Inside the Desert Arrow train car, Dorothy stared at the neatly printed letters on the page before her, eyes wide and expression frozen, her thoughts in disarray as she mentally cursed.
“Ten thousand pounds for rent, thirty thousand for deposit—why not just rob me? I’m returning the divine artifact, not keeping it! Do you really need to charge that much? Were all of you dirt poor in your past lives or something?”
After seeing the price Beverly had quoted, Dorothy couldn’t help but curse inwardly. A divine artifact requiring 10,000 pounds for rent and 30,000 for a deposit meant she had to raise at least 40,000 pounds to get her hands on it. After tallying her assets... well, emmm... she realized, rather miserably, that she didn’t even have 2,000 pounds in liquid funds.
Her most recent big expenditure had been the 700 pounds she’d spent on supplies in Kankdal Port to blend into the special envoy team traveling to Yadith, posing as a merchant to gain a spot aboard the Desert Arrow. That one move had slashed her cash reserves down to around 1,100 pounds. Compared to the price now quoted, it wasn’t even close.
For context, Dorothy had only spent a bit over 1,000 pounds to buy the Stone Prince’s holy symbol, and now this sudden leap into the tens of thousands left her stunned. In an age where 500 pounds could buy a small villa, tens of thousands reached the level of small-scale military procurement between nations—definitely not something an individual could casually afford.
Moreover, Dorothy seriously suspected Beverly had deliberately marked up the price just to offer a “discount” using the Garib incident as an excuse—just like a certain shopping holiday with fake markdowns. That way, Beverly not only “repaid” her favor but didn’t lose a single coin in the process.
Staring at Beverly’s quote, Dorothy was silent for quite some time. After mulling things over, she finally picked up her pen again and wrote.
“This price is still way too steep. Honestly, it feels a bit unreasonable…”
“Too expensive? This is already cheap. This is a divine artifact blessed by a god—how could it possibly come cheap? Normally, the ones who rent divine artifacts are major organizations or entire nations. When they need one, it’s for highly important operations, so even the full price is acceptable to them.
“You need to understand, divine artifacts not only have mystical power, but they’re often crucial ritual tools. Used properly, they can have the impact of an entire army. In a sense, we treat divine artifacts as critical military assets for lease. A few tens of thousands is nothing in that context. “You haven’t even seen the really expensive stuff. The deity-bestowed artifacts? Just the rent is more than what it costs to build a battleship. Total costs can burden the national budget of even powerful nations like Pritt or Falano. That’s what I call pricey.
“If you don’t believe me, you can go to any Craftsmen’s Guild branch in a major city and ask for yourself. You’ll see that this price is already deeply discounted. Of course, renting divine artifacts isn’t something available to the average customer—you’d need to spend at least 7,000 to 8,000 pounds in trade volume just to be recognized as a VIP before they’ll even talk to you about it.”
Beverly’s reply appeared rapidly on the page, and reading her wall of neat Prittish characters, Dorothy was briefly stunned. Given Beverly’s status and character, it wasn’t likely she was lying—this was probably indeed the real price, and Dorothy had probably received a sizable discount already.
From Beverly’s words, Dorothy realized that divine artifact rentals weren’t targeted at individual Beyonders at all, but at nations and major organizations. Those groups had deep coffers, broad resource pipelines, and countless ways to make money, so naturally they could afford it. But when it came down to her, even with the discount, it was still steep.
She stared at Beverly’s response for a long moment, then finally picked up her pen again and wrote.
“Alright, I get the pricing now. But I’m not at the point where I have to use it yet, so I’ll hold off on the rental. Once I really need it, I’ll get in touch again.”
“Sounds good. Renting divine artifacts isn’t exactly a hot business anyway. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll have stock for you. Just reach out to me when the time comes~”
After exchanging a few more parting words, Dorothy closed the Literary Sea Logbook, exhaled deeply, and slumped back into the train compartment’s cushioned seat.
