Aine Aevon looked down at the shivering scouts, his cold, starry gaze softening only slightly. "I am not a warlord," he said, the Elder Speech flowing from him like chilled silk. "I am a businessman. If you want protection from the humans who hunt you, do not look for charity. Look for a contract."
Filavandrel looked up, desperate hope warring with confusion. "A contract? You would hire us?"
"The Alder Corporation does not care for your bloodlines or your ancient grievances," Aine replied, turning toward the black-steel airlock. "It cares for productivity. You suffer in poverty because you have no capital. I have the capital. If you provide the labor, I will provide the means to never go hungry again."
Desperate to escape the slow extinction promised by the human kingdoms, the Aen Seidhe agreed. Aine led them into the heart of the monolith. The air inside was crisp, smelling of ozone and sterile metal.
He gestured to a hovering Taskmaster Utility Frame. "Unit 04 will be your supervisor. Do not be alarmed; it is a tool, nothing more."
The elves were led to the Cognition Wing. Aine didn't waste time with manual labor yet. He pointed to a row of sleek, ergonomic VR Pods lined with neural-link cables.
"In these pods, time is compressed," Aine explained. "While you sleep, you will be taught the fundamentals of science, metallurgy, and mechanical engineering. By tomorrow morning, you will know how to operate a hydraulic press as well as you know how to draw a bow. We are not building huts; we are building an empire."
Once the elves were secured and the training sequences initiated, Aine retreated to his private office on the top floor. He sat behind a desk of polished obsidian and swiped his hand across a holographic terminal.
[ALDER CORPORATION: FINANCIAL AUDIT - FEB 2026]
He blinked. The "Corporate Vault" display flashed a staggering number. Millions of Novigrad Crowns were already digitally indexed, converted from the starting resources and the initial automated trade pings his system had established in the unclaimed territories.
"Technically, I'm the richest man in the North," Aine mused, watching the gold reserves tick upward. But his expression remained neutral. "However, this is Company Equity. Not personal spending money."
He checked his own pockets—virtually empty. In a true Anarcho-Capitalist system, he was a servant to the firm. He wouldn't touch a single crown until the first dividends were declared.
He turned his gaze toward a secondary monitor, tracking the GPS signal of his trade caravan. The Taskmaster Unit and its ten Enforcer guards were nearing the outskirts of Novigrad.
"Ten product lines. One hundred units each," Aine whispered, his fingers drumming against the desk. "How long until the merchants of the south realize their entire economy is about to be disrupted by a lighter that never fails and a blade that never dulls?"
He watched the red dots on the map crawl toward the city gates. The first IPO of the new world was only hours away.
******
The heavy iron gates of Novigrad creaked open as the Alder Corporation caravan rumbled into the cobblestone streets. The city guards stood frozen, halberds trembling. They had seen mages and monsters, but never "golems" of matte-black steel that moved with such silent, hydraulic precision.
"Halt! By the Eternal Fire, what sorcery is this?" the Captain of the Guard shouted, though he kept a safe distance from the red-eyed Enforcers.
"Negative. No sorcery detected," the lead Taskmaster replied, its voice a flat, synthesized drone. "We are authorized trade representatives of the Alder Corporation. Our CEO, Aine Aevon, seeks market entry. All inventory is strictly non-magical, mechanical, and compliant with city trade laws."
The guards exchanged nervous glances. Non-magical? If there was no chaos energy involved, it wasn't a crime. With a shaky wave of the Captain's hand, the "mechanical merchants" were allowed through.
The droids set up a modular, high-tech stall in the shadow of the Hierarch Square. It was a stark contrast to the wooden carts of the local fishmongers. Within minutes, the first items were displayed under LED spotlights: the "Ever-Flame" lighters and the "Fresh-Lock" canisters.
A crowd gathered, whispering in Common Speech. Skepticism was thick until a local blacksmith handled a manganese-steel kitchen knife. He tried to notch it with his own dagger; his blade chipped. The crowd gasped.
"No runes? No enchantments?" a voice barked.
The crowd parted as a squad of Witch Hunters pushed through, their red capes fluttering. They swept the stall with dimeritium sensors. The needles didn't even twitch.
"It is... just metal. And strange oils," the Lead Hunter muttered, his face twisted in a mix of confusion and suspicion. He looked at the Combat ARs, whose 9mm submachine guns were tucked discreetly against their chassis. "You may sell. But we are watching, 'Golems.' If these machines show a soul or start chanting spells, we will burn this entire square."
The sale began in a frenzy. The skeptical Novigradians, realizing these "gadgets" worked better than magic and cost half as much, started emptying their purses.
******
Back in the North, Aine Aevon watched the live feed from the Taskmaster's optical sensor. The "Market Share" counter on his HUD finally flickered: 0.01%.
"The first step is always the hardest," Aine murmured, leaning back. The Crowns were pouring into the corporate ledger, but his eyes were on a different notification.
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[MISSION UPDATE: MARKET PENETRATION 40% COMPLETE]
[NEW TECHNOLOGY UNLOCKED: CHEMICAL REFINERY BLUEPRINTS]
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"Now," Aine said, looking toward the VR pods where the elves were still being processed. "Let's see how the local Alchemists' Guild reacts when we start selling mass-produced antibiotics that actually work."