Inside the estate of Duke Brisenot, within the white ducal residence, the young, pale-faced Duke Brisenot carefully had his butler present Smith and the young priestess with one factory deed after another.
The young, pale-faced Duke Brisenot carefully had his butler present Smith and the young priestess with one factory deed after another.
The young Duke Brisenot weakly coughed once, his eyes shining with hope.
"These are the properties I can donate to you. These industries employ around a hundred thousand dispossessed workers."
"There's roughly a hundred thousand dispossessed workers in these industries."
"Most of their farmland has been seized, so they can only work in factories. They can be put at your disposal."
"But, my noble master, can this illness of mine really be cured?"
The weak duke moved his exquisite handkerchief away from his face, revealing that it was already stained with blood from his coughing.
The duke was clearly suffering from a terminal illness, a disease this world had no way to cure.
No amount of power or wealth was of any use in such a situation.
Smith did not look at the deeds. Instead, he casually tossed them to the young priestess and said, "A hundred thousand isn't enough. I need more. I want one and a half million! That's the minimum."
Brisenot gazed at Smith longingly.
"I can find a way to meet your demands, but you must let me live."
Smith's eyes were filled with contempt. "Of course. That's simple. Once your body is captured by my Meteor Power, you can be transformed into a servant race of mine."
"That's simple enough."
A week later, Locke arrived in the Imperial Capital with his young priestess, the gunslinger, and those believers.
Locke leisurely sat on a stool inside the villa, reading a newspaper beneath