— Well then. As there are no queries on this matter, let us revert to the affairs of our order. Any difficulties or requirements? I shall only be here till tomorrow, after which I must accompany Iolanthe and Marcus to England. Once I have concluded my business on the islands, I shall proceed further eastward. I cannot predict when I shall return. — I surveyed my subordinates and vassals, who were once more in the hall, managing the affairs of the order.
Agnieszka spoke up this time:
— Sire, there is an urgent need for artefact-based weaponry. We have our own craftsmen, but there are only three of them, and they require assistance to meet the demands of the order.
It is logical. There are a multitude of them, and an artefact-smith is a rare creature in the magical realm; I am surprised we have three of them. Nonetheless, I should have inspected the ritual chamber before the gathering and verified my illusory materials — it would have made it much simpler to delve into the affairs of the Order. However, we all excel at hindsight. Not even the most powerful mentalist in Europe can avoid such foolishness and errors. It is important to remember this. I am not the pinnacle of creation, who never errs and always does what is right.
"Wrong again, Vold," I said. "We have as many as three artifact smiths. Surely, among them there must be a senior figure who leads their collective efforts — so why is he not present here in the chamber with us?"
M-daa. There are several possible explanations for his missteps: firstly, he is not accustomed to the idea that there is someone above him who is not responsible for the actions of the witches. Secondly, my arrival was unexpected, and I had only spent a brief period of time in the citadel prior to this, so it may have given the impression to his already immortal mind that I had left them to manage their own affairs.
There are no claims that can be made against me, and they owe me everything they possess. I saved them from annihilation, created their new race, resolved all issues with the Church, granted them authority, and imparted invaluable knowledge and wealth (the gold I retrieved from the seabed during my recent visit to the Caribbean and deposited in the order's treasury). In essence, I provided them with what no one else could have offered.
My vassal, without a moment's hesitation, offered his apologies, betraying neither resentment nor wounded pride. He acknowledged my superiority in both mind and spirit, though he had yet to fully accustom himself to the reality of our new dynamic.
I had summoned Albert, who should arrive shortly. His workshop, located a mere twenty minutes' walk from the assembly hall, was renowned for its craftsmanship.
In the interim, the house elves served us with light wines and refreshing lemonade, bringing to mind another recent addition to the Citadel's arsenal. The witches had acquired approximately fifty of these symbiotic creatures, and their burden of domestic responsibilities within the fortress had been significantly lightened. The fortress's magical infrastructure, following its modernization, could sustain up to a thousand such entities.
At long last, our blacksmith made his entrance into the hall, and I once again lamented that I had not ventured into the dungeons of the citadel. His appearance bore a resemblance to that of a typical goblin, albeit with smoother features that seemed more humanized. His skin, devoid of the typical grey-green hue, was a pale beige color, almost akin to that of humans. However, his full set of fangs, knotted fingers, and powerful hands left no doubt that this individual was not a human. Standing at a height of one and a half meters, he was slightly shorter than average. His eyes, small and beady, were keen and watchful, gazing at me with a hint of apprehension.
Was it the ingrained fear of the blood memory, the genocide perpetrated against the goblin race, so deeply imprinted on their genetic code that even non-bloodline descendants fear me with the intensity of visceral dread? He seemed afraid, trembling with fear, yet he attempted to conceal it. What an intriguing creature he was, a witch if ever there was one, revealed by our suzerain-vassal bond.
My lord, may I introduce our senior master smith, Adair Flitwick? Adair, this is our sovereign and master of the order, Svyatozar Zmiev. Well, well, well! What a surprise! Standing before me is the progenitor of Filius Flitwick, the future professor of charms and dean of ravenclaw house. Though it's uncertain whether he'll keep that name. Mmm.
Upon speaking, Adair bowed before me and lowered his gaze to the floor in a gesture of respect. He was raised by goblin parents, after all, and it's a wonder they allowed him to leave. I felt a pang of sympathy for him, for the fate of half-bloods in their society is not enviable. And how he survived to adulthood without being devoured as a child is a mystery.
