The journey to the Imperial Palace had taken two hours, and by the time Yan, Layla, and Atlas arrived at the towering gates, the sun hung high in the sky. The massive golden doors, lined with intricate carvings of dragons and celestial warriors, loomed over them like silent sentinels.
Yan stepped forward, presenting the emperor's decree. The guards, clad in ornate armour, examined the document before nodding and stepping aside. The gates groaned open, revealing the splendor within.
Atlas whistled low, his sharp eyes drinking in every detail. "Damn, this place is ridiculous."
The sheer scale of luxury overwhelmed even him. He could see separate quarters for personal concubines, a grand servants' district, and a training ground that could rival Shrouded Peak's. The lavish decorations, inlaid with gold and rare gemstones, would make even the kings of the world green with envy.
He turned to Yan, eyebrows raised. "Is this really how rich the emperor is?"
Yan, ever composed, replied simply, "He's the emperor. It's natural."
Layla, though silent, took in everything as well, her calculating mind storing away observations for later. But as they approached the grand hall, the sight that greeted them caused both her and Atlas to pause.
Destruction.
The once-pristine entrance was in ruins. Chunks of marble littered the steps, great cracks snaked up the pillars, and debris lay scattered across the courtyard as if a great battle had taken place. It was as though a bomb had gone off.
Layla's mind instantly clicked into place. The only person capable of such precise devastation without outright levelling the palace itself was Master Daokan.
His Qi had been a storm when he arrived—she knew this had to be his doing.
Atlas, standing beside her, had a different line of thought.
If Daokan had caused this level of destruction, then it meant something had gone terribly wrong during negotiations. His arrival had not been merely a visit—it had been a confrontation. Which meant Jinhai had underestimated the situation.
The two of them exchanged a brief glance. Different conclusions, same answer.
Inside, the grand hall still stood in its regal majesty despite the damage outside. Jinhai sat upon his golden throne, his crimson eyes watching them as they entered. His expression remained unreadable—calm, calculating, as if nothing unusual had happened.
However, his gaze lingered slightly longer on Yan Shuren, betraying a flicker of intrigue.
Before the emperor could speak, Yan stepped forward and bowed slightly.
"I am their official bodyguard. I trust there is no issue with this arrangement, Your Majesty?"
Jinhai studied him for a moment before leaning back slightly. "None" he said smoothly.
"Enter."
The three stepped forward, the air heavy with unspoken tension.
Jinhai's gaze swept over them once more before he spoke.
"Let's discuss the reason for this meeting."
Layla met his gaze after bowing. "Indeed."
Then, it hit her.
The crimson eyes, the sharp yet elegant features, the long, dark hair that cascaded past his shoulders—this was the same man. The same man she had known before she died. Jinhai looked exactly as he had when she had ruled as the Queen of Eternal Crescent.
A cold weight settled in her chest. Her breath quickened, though she masked it well.
Was this the same world, only years later? Or was this a parallel existence where my inventions had never shaped the course of history?
The realization clawed at her mind, pushing her toward the edge of panic.
She felt her hands tremble slightly at her sides, her mind racing through the implications. Memories flooded back—diplomatic meetings bathed in candlelight, grand parties where their words danced around unspoken truths, moments stolen in the quiet of the halls where the air had been thick with something just shy of love. They had never been lovers, but there had been something there, something undeniable.
Her breath hitched, panic clawing at her ribs. The world around her blurred for a moment as the realization cemented itself—this was the same world, or one so close it may as well be. The years had advanced, or perhaps her absence had rewritten history itself. The uncertainty gnawed at her, sending her spiralling deeper.
Atlas pinched her sharply at her side. She gasped, the pain jerking her back to the present.
"Do you want to die or something?" he whispered harshly, his tone light but his eyes serious.
"The emperor is right there, and we need to talk. I need you to not panic right now."
The setting was an opulent dining hall, draped in silks and gold accents. The five of them sat around a grand table laden with the finest dishes—succulent meats, exotic fruits, and delicacies rare even within the empire.
Jinhai sat at the head, his personal guard standing dutifully beside him. Layla and Atlas took their seats across from him, while Yan remained behind them, ever the vigilant protector.
Jinhai picked up his wine cup and swirled the crimson liquid within.
"You've built quite the empire of your own, Atlas. Ryl Trading has expanded at an unprecedented rate. It is almost... disruptive."
Layla took a sip from her own cup, her expression unreadable.
"Disruption comes when inefficiencies are exposed. We merely filled the gaps left open."
Atlas, ever the opportunist, smirked. "If anything, Your Majesty, you should be thanking us for showing you where the weaknesses in your economic structure lie."
Jinhai chuckled softly, setting his cup down.
"So you believe yourselves untouchable? That your success is inevitable?"
Layla tilted her head slightly.
"We believe in our work. The people believe in us. If that is what makes us untouchable, then so be it."
The tension in the room thickened. Jinhai's gaze sharpened as he leaned forward slightly.
"Belief is one thing. Power is another. You've gained influence, but tell me—what is it you seek? What is your ultimate goal?"
Yan shifted slightly behind them, sensing the shift in the conversation. Layla met Jinhai's gaze without hesitation.
"A better future. One not dictated by the whims of men who hoard wealth and resources without care for those beneath them."
Jinhai exhaled softly, his expression unreadable.
"A noble sentiment. But noble sentiments rarely survive reality."
Atlas grinned. "Then we'll just have to be the exception."
