79: Chapter 79 A "Performance Appraisal Notice" from the Capital

And the curtain had only just risen on this grand game of capital.

Levi didn't even stay to preside over the end of this somewhat farcical auction.

When the first noble representative raised the price thirty percent above Levi's expectations just to snatch a so-called "Golden Horn" mining area, he knew this was no longer a rational investment, but a carnival driven by greed and fear.

He quietly left the scene, leaving the stage to Sylvie.

That succubus was naturally gifted at stirring hearts in such settings, and after his "corporate culture training," she had honed this talent to the extreme, knowing exactly when to bid, when to pause, and when to use a regretful look to provoke the next bidder.

In the castle's study, the fire in the fireplace burned quietly, casting a warm orange glow against the cold stone walls.

The air was filled with the musty scent of old scrolls and the fresh fragrance of new ink, the scents Levi was most familiar with and found most comforting.

He sat behind a large oak desk; before him lay no mountain of gold coins, but only a capital flow chart drawn with magic crystal powder, where new points of light constantly flickered to life.

Each point of light represented a newly finalized investment, flowing steadily into the secret vaults of Blackstone Territory through various chamber of commerce channels.

This excited him far more than seeing a literal mountain of gold.

Gold coins were static, a heavy burden; only flowing capital was the lever that could move the world.

Sylvie pushed the door open and entered, her steps as light as a cat's, and placed a thick ledger, sealed with secret arts, on Levi's desk.

Her face showed none of the joy following the auction's success; she maintained her eternal ice-cold expression, as if the millions of gold coins she had just handled were nothing more than meaningless numbers.

"Young Master, according to preliminary statistics, this release of primary mining rights has recovered a total of 1.37 million gold coins. After deducting necessary expenses and the reserved 'insurance payout fund,' the net profit is approximately 920,000 gold coins." Her voice was steady and flat, precise down to the last copper.

Levi's fingers tapped rhythmically on the ledger.

920,000—this was nearly equivalent to half a year's tax revenue for a wealthy imperial province.

And all he had invested was a meticulously designed scam and the "sunk cost" of a group of unlucky assassins.

Such was the charm of finance.

He picked up his quill, preparing to plan the next phase of capital use on the chart—perhaps expanding the musket squad he had high hopes for, or ordering more advanced mining equipment from the dwarves.

Just then, a heavy and rhythmic sound of footsteps approached from the stone path outside the castle, interrupting his thoughts.

The sound carried a metallic quality and an unquestionable authority, something the undisciplined guards of Blackstone Territory could never produce.

Levi's brow furrowed slightly as he looked out the window.

A squad of knights in silver-white full plate armor, their chests branded with the Imperial double-headed eagle emblem, escorted a herald holding a parchment scroll through the castle gates toward the main building.

The lead knight's armor gleamed, and his warhorse was magnificent; they were clearly elites from the Imperial Capital.

Trouble had arrived.

The thought flashed through his mind, but his face remained calm.

He set down his pen, straightened his collar, and waited quietly.

Soon, the castle steward, looking terrified, led the herald into the study.

The herald was about thirty, with a cold face, sharp eyes, a clean-shaven jaw, and a pristine, well-tailored uniform of soft armor.

He glanced at Levi, his eyes containing a hint of subtle scrutiny and arrogance.

"Lord of Blackstone Territory, Excellency Levi Byron."

At the seal of the parchment was a dark red wax stamp, imprinted with a complex family crest consisting of a scepter and scales.

"By order of the Imperial Grand Speaker, Excellency Victor Augustus." The herald's voice was loud and clear, each word carved as if from a metal mold. "On charges of 'disrupting the Imperial free tax system,' 'illegal enslavement of abyssal creatures,' and 'suspicion of malicious monopoly of border trade,' the Lord of Blackstone Territory, Levi Byron, is hereby formally summoned to attend a public hearing of the Noble Council at the Sky Council Chamber in the Imperial Capital before the seventh of next month. Do not fail!"

His voice echoed in the study; each charge was like a heavy hammer, enough to crush any ordinary noble to dust.

The study door wasn't fully closed, and Princess Ella Radiant, who had just arrived to report something, happened to overhear these words.

The moment she saw the wax seal, her pretty face turned deathly pale, and her breathing hitched for half a second.

Levi's expression didn't change in the slightest; he even offered the herald a gentle smile. "Thank you for your hard work, guest from the Imperial Capital. Please give my regards to the Grand Speaker and tell him that the Byron Family will strictly abide by the laws of the Empire. I will certainly be there on time."

He signaled the steward to provide the herald and his party with a generous "gratuity." His attitude was humble and proper, leaving no room for fault.

The herald seemed surprised by Levi's calm reaction, but he merely snorted, took the coin pouch, and turned to leave with his men.

The heavy footsteps receded once more, and the study fell into a deathly silence.

"Are you crazy?!" Ella finally couldn't help herself and burst in, slamming the door shut. Her voice trembled with agitation and fear. "Do you know whose seal that is? Victor Augustus! The Imperial Grand Speaker, my father's staunchest ally, and the most stubborn guardian of the old noble order! The summons he issues isn't for some hearing; it's a political trial!"

She paced anxiously in the study, her long golden hair swaying with her movements.

"Any one of those three charges is enough to strip you of your title and confiscate your territory! You should immediately invoke the Princess's emergency diplomatic immunity, or simply mobilize the army to blockade the roads, claiming Blackstone Territory is under threat from unknown armed forces to keep them out! How could you agree so readily?"

