"Ten copper coins! The latest news from Savant! Only ten copper coins!"
"Botio Academy, one of Savant's seven great academies—its vice dean personally reveals that the Goblin Resurrection Potion is nothing but a rumor. Their academy has never obtained such a formula. Any losses caused by the rumor have nothing to do with Botio Academy!"
"Baron Sherlock, famed Savant merchant, chairman of the Alchemical Machinery Factory Group, and president of the Sherlock Chamber of Commerce, died unexpectedly in the early hours of yesterday morning. According to inside sources, there were eighteen stab wounds on his back, yet the police have preliminarily ruled it a suicide."
In the early morning along Savant's Central Avenue, newsboys in octagonal caps and worn, mismatched overcoats ran through the streets shouting their headlines.
Whenever a well-dressed passerby walked by, they would deliberately raise their papers and call out even louder beside them.
But for most people, ten copper coins for a single newspaper was still a luxury.
Those ten coins could buy two pieces of black bread—or a small slab of inferior salted pork.
So although the newsboys shouted with all their might, few were willing to pay.
Only the middle class could afford not to care about such a sum.
At that moment, two men in brown overcoats—decently dressed—stopped one of the newsboys.
One of them casually pulled a large ten-copper coin from his pocket and tossed it over, taking the paper in return.
He unfolded it and frowned, as if troubled by what he saw.
The man beside him mercilessly exposed the act.
"Jon, you're holding it upside down."
"Oh—oh."
Jon flushed and quickly turned the paper around, revealing rather plainly that he couldn't read.
Seeing this, the other man snatched the paper from his hand and grumbled:
"I told you to go to the night school in the industrial district and learn your letters. You refused. Now look at you—can't even read a newspaper."
He unfolded the paper and began reading aloud:
"The Magic Potion Academy has arrested the group that originally spread the news, accusing them of maliciously circulating false information that triggered the financial turmoil three days ago. Shameless, really."
"Indeed," Jon said indignantly, glancing at his colleague—who had changed noticeably after only a few months at night school. "Those people are rotten to the core."
"But what does any of this have to do with us?"
The man holding the paper shrugged.
"The ones who went bankrupt were the big shots from the Merchant Guild. We poor laborers just need to guard the few copper coins in our pockets."
"That's not right," Jon protested. "You remember Jack, the one who quit? He had good connections and bought a huge batch of that… gel stuff ahead of time. Then he flipped it and multiplied his assets several hundredfold. Now he's one of those Merchant Guild big shots himself."
The reader couldn't help but laugh.
"Big shot of the Merchant Guild? Over these past three days, haven't enough of those big shots died already?
Sir Alvin of the Gordon Chamber of Commerce. Viscount Boyd of the Boyd Chamber. Grand Duke Flint of Savant. Chairman Sherlock of the Alchemical Machinery Factory Group.
All of them lost everything in this turmoil.
Become a Merchant Guild big shot? He'd be lucky if he doesn't end up jumping off Savent's Clock Tower."
Just then, a heavy thud echoed from not far away, followed by a brief wave of chaos in the street.
The disturbance lasted only a moment before calm returned.
The two men looked toward the source of the sound. Not far away, on the pavement, a blurred figure lay sprawled on the ground.
Beneath him, a pool of bright red blood spread steadily outward.
Soon, a squad of uniformed police rushed over. In a flurry of careless motions, they lifted the body and tossed it onto a small cart—then dumped it into a garbage wagon like refuse.
Only a crimson stain remained on the street.
"There's another one," Jon said, unfazed. "Judging by those clothes, definitely another big figure."
"These days, if you walk down Savant's main street and don't see at least a few speculators jumping from the high-rises, that would be the strange thing."
His companion shook his head and said with mockery,
"Capital really is something else. In the old days, those noble lords wouldn't line up to throw themselves off buildings.
But now? Duke, count, or mere knight—it doesn't matter. After this storm, they all share just one title: pauper."
"That's true," Jon nodded.
Then he shook his head.
"Ah, what does the life or death of those grand lords have to do with us poor wretches? Let's hurry. Manager Tina said starting now, any headhunting we do from businesses under the Alchemical Machinery Factory Group comes with double referral fees.
If we're late, we won't even get the scraps."
"Right. Let's go."
The two hurried off.
Not far away, a figure wrapped in a tattered cloak tilted her head in confusion, revealing a glimpse of dirty golden hair beneath her hood.
She looked toward the luxurious Merchant Guild building and the bloodstained pavement before it, frowning slightly as she muttered to herself:
"This… shouldn't have anything to do with me, right?
Mm. Definitely not. Marum hasn't even been there.
Though… in that case, Momo will probably be crying her eyes out.
I kind of want to see that."
The Miss Witch of Calamity tapped her pale, slender index finger against her chin and tilted her head, staring blankly.
After a moment, she shook her head again.
"Momo's from the same era as that old hag, isn't she? Crying seems unlikely.
But Mes definitely will cry.
First the Kingdom of Gordon was destroyed, and now the Gordon Chamber of Commerce is about to go bankrupt. When she hears this, she's probably rolling around in her blankets in fury.
Mm… I kind of want to go see.
But…"
She glanced once more at the Merchant Guild and the surrounding buildings.
Golden light flickered within her eyes. In an instant, the scene before her transformed.
Countless golden threads rose from the pedestrians, from the animals, even from the buildings themselves. The threads intertwined and wove together into a vast web that blanketed the sky above Savant.
At last, they converged into a phantom golden river high in the heavens and vanished within it.
The Witch of Calamity raised her delicate hands above her head, allowing the golden threads to pass through her palms.
Watching the ripples of light scatter where the strands were disturbed, she murmured softly:
"The Fallen's subordinate has arrived. This play is finally reaching its climax.
At a moment like this… how could Marum possibly be absent?"