Stand up, Adair. Adoration is only required in certain circumstances and rituals. In ordinary life, simple respect and recognition of my authority suffice. Now, tell me about the challenges you face and what resources you need to provide the entire order with the necessary weapons and other tools.
He acquitted himself admirably. He swiftly extinguished the fear that had been ignited within him by his ancestral instincts, and now it was difficult to discern any traces of animal dread emanating from him.
Dear colleagues,
We are facing a critical shortage of magical steel. While I am proficient in creating several types of this material, none of them can compare to Svarog's chorolug or even Goblin's steel. The quality of what we currently produce is significantly inferior, rendering large-scale production impossible.
I have discovered the recipes for the steel we produce in our archives. One of them is called Vedic Hard and is not well-suited for weapons, but it excels in the creation of utensils and structures. It exhibits exceptional resistance to corrosion, can withstand pressure and magical enchantments, yet it is vulnerable to sharpening and impact.
The second grade is known as Hephaestus Blood and is ideal for crafting artifacts and tools. It serves as an exceptional conduit for energy, with a resistance of less than one cent, but it also possesses remarkable fragility.
Now, we must resort to cleverness. We will forge weapons using Toledo steel, with Hephaestus Blood serving as the core of the blade.. However, this process complicates and prolongs the production time for each unit of weapon, as after the blade is manufactured, it must be enchanted, and we only have five masters capable of doing so.
My, my, you are so tight-fisted! Three master blacksmiths and five master craftsmen and weaponmakers. That's more than many countries have! In Europe, there will be at best a dozen such masters in each of these fields, and their commissions are already scheduled for decades in advance.
"I can assist you with the Goblin Steel recipe. I am going to the bank tomorrow, where they will share their steel formula with me. However, Adair, are you certain that it will be less time-consuming and will contribute to increasing the production of the required weapons?"
During my initial visit to the dwarves, I failed to grasp the essence and required assistance in locating the recipe for their renowned steel. This was due to my lack of blacksmithing expertise, as there were numerous other tasks at hand. My mind was preoccupied with other matters.
I had been enslaved in the forge for three decades, but I had not been consumed by those abominations only because my skill in working with metal was no less than that of their chief blacksmith. I had witnessed multiple stages of its creation. It could be smelted in any amount with the proper materials and the correct size of a blast furnace. In three days, one could have steel ready for forging,» he said, his voice filled with an intense hatred for these alien cannibals throughout his narrative.
We had to determine what the Order might anticipate in the near future, and we were required to pay close attention to our search for squibs in countries where there were hereditary lines of blacksmiths. These include Spain, Germany, Scandinavia, Poland, and Switzerland.
There are individuals in these countries who may possess a small amount of the bloodline of dwarves who once inhabited those regions. Specifically, they dwelled deep underground and had an outpost in the region of the Alps that is now occupied by Switzerland.
I currently have five apprentices, two of whom will become masters in approximately five years. The remaining three will continue their apprenticeship. I also have three more apprentices each for my sons, one of whom will also have the potential to become a master within five to ten years. No one else in our order possesses the necessary talent.
That is absolutely remarkable! I shall only be true to myself if I manage to obtain the recipe for enchanted damask for them. Oh, what masterpieces they could create with it! All that remains is to infiltrate Salazar's ancestral homeland and appropriate one of the most closely guarded secrets for my own use and that of my vassals. Ideally, of course, it would be like a fairy tale come true to acquire the recipe and the technology for producing black damask, which originates in India. However, given the limited number of items crafted from this steel, it is evident that its production involves the use of highly rare materials.
Well, enough dreaming.
"Very well. Vold," I said, "pay particular attention to locating squib children not only in Poland, our closest neighbour, but also in Spain, German territories, Scandinavia, and Switzerland."