Levi ignored her anxiety and turned to Sylvie, who had remained as silent as a statue throughout.

"Sylvie."

"I am here, Young Master."

"Suspend the profit calculations; that money won't be moved for now." Levi's voice was frighteningly calm. "Activate Protocol B-7. I need you to immediately compile a list of all nobles who participated in this mining investment. Using our existing intelligence network, list all properties under their family names, especially projects with direct or indirect trade with Blackstone Territory, and the specific amount of goods they purchased from us in the past year. Also, I want a detailed report on their seats, factions, and influence in the Noble Council. Can you do this before dawn?"

"I can." Sylvie nodded without question and turned to leave the study, leaving behind a faint scent of ink.

Ella could hardly believe her ears. She stopped pacing and stared at Levi in shock. "What on earth are you thinking? The house is on fire, and instead of thinking about how to deal with the trial, you're organizing irrelevant commercial data? The army! Immunity! Those are what you should be considering!"

"The army and immunity," Levi finally looked up, his gaze calmly meeting hers. In his black eyes, there wasn't a trace of panic; instead, there was a spark of near-excitement, like a chess player seeing a long-awaited endgame. "They can at most protect the castle of Blackstone Territory, but they cannot protect its business model. And this time, Grand Speaker Victor's target was never this barren patch of rocks of mine, but my model."

He stood up and walked to the massive map of the Continent of Terrarium, his finger tapping lightly on the location of the Imperial Capital.

"This is a war, Ella. But the battlefield isn't on the borders; it's in the Council Chamber. And my weapons aren't muskets and swords, but interests."

He withdrew his hand and took out a somewhat yellowed, long-forgotten intelligence file from a locked desk drawer.

He handed the file and a heavy pouch of gold coins to the captain of his personal guard waiting outside.

"Go to the Imperial Capital and find the 'Back Alley District.' Look for a tavern called 'The Rusty Anchor' inside." His instructions were clear and precise. "Based on the information in this file, find a man named Hamilton. He should be a dead-drunk alcoholic, perhaps being trampled underfoot."

The guard captain took the items, a look of confusion on his face.

Levi continued, "After you find him, give him these hundred gold coins. Tell him to use three days to clean himself up, quit drinking, and sober up. Then tell him I am hiring him for a thousand gold coins to conduct a debate at the Noble Council hearing."

"A debate?" The guard captain was stunned. "My Lord, the opponent is...?"

"The opponent," a cold curve formed at the corners of Levi's mouth, "is the entire Imperial Parliament."

Three days later, Imperial Capital, Back Alley District.

This was the ulcer beneath the Imperial Capital's polished exterior—dark, damp, and forever smelling of cheap ale, vomit, and despair.

The Rusty Anchor tavern was the filthiest corner of this ulcer, its greasy wooden tables slumped with all sorts of failures.

Levi's messenger, the guard captain, dressed in inconspicuous linen clothes, frowned as he entered this light-swallowing hell.

He soon found the target in a corner.

The man named Hamilton was having his hair pulled by two fat mercenaries, half his face pressed against a wine-stained tabletop, while he muttered incoherent curses.

The guard captain said nothing, stepped forward, and tossed a bag containing a hundred gold coins onto the table with a "thud."

The crisp sound of clinking coins was exceptionally pleasant in the noisy tavern, instantly drawing everyone's gaze.

The two mercenaries let go, staring greedily at the coin pouch.

Hamilton slowly raised his head. He looked to be about forty, with hair like a bird's nest, a scruffy beard, and sunken eyes. Yet, those eyes hidden beneath the grime and drunkenness held a sharpness that was out of place in his surroundings.

"Get out."

Faced with the chilling murderous intent of a battle-hardened soldier, the mercenaries weighed their options and retreated resentfully.

"Who are you?" Hamilton's voice was as raspy as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

"My master sent me." The guard captain pushed Levi's commission letter toward him. "He told me to use this money to buy three days of your sobriety."

Hamilton gave a mocking laugh and reached for the wine cup on the table, only to be held down by the guard captain.

"In three days, if you can stand here looking like a human being, there will be another thousand gold coins waiting for you." The guard captain pushed the letter further forward. "My master wants to hire you to launch a debate at the Noble Council against those who once trampled you underfoot."

Hamilton's movements froze.

His cloudy eyes focused on the letter. When he saw the Byron Family crest on the envelope and the nearly insane proposal within—"Take revenge on the entire Imperial Parliament"—the long-extinguished fire in the depths of his eyes seemed to have a bucket of oil poured onto it, roaring back to life.

It was a light of fanatical passion, a mixture of humiliation, anger, and a most obsessive devotion to knowledge and logic.

He was silent for a long time, then slowly, as if using all his strength, he withdrew his hand from the wine cup.

He grabbed the last cup of spirits on the table and downed it in one gulp, as if bidding farewell to his rotting past.

With a "bang," he slammed the empty cup heavily onto the table.

"Tell your master," Hamilton raised his head, all traces of drunkenness gone from his eyes, leaving only a cold, sharp edge, "I accept this commission."

As night deepened, a silver moon hung high over the Imperial Capital, its cold moonlight spilling over the towering white dome of the Sky Council Chamber, reflecting a solemn and grim radiance.

It was as if it foretold that a storm capable of shaking the very foundations of the Empire would descend upon this place after dawn.