Chapter 66: The Demon Empire, and a Letter from Mother

The Black Mist Tearoom sat tucked into the most hidden corner of the diplomatic quarter in the capital of Solaris. Inside, a thin veil of shadow-magic wardings sealed the space off completely from the noisy streets outside.

At a round obsidian table pushed against a window overlooking a bamboo garden, a Demon-race noblewoman sat with her legs crossed, sipping black tea.

Her skin was snow-white, hair platinum-blonde and falling past her hips, a pair of elegantly curved jet-black horns rising from her head. A silver fox-fur cloak draped over a dark violet evening gown, framing the proud, icy bearing of a ruler of the underworld.

Behind her stood two Demon-race guards, over two meters tall, encased head to toe in black steel armor, radiating an aura of destruction so thick that the steam rising off her teacup froze mid-air into floating motes of magical frost.

Click.

The tearoom's door slid open.

Lucian, in his navy-blue Academy uniform, a small leather notebook tucked under one arm, walked over without hurry and pulled out the wooden chair across from her.

Ting!

A dim black Unified System v2.0 notification appeared before him.

[DIPLOMATIC TARGET: Carmilla von Lilith (Demon-Race Ambassador)]

Level: 85

Rank: A — Legendary

Combat Power: 4,220,000,000 (4.2 BILLION!)

Four billion two hundred twenty million.

A number belonging to a veteran commander who could once level whole border fortresses during a world war.

Carmilla set her teacup down on its saucer, her deep red eyes, sharp as a razor's edge, sweeping over Lucian from head to toe. She wanted to see, with her own eyes, just how much of the legendary Fourth Knight's brutality and dark ambition had passed down to the son she'd borne with a human Sword Emperor.

She drew a black iron tube, sealed with a skull-shaped wax seal of blood-red wax, from beneath her cloak, and slid it across the stone table toward him, her voice ice-cold.

"This is a letter hand-delivered by Lady Valeria herself through a secret diplomatic channel. Prepare yourself to receive the final testament of the Annihilation Knight."

Lucian picked up the iron tube, gently pried the wax seal loose, and pulled out a small scroll of parchment, unrolling it to read.

His mother Valeria's familiar, looping handwriting appeared on the page, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine.

'My darling Lucian!

I sent Miss Carmilla to bring you ten jars of top-grade strawberry jam I made myself, and three hundred catties of Demon-race beef cured in snow salt. I know the food at that Academy in the capital is terrible, so make sure you're eating enough to keep your strength up.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

If any noble brat dares bully you, or if you lose even a little weight, write to me right away. I will tear a hole through space itself, march straight to the capital, and level that entire academy for you.

Love you so much, sweetheart!

Mom, Valeria.'

Lucian folded the letter, tucked it into his inner coat pocket, and looked up at Carmilla.

"Where's the beef and jam?"

Carmilla, teacup halfway to her lips, froze completely.

A faint blush spread across the snow-white cheeks of the four-billion-Combat-Power Countess of the Demon race. She let out a small cough, hurriedly set her cup down, and looked away to hide her embarrassment.

"The ten jars of jam and the beef... I already delivered them to the Vance hotel's cold storage this morning."

Carmilla cleared her throat, trying to pull her diplomatic composure back together.

"However, the actual reason I've come here today isn't just to deliver snacks. The twelve territories of the Demon Realm are under strict trade embargo from the human empires. We have thousands of high-grade black mana-ore mines but no way to trade them for clean grain or textiles from the south. You—"

"What's the impurity ratio in raw Tartarus ore?"

Lucian cut in abruptly.

He didn't speak the Imperial tongue. Low, resonant, almost guttural syllables — pronounced with millimeter-perfect precision — poured from the ten-year-old's mouth in Supreme Ancient Demonic.

Carmilla's deep red pupils contracted sharply. Her two armored guards flinched, hands instinctively tightening around the hilts of their greatswords.

That was the purest form of royal cadence spoken by the Shadow Royal Family — a dialect of Ancient Demonic that even the current Great Demon Lords could only speak half-fluently.

Lucian opened the leather notebook on the table and pulled out his quill, sketching a supply chain diagram.

"My friend's family, House Wright, holds seventy percent of advanced metallurgy technology and the semiconductor reactors on Floor 1 of the World Tower. They're short on black mana-ore for building high-tech weapons. And my father's Vance Commerce controls all tax-exempt international maritime shipping licenses."

Lucian looked up at Carmilla.

"Every month, your side moves five thousand tons of raw Tartarus ore across the western border. I'll import all of it under the classification of 'academic research materials for the Ancient Language Club,' resell it to House Wright's foundries at a discount, and pay the Demon Realm back in grain, wool, and clean, guaranteed Vance banknotes."

He slid the draft contract across the table toward her.

"Net profit margin on this operation is three hundred percent. The Demon Realm gets thirty percent of that, paid in clean cash. Sign here."

Carmilla looked down at the detailed contract in front of her — dozens of legal clauses and a tightly structured cash flow projection.

She watched Lucian's small fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the table and felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

Not a single soldier deployed... not a single sword raised...

Carmilla thought to herself, her knuckles tightening.

He's using clean cash and grain to chain the entire economic bloodstream of the Demon Realm to his own two hands! Once the mines get used to receiving Vance banknotes, all twelve territories of Tartarus will be completely dependent on him! This method — subtle, ruthless, terrifying — is far more dangerous than anything the previous Demon Lord's slaughter ever achieved!

She picked up the quill and signed her name in careful Ancient Demonic script at the bottom of the contract.

Carmilla von Lilith.

Carmilla stood, straightened her silver fox-fur cloak, and bowed at a full ninety degrees, deeply respectful, before the ten-year-old boy.

"Every month, the Demon Realm's trade caravan will deliver on schedule, at the agreed meeting point, Young Master of Shadow."

Lucian picked up the contract, blew gently on the ink to dry it, and carefully tucked it into his spatial ring. Then he looked up with one final reminder.

"Make sure you issue full VAT invoices. My company doesn't accept tax-evasion paperwork."