Jinhai regarded them for a long moment before a slow smile curled his lips.
"Interesting. Let's see if you can prove it."
Atlas leaned back in his chair, completely at ease.
"I don't have to prove anything. The people of the regime already do that for me."
Jinhai's smile thinned slightly, but he remained silent as Atlas continued, his voice carrying a light, almost mocking tone.
"Take the lords of the outer provinces, for example. Many of them were floundering, barely surviving on scraps. Yet, through our trade networks, their lands have flourished. Funny how that happened under my influence, not yours."
The air in the room grew heavy as Jinhai's fingers twitched slightly against the table. Layla sipped her wine, hiding the amusement in her eyes.
"And let's not forget the trade routes" Atlas added smoothly.
"So many new roads, so many open channels of commerce. If anything, Your Majesty, you should be paying me for all the economic expansion I've gifted your empire."
Jinhai's jaw tightened, his grip on his cup firming before he set it down with deliberate control. His eyes darkened, sharp as a blade.
"You truly believe you are indispensable?"
Atlas grinned. "I don't need to believe it. The numbers speak for themselves."
Jinhai's guard shifted slightly, sensing the tension. Yan remained motionless behind Atlas and Layla, observing every nuance of the emperor's reaction.
Jinhai exhaled slowly, regaining his composure.
"Then tell me, Atlas. What is it you truly want? A seat at my table? Or something greater?"
Atlas chuckled. "I want what any good businessman wants—stability, prosperity, money and a future where trade flourishes without unnecessary intervention."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering.
"And if that means working with you, then so be it. But let's not pretend you hold all the power here, Your Majesty."
The room remained silent for a long moment before Jinhai gave a small, humourless chuckle.
"You are bold, I'll give you that. But boldness alone does not keep empires from crumbling."
Atlas smirked, tilting his head slightly.
"Bold? I don't know about bold. But I do find it strange that we were on our way to meet you, expecting to see you in three days' time, yet not even a full day passed before we were ambushed by assassins. A coincidence, I'm sure."
He gestured lazily around the hall.
"And then, I step into your grand palace, only to find this hall being repaired after what seems like an explosion. Surely, just some disciple making a mistake, right?"
Jinhai's expression darkened slightly, but he remained silent, his fingers pressing against the table.
Atlas leaned forward.
"So, here's my proposal. First, you pay me for all the trade routes I've opened in your empire. After all, infrastructure isn't free, and I've done more for your economy than some of your officials ever could. Second, you personally assist in opening trade to Silver Lotus. It's ridiculously difficult to do business there, and if you refuse, then at least relocate them somewhere where commerce isn't such a damn struggle."
Layla sipped her wine, waiting for Jinhai's reaction. The emperor's jaw twitched, his fingers drumming against the table as the audacity of Atlas' words sank in. His crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable, and then, finally, he spoke.
Jinhai's voice was measured, but there was an undeniable edge beneath the surface.
"You do have a way with words, Atlas. But words alone do not move empires. Numbers, however... now that is something I can acknowledge."
With a flick of his wrist, a servant stepped forward, unfurling a large blackboard behind him. The polished surface gleamed in the candlelight, and as if orchestrated, scribes immediately began marking figures, trade routes, and economic reports upon it.
"Since you are so insistent that your numbers speak for themselves"
Jinhai continued "Let us see if they truly do. Show me how much Ryl Trading has contributed to my empire—and let's see if you are as irreplaceable as you claim."
Internally, Atlas scrambled through his palace of memories. Within his mind, miniature versions of himself—each with their own eccentric personality—dashed frantically through an enormous archive. Some flipped through dusty ledgers, others tossed receipts and trade records into piles, while a few more frantically calculated profit margins. Chaos erupted as papers flew, ink splattered, and voices shouted in a flurry of panicked efficiency.
"Where the hell is last month's revenue sheet?!" one mini Atlas yelled.
"I've got the profit records from the coastal regions!" another shouted back, sliding across a desk cluttered with calculations.
"We need total trade values across provinces, cross-reference with projected expansions! Move, move, move!"
Outside his mind, only thirty seconds had passed. Atlas, calm and composed, took a deep breath, grabbed the chalk, and approached the board.
With smooth, decisive strokes, he began writing.
"Sixty gold coins a month." (roughly 40 million dollars in real-world currency) he stated casually as the numbers solidified under his hand. Layla's eyes darted across the board as Atlas wrote, filling every inch of the black surface with figures—numbers from each business, trade route, ledger, regional profits, and even international transactions. Within five minutes, he had detailed the entire economic weight of Ryl Trading with precision that left the scribes gawking.
Atlas finally stepped back, twirling the chalk between his fingers.
"Or, if you prefer a more modern equivalent—that's more than some of the nobles you have. Every single month."
The room fell into stunned silence. Even Jinhai, usually unreadable, showed a flicker of something—shock, realization, perhaps even frustration.
Killing Atlas was no longer an option, not unless I was willing to send the empire into an economic freefall.
The numbers on the board didn't just paint Atlas as a successful businessman—they proved that Ryl Trading had become the backbone of entire regions.
Eliminating him would be reckless, and rebuilding what he had accomplished would take years, if not decades.
Yan Shuren, who had remained impassive up to this point, now regarded Atlas with new caution. He had always dismissed him as a talker, someone who used wit where strength should have prevailed. But now? Atlas's power was undeniable—not one of brute force, but of influence, one that even an emperor had to acknowledge.