' farms.
Security escalated quickly. Dragons circled the skies above their domains. Elves called upon sea spirits to ward their waters. Vampires unleashed thralls into the waves, patrolling night and day. Governments reinforced their laws, declaring unauthorized entry into private farms as acts of high treason.
And yet, even with all this, one thing was certain: these farms had become the new frontier of power.
The sea was no longer free. It was being carved into kingdoms of the future, each creature raised not as an animal, but as a weapon, a currency, a legacy.
The screen in Alex's vast home flickered with images of shimmering sea-farms, colossal crustaceans being raised in fortified bays, and reporters breathlessly announcing the billions being poured into this new frontier. The anchors spoke of nations and races scrambling to secure their place in this aquatic gold rush, of families and clans treating lobsters and crabs like priceless heirlooms.
Alex sat quietly at the head of the lounge, Ciel beside him with her usual calm smile, Ye Ling curled into her chair with a sharp glint of amusement in her eyes, and Reyne leaning back with her arms folded, lips pursed in thought. Morgan's golden hair caught the light of the screen, though her gaze was on Alex more than the news.
Ying Hua and Lian Yuer, however, were less subtle.
The camera showed yet another auction, bidders fighting for the right to raise a six-meter crab for ten years — the announcer declaring that the winner had spent enough to build a palace just for a chance at "permanent strength."
Ying Hua tilted her head, voice calm but cutting, as though speaking a truth too obvious to ignore.
"Father," she said softly, "they act like this meat is precious… but it only offers a slight increase. Your seed gives us power many times greater — permanent, immediate, undeniable."
Lian Yuer's eyes glimmered with the same conviction. She clasped her hands on her lap, leaning forward as though eager to prove her point.
"She's right, Father. These people will spend fortunes and risk their lives for scraps of strength. They don't know… they can never understand what we have. What you give us each time is worth more than all these sea-creatures combined."
Reyne gave a sharp laugh at their bluntness, while Morgan shook her head with a knowing smile. Ciel only leaned a little closer against Alex, her expression soft but proud.
On the screen, the world continued to spiral into frenzy, but within this room, there was only one truth — whispered, spoken, and reaffirmed by those closest to him.
To them, Alex himself was the source.
The seas, the farms, the auctions — all of it paled beside what only he could give.