After a series of events—including weapons testing, detailed talks about cooperation, a banquet, and a ball—the party Count Altair had organized finally came to a complete end.
They had all agreed, or been forced to agree, to his terms: beginning tomorrow, they would consolidate all the factories and start acquiring land near the Industrial Zone to build new factories.
Once everything was completed smoothly, the remaining 69% of the shares would be divided equally according to each person's contribution.
Altair would keep a fixed 31% share, but there was a price: he would be responsible for ensuring the future development of weapons.
If not for the various weapon design blueprints he had brought out in the meeting room and used to put pressure on them, he might not have secured so many shares.
Standing at the door, Altair saw Owen Donovan and Hether Grant off. When he returned to the living room, he found Uncle Leif still trying to smoke his "cigar."
When Leif saw Altair come in, he put the cigar in the ashtray and stubbed it out. "It seems you've truly grown up. You did well arguing with those old fellows in the meeting room just now. I can finally rest easy."
Hearing that, Altair remembered how spirited he had been in the meeting room and could only shake his head helplessly.
Before his transmigration, he had just been a university student who'd recently entered society and kept running into setbacks. Who could have guessed that in just three months here, he'd grown into someone like this?
Sure enough, you need confidence to get things done. And now I've started treating the Sheffield Family and Leif Strauss as my backing. I've even come to like the feeling. Have my thoughts already begun changing to suit this society?
While he was still thinking, Leif stood up, patted nonexistent dust from his clothes, walked over, and clapped Altair on the shoulder to bring him back to himself.
Once Altair had collected his thoughts, Leif took a Black Metal Shard from his breast pocket and held it out to him.
Altair instinctively took the object. The moment he held the Black Metal Shard, he distinctly felt a sense of familiarity. Lowering his head to examine it, he asked, "Uncle Leif, what is this? Why can I sense a special Bloodline Connection from this shard? It feels like... a 'relative,' but this is obviously just a piece of metal made from some unknown material."
Leif wasn't surprised by Altair's question. He simply said, "You've been inside your family's treasury, haven't you? You should know there's another treasury within it."
"This shard is the key that opens it. As for why it feels familiar, that's because 'it' is a part of you."
"To preserve our family line, families like ours take blood from children of the Direct Bloodline when they're born and use it to make a 'key.' We entrust it to someone we trust for safekeeping. Once the child grows up, the custodian gives the key to them."
"If the child doesn't meet the custodian's expectations by adulthood, the next generation's Bloodline Succession is forcibly begun to ensure the bloodline continues."
"Your performance today pleased me, so I've decided to give you the treasury's 'key' ahead of time."
"The way to open the treasury is simple. Hold the shard against the 'door.' It will draw blood automatically to confirm your identity."
The mood had been rather solemn, but when Altair heard that it needed blood to "open," he abruptly raised his head. "Does this key need to draw blood every time you open the door?"
Leif Strauss replied helplessly to his "grandnephew... grandniece," "That's right."
Altair inwardly condemned the outdated Bloodline Lock design. Who the hell designed this torturous thing?
Seeing how displeased Altair looked, Leif remembered that he'd once felt the same way. He couldn't help thinking that the feeling was truly satisfying. At the same time, he silently cursed, The designer of this lock really was inhuman.
Meanwhile, inside a grand and imposing church, rows of figures with human outlines sat, their faces impossible to make out.
One of them sneezed twice in a row. The person beside him seemed to have anticipated what would happen and easily dodged the spittle that flew from his mouth, then disdainfully brushed at clothes that weren't there.
The person sitting opposite him turned to the figure seated at the head and said, "I strongly request a change of seats. 'He' does this every time. After all these years, I really can't take it anymore."
His words made the solemn church erupt. Figures of all kinds tried either to persuade him to stay where he was or to reject his request.
After Uncle Leif had left, there were no outsiders left in the manor.
Hahn came into the living room and walked up to Altair. "Count Altair, everything in the manor has been arranged. The carriage is waiting at the door, and we can leave for the manor in Empress Borough."
Altair nodded to Hahn. "I'm very satisfied with the work you did today. To show the Sheffield Family's generosity toward its servants, I'll allow Clayton to take part in this plan. But remember, don't take too much, or the others will resent you."
Before Hahn could react, Altair left the living room, went to the door, and climbed into the carriage to leave.
Once inside, he saw Vera beaming. Looks like she had plenty to eat in the kitchen today.
Time passed steadily. Three days had gone by since Altair proposed his plan. They had already bought all the land for the New Industrial Zone and begun gathering workers to build it according to the blueprints Altair had provided.
In just three days, the New Industrial Zone had already expanded to cover an area fifteen kilometers across, and it was still growing.
Over those three days, because of Altair, some people had struck it rich, others had gone bankrupt, and some had even lost their lives. One stroke of luck and catastrophe after another had crashed into Bexland, a city usually as calm as still water, stirring up waves of every kind.
The Instigator Potion inside him had begun digesting slowly. At its current pace, it would take only another month for him to complete the Acting.
Naturally, all these developments had attracted attention. From tabloid reporters to members of the House of Lords, everyone wanted to enter the manor, but Altair turned them all away, claiming he was unwell.
Some had also learned through special channels about the New Industrial Zone's purpose. They, too, sent gifts without end and wrote letters asking to join the revelry.
Altair handed these matters directly to Hahn to take to Uncle Leif and the others, leaving the decision to them.
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