Sarkomo’s efficiency soared, especially when he saw the ladder to greater heights. An unprecedented passion erupted, and any dissent was silenced by his authority as Bell Province Merchant Guild chairman. All Bell merchants were ordered to cooperate unconditionally—this was no minor matter of tens of thousands of gold, but a venture of far grander scale.

  A monopolized commodity and its derivatives would elevate him above other guild leaders, burnishing his legend as a merchant even brighter.

  Once preparations were complete, Sarkomo invited Arno to the Bell Province Merchant Guild’s first meeting, to discuss and clarify which goods would qualify for tax rebates and subsidies.

  The meeting took place in a luxurious mansion in Pramisburg’s commercial district, the guild’s headquarters. Gold leaf and gilded decor dripped from every surface, even the gaps between the spotless white floor tiles filled with molten gold. Slave girls in sheer gauze revealed their figures unabashedly—lucky to have food and shelter, yet miserable, as any man could claim them in any corner of the building for pleasure, not procreation.

  Arno covered his nose upon entering—the cloying fragrance was overwhelming, masking a faint metallic stench he knew too well. Sarkomo immediately had all windows opened to ease his discomfort.

  “I’ve convened 21 local merchants, whose goods span everything sold in Pramisburg. This discussion will sync with Bell Guild headquarters via Magic Window.” Sarkomo explained, referring to the magical invention: twin glyph-engraved altars with Tiberium Crystals created a resonant link, allowing text and images to mirror between two meter-square sand tables. “Final decisions rest with you, my lord.”

  Merchants’ wealth was evident in the Magic Window—each 50-gram Tiberium Crystal, capable of storing immense magic and used by non-mages, cost 10 gold and lasted just 3 minutes. A frivolous expense, yet here it was, used for a meeting.

  Arno nodded, following Sarkomo into the conference room: a gilded dragonblood wood table, Mongol beast hide chairs, opulent but lacking solemnity—typical of merchants who closed deals over debauchery. The merchants rose as he entered, sitting only when he gestured.

  “Today marks a new era,” Sarkomo boomed, rallying the room. “We’ll carve our names into imperial history, studied in mercantile textbooks for generations!” Applause followed his theatrics—merchants craved respect as much as profit.

  “Now, let our great city lord, Baron Arno of the Golden Nobles, explain this new system.” Sarkomo seated himself at the first deputy’s position, and the room fell silent.

  Arno ignored the flattery, cutting to the chase. “No niceties. Let’s begin.” He sipped black tea from a silver cup—likely from Dragon Island, carrying the unique aroma of dragon’s breath.

  “First, 10 goods for rebates/subsidies. Starting with dragon crystals: 100% tax rebate. Sell directly to me, and I’ll add a 5% subsidy.” He scanned the room. “Objections?”

  None dared speak. Dragon crystals were already lucrative; legalizing them with subsidies thrilled even smugglers.

  “Second: grain. Full rebate plus 10% subsidy on edible grain. Rotting or stale food for livestock? No rebate.” Grain merchants smiled—their trade, safe and vast, now even more profitable.

  As rebates were listed, approval spread. But when Arno proposed protective tariffs, a merchant protested:

  “Why tax Dragon Island drug bricks? I demand they qualify for rebates! I’ll withdraw from this farce and reject all agreements!”

  The room froze. Merchants exchanged glances, eager to see how Arno would handle the first challenge.

  Arno stood, walked to the man, and placed hands on his shoulders. “This is my first dissent in Pramisburg.”

  The merchant sneered, “There’ll be more.”

  Arno chuckled, addressing the room: “Indeed. But this is my Pramisburg.”

  “I’ll take my trade elsewhere!”

  Arno patted his shoulder. “You won’t need to.”

  Before the man could retort, he saw shock in others’ eyes. Arno’s grin turned feral as he seized a silver letter opener, yanked the man’s hair back, and drove the blade into his eye. The sharp steel slid through bone, blood splattering the table. The body collapsed, the handle snapping off, blade protruding from his skull.

  Arno wiped his hand on silk, tossing the bloody cloth aside. “Dispute resolved. Any other objections?”

  Silence. Not a breath was dared to be drawn.

  “Good. Now let’s detail the protective tariffs…”