"…Kalinos Armian?"
There wasn't a soul in the Empire—or even across the entire continent—who didn't know that name.
The last king of the Kingdom of Armian, and—
the founding emperor of the Armian Empire.
The great emperor who defeated King Kolomo and the 72 Demons.
The ruler who unified a fractured land and established the Empire.
So why was his name inscribed here?
Why else—
"As expected, this place really was arranged by the First Emperor."
Fernand carefully picked up the box.
Unlike the cavern filled with the rarest of the Three Great Metals, the box itself seemed unremarkable—a dull, dark shade.
"Blacksteel Ore."
Harder than iron, and highly resistant to magic.
On its surface was the Saintbird crest, along with numerous carved runes.
"Protection magic… and explosive magic?"
It couldn't be broken easily—and if someone tried to force it open, it would detonate.
Fernand examined the runes closely, trying to find a way to unlock it, but the pattern was too complex—beyond his understanding.
Still, there was another clue.
He spotted one more enchantment carved into the box.
"A bloodline recognition spell…"
A magic that identified users through their blood.
Meaning—only someone with the blood of Aint Armian could open it.
"Another safeguard for his descendants, perhaps. I'll have to test it later."
It wouldn't hurt to peek inside before handing it to Aint.
As for forcing it open—he didn't even consider it.
It was, after all, the work of the First Emperor.
Tampering with it recklessly could bring consequences he couldn't predict.
Fernand stored the box carefully in his subspace, then resumed mining the ores.
"Ha…"
Even for the First Emperor, it seemed impossible to have gathered a mountain's worth of the three metals.
Otherwise, there'd have been far more here.
No matter how deep he dug into the cavern walls, he found nothing beyond the outer layers.
Same results on all sides—
no more orichalcum, mithril, or adamant.
If he scraped up everything, he might just have enough to forge the Bell of Fasa, but refining would reduce the yield drastically.
One thing was certain: his plan to profit from the metals was utterly ruined.
Kwoong…
Sensing Fernand's scowl, Wooden wisely stayed silent.
For hours, Fernand mined every remaining trace, scouring the entire chamber.
By the end, even the damaged ores were all collected.
'At least that orichalcum I found earlier was a gain.'
He could've made a fortune—
but instead, he'd barely salvaged a tenth of what he'd hoped for.
Still, at least it wasn't a total loss.
"Wooden, shrink down."
Koom!
The golem obeyed instantly, returning to the necklace.
Exploration complete.
Fernand didn't go straight to Jace.
Now that he had a method and the materials, there was no reason to remain in a subordinate position.
He held mithril, adamant, and orichalcum—
metals that were priceless across the entire continent.
Even if the Bell of Fasa had to be made, there was no reason for House Pellenburg to do it for free.
The next day, Fernand took a rare leave from classes.
Then, using the Academy's teleportation circle—a service he normally avoided—he returned home.
"Didn't expect you to show up mid-semester."
"I have something important to report."
"Something urgent?"
"It's about the Bell of Fasa."
"And why, exactly, are you involved in that?"
Fernand opened his subspace.
Dozens of heavy chests spilled out, clattering onto the marble floor.
"There's twice as much more."
"…What on earth—wait. Is this…?"
The Duke opened a chest. His eyes widened as he beheld the glittering ores inside.
He quickly checked the others—same result.
"…How did you even acquire all this?"
"Does that matter?"
"As long as there's no trouble attached, it doesn't."
"You know as well as I do that there can't be."
No faction in existence possessed this much of the Three Great Metals.
"Is this from your so-called earth-sense again?"
"Would mere skill have led me to this? I'd call it pure luck."
The Duke said nothing for a while, just studying his son.
He had every reason to be stunned.
Even with all the Empire's wealth flowing through Pellenburg hands,
he had never once seen such a trove in his lifetime.
"You wish to remake the Bell of Fasa?"
"The demons destroyed it when they were summoned. That alone proves its power—it must be remade."
"How much?"
The Duke saw through Fernand's intent at once.
Bringing up the Bell—and conveniently showing the materials—meant he wanted Pellenburg to lead the project,
with himself acting as the supplier, for fair compensation.
"Market price will suffice."
"Even I can't afford to pay full market value for all of this."
Maybe if he gutted the family's treasury—sold lands, estates, and pulled every coin from their trade fleets—
but even then, it would be ruinous.
Fernand didn't actually want that either.
After all, the Golden Turtle Trading Company would one day be his anyway.
"I'll offer it at half price."
"…What do you want in return?"
"Negotiate directly with the Pope."
"So you've learned the Bell was originally crafted by the Church."
The Duke wasn't surprised.
Pellenburg's influence stretched like a web across the Empire—and beyond.
Of course it reached into the Church.
"And once you have their cooperation—what then?"
"You've grown," the Duke murmured.
"I'd say I've earned the right to make a few requests."
The Duke leaned back in his chair, gaze sharpening.
"People often make the mistake of thinking that holding what someone else wants makes them the master."
"I'm simply trusting in my father's business ethics."
"You mean, trusting in your status as my son."
Also true.
If it had been anyone else sitting across from him, Fernand would never have spoken so boldly.
"I'll donate it to the Church."
"Understood."
"Not surprised, are you?"
"You're not the type to make a purely charitable donation."
Indeed, no one valued money more than the Duke.
He was the kind of man who made even his own children earn every favor.
"If it were you, what would you do next?"
"Convene the Elector Princes and call a council."
The Empire had many nobles, but its true pillars were the Electors—
the families that had founded it, whose power had only grown over a thousand years.
Nearly every noble faction ultimately fell under one Elector or another.
"The agenda would be… 'Recreation of the Bell of Fasa,' I presume?"