He merely nodded, without elaborating, having fully understood the context of my instructions. After all, having spent many years in Norway, he was well-versed in the knowledge of local craftsmen and blacksmiths.
"Very well, then. You and I have no further business to discuss at present, and I must return to the citadel before I depart. When you have formulated a recipe for goblin steel, I will investigate the matter and determine what you smiths require to produce it. Take your place at the table, Adair. You are now a member of the council of the order, which entails your attendance at all meetings when I am present to oversee the affairs of our brotherhood."
He inclined his head in a dignified manner, drew a chair closer to the table, and perched upon it, his legs dangling in mid-air. They would have to procure a bespoke chair for him, but they would do so without my sage counsel.
"What of our collaboration with the Inquisition and the order of the Creator?" Olaf inquired.
There are no difficulties or problems. We neither meddle in politics nor participate in state affairs, and for this we have the full support of the Church. All our brethren and sisters, when they arrive in any city, go first to the church, and if a service is taking place, they attend it.
As you mentioned earlier, at first we were shunned, but for fifty years now, we have been welcomed in any remote village, even the most distant, backward, and isolated in Europe. Nowadays, we are even accepted without any payment. The attitude of ordinary people towards us has changed significantly. Seeing that we are «devout Catholics» — at which point everyone at the table smiled, and Witold and Olaf grinned openly — we are welcomed by the most revered spiritual fathers in the churches. We are always present at the services with the cardinals. We receive the first blessings and communion from their hands, which has helped people become convinced of our piety.. It is inconceivable that in the past, we were not even allowed to enter the stable for shelter or to sleep, being regarded as lepers. Well, that is all right, that is good. Human memory is short-lived, and the long game has borne fruit.
When ordinary citizens see witches serving alongside them every day, where they show deference to the church officials of the highest rank, their attitudes towards my subjects have begun to change. And now, we have come to this point. Witches are no longer seen as the work of evil, but rather as a providential gift from the Lord, who has made them his chastising hand and protective shield.
There are no issues with food or any other provisions. All supplies are procured from the local populace and stored in a secure location. Currently, we have sufficient supplies to last for a decade, during which time we can establish our own food production systems and other necessary infrastructure.
We have ample land available in the enchanted realm, ensuring our ability to achieve complete autonomy and independence from external sources. This is a remarkable achievement!
Is there anything else that requires my immediate attention? Upon receiving a negative response, I allowed all reasonable parties to resume their duties. I then proceeded to the ritual chamber, where I inspected my altar-artifacts. They provided me with a comprehensive report on their activities over the years, including details about the witches they had encountered.
Finally, I visited the classrooms and workshops where illusion artifacts were housed.
I now had a comprehensive understanding of all the witches, including their gifts, capabilities, powers, and the levels of expertise they possessed.
Following this, I delved into the Order's treasury, where I was gratified to discover that there were several tens of millions of gold coins in the vault. This did not include jewellery, precious weapons adorned with valuable gemstones, or works of art and vessels crafted from precious metals.
It is indeed prudent to allocate a portion of the funds to interest-bearing accounts. However, the Order does not require such an approach. According to the records, the net profit from the treasury amounted to three hundred thousand last year, after deducting all expenses associated with maintaining the Order. This figure continues to rise annually. This year, it may even exceed this amount significantly, given the substantial investment of approximately one hundred thousand galleons in establishing greenhouses and the corresponding infrastructure for cultivating mandrakes. Nonetheless, future profits are projected to double the current level.
In an exuberant mood, I took up residence in my private chambers within the citadel, where I embarked on further exploration of the knowledge contained within my artifact libraries. Over the course of the past century, much has been unearthed and modernized. Finally, mages have mastered the art of apparation!
On the following day, accompanied by Marcus and Iolanthe, I journeyed through a portal to the Scottish highlands, where the manor of the Peverells was believed to be situated.
"So, Iolanthe," I inquired, "did you feel any connection to the ancestral stone?" I addressed my vassal as she stood on the land once claimed by the death magicians and her forebears.
