The air didn't smell of magic or high fantasy adventure. It smelled like the very worst kind of disaster: rust, sulfur, and the sour humidity of chronic financial neglect. It was the unmistakable stink of a company going spectacularly bust.
Unacceptable operational loss. Even dying had been less of a hassle than this.
The thought was a cold, surgical calculation in Rian Thorne's mind, instantly drowning out the shock of finding himself in a new, frail body. Rian was an auditor. He didn't process fear; he processed risk and depreciation.
He pushed himself off the cot, the cheap, thin linen offering no comfort. The body was sickly, slight, and weak—the perpetually overlooked heir, Rian Thorne, of the defunct House Vayne. A good disguise for a man who needed to work in the shadows.
A blue window flickered into existence inches from his eyes, visible only to him. It was [The Ascendant Ledger], and it was reporting a fiscal disaster.
A low alarm blared: [CRITICAL DEBT: 1,500 GOLD MARKS (G).] Another one, emphasizing the timeline: [FORECLOSURE TIMELINE: 7 DAYS, 11 HOURS.] And the final, utterly frustrating metric: [ASSET YIELD: 0.04 GOLD DAILY. STATUS: ZERO ROI.]
"Seven days," Rian muttered, testing the thin, reedy voice of his new vessel. "A debt of fifteen hundred Gold Marks on a property that yields four copper pennies a day. That's a return rate that would get you jailed in my old world."
He didn't waste a second on panic. He was here, he was alive, and the System had handed him a massive, failing venture. His survival depended on finding the loophole, the hidden resource, the place where the lazy management had ignored the actual money.
"Ledger. Show Top Inefficiencies."
The display instantly reorganized, prioritizing failure based on the largest missed profits. Rian's eyes snagged on the most shocking entry—the point of maximum leverage.
[ASSET INEFFICIENCY: WEST WALL VEIN. VALUATION: 450 GOLD MARKS (G). CURRENT YIELD: 0%. STATUS: HIDDEN CAPITAL.]
98% Untapped Potential. This wasn't a mistake; it was simple incompetence. "Four hundred and fifty Gold Marks just sitting there, ignored," Rian thought, a flicker of dark humor crossing his face. "The old Vaynes couldn't manage a lemonade stand."
He was still walking toward the door when it scraped open, admitting the immense, discouraged figure of Garl. The mercenary was a mountain of muscle and fatigue, wearing heavily patched leather armor. He looked like a man who was already mourning his next paycheck.
"My Lord," Garl rumbled, twisting the handle of his battle-ax nervously. "The Baron sent word. He cut our last supply line. Seven days, or the deed is sold. We are completely on our own."
"Good," Rian stated simply, making the word sound like a professional decree. Garl's large frame froze in surprise. "Isolation cuts our overhead costs. We stop paying the Guild tax, and we focus on what matters. Where is Varya?"
"The Sorcerer? She's in the assay room," Garl sighed, heavy with concern. "Trying to squeeze some mana out of the old North-East shaft. She hasn't slept in three days, sir. She's loyal, but she's running herself ragged."
"Loyalty is fine, Garl. Results are what count," Rian corrected, pushing past the larger man. "An employee burning herself out is a problem for future performance. Lead the way. And try to look less miserable. Your fear is a liability to morale."
The assay room was a dark, humid box, smelling of stale chemicals and desperation. Varya, the Sorcerer, was hunched over a stone table, radiating an intense intellectual focus. Her silver hair was braided tight, and her tired eyes were fixed on a glowing Mana Rune array.
"Lord Rian, I need quiet," she snapped without looking up. "I'm trying to stabilize the resonance, but the mana pressure is impossible down here. If I can't even raise the basic yield, those Guild swine will seize everything."
Rian leaned against the doorframe, his presence unnervingly calm. "Stop your work, Varya. You are wasting your talent on a dead end," he said, the simple, direct logic cutting through her frustration. "The North-East shaft is finished. It's a loss we have to accept."
Varya's charcoal snapped in her grip. She turned, her offense immediate and sharp. "How dare you! You know nothing of mana! I've studied this vein for five years!"
