Ch 1: The Acceptance Notice
The air in the Reinhardt family training grounds hung heavy, thick with the smell of sweat, dust, and iron. The midday sun blazed overhead, yet Elias moved as if dragging a long, cold shadow behind him.
Opposite him stood Sir Kyle, the family’s Knight Commander. He was a veteran, his arms mapped with scars. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving violently. It wasn’t physical exhaustion that troubled him, but rather the distinct sense of wrongness he felt whenever he faced this young man.
Kyle studied the youth before him. Elias, seventeen years old, did not hold his sword with the stance of a noble knight. He held it like a tool—like a hammer or a wrench. His hazel eyes tracked Kyle’s movements not to parry them, but to appraise their cost.
"You're distracted, boy!" Kyle roared, launching a sweeping attack. His training sword, coated in a thin layer of mana, slashed toward Elias's shoulder with merciless speed. "In the Academy, hesitation means death!"
Elias didn’t move.
In that frozen moment of time, the [Store] opened in his mind.
That voice appeared—whispering, sticky, and ancient as time itself:
[Opponent exceeds you in physical strength and experience... Bones will be broken. Do you wish to make a purchase?]
Elias replied in his thoughts with a speed honed over the last ten years: I want to stop him.
[The Price?]
Elias’s eyes slid toward the sword in his hand. The Wind Blade, a lavish gift received on his birthday. Its blade was forged from Damascus steel, its hilt encrusted with a small ruby. Its market value exceeded 50 gold coins.
This sword, Elias thought coldly. I own it fully. Take it.
[Asset Valuation: High Quality. Sentimental Attachment: Medium. Deal: Accepted.]
A fraction of a second before the Commander's blade touched his shoulder, Elias squeezed the hilt of his sword.
There was no sound of clashing metal.
Instead, Elias's sword disintegrated. The solid steel, the leather, and the ruby transformed into glowing gray dust in an instant.
"Liquidation," Elias whispered.
The dust from the sword morphed into an invisible, yet massively heavy pressure wave.
Sir Kyle’s eyes widened in horror. This wasn’t mana, nor was it elemental magic... This was something bought.
BOOM!
The wave exploded in the Commander's face. His attack halted in mid-air, and his massive frame was blown backward like a leaf in a storm, slamming into the sand barrier ten meters away. He collapsed, gasping for air, his sword flying from his hand.
A dead silence fell over the arena.
Kyle rose slowly, shaking the sand from his face, looking at Elias with a mixture of admiration and fear.
"You did it again..." Kyle muttered, wiping blood from his lip. "Sacrificing your weapon to defeat your opponent. What kind of logic is this, Elias? A knight and his sword are one body, yet you treat weapons as if they are... ammunition."
Elias looked at his empty hand, then answered in a voice void of emotion. "The result is all that matters, Sir Kyle. You are on the ground, and I am still standing."
"Elias!"
The voice came from the balcony entrance. Elias turned to see Charlotte.
She wore a simple blue dress, her golden hair dancing in the breeze, but her face wore a pained expression. She ran toward him, ignoring the servants' gazes, and stopped before him, her eyes searching for the sword.
"Where... where is the sword?" she asked, her voice trembling. "I gave it to you last month... I chose the stone myself to match your eyes."
Elias looked at her. For a moment, something softened in his gaze, but he quickly crushed it beneath the layers of ice he had built for years.
"It broke during training," he lied, though he knew she knew the truth. "It served its purpose, Charlotte."
"Served its purpose?" She repeated the words bitterly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You don't break things, Elias. You erase them. You trade everything... gifts, memories, sometimes even your own health."
She took a step closer, lowering her voice so the guards wouldn’t hear. "I know you're going to see Father now. I know about the acceptance letter. Please... don't go."
Elias stopped wiping his face with the towel. "We’ve talked about this."
"You aren't going there to study!" She interrupted sharply, grabbing his arm. "You're going for revenge. The Empire isn't like the bandit stories... They are monsters, Elias. If they discover what you are, or the truth of your ability... they will kill you. No, they will make you wish for death."
Elias gently but firmly removed his hand from her grip.
"Charlotte, look around me." He gestured to the grand mansion, the lush gardens, and the clear sky above. "You live in a world where justice exists, where knights protect the weak. But my world..."
He fell silent for a moment, the smell of burning flesh from ten years ago still lingering in his nose.
"My world burned down a long time ago. I am just a ghost trying to put out the fire."
He left her standing there, tears silently rolling down her cheeks, and headed toward the main mansion. He knew he was hurting her, but he also knew that cruelty was the only way to keep her away. She must not be stained by his blood in the future.
Count Reinhardt’s office was drowning in shadows, smelling of old paper and fine tobacco.
The Count sat behind his massive desk, looking older than he used to. The wrinkles around his eyes told the story of an exhausted politician trying to protect his family in an era of surrender.
"Sit, son."
The Count pointed to the velvet chair before him.
Elias sat, his back straight.
The Count slid a wax-sealed envelope, stamped with the Golden Imperial Eagle, across the table. The envelope looked heavy, as if it contained a death sentence rather than a school acceptance.
"You have been accepted," the Count said with a heavy voice. "As my adopted son, and with Sir Kyle’s recommendation of your combat prowess... The Imperial Academy in 'Imperium' welcomes you."
Elias picked up the envelope. The texture of the fine paper made his fingertips tingle. This was the key to the lion's den.
"Are you sure about this path, Elias?" The Count asked suddenly, his eyes locked on the young man’s. "I raised you for ten years. I know that look in your eyes. It is the same look your father, Daniel, had before he went to the final battle."
"My father died defending, sir," Elias answered with terrifying calm. "I am going to be the attacker."
The Count sighed, opening his desk drawer to pull out a heavy leather pouch and a small key.
"I cannot stop you. And I won't pretend to be virtuous and say I don't hate them for what they did... but I am a man responsible for a territory and a family."
He pushed the pouch and key toward Elias.
"This pouch contains 500 platinum coins. And this key is for a private vault in the Capital Bank, registered under a pseudonym. I have placed enough 'ammunition' in there for you."
Elias’s eyes widened slightly. The Count knew... He knew how his ability worked. He knew he needed money and gold not for luxury, but to burn as fuel for power.
"Thank you... Father," Elias said, for the first time in years.
The Count smiled a sad smile. "Come back to us alive. That is the only return I ask for this investment."
That night, before the break of dawn.
A black carriage waited at the rear gate. Elias’s luggage was sparse. Clothes, a few books, and a small wooden box.
Elias sat inside the dark carriage as the driver urged the horses forward.
He opened the small wooden box.
Inside, there were no jewels or weapons. There was an old, crumpled yellow paper. A childish drawing he had made of his family ten years ago.
He traced his finger over his mother’s face, drawn in faded crayon.
He closed his eyes and opened the connection to the entity residing in his mind.
[New Deal?] the voice whispered with anticipation.
"No," Elias whispered in the darkness of the carriage. "Not a deal. An oath."
He gripped the drawing tightly, almost tearing it, and spoke in a low voice that carried the resolve of steel.
"I swear by their spilled blood... and by my stolen childhood... I will turn their Golden Empire into a losing transaction. I will sell their crowns, their castles, and their pride, to buy their hell."
He looked out the carriage window as the Reinhardt estate began to vanish behind the hills, replaced by the long, desolate road leading to the Capital.
"Wait for me, Imperium... The Merchant is coming."