At my inquiry, my vassal summoned her housekeeper, Tilly, who promptly materialized beside her mistress upon hearing her name.
"Mistress, the mistress has returned!" exclaimed the creature, displaying the unbridled joy that was characteristic of its kind. Its affection for its masters was unconditional. The housekeeper clung to the leather-covered leg of its beloved mistress, fearful of letting her go, lest she vanish once again, leaving her alone. Were Iolanthe not present, Tilly might have gone into a state of hibernation until the family welcomed an heir.
"Iolanthe," Marcus addressed his wife, "go to your estate, and we shall await your return here. Once you have secured control over the family's stone, bring Marcus with you, and introduce him to the family. I shall attend to my own affairs in London and join you tonight."
From the moment we had arrived in Scotland, Marcus had been tense, anticipating nothing good from the magi. Now, his wife would face the challenge of taming the family magic of one of Albion's most notorious families.
"Relax, my dear, I shall be fine," Iolanthe said with a kiss on the cheek to Marcus, who was about to protest. She and the housekeeper then departed for her family's residence.
Iolanthe was absent for a full half-hour, leaving Marcus in a state of agitation, unable to settle. He was not yet at the point of desperation where he would take action. What could he do? He could not break into the manor of the death mages, who had been entrenched in the Scottish foothills for centuries. However, he would not have had to resort to such measures, as his mistress soon reappeared.
The moment Iolanthe appeared before us, I felt a distinct tremor of magic emanating from her, sending shivers down to my very core. And I, an Archimage, almost a supreme being, a god of magic, was filled with dread at the power that lay hidden behind the delicate shoulders of my vassal. It was waiting for the command to strike down the enemy of our race, whoever dared to threaten its leader. Shivers down my spine. A fearsome clan indeed.
"Darling!" Marcus rushed towards his beloved, embracing her tightly. He held her close for a moment, then gently pulled back to scrutinize her. Iolanthe melted under the display of affection from her husband, refusing to correct him or reassure him. She simply allowed him to fuss over her, content in her cat-like smile that seemed to last forever. I had to interrupt their moment to remind myself of my presence.
I do not mean to intrude, but I must depart. I see that you are well, and judging by the ring on your finger, all went smoothly. Therefore, I shall take my leave, as I have business to attend to. Upon my return, I will return to this location and summon your housekeeper. Inform your housekeeper and ensure that she grants me access to your estate.
With no further delay, I proceeded to Slanting Alley, located not far from Gringotts' entrance.
My appearance, in broad daylight, elicited various reactions from those who observed me. I rarely don robes unless necessary, reserving them for rituals. In my daily life, I prefer leather jackets, trousers, linen shirts, and high cavalry boots. For more formal occasions or social events, I might opt for a camisole crafted from the fur of magical creatures, a silk shirt, satin pants, and elegant leather shoes.
Now I was dressed in a leather jacket crafted from my own hide. It is a peculiar notion, of course, to don one's discarded skin as attire... but what of it? The leather is supple, elegant, a deep emerald in hue, and it withstands both physical and magical harm with grace. And I have enchanted it to the utmost degree. Beneath the jacket, I wore an ordinary kerchief made in the citadel from linen fabric harvested from the wild magickal flax that grows near Rocky Haven. Its length was slightly shorter than that of the jacket, reaching my groin. My trousers were likewise crafted from my hide, the thinnest portion, and they only exceeded my legs by a few centimeters, neither loose nor tight.
The boots I now wore were fashioned from dragon hide taken from the Ukrainian ironbelly and were even more resilient to mechanical stress than my own flesh. I carried only a single dagger at my belt — I needed no more, for all my other weapons were stored in my dimensional pocket and at my disposal at any moment.. The object suspended from my belt served merely as a token of my status, for in most European countries and cities, only the nobility were permitted to bear arms.
