Chapter 55: The Noklong Trade Envoy

“Clausuna, can you spare any personnel from the Church of the War God?”

“Sakavi, can’t you see? I’m swamped—every student from the Magic Academy is already handling demon materials, and three more batches are coming this afternoon to discuss purchases, equipment, and demon corpses. You won’t even send extra hands, yet you dare ask me to lend people for other tasks?”

“I apologize, but in magical material processing, we only have proficient rune engraving, and I know we’re short-staffed. Still, I’ve sent Claw Shadow·Qinglin to capture drow elves. In a few days, you’ll need to provide a few Church of the War God personnel to help them switch their faith—otherwise, we can’t control these bastards.”

“I only have missionaries available. Don’t expect reinforcements from the Rosen Empire—converting among subhumans is already deeply unpopular among many of them. No one wants to touch the drow elves’ faith issue, except perhaps you, a madman.”

The gray dwarves also have considerable magical expertise. Aren’t you planning to capture them as well? Without the interference of the Rose Goddess, pursuing the drow alone would disrupt the regional power balance—that doesn’t serve our interests.

“We shouldn’t provoke two gods at once. Besides, the gray dwarves in the Dragon Spine Mountains are our own people—they’ll fiercely resist any faith change. If we don’t convert them, rebellions will erupt endlessly among them. Remember, we relocated them to the Dragon Spine Mountains precisely because of this thorny issue.”

“Let the gray dwarves solve this themselves. Don’t they love enslaving their own kind? This time, satisfy them. After all, we don’t need to truly assimilate them. What do their lives or deaths matter to us? As long as they don’t cause trouble, that’s already more than enough.”

“Clausuna, your method is good. Once this troop training plan ends, I think we should take the initiative. Staying here waiting to rot is pointless.” But we’d better wait for Vilna’s return—attacking the Rosen Empire now won’t bring us any real advantage.

“Will she really come back? Or do you know where she went? That thing may enjoy playing tricks, but her mind is unusually sharp—she shouldn’t have gone anywhere dangerous.”

“Based on your description of that scorpion, I’d guess it’s the ‘Mechanical Realm.’ That place was sealed off by the elves during their war with the gnomes, and few can find it. You were lucky this time.”

“Lady Clausuna, a human priest claiming to be from Noklong is here to see you—he’s waiting in the great hall.” A subterranean gnome crept forward nervously, his eyes darting up and down Sakavi, looking as much like a thief as a curious child—deeply unsettling.

“I understand. I’ll go now. Sakavi, let’s end this discussion for now. This envoy from the Noklong Empire is a major client—they have mature processing techniques and might even bring us equipment. Interested in coming along? You seem to have nothing else to do.”

“Hail to you, Great Conqueror of the Abyss, Duke of the Black Dragon. I am Romantov, representing Archbishop Boris, extending greetings to you.” The Noklong Empire’s envoy wore a richly crafted deep purple holy robe, its hem embroidered with intricate star maps and geometric patterns in silver thread—both a symbol of his patron deity and a sign of his profound scholarship. Over it, he draped a thin gray woolen shawl to ward off the castle’s chill, adding an air of refined elegance.

Sakavi looked up and saw a gaunt face, fine wrinkles etched around his eyes by time, yet his deep gray eyes—like bottomless pools—glowed with wisdom honed by countless texts and scrolls. His posture was calm and unhurried, as if he had just strolled out of a grand library, not crossed a perilous dimensional passage.

In his right hand, he held a simple walnut wood staff, its surface smooth, its tip not set with gemstones but hovering a slowly rotating cube composed of pure light energy, silently absorbing surrounding magical auras—both a detection tool and a manifestation of his power.

In his left hand, he always cradled a massive, seemingly immovable tome bound in metal corners. Its cover was worn black leather, faintly bearing gilded lettering: *Compendium of Abyssal Species and Their Material Applications, Seventh Revised Edition*. His thumb rested between the pages, as if ready to cite passages at any moment.

“Archbishop, you’re too kind. I’m just here to observe. Trade negotiations should be left to professionals—today, Lady Clausuna is the main figure. I wish you both fruitful talks.”

“Romantov, we’re old acquaintances. Spare the pleasantries. Same as always: inspect the goods first, then negotiate price. If there are no issues, let’s begin.”

Romantov calmly approached a pile of demon remains. He did not touch them with his staff; instead, he let the cube atop it glow and shift, then snapped his fingers—*pop*—opening the massive tome in his left hand, flipping precisely to a page. His gaze darted swiftly between text and corpse, like a meticulous comparison.

