"Carrot and Stick"

No, even the Joker robbed banks. The only difference was that he would turn around and burn all the money he had stolen.

Making evil his lifelong profession and striving toward it without cease, his greatest pleasure was completely destroying Batman—the opposite side of the same coin as himself.

But what about Koschei?

What exactly was he trying to do?

Forget it.

The woman now called Ina chose to sit in the back of the landship with her eyes closed, waiting.

The vehicle entered the central district. She rarely came here. For one thing, there had never been any need to draw attention by coming here. For another, she disliked the place.

It was far too noisy, with too many people and too many prying eyes—completely contrary to her aesthetic sense.

Someone who longed for a peaceful life would never choose to settle in a noisy place.

After winding through the streets, the assigned landship finally stopped in front of an imposing-looking skyscraper.

Little Wall Street. Of course, that was merely the name people had given it. In reality, the street was just part of the central district. It had earned its name because it was packed with banks and branch offices of major commercial groups.

Several of the skyscrapers here belonged to the Taiko Group, and the one before them was a seven-star hotel owned by the Taiko Group.

It was also the only seven-star hotel in Lungmen. Its luxuriousness was self-evident.

But why here?

Chlorine Sodium had thought they would go to the other party's residence.

Oh, right. Remember: always keep smiling.

That had been Koschei's friendly reminder before she left.

Ina was not naturally cold and aloof, so she had to act the part more convincingly.

What a hassle.

Still, she could use this opportunity to determine whether this person, whom she would most likely never meet a second time, was the one she was looking for.

Keeping your cards hidden was the most advantageous bargaining chip in any negotiation. Your opponent would never know what cards you held, and that was what made it possible to pretend to be weak while waiting to strike.

This place really was luxurious, though.

Luxurious beyond all measure.

The marble floor was so clean and polished that it gleamed like a mirror. Countless sheets of gold leaf on the walls set off famous paintings from around the world, while crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling. Everything placed the word "luxury" right before the eyes, eager to let every customer know the establishment's taste and status from the moment they stepped inside.

Whether they were suited to it or not.

Bright, luxurious, and expensive.

Unfortunately, the taste was nothing special.

Chlorine Sodium, a villain who preferred a quiet life, would never like this kind of display, which took ostentation as its core.

Still, it was easy to see just how much wealth and power the owner possessed.

Perhaps this was also a manifestation of authority and strength—like a dragon sleeping atop its treasure, or a king erecting his statue in the center of the city.

The reasoning was more or less the same.

"May I ask whether you have a reservation?"

The receptionist was equally well trained, greeting the potential guest with the most standard of smiles.

"I'm Ina. Ina Koporovich Zhozhiyaeva. There should be a reservation under my name."

As she spoke, she handed over an invitation enclosed in an exquisite envelope.

"Ah, please wait a moment."

The meaning represented by the envelope was self-evident. The receptionist herself was no longer needed. The person who spoke was the front-desk manager. With an ingratiating smile, he made an internal call and said a few words.

"Please come with me."

This was property under the Taiko Group, the largest hotel in Lungmen, and even reaching the elevator required several twists and turns.

Cold light poured down from above. Chlorine Sodium said nothing, naturally remaining silent as she leaned against the elevator car. The lobby manager guiding her had nothing to say either. Naturally, the not-so-narrow yet completely enclosed metal space held only the sound of the traction cables rubbing against the machinery. The cold lights and constantly changing numbers created the immediate feeling that a horde of zombies would pour in as soon as the doors opened.

Unfortunately, this was not the set of a Resident Evil movie.

Some time had already passed. Did the elevator really need this long?

Chlorine Sodium did not know how many floors the building had, but it clearly should not have taken this long.

That was, until the electronic display above the elevator doors stopped showing floor numbers and began displaying letters instead.

This was probably an area ordinary guests could not reach.

With a ding, the doors opened, but the lobby manager did not proceed any farther. Outside, an elderly man who looked like a butler was waiting there.

"You must be Dr. Ina. Sorry for the wait. Please come with me."

Section 64: Chapter Sixty-Two—The Carrot and the Stick

Arts were a profound discipline.

They required talent, instruction, and money.

For ordinary people who wanted to learn true Originium Arts, rather than releasing the energy contained within Originium through the simplest, crudest, most primitive method of cutting their fingers, the only option was to find a way into an academy and study some "commonplace" Arts.

The reason they were called "commonplace" was not that they were perfunctory, but that they were highly standardized.

It was like having ten subjects, while ordinary people could only choose one of the first two to study.

It was not that the remaining eight subjects required higher tuition or could only be studied after completing the others.

It was simply that no one taught them.

They had not been lost. No one just taught them.

Arts were not tools in the true sense of the word, but neither were they learning or knowledge in the conventional sense.

They were secrets—the very embodiment of mystery.

They existed between the knowable and the unknowable, between thought and faith.

Every family that possessed such secrets would pass down its Arts in a fragmentary manner, and would never pass them on to outsiders.

There were quite a few such families, but each had its own uniqueness.

