"Damn it."
Sherlock slammed the ledger onto the table, rubbing his temples, his eyes heavy with fatigue.
He had already invested too much in this matter—he couldn't afford to lose, and he couldn't let himself fail.
Perhaps, at the very beginning, when he had thought of using futures trading to trap Tina, there had been a sliver of selfish intent in his heart.
After all, Tina's factory had become a real threat to their alchemy machinery business. She had the technology, she had the funds, and her treatment of her workers was far better than theirs.
If she were given a few more years to grow, her industrial park would inevitably develop into a powerful rival capable of shaking their market monopoly.
So, both he and the other directors at the factory believed it necessary to snuff out this rising star while she was still in her cradle.
Outsiders might see this as paranoia or heavy-handedness. But this was the logic of capital: they earned because they were riding the waves of the times.
No one could guarantee that they would always remain at the forefront.
To keep their industry thriving, they either had to constantly improve themselves to stay at the pinnacle, or eliminate anyone who might shift the tides.
And Tina was exactly such a person.
She had done nothing wrong, yet she had done everything "wrong."
An outsider, armed with massive funds and advanced technology, had plunged straight into their hunting grounds, daring to bite off a huge chunk of what they had already claimed.
No self-respecting merchant would tolerate such behavior.
They would not see foreign investment as a catalyst for industrial upgrades or healthy competition. To them, they were the local capital, the privileged elite of Savant, backed by emerging nobles and the Mechanical Academy.
Savant's government, in their view, ought to protect their rights. Even if their workers toiled eighteen hours a day for meager, insufficient wages, so be it—they deserved their protection.
But so what?
Without their alchemy machinery factories, the local peasants would still be exploited by decayed old nobles, working a year's land without eating a single full meal.
It was thanks to merchants like them that Savant's stagnant markets had been revitalized, bringing prosperity across the nation.
So, for the sake of Savant's stability and its future, the government prioritized their interests, letting them drive out competitors and monopolize the industry.
Yet Tina had backing. Trying to crush her through government pressure was clearly impossible.
Thus, they had decided to manipulate the gel market, using it as a chessboard to deal with Tina indirectly.
But Sherlock never imagined that his maneuver would completely trap him instead.
Perhaps when Tina first listed 20,000 liters of gel, he should have walked away, letting prices slowly decline. That way, he could have sold some gel to recoup funds while continuing to accumulate capital for their planned strategy.
But the massive potential profit from those 20,000 liters blinded him.
Greed filled his mind, driving him to purchase more and more gel, until every last coin he had was invested.
Yet it still wasn't enough to fill the bottomless pit of the gel market.
Subsequent massive investments left Sherlock unable to extricate himself.
All he could do was continue betting, until either he or Tina could no longer hold out.
He admitted it was gambling, but to make money, one had to gamble.
The winner takes all, the loser… loses everything.
At that moment, any lingering hesitation vanished. Sherlock knew that if he wanted his life to continue in prosperity rather than descend into ruin over the next few decades, he had no choice but to gamble.
Slamming the table, he lowered his head and clenched his fists. He bit his teeth and struggled for a long while before finally saying,
"You continue contacting the Mechanical Academy and the other seven guild leaders. Tell them, just hang on for one more day—after tomorrow, we can proceed with our plan. And… also—"
Sherlock lifted his head, eyes burning with the feral intensity of a wolf, and spoke each word deliberately:
"Take thirty… no, all of my factory shares. Take them to the Merchants' Guild as collateral. I need sufficient funds to ensure we get through this final day."
At this point, even Sherlock hadn't noticed that his voice had become hoarse and dry, his eyes bloodshot and wild.
To maintain the gel's high price through tomorrow, he had now wagered everything.
…
The next morning at nine, the gel price suddenly shot up to 4,500 gold coins.
Such rapid growth injected a powerful jolt into the market, fueling buyers' desire for gel even further.
This wave of greed swept people into the frenzy, causing them to throw their entire fortunes into this capital-driven carnival.
Yet the frenzied masses did not notice—some gel was quietly being listed at prices far below the market rate.
Those who bought the cheap gel thought nothing of it; in their eyes, they were simply lucky to catch a bargain.
But as the quantity of low-priced gel surged, some began to sense something was amiss.
They smelled the irregularity and cautiously tried to sell portions of the gel in their possession.