Hearing Darien, Sigmund sized him up, eyes scanning him head to toe.
"And… why the interest?" he asked.
"Just curious about cold weapons," Darien said, keeping it modest.
Sigmund twitched—interested in cold weapons and thinking about buying a factory? Impersonal, sure, but it made things easier.
"Alright, here's the deal. Our sword factory isn't huge, but the machines are top-tier—bought abroad for tens of millions. Income's been weak, though. Machines are well-maintained, basically like new, but yeah, depreciation counts. Add the building and all, and I'd price it around five million."
After Sigmund dropped the price, he watched Darien carefully.
Five million wasn't cheap, but worse—nobody was biting.
Move now, he might lose a little.
Wait? Costs keep stacking—workers, machines, rent… money slipping through his fingers.
"Five million…" Darien muttered, frowning. The price seemed fair, but he didn't have that kind of cash on hand.
Was it too high? Or maybe reasonable?
Seeing him hesitate, Sigmund thought about dropping the price.
"Give me a minute, I'll make a call."
"Sure."
Darien stepped aside and dialed Eliana. Richest person he knew, but borrowing five million in one shot? Risky. Still, he had to try.
This factory was too important. Cold weapons going to the other world would boost his guards' power instantly.
Modern tech plus craftsmanship—he was confident.
Owning it meant he could use it himself and sell weapons. Not the best—second-tier would sell fine, a steady income stream.
"Hello, Darien."
"Hey, Eliana…can you help me out?" Darien asked, hesitating.
Every time he called her, it was for help. Embarrassing—but this was important, so he swallowed his pride.
"…Yeah, shoot."
"I wanna buy a workshop, but I'm short on cash. Can I borrow from you? I'll pay back fast, market interest, whatever."
"…That's it?"
"Uh… yeah?"
"Darien, are we friends or not? You're worried I'll say no? Or think our friendship is measured in money?"
Darien froze. Trivial? She wasn't even talking about the amount—just… trivial.
"Forget it. How much do you need? I'll transfer up to ten million. More than that, I'll ask my dad."
Darien's cheeks warmed. Five million was pocket change to her.
"Five million's enough," he said quickly.
"Alright, I got you. But seriously, Darien… you've changed. You promised we'd be tight, and now you're all hesitant. Reflect on that, okay?"
beep~
Darien stared at the phone, feeling both stunned and a little helpless. He had no idea Eliana was that loaded.
Still, she hadn't changed. Rich or not, she treated him like a friend, no condescension.
He quickly typed back:
"Alright, I get it. Next time I need cash, I'll call you first!"
Seconds later, her reply popped up:
" 😐 "
And right after, another message:
five million landed in his account.
"Mr. Smith, I've got the money."
Sigmund came over, giving a small smile.
"Nice job, kid."
He'd listened through the call and couldn't help but admire Darien—first time he'd seen someone really get that friendship isn't about money. Honestly, he wished he had a friend like that.
"Alright… let's check out your workshop first," Darien added, scratching his cheek, a little embarrassed.
"Yeah, sure," Sigmund replied.
He guided Darien through the factory, pointing out issues and quirks along the way. Too much to catch in one pass, but his honesty and pride left a good impression.
A couple of hours later, the lawyer showed up with inspectors. While they got to work, Sigmund pulled Darien aside.
"Come on, lemme show you the good stuff."
Sigmund dragged a big, dusty wooden box from under his desk, gave it a quick blow, and popped it open.
Darien's eyes nearly popped out.
Inside were cold weapons of all shapes, shining and sharp.
"Made these when I was bored," Sigmund said, smirking. "All machine-made, but with our tech? Deadly and damn pretty."
He pulled out a short sword, about forearm-length. The scabbard was sleek, black synthetic, glinting with inlaid gems. The hilt was simpler, except for a huge ruby on the pommel.
Sigmund held the blade steady, dropped a piece of paper onto it—slice, split clean in two.
Darien whistled. "No way… that's insane sharp!"
"This is what I'm talking about," Sigmund said, pride in his voice. "Tungsten steel core, titanium alloy edge. Cuts iron like butter. And it's all yours."
"All this… for me?" Darien barely breathed, staring at the razor-sharp sword.
"Yeah! Top-notch materials, modern tech, my own tweaks. Doesn't help me sitting around. You take 'em."
Sigmund grinned wide. He'd basically handed over a collection worth tens, maybe hundreds of thousands, just as Darien was buying the workshop. The man didn't mess around.
---
🔍 Did you know?
- Throughout history, skilled artisans often struggled to compete with mass-produced goods. Handcrafted swords, furniture, and textiles were high quality but expensive, while cheaper, machine-made items flooded the market—showing that craftsmanship alone didn't guarantee sales.
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