Their origins could not be traced, either. These things were so ancient that their roots had long since become impossible to track.

Secrets that were confined to a family and could neither be quantified nor analyzed could not become the contents of books, much less be passed on to outsiders.

That was why the profession of Arts Caster was so valuable. This did not mean combat Arts Casters, who were produced in batches and were expensive but not literally worth a fortune.

It meant specialists who possessed a particular trait and could wield functional systems of Arts.

That was why ordinary doctors were already highly sought after, while doctors who also held Arts Caster qualifications were even more valuable.

No one would refuse treatment from such a doctor.

Even maintenance was worth the price, because there were simply too few of them.

An ordinary person's Originium Arts might at most control a drone, while these people could examine the mind. The difference was so great that it amounted to a monopoly on knowledge.

But there was nothing to be done about it. After all, such systems were what maintained every corner of Terra.

They had even merged with local cultures and become inseparable from them.

This was probably among the highest floors. Ordinary people could never reach this place, and the thick handwoven carpets muffled every footstep.

It looked like a temporary residence. After all, the Taiko Group's headquarters were in Victoria, and the group's owner was also a great noble of Victoria. Naturally, this could only be a temporary residence.

Yet even a temporary residence was decorated so lavishly, displaying everywhere the class divide across this land.

If the villages on the Ursus wastelands resembled Europe in the Middle Ages, then Lungmen's urban districts were like cities from cyberpunk fiction—full of technology, but even more full of technological products covered in dust and the atmosphere of the streets.

This place, however, was like suddenly stepping into the residence of a noble in a steampunk world: luxurious, steeped in classical taste, restrained yet saturated with expense.

After pushing open a door, the old butler finally brought her to the heart of the place.

It was a wooden door with the horn of some unknown creature hanging at its top.

It did have something of a hunter's cabin about it.

Perhaps this Victoria nobleman was fond of hunting.

"Master, the guest has arrived."

An old man sat inside.

He was dressed in a suit, with a slender fountain pen tucked neatly into his breast pocket.

No, "old man" was not quite the right term.

His hair was completely silver. That color was not natural, but the mark of years passing and life slowly fading from it.

Yet there was not the slightest trace of decline in the old man's eyes.

Instead, they were sharp and still filled with ambition.

The smile at the corners of his mouth carried both the innate arrogance of a Victoria noble and a touch of humility.

After all, he was a noble. Even if their humility was false, they would not casually show rejection toward a stranger—especially not when that stranger was also a successful merchant.

"You may go about your work, A'fu. Sorry for the trouble."

A'fu?

Were you Batman?

Perhaps it was merely a coincidence that they shared the same name. Or did every butler in the world happen to be called A'fu?

"Doctor—or should I call you Ms. Ina?"

He was searching for the proper way to address the young woman before him. It was also a fairly natural opening line. Sociability was the first basic requirement of a noble.

"Just Ina."

The doctor merely nodded coldly. She appeared to be a woman of few words.

That was good. Silence generally represented reserve and restraint, which were precisely the qualities a doctor and scholar ought to possess.

"I recall that you..."

"Oh, my apologies. I haven't told you my surname yet. My family is very low-profile, so most people know only of the Taiko Group and not the name of the family behind it.

"If you don't mind, you may call me Semior."

It was a given name, and he still had not revealed his surname, but that was irrelevant.

"Then let's begin. I remember that my primary concern is psychological suggestion and self-anchoring. Have you recently experienced any issues in that area?"

"Of course, of course. Doctor, you really are dedicated. But before that, I'd like to ask for your opinion."

My opinion?

He had not even mentioned the problem yet, and he was asking for her opinion right away?

Chlorine Sodium was not in a hurry, however. No one knew what this old fox was plotting until he chose to reveal it to outsiders.

As he spoke, the old man pulled a slip of paper from inside his coat.

"A highly experienced, prestigious, respected Arts Caster who also practices medicine—how much could such a person earn in a month? If I remember correctly, around two hundred thousand Lungmen Dollars a year, right?"

Without giving Ina any chance to answer—or perhaps without wanting an answer at all—he merely tossed out the question.

Then Semior casually wrote a string of numbers on the slip of paper.

"Two million. Ten years' salary. This is an anonymous bank draft. You can withdraw these two million Lungmen Dollars from any bank. It's enough to buy land and property in your hometown and retire comfortably."

It truly was enough for retirement. If an ordinary person really had this much money, it would be enough to start planning the rest of their life after achieving success.

One had to understand that two hundred thousand was what only the highest-ranking doctors earned. In all of Lungmen, such people could practically be counted on two hands. As for ordinary people, they might have to struggle for most of their lives to save up such a fortune.

If the real Ina had been there, she might have started sweating in her palms and seeing black spots before her eyes. After all, the surprise had arrived far too suddenly.

Chlorine Sodium, however, remained unmoved. She merely stared at the bank draft before raising her eyes to that seemingly kindly face.

She more or less understood what the other party was offering.

This was a fishhook. The only question was whether the doctor before her would bite.