"Yes. As for the source of the materials…"
"Pellenburg owns plenty of old vaults—some over a millennium old."
Fernand's lips curled faintly.
"And naturally, the others will have to contribute something of equal worth."
"Naturally."
Pellenburg would take a massive financial loss—
but the other six Electors would make up for it in part.
Whether in gold, assets, or territories and rights,
they would compensate.
And refusal wasn't an option.
With monsters running rampant and the Bell of Fasa destroyed,
fear of the demons was no longer distant—it was immediate.
Any fool who failed to sense that had no right to be an Elector in the first place.
The Bell was essential.
And since Pellenburg alone possessed the materials to make it,
the initiative now rested entirely in their hands.
"I'm glad we think alike, Father."
"And is that all you want?"
Unfortunately for his father, it wasn't.
"Just one thing. I'd like to use the family's workshop for a while."
"You've got something else in mind, I see. Don't tell me—another golem?"
"Not quite to that scale."
Fernand simply wanted to forge a few weapons and tools that could strengthen Wooden further.
"Fine. Tell the masters ahead of time."
"Thank you. Oh—and one more thing."
The Duke's eyebrow twitched.
"A merchant's word should be built on trust, boy."
"This is different. You mentioned sharing the information on the Corrupted Breeds,
but I haven't received it yet."
Fernand had given his father several record spheres about Andromalius and other corrupted species.
The Duke had since begun a quiet investigation into those hiding within the family—and across the continent.
"I was planning to send it soon. Wait for it at the Academy."
"Understood."
"And pack up all those chests. Store them in the vault."
"Yes, Father."
With a bow, Fernand vanished through a teleportation gate.
The Duke immediately began writing six letters, sealing each with the Pellenburg crest.
"Deliver these to the Electors."
"Yes, my lord."
Just as the butler was about to leave, the Duke paused—then wrote another letter.
"Send one to Berchev as well."
"At once."
"And the report on the Golden Pillar—how close is it?"
"Within two days, Your Grace."
"Bring it to me the moment it's ready."
"Understood."
Tap, tap— The Duke's fingers drummed against the table.
He couldn't shake his unease.
"Just where did he get all that…?"
The amount used to build the golem had already been excessive.
Once could be called luck.
Twice—never.
He'd suspected for a while now that Fernand was hiding something.
"It doesn't seem harmful to Pellenburg… but still."
He couldn't ignore it.
"Begin a discreet investigation into Fernand's activities as well."
"As you command."
Once the butler left, the Duke muttered to himself.
"Secrecy is best for now."
Whether the Bell of Fasa existed or not made all the difference in the world.
And whether the demons knew of that fact or not—
even more so.
"Let's hope none of the Electors have become corrupted."
It was a mere suspicion—
but the Duke was confident.
No one that incompetent could rise to the rank of Elector.
True to his word, the Duke hadn't lied.
When Fernand returned to his room at the Academy,
a thick report sat waiting on his desk.
"Let's see… Twelve confirmed corrupted within the family and the Golden Turtle Trading Company,
and fifty-five others indirectly connected."
Quite a number.
At least they'd been caught before it was too late—but whether this list was complete was uncertain.
"And beyond that…"
The report shifted focus to entities outside the family—
noble houses, trade guilds, and organizations under suspicion.
Among them, one name made Fernand's eyes narrow.
"…Wait. Fridien?"
There was a corrupted within the Fridien Marquisate?
It was only suspicion, but the mere mention of an Elector's bloodline on that list was shocking enough.
Fernand quickly read the attached dossier.
[Adolph Fridien]
Direct heir of the Fridien family; nephew of the current marquis.
Elf, age 29.
Deputy Commander of the Guardian Tree Knights.
Unusually, refuses to eat any meat—an extreme vegetarian even among elves.
(Omitted)
Recently demonstrated a rapid increase in power, earning his current position.
The family's stock and use of elixirs are impossible to verify.
Enlightenment may be a factor, but the sudden leap in strength warrants suspicion.
→ Designated as a possible Corrupted.
"…Hah."
Fernand let out a sigh of relief.
For a moment, he'd thought a direct Fridien heir had turned corrupted.
Had that been true, the implications would have been catastrophic—
a corruption rooted deep in one of the Empire's most powerful lineages.
"A vegetarian elf, though? That's… unusual."
He flipped to the next page.
[Roderick Fischer]
Collateral member of House Fischer, 13th cousin to the head.
Human, age 33.
Left the family at a young age, became a mercenary.
Built renown through years in the field, later formed the Blue Wolf Mercenary Corps.
Page after page followed.
Fernand soon understood why the report was so thick.
"They basically listed every noble who seems even slightly suspicious."
And understandably so.
Within their own house, they could test everyone using the Church's artifact for corruption detection.
But even an Elector couldn't force other nobles to submit to that test.
So, they had to put anyone even remotely questionable under watch.
By the time Fernand speed-read to the end,
night had already fallen.
"…I should get some sleep."
He washed up and was just about to lie down when—
Knock, knock—
Someone rapped at his door.
It was against the rules of the Rabidus Hall for students to visit each other's rooms.
So it could only be one of three cases:
a maid,
a student powerful enough to ignore the rules,
or a servant brought by another student.
In this case—
"Young master, it's me. Are you awake?"
The last one.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Hyde, dressed in travel garb, stepped silently inside.
"I heard you returned from the manor."
"Had to discuss something with my father. But you first—what's bothering you?"
"Yes, something is troubling me."
Fernand's lips curved faintly.
"Go on."
"It's about Gismond Elt… and the elixir he's been hiding."
"…There's more of it?"
Fernand's eyes narrowed.
"Just what the hell is that guy?"
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