Chapter 79: The Order for Three Million Black Cloaks

The office of the Empire's Chief of Staff, Ministry of Defense, was thick with the smell of arcane tobacco smoke and the pounding footsteps of liaison officers.

BOOM!

A thick, dark red leather-bound dossier slammed down onto the table in front of Lucian.

Chief of Staff Vormund — the old general with a burn scar across his face — leaned both hands on the table, eyes bloodshot, staring at the ten-year-old boy.

"The Ministry of Defense needs an emergency special-order requisition. Three million Cloaks of Shadow, bearing Vance Commerce's [⭕] quality mark, delivered in full within exactly thirty days!"

Lucian sat in his leather chair, a jade abacus in hand, fingers clicking through beads rapidly.

"Three million? Every hand-weaving mill in this entire empire combined only produces five hundred thousand cloaks a year. What do you need that many for? Solaris's army doesn't even have a regulation for black uniforms."

Vormund pulled out a stack of battlefield psychology reports and tossed them across.

"Frontline soldiers are protesting, demanding new uniforms! Reports from the western legions show that squads in ordinary steel armor have panic-desertion rates around thirty percent. Units in the Nameless Knight's black cloaks report fewer desertion attempts and tighter formation discipline, though the numbers are still incomplete. They'll hold the line longer with nothing but spears, because they believe they're fighting under the guidance of a Savior!"

The old general tapped a finger hard against the table.

"This isn't just fabric! This is now mandatory psychological armor for the entire Imperial army!"

Lucian leaned back in his chair, temples twitching.

Three million cloaks... just so soldiers could cosplay a novel character while going out to die on a battlefield?

He glanced at the war map, glowing red along the border, then back at the figure: three million cloaks. His fingers flew across the abacus.

• Raw wool imported through Sylvia's Beastkin trade route: 0.5 gold/unit.
• Evelyn's automated weaving line on Floor 1 of the World Tower: weaving and fireproof marking cost: 0.3 gold/unit.
• Logistics, packaging, and quality-control allowance: 0.1 gold/unit.
• All-inclusive factory-gate price to the Ministry of Defense: 1.5 gold/unit.

Net profit margin: exactly forty percent.

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Lucian picked up his quill and signed a sharp, decisive signature onto the military supply contract.

"Total contract value: four million five hundred thousand clean gold. Thirty percent deposit paid upfront via guaranteed royal banknote. Full delivery in exactly thirty days, at the Floor 1 dungeon gate."

Vormund stepped forward, gripping Lucian's small hand and shaking it vigorously, voice choked with emotion.

"Four and a half million gold for three million premium fire-resistant cloaks... House Vance mobilizing its entire arcane production line to relieve the army at such a generous rate! Your patriotism will be etched into the history books!"

Lucian calmly withdrew his hand and tucked the one-million-three-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-gold deposit check into his coat.

"Generous rate, my ass. I just raised wool prices fifteen percent."

Ting!

A Unified System v2.0 notification appeared before him.

[CONTINENTAL-SCALE MILITARY SUPPLY TRANSACTION COMPLETE!]

• Total contract value: 4,500,000 Clean Gold.
• Vance family's liquid clean capital: has reached national budget-influencing scale.

['MERCHANT' CLASS LEVELED UP: LV.4!]

• 'Brand Monopoly' skill upgraded: improves Vance Commerce's supply-chain coordination for registered contracts.

Late that afternoon.

Lucian stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the Floor 1 weaving factory of the World Tower.

Below, across a factory yard spanning thousands of square meters, hundreds of automated arcane trucks — assembled by Evelyn — lined up bumper to bumper, rolling out through the gates. Large wooden crates of glossy black fabric, packed neatly, rumbled through the transport gate one after another, heading straight for the western border.

Evelyn, in oil-stained work overalls, cash-flow ledger in hand, walked over and stood beside him.

She watched the endless line of trucks, took a sip of apple juice, and spoke offhandedly.

"Hey, Lucian... do you ever think we're just selling them an illusion?"

Lucian watched the rolls of black fabric vanish into the arcane haze, silent for five seconds.

He reached into his coat, fingers brushing the four-and-a-half-million-gold check, and spoke flatly.

"Yeah. A cheap wool cloak can't stop a single Void Beast claw. It's a completely worthless illusion, physically speaking."

He looked toward the dark, grim western horizon.

"But out on that cold, dead battlefield... if this damned illusion is enough to make some trembling eighteen-year-old soldier hold his spear steady instead of running and getting torn apart... then I guess this deal wasn't entirely soulless."

Evelyn glanced at the profile of the ten-year-old's face under the fluorescent lights, mouth twitching into a small smile.

"You're starting to sound like an actual human being, you exploitative capitalist."

BOOM!

The metal door of the control room was thrown open, hard.

Eleanor walked in.

She wasn't wearing her white silk dress or her usual Academy uniform. She was dressed in full golden holy knight's plate armor, streaked with battlefield dust. The Royal Holy Sword at her hip blazed with a flame-red aura.

Eleanor stopped in front of Lucian, breathing hard, her beautiful face set with a grim, icy severity.

"Lucian. The 4th Frontline Legion has just been completely surrounded by ten thousand Void Beasts at Broken Wind Ravine."

She gripped her sword's hilt, every word landing heavy as lead.

"They're wearing your black cloaks... and they're following the exact 'Night Siege Defense Tactic' from chapter thirty of the book. If reinforcements don't break through the encirclement within the next three days... all one hundred thousand soldiers will be buried alive."