“Remarkable magical materials,” he said, his tone like a professor lecturing. “According to the *Compendium*, the heart muscle of this variety of Berserker Demon is indeed the supreme medium for crafting ‘Rage Cores.’ However,” he shifted his finger to the strange, fading patterns on the skin, “observe these ‘Chaos Spots’ carefully.”

“According to our Seventh Laboratory’s latest report, if these spots are not solidified within three hours of removal using ‘Spring of Order’ water mixed with lunar silver powder, the rule fragments within will completely disintegrate—value drops to less than one-tenth.”

“Considering the sheer volume, and the extraordinarily stringent spatial sealing costs required to safely transport them to the Church, we’d need to deploy at least three legendary holy artifacts. The Church is willing to offer ten thousand gold coins per standard Berserker Demon corpse. This price fully covers transport risks and preservation losses—the best I can secure under current trade frameworks.”

A hint of amusement flickered in the Black Dragon’s dragon eyes; his deep voice rumbled through the air: “Old man, your bookishness almost makes me forget how massive the Church’s sales of magical weapons are. Since you know their value, you must also know that only I can supply such quantities of raw material at once. Time is short—your competitors, the Noklong Empire’s mages, may possess even… more efficient solidification techniques.”

Romantov didn’t flinch. Instead, a faint academic excitement surfaced—the kind only triggered by a worthy opponent. He gently closed the massive tome.

“Madam, you’re absolutely right. The Noklong Empire’s alchemy is formidable. Yet,” his tone shifted subtly again, “the *Pantheon Alchemy Accord, Appendix Three*, explicitly limits the flow of high-risk chaotic materials between major realms to prevent uncontrollable magical disruptions. Trading with the Church, however, fully complies with the *Interdimensional Resource Safety Development Convention*.”

“In the long term, a stable, compliant, and… highly profitable channel far outweighs a one-time risky gamble. Would you consider raising your initial offer by twenty percent? It’s both a tribute to your power and compensation for the academic risks I’ve outlined.”

“Done. You old fox, always so cunning—I sometimes wonder if you fused a subterranean gnome’s soul. Now, let’s talk price for the Soul-Splitter Demons. If you dare offer me ten thousand gold coins again, I’ll pluck every last hair from your beard.”

The priest stepped before a Soul-Splitter Demon corpse. The crystal on his staff glowed faintly as he stated calmly, like a connoisseur appraising a flawed antique:

“Undoubtedly, these are top-grade materials. Especially this Soul-Splitter’s spine—its intact Chaos Core could serve as the core of a legendary staff. Yet, Madam, you know well: untreated demon materials lose most of their value.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

“First, the Abyssal contamination is extremely dangerous—it requires at least three master-level purifiers working continuously for a week. The cost is steep. Second, the unstable energy makes long-distance transport perilous—we must use the highest-grade demon-sealing chests. Third, market absorption capacity is limited. Such a massive influx of high-tier materials will crash existing prices.”

He lifted his head, his ice-blue eyes locking onto the dragon’s gaze, and named a price: “Therefore, we are willing to purchase all Soul-Splitter Demons at thirty thousand gold coins each. This price fully accounts for processing costs and market risks—the Church’s utmost sincerity.”

The Black Dragon emitted a low, sulfurous chuckle. “Old man, do you think I lack those few purifiers—or those few demon-sealing chests?”

Her dragon aura subtly surged, thickening the air.

“These raw materials were won by my warriors’ blood. They are not unsold goods—they are fragments of power. What you see as processing costs, I see as the foundation of your Church’s military upgrades. A fairer price would be one and a half times your offer. Remember: refusing this deal costs me only piled bones. But you? You risk losing a critical advantage in the Abyssal conflicts.”

After several rounds of such verbal sparring, both sides probed each other’s limits and settled on a price that preserved mutual dignity: 1.2 times the initial offer.

The deal was sealed amid an atmosphere of apparent harmony. Both knew they faced a seasoned, formidable opponent. The human priest secured the lowest possible cost for the Church; the Black Dragon successfully turned a pile of dangerous trophies into tangible gold and resources for her next expansion. It was a battle without smoke, yet no less a test of wit and will.

After the deal was concluded, Clausuna seized the opportunity to request the purchase of Church purification equipment—items restricted from general sale. Yet, given the scale of this transaction, the human priest readily agreed.