The majority of those observing my arrival turned their faces in contempt. Another Muggle-born, no doubt! No self-respecting sorcerer would venture into public without his robes. And I could understand their scorn if they possessed the magical sight, but they did not!
Indeed, why have wizards not abandoned their robes altogether? They provide a vast expanse, allowing for the placement of numerous runes upon the fabric, thus enabling one to imbue it with useful enchantments. Primarily, they serve to render it impervious to magical scrutiny. To be seen without them is considered unseemly.
You can apply runes to any part of your wardrobe — jackets and shirts, for example — to imbue them with glamour. However, the rune enchantment for opacity requires a significant amount of space, so it is best suited for everyday clothing. Doing so will preclude the possibility of applying other beneficial enchantments such as size-fitting, waterproofing, and dirt protection.
It is certainly possible to incorporate all these enchantments into a small portion of a wardrobe. However, this task goes beyond mere craftsmanship and approaches the realm of fine artistry.
The creator of such garments must possess the innate talent of either an artisan or a rune magician to successfully combine these elements without causing any conflicts between the interwoven rune chains. Additionally, the use of exceptionally high-quality materials is essential. Furthermore, this process significantly increases the labour intensity, as the runes must be minuscule, resulting in a laborious and time-consuming endeavour.
In contemporary times, mages lack the necessary skills to discern the enchantments hidden beneath my garments, even when they are not imbued with the required runes. This fact, coupled with the negative attitudes of some individuals towards me, stem from my unconventional appearance and image that sets me apart, akin to an outsider.
It is worth noting that all manifestations of Nazism and intolerance towards other nationalities, cultural identities, and religious beliefs originated in England in the contemporary context of my previous world. Similarly, in the present world, I perceive a similar situation.
The English intelligence services nurtured the Nazi Hydra of Germany, which required the concerted efforts of the entire world to be eradicated. Were it not for the intervention of the Soviet Union, I fear that the world would have been fundamentally altered, devoid of the Islamic world and individuals who failed the test of Aryan supremacy. To say nothing of Wahhabism, a fundamentalist branch of Islam originating in Afghanistan, which also owes its existence to the British pounds and their propensity for creating conflicts, even against the Russian Empire, stripping it of political and economic power in the East.
My entire appearance bespoke of foreignness: clothes typical of Eastern Europe, a Chinese fighting braid with bone needles intertwined from basilisk fangs at the back of my head down to my shoulder blades. Not a local, in short!
However, I paid no heed to their stares until their actions and insults began. I was almost at Gringotts when two mages emerged from a shop en route to the bank's entrance. A man with blond hair and a woman of similar coloring, also blonde. Their haughty and arrogant gaze mirrored that of their spouses.
As they emerged from the shop, their path brought them directly toward me, and we found ourselves facing each other. Their eyes met mine with indifference, and without any inclination to greet or engage in conversation, they merely waited for me to move aside.
It took me a moment to fully appreciate their power. The woman ranked fourth, with the man possessing a minimum strength level that hovered just below the threshold of the fifth octane.
Upon realizing that the "insolent" man before them was not going to yield, the man activated the artefactual cane he carried, tapping it gently against the pavement. Two curses were directed my way: "cotton legs" and "bowel relaxation".
Without any need for action on my part, I remained unmoved by their futile attempts. These feeble curses simply dissipated within my aura, never having a chance to attach themselves to my spiritual shields.
My identity as a Malfoy had already been revealed (their mental protection artifacts were mediocre at best). As far as I could recall, there was an imminent curse of a child in their lineage. I cannot say with certainty who they acquired this curse from in that reality, but here, it was passed onto me.
Without any outward manifestations of sorcery, I cast the curse upon Malfoy's aura with immediate effect — for safety's sake, so to speak. The moment the curse took hold of his magical essence, he writhed in agony. Evidently, the protective artifacts that had been diagnosing his injuries activated at once. In the same instant, his emergency Portkey was triggered, transporting the pair to an unknown location.
