When the smoke of gunpowder finally cleared, Desaier stood frozen. The mound he had chosen as the target was gone, ripped apart by a single blast.
This power… it was something he had only ever read about in ancient tomes describing forbidden magic. Yet here it was, unleashed not by a mage, but by a machine forged by mortal hands.
A cannon.
The devastation was undeniable—he had chosen the target, he had lit the fuse. There was no trick, no illusion. The destruction he witnessed was real.
With such a weapon, the strongest of castles would crumble like sandcastles before the tide. If Chris could mass-produce these cannons, then no wall in this world would stand firm, no fortress would be safe.
And if used on the battlefield… the range alone meant armies could be shattered long before they even reached Serris' soldiers.
Desaier's throat tightened as he recalled Chris's words: How many times profit can one gain by investing in a monarch?
It all made sense now. If Chris truly rose to power, latecomers would find no place to join. And what he promised—the Longtate family becoming the richest in the world, with Desaier's voice at its center—suddenly felt irresistible.
Swallowing hard, Desaier walked toward Chris, each step heavy with decision. He looked up at the tall figure before him and declared:
"If… you can really achieve this… then the Longtate family will stand at your side forever. Loyal to you alone!"
Chris's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Then tell me, Desaier—how much are you willing to spend to buy the title of the world's richest man?"
Desaier's eyes flicked toward the cannons, his mind racing. Finally, he took a deep breath and answered with a solemn voice:
"1.976 billion gold coins!"
Chris's smile widened. "Now that," he said with satisfaction, "sounds more like it. Don't worry—I won't let your investment sink into water. Cooperation… happy."
"Happy!" Desaier responded quickly, almost impatiently. "In ten days I'll return with grain, steel, and everything you require. Taxes? I'll cover them. Consider the 2,000 gold coins I brought today as a down payment!"
Chris clasped his hand, sealing the deal. "Then let us look forward to the future together."
---
Back in Serris Castle, however, Chris's mood was far from relaxed.
"Qianbo touches people's hearts," Deans murmured with unease. "My lord… can we really trust him?"
Chris crossed his arms. "If he's wise, he won't betray us. Killing Serris gains him nothing but another enemy. It's bad business. He knows it."
"And what do we do next?" Wagron asked grimly, one hand resting on his sword.
Chris's eyes hardened. "Now… we prepare to protect ourselves."
They spread a detailed map across the round table in the council chamber. Serris, rich in resources and positioned on major trade routes, was both prosperous and cursed—a crossroads where wars inevitably erupted. Four great fronts threatened them.
"The north is our greatest danger," Wagron explained, pointing at the map. "Seven lords rule there, with cavalry far stronger than ours. Beyond them lies the vast and bitter land of the Cold Wind Kingdom."
"To the west," Deans added, "stands the Higgs Kingdom—large, ambitious, and bordering the Holy Demon Empire. They're enemies of the Arante Empire, but also a thorn in its side. Unpredictable, and dangerous."
Chris nodded grimly. "Two major threats. The north and west will demand most of our strength."
"The south is safer," Wagron continued. "That's the Arante Empire's domain. For now, we pay them taxes, so they have no reason to move against us."
"That leaves the east," Chris said, pressing his hand against the two castles marked there. "Mayne—an agricultural territory with difficult terrain. Weak, minimal threat. Then there's Dukou, a port city. Strong position, but only one road to the inland—and it runs through us."
Chris leaned back, eyes gleaming with resolve. "So the plan is simple: expand and strengthen."
He laid out his orders:
Expand the army to 2,000 soldiers.
Raise the cavalry to 500 riders.
Divide the infantry: one half to guard Serris, the other for field campaigns.
Increase soldier wages by 1,000 gold coins to ensure loyalty.
Train harder, prepare for attacks from every direction.
Deans hesitated. "But my lord… if we invest so heavily now, Serris' development may slow. What if war doesn't break out?"
Chris shook his head. "If we lose in war, all our wealth means nothing. We must win first—only then can we prosper."
"Exactly," Strider chimed in. "Our machines, our cheap goods—they'll make Serris a fat piece of meat in the eyes of others. It won't be long before someone tries to bite."
At that, Deans sighed and nodded. "Then… strengthening defenses is indeed the right choice."
Chris placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Every coin we spend, we'll earn back. Haven't my machines already proven that? Gold is just a number for us now."
And indeed, proof came quickly.
That very day, thirty trained women began weaving on Chris's new looms. Cloth production soared, prices dropped by over 90%, and thanks to his dyeing formulas, the fabrics shone in vivid colors unseen elsewhere—fetching twice the price of common cloth.
Serris' gold coffers swelled almost overnight.
Meanwhile, the improved forges sparked awe among the blacksmiths. The new furnaces reached blistering temperatures, making metalwork easier, faster, stronger. Cannon production accelerated.
Jobs multiplied, bellies were filled, and smiles lit every street. Serris was no longer a forgotten border town—it was becoming the seed of something greater.
A land awakening.
A land preparing for war.
A land standing at the crossroads of history—the Land of the Four World Wars.