The Principles of Investment (2)
Worried that no buyer might show up, Cleio asked a hotel staff member to compile a list of upcoming performances in the city.
Then, by activating Promise's "Memory" function to confirm names, he cross-checked the list.
"Found it!"
Count Prochoros, the innovator of ballet—his company was to hold its final special performance of the season here in this resort city.
In the original manuscript, the count—an avid music lover—came to the auction intending to buy a violin but ended up purchasing the lyre instead.
"The last day of the auction draws many music enthusiasts. That's when instrument prices skyrocket."
Cleio put down the sandwich he'd bitten twice and spoke to Dione, who was still entranced by the lyre resting on the folded bed sheet. She replied a beat late.
"Ah—did you call for me, young master?"
"You like the lyre that much? Enough not to hear me talking?"
"It's not just that it's an instrument… it's because it's a Sacred Relic. Now that I think about it, you already knew about this lyre beforehand, didn't you?"
"In a sense, yes."
Dione narrowed her eyes and fell silent. The value of a Sacred Relic was immense, and she knew he wouldn't reveal where such information came from.
In The Prince of Albion Kingdom, the so-called "Sacred Relics" sounded impressive—but in truth, they weren't particularly special.
Aside from being objects that did not decay or rot with age, they possessed no special abilities.
Most Sacred Relics were instruments, yet each time one appeared on the market, art collectors and enthusiasts paid staggering sums for it.
"I don't know much about art, but as long as it sells for a good price, that's all that matters. Even in my old world, people paid billions for a single violin—probably the same idea."
"Truly, young master, you're impossible to fathom. The information you had, knowing the strings and opal were the key materials—could it be that you have a stigma related to 'Analysis' or 'Prediction'?"
As the heir of the Greyer Trading Company and a research mage, Dione could barely contain her excitement. A seventeen-year-old mage who had discovered and restored a Sacred Relic—how could that not ignite her curiosity?
"That's a trade secret. Let's just say I'm a little better at gathering and analyzing information than most."
"Oh, so that's how it is—you're not going to tell me."
"Not right now."
"Not now, you say. Does that mean if I'm no longer my father's subordinate someday, things will be different?"
"You're very perceptive, Lady Dione."
"Now I understand why you asked whether my father would attend the party. You're more of a rebel than you look, aren't you?"
"Does that bother you?"
Her sky-blue eyes chilled as she studied the boy before her.
The relaxed, confident youth meeting her gaze no longer resembled the runaway child she'd once chased.
"No, I like it. So, Mr. Cleio Aser—what is it you want from me?"
It was the first time since they'd met that she called him Cleio instead of young master.
It meant she now saw him not as the baron's second son, but as Cleio himself.
Pouring tea into her empty cup, Cleio spoke evenly.
"I want this lyre to be auctioned on the final day. The order doesn't matter—as long as it can be previewed or performed beforehand."
"Using Baron Aser's name would make that easy enough…"
Cleio shook his head. He had no intention of exploiting his father's name.
"A private seller can't list something by tomorrow. It's not in the catalog, and it needs appraisal time."
"You've seen the restoration and completed the analysis, haven't you? You can issue the certification yourself—Royal Capital Defense Academy graduate, licensed research mage."
Now it was Dione's turn to look as though she'd been struck on the head.
"So, you planned to use me from the start."
"Not use—collaborate."
Setting her cup back down, Dione Greyer was no longer just his tutor—she was the heir of the Greyer Trading Company.
Cleio allowed himself a faint, satisfied smile.
Before leaving for Novantes, he had already gathered background information.
Lady Dione Greyer, as Mrs. Canton had explained, was famous behind the scenes as an exceptionally shrewd negotiator. Even as a student she had managed the family business's operations, and upon entering society, she had swiftly built a vast network.
That was why a young woman without an official post had been able to mobilize the Capital Defense Knights just to retrieve one runaway student.