“Huff... forty thousand pounds. How the hell am I gonna scrape that together?”
Clutching her forehead, she stared out the window at the rushing landscape and began to think bitterly.
Up until now, Dorothy’s main source of income had been robbing cultist syndicates. It paid well, but nowhere near enough for this. She’d have to find some new method of earning big.
Her first thought was to produce Revelation storage items and sell them on the market. With current Revelation prices soaring, just a few items could net her the full amount. The problem? The techniques for crafting them had long been lost. Even though she had the spirituality, she couldn’t make them. And even if she could, dropping Revelation items on the market right now would be risky—as the reappearance of the Heaven’s Arbiter cabal had brought massive scrutiny onto the Revelation trade. A sudden influx would draw too much attention.
“This is rough…” she muttered, scratching her head in frustration.
…
North Ufiga Coast — Kankdal.
Around noon, nestled in an oasis-surrounded suburb of Kankdal, lush with greenery, stood rows of villas. Flags of various designs fluttered above their doors—almost all from nations of the Central Continent—signifying the prestige and origin of the owners.
Among the rows of villas, one particularly grand residence stood out with its own courtyard, fountain, and intricately manicured sculptures—like a garden in full bloom. At the gate, a flag fluttered—not of any nation, but a green banner bearing the silhouette of Kankdal.
Inside this expansive villa, a white man in his fifties, streaks of gray in his hair and dressed in a sharp suit, sat on the veranda. In one hand he held a cigar, and in the other a newspaper, his expression tinged with a hint of solemnity.
The headline on the front page of the paper he read was bold and eye-catching.
“Yadith Talks Conclude—Envoy Delegation Led by Sister Vania Departs for Return Journey”
Beneath the headline, the subheading and article elaborated further.
“The outcome of the Yadith talks remains unclear, as neither party has issued statements regarding the content or results. Speculation abounds. Noted commentator Jorg suggests that, based on revolutionary leader Shadi’s immediate post-talk funeral service for heretics reportedly killed in a natural disaster, the talks may not have gone as hoped. Shadi seems unlikely to renounce heretical beliefs, and the storm clouds over Addus may not have lifted with the arrival of the ‘Peace Nun.’ The unexpected lightning disaster may prove to be the pivotal turning point...”
The man puffed on his cigar while flipping through the paper. On the table in front of him were several newspapers in various languages—all reporting the same thing: news of Sister Vania leaving Yadith and returning to Kankdal.
All the papers were centered on one burning question: what were the results of the talks? What was actually agreed upon? But since neither side had held a press conference afterward, the public could only speculate, guessing based on their post-talk actions.
Because Shadi immediately held a grand memorial for the heretics supposedly killed by a thunderstorm, and the church delegation quietly left, the general perception among the public was that Shadi still sided with the heretics, that the talks had failed, and that a full-scale war between Addus and the Church was inevitable. That Sister Vania was a "Peace Nun" in name only.
However, such interpretations were only held by the general public—those who only had access to surface-level information. For high-ranking individuals and intelligence agencies across nations and mystical institutions who possessed deeper knowledge, the reading was entirely different. Upon learning that one of those killed in the lightning disaster was none other than Muhtar—the highest leader of the Addus Savior’s Advent Sect—they immediately understood: the sect was finished in Addus.
Now, Shadi’s actions were nothing but political theater aimed at placating remaining Salvationist elements. The absence of public statements from Shadi and Sister Vania was not due to the talks failing—but because some unspoken consensus had been reached. Leadership circles in many nations and organizations had already foreseen it: when the time was right, Addus and the Church would announce a joint decision that would shock the world.
And the man here, on this veranda, was one of those in the know.
“To think... that the little nun actually pulled off the negotiation. Heaven’s Arbiter Temple... Who would’ve thought? A fossilized relic thought dead for thousands of years suddenly jumps back to life—and with quite the force too…”
“Tch… that nun really is lucky. To stumble into something like this? People might start thinking she’s Heaven’s Arbiter’s chosen.”
