A bizarre social shift began to ripple through the taverns of Novigrad and Oxenfurt. For centuries, the Aen Seidhe had been feared as a "plague"—shadowy rebels and harbingers of misfortune. Now, that reputation died not with a scream, but with a laugh.
"Look at 'em," a drunken merchant jeered in a Redanian pub, pointing at a bedraggled elven beggar. "Still begging for scraps in the mud? You're an embarrassment to your own blood! Look at Aine Aevon! He's a tall Elf who owns half the rails in the North and has the Hierarch asking him for building loans! Why aren't you making steel instead of trouble?"
The mockery stung worse than the hunts ever had. To be hated was one thing; to be viewed as the "lazy, incompetent cousins" of a billionaire tycoon was a humiliation the Elven pride couldn't withstand. Across the Continent, the Scoia'tael guerrillas found their recruitment numbers plummeting. Why die in a swamp for a lost cause when you could be a Junior Technician with a dental plan and a grey-stone house?
Fed up with the ridicule and desperate to prove they weren't "primitive," thousands of elves abandoned the forests. They swarmed the Redanian train stations, clutching their meager belongings and copper coins, demanding tickets for the North.
"One way to the Alder Corporation HQ," a young elf with a scarred face told the station master. "I'm done with the bow. I want to learn the lathe."
Aine Aevon watched the surveillance feeds as the "Iron Arteries" brought thousands of his kinsmen to his doorstep. He didn't greet them with hugs, but with employment contracts.
"Welcome to the future," Aine said, his haunting Aen Elle voice echoing through the massive industrial arrival hall. "Here, you are not 'Elder Blood' or 'Squirrels.' You are Human Resources. Prove your worth to the Corporation, and the Corporation will make you untouchable."
Within months, the Unclaimed North became the most densely populated industrial hub in history. The Church of the Eternal Fire even released a decree praising Aine for "taming the savage elder race through the virtue of honest labor."
Aine checked his Quasimorph HUD. The workforce was now massive, and the "Social Stability" index was at an all-time high.
"The best way to win a war," Aine mused, "is to make the enemy's soldiers want to be your employees."
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In a twist that would have baffled the mages of old, the Church of the Eternal Fire did not find heresy in Aine Aevon's laboratories—they found validation.
The high-ranking priests, many of whom were accomplished alchemists themselves, had always understood that their sacred flame was more than a mere symbol. They knew it was energy released through chemical reaction—the ultimate manifestation of Order in a chaotic world. To them, Aine wasn't introducing something alien; he was providing the advanced engineering to prove what they had always believed.
"The Tall Elf does not defy the Fire," the Hierarch proclaimed from the Great Temple of Novigrad. "He has harnessed its logic. Engineering is the ultimate form of worship, for it proves that the Fire—the energy of the universe—follows the sacred laws of Chemical Reaction. Order is the only path."
With the Church's official blessing, the last cultural barriers to Aine's influence vanished. He seized the moment to formalize his territory, scrubbing "The Unclaimed North" from the maps. In its place rose a political entity that defied every feudal tradition of the Continent: The Ancap Union.
In the Ancap Union, there were no Kings, no Duchies, and no taxes. There was only the Contract.
Aine Aevon stood on the balcony of the Obsidian Tower, looking out over a sprawling metropolis of grey-stone and steel. "This is not a kingdom," he whispered into the crisp northern air, his Aen Elle eyes reflecting the glow of a thousand factory fires. "It is a Joint-Stock Nation."
The governance of the Union was a pure Anarcho-Capitalist model. Political power was tied directly to Shareholding. While Aine remained the CEO with the majority stake, the system allowed for power-sharing with other corporate entities. However, for now, the Alder Corporation was the sole "government," providing all essential services through a business lens.
To maintain the Non-Aggression Principle, Aine deployed the Alder Corp Enforcers. These weren't soldiers; they were a Private Peacekeeping Unit. Clad in matte-black Quasimorph-grade tactical gear, they functioned as the nation's police force. They didn't protect "the crown"—they protected Private Property and Contractual Obligations.
"If you steal, you violate the contract," the lead Enforcer told a group of new arrivals at the rail station. "If you violate the contract, your life-insurance policy is voided, and we are authorized to liquidate the liability."
The Union flourished. Without the "tax drain" of a royal court, the economy accelerated at a terrifying pace.
Aine checked his Quasimorph Interface. The "Nation Stability" bar was a solid, glowing green. But his eyes drifted to the southern borders, where the Nilfgaardian Empire was watching this "Merchant Nation" with growing hunger.
"They think they can annex a company," Aine mused, a cold smile touching his porcelain face. "They don't realize that in an Ancap system, even War is just another line item on a budget."