Night had deepened. In the bedroom of a two-story house, a potbellied middle-aged fat man leaned against the headboard, having entered Sage Mode. His name was Flander, and he was the vice president of the Lijin Bank on Saint Moro Island.
The concept of banks had only appeared in the past decade or so. It had flourished soon after its emergence, of course, and that was inseparable from the Empire's vigorous support behind the scenes.
It was only five years ago that banks had been allowed to become privately owned, and various laws concerning private banks had been enacted one after another.
Flander was among the first to strike it rich, and he had done the best of them all. He recalled how, at a banquet a few days ago, the president of the Imperial Bank had walked up to him on his own and chatted with him with a smile. Every time Flander thought of it, he felt as if he were floating in bliss.
The presidents of the other private banks were all obsequious when they saw that important figure. Flander was different. Through his wealth, he had befriended many high-ranking officers of the Royal Navy, and every year, in the Empire's name, he provided those naval officers with funding.
Note that the funding was provided in the Empire's name. The gold coins would first be taken over by the Empire under the name of taxes, then passed on to the various naval officers.
It wasn't that Flander didn't want to give the gold coins directly to those naval officers. He simply couldn't. With the Empire, that colossal behemoth, standing behind them, could a vice president of a private bank really dare to fund the Royal Navy directly? Was he tired of living, or was he planning to