At first, Cleio had considered finding a way to shake her off—but in the end, he decided winning her over would be far more profitable.
"Hmmm. So, what fee are you proposing?"
"I understand appraisal fees are usually two thousand dinars. Since this is a rush issue, how about four thousand?"
Having read the Auction Rules Guide cover to cover, Cleio found negotiation easy. Dione had already taken a figurative step over the line the moment his restoration spell succeeded.
"Well, it does sound fun."
"The Trinity Auction Company's head office is in the capital, isn't it? Members of the Capital Merchants' Guild get preferred commission rates. If you list it under Greyer Trading's name, I'll pay a two-percent seller's commission from the winning bid—that's higher than standard."
Dione set down her fan and folded her arms, calculating fiercely.
"He only got the guidebook yesterday, yet he's already mastered its content. How is this kid supposed to be a slow-witted second son?"
At last, she made her decision.
"All right. But do you have someone who can play the lyre?"
"I'll have to find one."
"Make it three percent, and I'll handle everything—from the performance and catalog registration to the promotion."
"Can you manage that?"
"My motto is: I work according to what I'm paid."
"Then let's sign the contract first."
"Cleio, you really are thorough."
They drafted a brief contract and inscribed the [Pledge] spell by hand, each infusing it with their own aether.
Though it lacked the life-binding penalties of an official magically-sealed contract, it was more than effective enough for financial agreements.
Once the aether within [Pledge] faded, Dione suddenly added another condition.
"One more thing—separate from this. I'll be ordering a new dress. Put that on the expense list too."
"As many as you want."
Dione Greyer was a born showwoman.
Draped in a white gown that flowed like that of an ancient goddess, a gilded laurel resting on her head, she stepped onto the auction stage.
"It's a skill I picked up as a child. The lyre isn't a common instrument, so rather than rushing to find someone else, I might as well play it myself."
Cleio had been skeptical, but even if her playing fell short, her beauty alone would draw every eye. So he approved the plan.
The result exceeded all expectations.
Dione's fairy-like movements, her skilled lyre performance, and her clear, pure singing voice captivated the hall.
The lyre's tone itself was extraordinary—it seized people's emotions, turning even a simple melody into the sound of poetry divine.
Count Prochoros rose to his feet in tears, giving a standing ovation. Following his lead, the entire audience stood and burst into enthusiastic applause.
After an intense round of bidding, Terpsichore's Lyre was sold to the Count for 5.95 million dinars—a full 950,000 dinars higher than the price recorded in the original manuscript.
"Even after deducting the commission and listing fees, that's 5.5 million left. I can proceed with the next step."
He declined promissory notes or checks, instead giving the auction house the account number for a new Aurel Bank account he had opened before arriving in Novantes. He had already severed ties with the bank his family had used for generations.
That evening, he immediately paid Dione her commission.
Upon receiving the deposit confirmation for 297,500 dinars, Dione's expression bloomed like a peony in full flower.
"And here's the 4,000 dinars appraisal fee—paid in cash."
"Cleio, you're as ethical as you are astute. I like that. Prompt payment of commission—now that's how business should be done."
"After all, it's only proper to treat a skilled professional like Lady Dione with respect."
Removing the golden laurel wreath from her head, Dione's tone grew noticeably serious.
"So, it's true then—you can't stand the idea of becoming a politician or bureaucrat, can you? You're raising funds because you don't want to follow your father's path."
Cleio only smiled faintly in response.
"When I think about it, I can understand why you ran away. I couldn't bear anyone dictating my life either."
"I'm glad you understand. If I'd told you sooner, perhaps you wouldn't have gone to such extremes to drag me back?"
"No, that's different. I had a contract with your father to watch over you. I had to uphold my end of the deal."
"And what about now?"
"I'd say I've fulfilled the debt owed to Baron Aser rather thoroughly. It's time for a new contract."
"Got her."