There was Malfoy, kneeling before me, writhing in agony, his wife hovering over him. Then, with a resounding clap, they were gone. Well, this is splendid; now there is no one to obstruct my path, and I can finally reach the bank, where a certain group of individuals awaits me with a recipe for a unique type of magical steel, which my vassals require.
Almost any curse can be broken, provided that certain conditions are met and additional strength and skill are applied. My curse is the marriage of an heir or head of a family to an ungifted woman, and it can only be broken if this condition is fulfilled. In all of Europe, only two individuals, Maria and Alfonso, are capable of doing so. However, neither of them will lift my curse from their own families. Even if they were to find these individuals and somehow persuade them to perform the task, they would instantly recognize the curse's originator.
I am now at the bank.
I found myself in their principal settlement, in the very same caverns, the very same subterranean realm. Moments later, Gringott III appeared before me, trembling. You are alive, yes, but as a smoker, your lifespan is not as long as that of a human. They do not live beyond a century at most. This is a pattern on the scale of the multiverse. The more quickly and easily you can produce offspring, the briefer the period of their nurturing and growth — the shorter your own lifespan.
Without further ado, I penetrated his mind, and now I possess the secret to his longevity. The answer lies within Flamel. The fool decided to engage in trade with the goblins, striking a pact with them. These miscreants! Instead of purchasing the recipe for creating the Philosopher's Stone from Flamel, they managed to deceive him into signing an agreement that obligates Flamel to provide them with one liter of the elixir of life annually for a hundred thousand galleons. They remain virtuosos in deceit and deception, not to be trusted, considering their recent status as wild tribes. The elixir they receive allows them to extend their lifespans by a thousand years. Each ten milliliters grants an additional ten years of life to the recipient.
The goblins, masters of blood magic, were well-versed in the concept of equal exchange, which forms the foundation of all magical practices. Even without knowledge of the precise recipe or technological process for creating the Philosopher's Stone, they understood that if one's lifespan were extended, another's must be shortened. Thus, their interest lay not in the method of producing the elixir of life, but in something else.
However, they were still bound by the terms of the treaties they signed after their defeat in a previous rebellion against the mages. These treaties were imposed upon them with brutal force, and the consequences of their failure to comply were severe. The mages were willing to resort to genocide to eradicate the goblin race, as they viewed them as parasites. Like locusts and cockroaches, they could not be tamed; they needed to be exterminated.
Oh, come now. Having delved deep into the mind of this peculiar individual, I have discovered that they have been diligently amassing knowledge of human mages throughout this time, having already accumulated a substantial repository. Their goal is to meticulously and covertly eradicate the knowledge and legacy of the past, rendering their adversaries, human mages, a grave danger to them.
These ogres have already ensnared several clans of wizards in debts ratified by magic. Now, with their advantage over them, they are attempting, through these alternately gifted individuals sitting in the House of Lords, to push through legislation that would curtail magical arts, introduce prohibitions on «dangerous knowledge», and other measures that would degrade the quality of education. In essence, they seek to debase their overseers and adversaries.
Yes, these are but tentative steps. However, based on precedent, they appear destined for success in the future, their corrosive influence reaching wizards throughout Europe. For me, however, it is ultimately for the best. I will establish my own realm, with blackjack and no whores, but with beloved women whom I shall make my wives.
After all, if the number of witches has tripled in a century, their continued influx from without will only increase under my rule. One must also consider their natural growth through childbirth.. The goblins are now reproducing like rabbits, having achieved their goal and unable to stop. Yesterday, I was nearly trampled by a horde of children who rushed down the hallway as I descended to the ritual chamber. Among them, there were sixty-seven individuals ranging in age from six to eight. All of them belonged to the second generation of this new breed, and I even spotted a few belonging to the third generation.
