From Zero Blood, I Became the Untouchable Solar Overlord!

Chapter 5

By the next afternoon, the grand accounting halls of the Energy Syndicate were in complete chaos.

Clerks ran across the polished floorboards, dropping stacks of parchment as shouting echoed from the courtyard. Outside the iron gates, dozens of heavy wooden wagons stood in long, motionless lines.

Every single wagon was packed to the brim with black coal, the dark lumps coated in fresh snow. Not a single pound had been sold.

Master Accountant Orson stood at the center of the office, his trembling hands clutching a leather-bound ledger. Cold sweat dripped from his chin, ruining the wet ink of his calculations.

The double doors of the private office burst open with a deafening crash.

Young Master Garrick stormed into the hall, his crimson velvet coat billowing behind him. His jaw was clenched so hard the tendons bulged against his skin, and his knuckles were white around his gold-topped cane.

“Why are the delivery wagons still sitting in the yard?” Garrick roared. “The day is nearly over. Why hasn’t the slum district paid their fuel levies?”

Orson fell to his knees on the cold floor, pressing his forehead against the floorboards.

"Forgive us, Young Master!" Orson stammered, his teeth clicking in fear. "The drivers... they went to every tavern, every ironworks, every residential block in the Lower Wards! No one will buy!"

Garrick halted right in front of the kneeling accountant, looking down with venom in his eyes.

"No one will buy?" Garrick sneered, leaning his weight onto his cane. "It is fifteen degrees below zero out there. Those peasants freeze like dogs without our coal. Did you tell them the price went up thirty percent?"

"We did, my lord!" Orson wept, keeping his head down. "We threatened to lock their water pumps! We threatened to call the guild enforcers! But they slammed their doors right in our faces!"

A second clerk hurried forward from the courtyard, his knees shaking as he offered a small brass tray.

"Young Master, it's not just that they refused our prices," the clerk whispered, his voice trembling with panic. "They don't need our coal anymore. Someone gave them something better."

Garrick snatched the object resting on the brass tray, his eyes narrowing into vicious slits.

It was a fist-sized chunk of dark, glowing stone. It radiated a soft, soothing amber light that instantly chased the chill from Garrick's fingers, giving off pure, clean warmth without a single speck of soot.

"What is this garbage?" Garrick barked, his face turning an ugly shade of red. "Where did they get it?"

"The slum dwellers call him the Ash Walker," the clerk answered, swallowing hard. "A hooded stranger walked into St. Jude's charity house last night and gave away fifty of these stones. They burn for two full days without smoke, and he gave them out for free!"

Garrick’s chest heaved with wild, sudden fury. He hurled the golden stone across the hall, watching it bounce harmlessly against the stone wall without losing a fraction of its heat.

"Treason!" Garrick screamed, slamming his cane down onto the main counting table so hard the heavy oak cracked down the middle. "The Energy Syndicate holds the exclusive imperial charter for all heat in this city! No one sells or gives away warmth without my seal!"

He grabbed Orson by the collar of his robe, hoisting the terrified accountant half off the floor.

"Mobilize every mercenary on our payroll!" Garrick spat, flecks of saliva hitting Orson’s face. "Raid every cellar in the Lower Wards! Find this so-called Ash Walker, drag him to the town square, and hang him from the gallows! I want his head on a spike before dawn!"

Orson nodded frantically, scrambling backward on all fours the moment Garrick released him.

"Right away, my lord! We will send thirty men at once!" Orson cried out, rushing toward the barracks to give the orders.

Garrick turned away, his breath coming in jagged gasps as he smoothed his coat. He picked up the glowing golden stone from the floor, his fingers tightening around it as a cold bead of doubt settled in his stomach.

He turned toward the spiral staircase, heading straight down toward the private alchemy laboratories beneath the manor.

Down in the subterranean testing lab, the air smelled of sulfur, dried herbs, and burning acid.

Three elderly alchemists in heavy leather aprons hovered around a reinforced steel table, whispering to one another in hushed, frightened tones.

Standing a few paces back was Cynthia.

She wore a high-collared gown of dark green silk, deliberately chosen to hide the ugly, dark veins spreading across her neck. Her skin was pale as chalk, and heavy layers of white powder barely concealed the purple hollows beneath her eyes.

Every breath she took felt like inhaling hot ash. The stolen core inside her chest had been pulsing violently all morning, throbbing with an erratic, spiteful heat that made her ribs ache to the touch.

Garrick barged into the room, throwing the door open with a loud thud that made the alchemists jump.

"Have you figured out what it is yet?" Garrick demanded, tossing the second briquette onto the table where it clattered against their glass vials. "What cheap trick are the slum rats using to forge this fake coal?"

The oldest alchemist, a bald man with thick glass spectacles, turned toward Garrick with hands that would not stop shaking.

"Young Master Garrick... this is no trick," the old man said softly, his voice full of genuine awe. "We have subjected this sample to acid, flame, and crushing weight. It is not made of coal, slate, or any mineral known to the empire."

"Then what is it, you old fool?!" Garrick snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"It is pure, compressed primordial solar essence," the alchemist whispered, looking at the stone like it was a relic from the gods. "A technique thought to have vanished a thousand years ago. Whoever forged this did not use a kiln. They condensed raw, untamed celestial light with their bare hands."

Cynthia’s heart gave a violent, painful thump against her ribs.

Primordial solar essence? Cynthia thought, her throat suddenly going completely dry. There is only one lineage in the entire province that carried that dormant bloodline.

Her gaze locked onto the dark gold briquette resting on the cold steel table. The stone pulsed with a gentle, rhythmic glow, almost like the steady heartbeat of a resting giant.