"Honestly, what's fun about being your father's puppet in politics? Let's make money instead. The trade of magical tools—that's a field even your father can't meddle in. Don't you find that appealing?"
Dione was an entirely new element—someone not mentioned in the manuscript. Unpredictable. But there was one thing Cleio knew for certain: no one disliked money.
"Though I didn't expect her to like the idea this much."
"Finding a Sacred Relic like that couldn't possibly be coincidence. You must have some special ability—something you can't tell me."
"I'm honored that you think so."
"I'm thinking of setting up a proper operation to make use of your information and restoration skills. Our company warehouse still has plenty of unrefined magical tools I can't process—my specialty is mana-stone crafting, not restoration. It pains me to see them sitting there instead of turning into profit. I think you could handle them, couldn't you?"
"I can."
That short, confident reply seemed to impress her deeply.
For Cleio, the offer was a windfall. Restoring the Greyer Company's stockpile of magical tools would bring him handsome commissions.
He didn't truly possess remarkable analytical skills—but he did have Promise's second function, "Understanding", and his knowledge of the manuscript.
From its pages, the ever-chatty Vasco had explained in great detail how he gathered materials and restored magical tools. With that as a reference, Cleio could easily replicate the process.
"I didn't expect her to make a proposal this quickly. She's more invested in running the business than I thought."
"Still, Lady Dione, for someone raised among the nobility, you have a remarkably practical sense for business."
Sliding the 4,000 dinars into her handbag with a graceful hand, Dione tilted her chin slightly—her expression subtly shifting.
"Raised in luxury? Young master, you're the one out of touch. Poor nobles are worse off than poor commoners. They can starve for three days and still be too proud to beg."
"...!"
"The title of Count Greyer originally belonged to my father—a man who never earned a single dinar in his life. If he were still alive, I'd probably be dead of hunger."
It was a background Cleio hadn't imagined. Dione looked every bit the refined noble lady—someone who'd never lifted anything heavier than a teacup, who lived on white bread and etiquette lessons.
"It was my uncle Vasco, returned from ten years of exploration, who took me in. He educated and supported me. It's money that gives people a place in this world—it's what lets them live like humans. How could I possibly neglect that?"
"In that regard, Lady Dione, we're very much alike."
"Indeed. Though it's surprising that a baron's son understands such desperation."
Their eyes met, and smiles—those of accomplices and business partners—bloomed between them.
"We'll discuss the details later when drafting a formal contract. For now, I need to step out to buy the evening papers."
"Didn't you read the morning edition?"
"The hotel doesn't provide the evening one. Please rest if you're tired."
"Rest? Hardly—I need to prepare for the banquet!"
"It's still hours until nine."
"Hours? Four isn't nearly enough! I'll start getting ready—make sure you're back soon."
Leaving behind Dione's insistence that he return within thirty minutes, Cleio exited the hotel.
Ever since setting his plans in motion, he had bought every major national newspaper daily, reading them front to back—even the short bulletins. He had found nothing yet, but persisted patiently.
At the kiosk, he purchased all five evening editions and skimmed them on a nearby bench.
Finally—there it was. The article he'd been waiting for.
Unusual Phenomena Detected Near "King's Forest" by the Dubris Region of the Pintos Mountains
Mass Migration of Wildlife Causing Damage to Local Residents
Government Dispatches an Investigation Team
"Just as expected."
The strange occurrences in the "King's Forest" near Dubris heralded the discovery of the Tiphlaum Mine. To see events unfolding exactly as described in the manuscript filled him with satisfaction.
"The Dubris Tiphlaum Mine will overturn the entire continent's balance of power."
In The Prince of Albion Kingdom, Tiphlaum was depicted as the critical resource that would elevate Albion's military might.
"But the mine lies within royal lands—its development and operation will be entirely royal-managed. No profit to be made from shares."
Still, there was another, more lucrative angle.
"In any world, real estate never loses."
And it was for laying the foundation of that enterprise that Cleio had come to Novantes.