The strategy chosen by the goblins will further enhance my influence over the world. Indeed, the weaker the mages surrounding us will become, the more imposing and significant my Order will appear. In a few centuries, it will boast a dozen Archimagus and hundreds of Magisterium, granting me the power to bring this world to its knees!
"Gringott, these are a dozen artifacts for you. Embody in them all the wisdom of the mages you possess now and those you shall acquire in the future."
He was still under my control, and I had implanted firm mental directives in his mind, ensuring his unconditional obedience. Apart from fear and dread of me, my mental bookmarks would now reside in his pituitary gland rather than his testicles. This would prevent him from acting foolishly or rashly. It was safer that way.
Fear is not always an effective tool for ensuring obedience and subservience. And this individual would live for at least half a millennium. I doubt his soul would withstand any longer, and the extraterrestrial prana would drive him mad. As a consequence, his own people would kill him when he began to behave strangely. However, five hundred years was five times his lifespan, so I believed it would be prudent to do so. If I had to encounter this aberration for so many years, it was better to make him my mental slave. It would be easier for me and the goblins. Otherwise, if I acted foolishly, I might have to exterminate an entire race.. Far from cherishing them, I harbored no fondness for these individuals. On the contrary, my intention was not to be the cause of the demise of countless intellects.
From his recollections, I had gained a comprehensive understanding of the intricate processes involved in crafting their renowned steel, as well as their unique approach to employing blood magic, which bore resemblance to voodoo practices and shamanic rituals rather than classical blood magic. The enchantment of blood through their own rune scripture was intriguing, yet it remained beyond my capabilities, as the blood magic practices of the vampire race surpassed my own in both potency and versatility. The leader of the Xenos clan embodied a veritable reservoir of abilities, encompassing mastery of runes, prowess as a powerful shaman, formidable combatant, and adept craftsman.
I also discovered that my account holds a substantial amount of wealth in the form of two hundred and four tonnes and six hundred and fifty-one kilograms of pure gold. This means that my assets are not tied to any specific unit, such as a galleon, but rather are measured in terms of pure gold content.
In the past, bankers and mints often engaged in fraudulent practices by manipulating the weight of precious metals in their coins. However, in today's world, there is a standardized amount of gold content in each galleon. Tomorrow, this could change, but I prefer to avoid such uncertainty.
Currently, there are less than three grams of actual gold in each galleon, with the remaining two and a half grams consisting of additives. If I were to convert my wealth into a more conventional currency, I would have approximately 81,860,400 galleons. With this amount, I could potentially purchase land the size of Ireland if it were available for sale at current prices.
After leaving the bank, I proceeded directly to the clearing house where I had previously parted ways with Iolanthe and Marcus.
Iolanthe's housekeeper materialized before me, and I grasped her hand. In a moment, I found myself in a vast living room, where my liegemen were now cooing in my embrace.
"So, Marcus," I said, "how does it feel to be the consort of a ducal household?"
Or perhaps I should say "duchal"? A duke is an honorary title bestowed upon a king's son or daughter, who has received a vast land grant, yet remains subject to the crown and ultimately to the heir. A prince, however, is the sovereign ruler of his own domain, with his own bureaucracy, legal system, and military.
The Peverell family had never taken vassal oaths, and local monarchs, grudgingly, tolerated their presence on their lands. The death magicians were known for their short tempers, having to deal with the dead.
I would rectify that at a later date by imposing my authority over them, but not yet! Finding myself in the vicinity of their source of magical power, yes, with my heightened sensitivity, I deeply regretted my decision. After all, it appeared that I had already transgressed the boundary when I came into contact with their realm. That is the true power!
No, until I attain the status of a Divine Being of Magic, I shall not even attempt to bring their kind under my dominion. Indeed, I must first descend to the ancestral stone with Iolanthe and confront the might of her magic, proving my worthiness to be their overlord.
— You know, my lord, I thought it might be more challenging.