Staring at his paper, the man thought to himself. After setting it down, he reclined in his chair, furrowing his brows and taking a slow drag from his cigar, troubled.
“Damn... I didn’t expect Addus’ situation to play out like this. Looks like Holy Mount and Addus aren’t going to war after all… everything I planned was for nothing…”
Blowing smoke into the air, the man brooded over the situation. Just then, a knock came from the door behind the veranda. Hearing it, he turned his head and called out.
“Come in.”
The door opened, revealing a well-dressed maid. She bowed and said,
“Mr. Robert, Prince Ma’ad requests an audience. He’s waiting in the parlor. Shall I bring him in?”
“Ma’ad... again,” muttered Robert, mayor of Kankdal. After a moment’s thought, he replied.
“Send him up. I’ll meet him here.”
The maid nodded and left. Soon, the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs echoed through the villa. A figure appeared in the doorway—tall and dignified, with a thick beard and dressed in a lavish traditional North Ufigan noble robe. A feathered headwrap adorned his head, and he looked to be around the same age as Robert.
After stepping into the room, the maid quietly closed the door behind him. The man glanced around nervously before quickly focusing his gaze on Robert sitting on the veranda chair. He hurried forward and offered a deep bow.
“Esteemed Mr. Robert, I offer you my greetings.”
In somewhat clumsy Falanoan, the man—Prince Ma’ad—greeted Robert respectfully. Robert nodded after a slow puff of his cigar and gestured for Ma’ad to sit. Ma’ad obeyed, taking a seat beside him, his eyes filled with a trace of sycophantic eagerness as he continued to speak.
"Mr. Robert, this time I’ve come bearing another precious gift brought back from Yadith—a chariot that has been passed down in Baruch for over four hundred years, left behind by our great founding monarch, His Majesty Rahman Baruch. It holds mystical power and is incredibly valuable. It’s just a little large, so I didn’t bring it up. I left it downstairs—please come take a look when you have a moment…”
The man named Ma’ad said this to Robert. After listening, Robert’s expression didn’t reveal any obvious change. He simply glanced at Ma’ad and quietly spoke.
"Rahman’s chariot? That’s quite the gift, Your Highness… For the descendants of Baruch, this must be a very important heirloom. I really can’t accept it."
"No, no… you can absolutely accept it—definitely. You are the master of Kankdal, the representative of Falano… no, of many mainland nations in North Ufiga. You are more than worthy of this item. In fact, in a way, this isn’t even a gift. It’s more of… compensation."
Ma’ad quickly responded to Robert’s words. Hearing this, Robert raised an eyebrow, then asked with interest.
"Compensation? What do you mean? You haven’t caused me any losses—how is this compensation?"
Curious, Robert questioned him. In response, Ma’ad plastered on a wide smile and explained.
"Heh heh… What do you mean, sir? Of course we’ve caused you losses. Just think: we mismanaged Addus, failed to suppress bandits, and allowed heretics and rebels to seize the country. Because of that, all the treaties we signed with you great mainland nations—preferential tariffs, priority development rights for railways and mines, organized labor dispatch, land leases… all those agreements were torn up by the rebels. Isn’t that a tremendous loss for you?
"Now, although we no longer control Addus and cannot restore the rightful benefits that belonged to your esteemed nations, we can at least offer up the wealth accumulated by Baruch over the past centuries to make up for some of the losses. Compared to what your nations were supposed to gain in Addus, these things are insignificant—but they represent our sincerity, and our unwavering alignment with your side. Please, sir, do accept it."
Ma’ad said this with an exaggerated smile. Robert paused for a moment, his cigar hovering in mid-air. He gazed at the sycophantic man in front of him, his eyes narrowing slightly, as though he had already seen through the true purpose of this visit.