"And five years of study has yielded four copper pennies daily," Rian countered, completely unfazed. "The numbers are absolute. You're looking in the wrong place. Stop wasting effort."
He walked over to the thick, dark western wall of the chamber, an unremarkable slab of stone that no one had bothered to mine.
"Your efforts were dedicated to the failing shaft. Mine are dedicated to the Hidden Money," Rian declared, tapping the wall. "Your sensors picked up high-frequency mana noise here last month, didn't they? You dismissed it as simple interference."
Varya's anger evaporated, replaced by sudden, sharp, intellectual alarm. "It was resonance. Too shielded to identify. I thought it was simple bleed-off from the floors above."
"The interference you noted—the resonant spike—is not noise. My analysis confirms it's the bleed-off signature of a massive, untapped Tier 3 Mana Reservoir." Rian explained, simplifying the core data. "The ancestors were fools. They only mined the surface. This ore shield is dense, but it's hiding 450 Gold Marks of ready money."
Varya stared at the wall, then back at Rian, her fear giving way to a greedy, professional awe. "If you're right... we could be generating Gold Marks by the dozen daily. That pays the debt and secures us."
"Correct. But to access it, we need a controlled, high-pressure conduit," Rian stated. "The Deep-Bore array. A project you were denied funding for because it requires three Runeblank Cores. They cost fifty Gold Marks each. We are bankrupt."
Rian paused, letting the silence emphasize the impossible obstacle, before delivering the simple, ruthless solution.
"Then we won't buy them, Varya. We will take them."
He pulled out a crude, charcoal-drawn tactical map of the 10th Floor Guild branch office.
"Your mission is to clear the path. We are not fighting the guards. We are exploiting a fatal weakness in their security procedures," Rian commanded. "The Guild's Golems prioritize one thing above all: Protecting the Resources. That is the loophole we target."
He pointed to a small vent area near the Guild's main sorting bay. "Tomorrow at 13:50, you will cause a low-level contamination event in their waste system. Not a destructive spell. A high-priority Contamination Alert."
Varya instantly understood the mechanism. "It would force the Wards to reroute power to quarantine the contamination. It would temporarily drop the shield efficiency on the main vault."
"Exactly," Rian confirmed. "It pulls the Protector Golems away from the vault to the contamination site, and it drops the shield efficiency. It gives Garl and me a seventy-five-second window to steal the cores."
He looked her straight in the eye, sealing the contract with a quiet, lethal certainty. "A frontal attack is suicide. A calculated attack on their logistical weakness gives us a 45% chance of success. That is a smart bet, Varya."
Varya was breathing fast, the fear of the physical risk warring with the sheer intellectual thrill.
"And if my plan fails, Lord Rian?" she asked, testing the limits of her new employer.
Rian's expression did not waver. "If you fail, the Guild will execute me. But before that happens, I will ensure that the Guild finds your name and all your research linked to the contamination event. You will pay the full cost of failure."
He didn't threaten her life. He threatened her accountability—the most terrifying power of the auditor.
Varya's spine straightened. The raw fear of being exposed and controlled by the corrupt Guild was far greater than any fear of this frail boy. But she also saw the immense opportunity: Rian Thorne valued her genius.
"I understand, My Lord," she said, her voice now steady and fierce. "The plan will be executed flawlessly. I will not be the source of your risk."
Rian gave a single, satisfied nod. The asset was motivated. The plan was confirmed.
"Garl," Rian called to the mercenary, who was still leaning against the doorway, looking profoundly stressed. "You are our primary security asset for this operation. Try to look less terrified. Your fear is bad for morale."
Garl sighed, rubbing his temples. "I swear, My Lord, I'd rather fight three trolls than listen to you talk about the cost of failure again."
Rian didn't even smile. "Then perform better, Garl. We have six days left. The only way out of debt is to commit the perfect crime."
A/N: Fresh story from the pot. Six days left on the clock. Rian just leveraged a genius Sorcerer and a logistics flaw to plan a hostile corporate raid. Next up: The Acquisition Protocol. Don't miss Chapter 2!