He is peculiar. How could it be challenging when his spouse is already the matriarch of the clan and its sole member? Since there exists no one who can prevent or oppose their union, the clan's magic has graciously accepted Marcus as their consort. After all, his magical prowess is only marginally inferior to that of his wife, and he is already a master of sorcery according to the ancient Sumerian hierarchy of abilities.
"Well, I am pleased that everything went smoothly, although I never doubted a favourable outcome," I said. "Iolanthe, do you have the artifact library that I asked you to retrieve from the warehouse?"
"Yes, my lord," purred the little demon in my lap and embrace, not even bothering to turn her head towards me as she answered. However, understanding her current state of mind, I chose to disregard it. She had been through much: from being a fugitive fleeing her brother, finding refuge with kind old men, facing the attack of wolfsbane, saying goodbye to her old life, and finding herself embraced by the Order that provided her with support and a new family. Yet, even so, she remained unwilling to let her family and their legacy be forgotten. Now, at last, she had discovered true happiness and found solace in becoming the head of her own family, with everything in her hands. I doubt not that the children would follow in her footsteps, and soon enough she would be in a position to prove it.
"Then I shall grant you a sabbatic leave of one week. You are not to return to the stronghold, and you may spend time with one another. However, during this period, you must transcribe all the knowledge from the ancestral library into the artifact.
Do not worry, all familial secrets shall remain within your family, known only to you and my own family. The Order shall have access only to general knowledge, rites, and incantations that were not authored by the Peverell line.
She inclined her head in agreement. Well, then, I suppose I should be on my way.
"Very well. I shall take my leave now. Tomorrow, I shall apprise Vold of your extended stay in England, as per my instructions. May you find solace in this respite!
I departed on a triumphant note, setting sail for my island in the Caribbean. My journey was driven by the need to check in on my basilisks and assess the state of affairs there.
Upon arriving on the hill that I had previously ascended with my basilisk companions, I took a moment to survey my surroundings. The night was deep, and the heavens were aglow with the radiance of stars and the moon. Having cast my enchantment, which now enveloped almost the entire island, I sensed my basilisks drawn to the epicentre of my magic. This was only natural, for their growth and development were accelerated in its proximity.
However, amidst the presence of my basilisks, my attention was also drawn to two other individuals on the shore — Maria and Koneko, both of whom were also camped out.
Drawing closer to the bungalow, concealed by a towering bush, I was treated to a breathtaking and enchanting spectacle: Maria and Koneko, utterly unclothed, emerged from the sea onto the sandy shore. The scene was nothing short of sublime. The moon stood high and nearly full, the sea was calm, and the sounds of the water lapping against the shore, the moonlight glinting on the waves — and against this backdrop, two exquisite, nude beauties. Water droplets shimmered on their skin like diamonds.
Maria, with her figure reminiscent of a Greek goddess — full breasts measuring no less than a size three, ample hips, and a luxuriant mane of hair that shone even in the darkness — possessed the allure of a mature woman. Koneko, on the other hand, possessed the youthful allure of an unblemished young woman, not yet having crossed the threshold of adulthood, and with thoughts that were perhaps too daring for her age. Her small breasts were just slightly oversized, yet her body exuded a grace and vivacity that at that moment betrayed a hint of laziness, lending a measured and leisurely quality to her movements.. And on her head, there seemed to be a flame burning — her mane of red hair conveyed just such an impression. My gaze kept shifting from their bodies to the red-and-gold triangles of hair, which concealed their innermost secrets from my sight. I was already envisioning how my «jade rod» (and it wasn't just a figure of speech, for I could have encased it in basilisk scales, whose hue would precisely match the mystical stone revered in China) would penetrate them. In my mind, I wondered what they would feel at that moment with my phallus inside them, adorned with scales. They would likely enjoy it — it would be embossed, would it not?
Damn, what am I thinking? I was about to strike myself across the face. Before I reached the point where I might start masturbating like a pervert in the bushes with two beautiful nude girls, I discreetly moved towards my snakes! I need to divert my mind to something else right now!