Chapter 96: The Seven-Nation Summit, and Diplomatic Licensing Fees

The Hall of Mirrors in the Solaris Palace blazed with light, reflecting off thousands of massive crystal mirrors and chandeliers of solid gold.

Seven Kings, ambassadors, and governors representing the continent's great powers sat around a U-shaped ebony conference table, carved with the crests of all seven nations. The air in the room hung thick with the scent of expensive perfume, herbal cigar smoke, and layers of quiet, oppressive mana pressure pressing down on every square meter of stone floor.

Every sharp, seasoned diplomat's eye in the room was fixed on the single empty red velvet chair, positioned directly across from the head of the table — the seat reserved for the Vance Commerce representative.

BOOM!

A gauntleted hand slammed down onto the ebony table.

The ambassador of the Iron God Empire — Count Varian — shot to his feet, his full beard bristling. He stared straight at the Solaris royal delegation, his voice hard.

"The Iron God Empire firmly opposes this draft! We will never accept a human pulp novel shaping the ideology of our soldiers and workers! We demand all seven nations jointly issue a permanent ban on the circulation of every publication from the Vance Publishing House!"

Four ambassadors from neighboring nations began murmuring, nodding along in support of a joint cultural embargo.

Click.

The great mirrored door at the far end of the hall opened.

Lucian, in a crisp black suit trimmed with silver thread, a small black leather briefcase in hand, walked in at an unhurried pace across the red carpet. No entourage, no bodyguards, no knights accompanying him.

Lucian pulled out the velvet chair, sat down, set the briefcase on the table, and unlatched it with a click.

He pulled out seven market statistics reports, sliding one across to each of the seven ambassadors in turn.

"Count Varian, page three, if you would."

Varian frowned, looking down at the economic report, stamped with the seal of the Iron God Mining Guild.

Lucian leaned back in his chair, voice flat.

"Last month, three hundred thousand miners across your twelve largest mining regions went on a four-day strike, simultaneously. It wasn't over wages — it was because your pirate press's translation of Nameless Knight, Volume 3 was missing the final chapter."

Lucian took a sip of the mineral water already set on the table, looking Varian dead in the eye.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit NovelPhoenix for the authentic version.

"If your nation wants a ban, I'll immediately halt Vance Commerce's entire printing network from exporting Volume 4 to Iron God Empire territory. Volume 4, fresh off the press, contains complete supply-allocation diagrams for surviving the winter."

He tapped a finger lightly on the ebony table.

"At that point, when three hundred thousand miners, pickaxes and sledgehammers in hand, riot and level your royal palace because they couldn't buy a book... Vance Commerce accepts zero civil liability."

Varian froze solid.

He looked down at the blood-red strike statistics on the page, then at the ten-year-old sitting cross-legged in front of him.

Cold sweat streamed down through his beard. Varian slowly lowered his hand from the table and sank back into his velvet chair, unable to say a word.

Ting!

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

[EMPLOYING SKILL: 'MONOPOLY NEGOTIATION' LV.2!]

• Among delegates with qualifying market data, projected treaty approval rate: 94%.
• Host's diplomatic pressure rating: Equivalent to hurling 50 forbidden fireballs into the conference room, but ten times more polite.

At the head of the Royal delegation, Eleanor sat in her white-and-gold ceremonial gown, arms folded on the table. She watched Lucian single-handedly crush the aggression of all seven foreign ambassadors with nothing but a stack of financial reports, the corner of her mouth curling into a bright smile.

Under the conference table, Eleanor's boot toe reached out and tapped lightly against Lucian's shoe, giving him a playful wink.

Lucian pretended not to notice, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out seven pre-prepared copies of the Solaris International Copyright Treaty.

"Terms are simple:

1. Vance Commerce is recognized as coordinating authority for its titles, alongside licensed local printing partners.
2. Full import tax exemption on all authentic Vance publications and arcane equipment.
3. Each signatory extends reciprocal copyright recognition and may license approved local presses at a 15% royalty."

Lucian slid the contracts across.

"Sign. The convoy carrying ten million copies of Volume 4 ships on schedule next week."

The seven ambassadors exchanged glances, then one by one picked up their quills, carefully signing their names and stamping their national seals onto the treaty.

Click.

The chamber doors opened as the session ended. Dozens of reporters from the continent's largest magical newspapers immediately trained glowing photograph-crystals on the hall.

Less than half an hour later, a bold gold headline exploded across the front page of every major paper.

'DIPLOMATIC MIRACLE: Ten-Year-Old Young Master of House Vance Unites Seven Great Nations Under a Treaty of Absolute Peace!'

In a hallway alcove, an ambassador from the Dwarven Alliance sidled up to Lucian, lowering his voice.

"Lord Vance... we've heard Lady Evelyn just built a printing press powered by an arcane steam engine... our Alliance would like to purchase the patent for that engine, at six hundred thousand gold..."

Lucian slipped a business card into the dwarf's hand.

"Contact Sylvia to schedule an appointment for Thursday morning."

Once every diplomatic delegation had left the Hall of Mirrors, only Lucian and Emperor Alaric, leaning against his throne, remained in the room.

Lucian had just picked up his briefcase to head for the door when Alaric called out.

"Lucian. Stay a moment."

Lucian stopped and turned.

"Is there another clause Your Majesty needs added to the treaty?"

Alaric set his teacup down, his sharp golden eyes glinting with the knowing smile of a father.

"It's not about the treaty. Last night... Eleanor told me all about her personal-guarantee proposal for that three-thousand-gold sausage debt."

Lucian froze in the middle of the mirrored hall, the briefcase nearly slipping from his fingers.

"...Huh???"