After a quiet night, the imperial financial market burst into life. The trading hall was packed.

People were constantly filling out order forms or signaling to traders on the upper trading floor with complex hand gestures only insiders could understand—everything was in motion.

All eyes were on the top-left corner of the trading board, where Harmony Capital was fixed in a special position. It didn’t rotate like other stocks—it simply displayed the current price.

2.50 Sol. No change yet, but everyone knew that wouldn’t last.

To ensure a strong opening, Richard had personally arranged deals with price-boosting groups. They had committed to investing at least 30 to 50 million today.

With those funds, plus shares subscribed by themselves and the nobles, prices would spike within half an hour.

The first to act were the priority traders. The Gephra Empire also used a trading seat system: only licensed trading seats had the right to trade, and there were priority seats as well—just like in the Federation.

Retail investors often wondered: if they were buying stocks just like the wealthy, why were they always the ones losing?

Put simply, even excluding insider info, ordinary investors couldn’t match the rich in speed. Without access to priority seats, their trades went to the back of the queue.

But the wealthy—nobles in particular—had priority trades matched instantly. When everyone was selling, their orders went through. Retail investors’ orders didn’t.

They might list their stock at 10 Sol, but by the time their order executed, the price had dropped to 9.50. The trade would fail. They’d try again at 9 Sol, and again it would be rejected.

Retail losses weren’t about luck. They were technical.

Just then, a trader at a priority seat picked up a phone and froze. In the noisy hall, he repeated what he heard loudly. Everyone fell briefly silent. Even people farther away caught the number.

“Harmony—80 million buy order…”

80 million. In Gephra’s financial core, that meant 80 million in Gael. Such a heavy buy-in lit up the faces of several traders.

Within seconds, the hall snapped back into action. Phones rang. “I’ve got inside info—someone just threw in a hundred million on Harmony…”

“It moved!”

At 9:47 AM, the number next to Harmony Capital ticked from 2.50 to 2.61 Sol, then to 2.65.

Cheers erupted. Within minutes, the entire IPO had sold out—meaning several hundred million had been poured into Harmony Capital’s stock.

Richard pumped his fist—success.

At the event space inside the exchange, the director popped a bottle of champagne. “Mr. Richard, Harmony Capital just broke the island’s all-time record for fastest IPO sellout. You’ve made history!”

The words ignited the room—made history!

The phrase had a kind of magic—it enthralled everyone.

“Thank you!” Richard accepted a glass. Others raised theirs as well. He lifted his, scanned the crowd. “We are number one!”

2.70 Sol…

3.04…

5 Sol…

6 Sol!

A miracle.

Harmony Capital Doubles in One Day!

Richard, the Empire’s New Financial Star!

Harmony Capital Sets Historic Sellout Record!

The media showered Richard and Harmony Capital with praise. Even Harmony Jewelry launched a new promotion:

For every 10,000 Sol in Harmony Gold Bonds held, customers could get a 2% discount when buying gold—up to 30% off (not exceeding the bond value)!

People went wild—it was like free money. Every Harmony Jewelry store was overrun with bondholders. Huge volumes of gold were sold off. Eyes turned red with greed.

Some bought large amounts of bonds just to buy gold at a discount.

Meanwhile, Richard had rented out Prince Wilson’s castle and turned it into a celebration venue.

“I want every high-quality girl you can find here—now. My guests don’t have time to wait!”

“If you can deliver, bring them and charge us. If not, hang up.”

“I need a million in cash—one-Gael. No, two million. Send it to Prince Wilson’s castle—fast!”

“We’re throwing a celebration at the castle… yes, you guessed it. Get some celebrities over. Money’s not an issue.”

One after another, young men in the room shouted into their phones. Richard sat nearby at a vanity table, getting touched up by a makeup artist.

That evening, he planned a massive party with a 5-million budget.

In the Federation, that kind of extravagance would be a PR disaster—citizens would tear him apart.

But in Gephra, it was normal. The aristocracy had accumulated wealth for generations—enough to waste in the most bizarre and excessive ways. No matter how wild the party got, no one would bat an eye.

Soon, the bank delivered the money. Staff stuffed rolls of cash into balloons and inflated them—these would be used during the event—or packed them into gift boxes.

Then luxury buses began arriving. Dazzling women stepped out, all smiles, and walked into the castle.

Celebrities arrived. Guests poured in. Reporters lined up outside, forming a wall, letting no one pass unnoticed. The place buzzed like a grand festival.

Meanwhile, over a thousand kilometers away, a group of heavily armed men in bulletproof vests, led by a local guide, approached a gold mine.

“This place has been inactive for years. Four or five, maybe. They couldn’t find any more valuable ore, so they abandoned it.”

“Not long ago, a boss came along who believed there was still value underground, so he bought this place,” the guide said plainly, a mocking smirk on his face.

This area used to have several gold mines, but with continued extraction, most small and mid-sized mines had shut down. Only two large sites were still operational.

Mines like the abandoned one nearby were common. When it was first shut down, he had even brought his family here to dig, but the returns were poor.

Eventually, no one came anymore. It was completely dead—no value left to extract.

But just recently, it restarted operations. Supposedly, there were even yields.

It was a joke.

“Is anyone still mining down there?” the leader of the group asked.

The guide instinctively glanced at the weapon in his hand and shook his head. “No, it’s a dead mine. I don’t know why someone would buy it, but clearly, that person isn’t stupid…”

The locals knew better than anyone whether a gold mine still produced.

Whether local or outsider-owned, if a mine was producing, someone had to be working it.

Mining was dangerous during this period. Wealthy people wouldn’t risk going down themselves—they’d hire poor locals to do it.

Guides like him knew the area far better than most. If a mine was active, he’d hear about it long before others.

Like the nearby mine—it had seen a short burst of activity recently, then fell silent again.

The outsiders took a few photos and raised a request. “Can we get a closer look? Ideally, go inside.”

The guide hesitated, rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “You need this. You know what I mean.”

“Gael, Sols, or Lidens. No local currency.”

The leader handed him two ten-Sol notes.

The guide shook his head. “Not enough.”

The leader added three more. The guide grinned, stuffing the money into his pocket, the thick filler between his bronze-yellow teeth visible as he smiled from ear to ear.

“Follow me,” he said.

As expected, the group entered the mine. The guide chatted briefly with a few men in a shack at the entrance. They switched on the power and sent someone to lead the group down.

“The guide said you’d give me ten if I take you down,” said the young man—short, dark-skinned, barefoot, wearing tattered pants. His eyes, black and white, locked onto the group’s leader.

The leader handed over another ten. The young man flashed his own yellowed grin and led them downward.

“I heard they struck gold again recently?” the leader asked as they rode the rail car into the depths.

The young man chuckled dimly. “There’s been nothing down here for years.”

“But I heard they really dug something up…”

He was silent for a moment. Then, tempted by a ten-Sol bill, he gave in.

“We brought in a few truckloads of ore from outside, dumped it down here. They just came to take pictures and left…”