[Null POV] Year 5, Day 71

  The thirteen barrels sat in Null's item box. The festival continued around her. People celebrated. Danced. Laughed.

  And Null stood frozen.

  Sustainable supply versus one-time feeding.

  Coca production versus massacre efficiency.

  Long-term access versus immediate satisfaction.

  The math should have been simple. Should have been instant. But it wasn't.

  She looked at the valley. The pink trees. The happy people. The makers who knew how to create that perfect taste.

  [If I kill them, I have thirteen barrels. Finite. Limited. Then never again.]

  [If I spare them... sustainable supply. Regular shipments. Forever.]

  The answer was obvious.

  "Twins," she said through their private emotional channel.

  Both perked up. Attentive. "Yes, big sis?"

  "Change of plans. We're hunting bandits instead."

  Silence. Brief confusion. Then:

  "Okay big sis!" Perfect unison. Instant acceptance. "Bandits are fun too!"

  Just like that. No questions. No disappointment. Just trust.

  Null turned to where Spy floated invisibly.

  "We're not killing them," she said quietly.

  Spy was silent for exactly three seconds.

  Then he started laughing.

  Not polite amusement. Not subtle mockery. Full, genuine, uncontrollable laughter that only she could hear through their connection.

  ?You're—? he managed between fits. ?You're sparing them. For SODA.?

  "Sustainable supply," Null corrected. Clinical. Practical.

  ?The eldritch horror who destroyed a cardinal's domain—? More laughter. ?—defeated by carbonated beverages.?

  "It's efficient."

  ?It's ABSURD.? But he was still laughing. Delighted. ?Host, this is the funniest crisis resolution I've ever witnessed.?

  Null ignored him. Turned her attention to the crowd. Scanning with life sense. Looking for someone important. Someone strong enough to survive the poison. Someone with authority.

  There.

  An elder. Male human, maybe sixty or seventy equivalent. But robust. Healthy. Strong life force. And emotions that read as: respected, authoritative, decision-maker.

  Perfect.

  She walked toward him. Direct. Purposeful. The Twins following automatically.

  The elder was talking with merchants. Laughing about something. He looked up as Null approached.

  "Ah! Our generous guest! Are you enjoying—"

  "I need to speak with you about business," Null said. Clear. Professional. "Large-scale business."

  He blinked. "Business? Of course! What kind of—"

  "I run a large establishment. Continental scale." She gestured vaguely. Impressive but non-specific. "I want to make a recurring order for that specific variety." She pointed toward where the "unpopular" coca sat. "As our house drink."

  The elder stared. "You want... that one? The throwaway variety? For a major establishment?"

  "Yes. Large quantities. Regular shipments. Premium payment."

  "But—" He looked confused. Hopeful. Disbelieving. "—nobody wants that variety. We make it because the recipe is traditional, but outside Sweetwater, nobody—"

  "I want it," Null interrupted. "How much can you produce monthly?"

  Spy's laughter continued in the background. Hysterical. Delighted beyond measure.

  The elder calculated. "If we dedicated resources... maybe thirty barrels per month? We'd need to expand production, dedicate more trees—"

  "Forty barrels monthly. I'll pay for expansion costs upfront." Null pulled gold from her item box. Not counting. Just... enough. Five thousand gold. Maybe more. She handed it over casually.

  The elder nearly dropped it. "This is—I can't—this is—"

  "Expansion costs, equipment, initial payment for first six months." Null continued. Clinical. Efficient. "Someone from my staff will contact you for delivery arrangements. Her name is Kira. Tiger beastkin. Very professional. Listen to her carefully."

  "Kira. Tiger beastkin. Yes. Yes, of course." The elder was shaking. Joy. Disbelief. Tears forming. "This drink is named after our village! But outside... nobody cares! Nobody wants it! And you're—you're making it your house drink?"

  "Yes."

  "This is—" His voice cracked. "—this is like a dream. A blessing. Thank you. Thank you so much."

  Null nodded. Transaction complete. Problem solved. Crisis resolved through pure economic optimization.

  Sustainable supply secured. Much better than massacre.

  Spy was still laughing. Couldn't stop. ?You poisoned them. And now you're their business partner. You're going to be their SAVIOR after they discover the deaths. This is ART.?

  "We should leave," Null said to the elder. Polite. Professional. "Other business to attend to."

  "No! Please stay!" The elder grabbed her hand. Earnest. Desperate. "You're honored guests! Heroes even! This opportunity—you've saved our community! Celebrate with us!"

  Others had overheard. Gathering. Excited. Grateful.

  "The rich traveler bought the unsellable stock!"

  "Made it her house drink!"

  "Huge recurring order!"

  "This will change everything!"

  The Twins were enjoying this. Both broadcasting happiness. "We're heroes!" they said together, delighted.

  Null tried to extract herself. "We really should—"

  "At least stay for the ceremony! See our sacred tradition!" The elder pleaded. "You've honored us so much. Let us share this with you!"

  No. No, we need to leave. Before—

  But the ceremony was already beginning.

  The Keeper stepped forward. Staff raised. The chanting started.

  Null calculated escape routes. Exit timing. Possibilities.

  Too late. Too many people. Too much attention. Leaving now would be suspicious.

  Fine. Watch the ceremony. Then leave immediately.

  Spy had finally stopped laughing. Now observing. ?The bonfires. Look at the arrangement.?

  Null looked. Six fires. Hexagon pattern. The ceremonial pot at center.

  ?It's almost a magical circle,? Spy continued. Analytical now. Focused. ?Crude. Incomplete. But the structure is there. Purpose unclear. Maybe ceremonial. Maybe something more.?

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  The chanting rose. Ritual language. Ancient words.

  People collapsed. The old. The not-so-old anymore. The weak. The not-so-weak. Being carried away gently. The "return to cycle" they believed in.

  [The poison working. Faster than expected. But they think it's natural. Normal. Sacred.]

  More collapsed. More carried away. Some. Then more.

  Null watched. Clinical. Detached. Just observing consequences.

  She'd been tracking one life signature specifically. The game organizer. The kind man who'd given the Twins extra ribbons. Whose slave had wished him death. Whose wish Null had promised to grant—painfully, personally—if he survived.

  His life force flickered. Weakened. Dropped.

  He collapsed behind his table. Behind his stand. Out of immediate view. Nobody noticed initially.

  Except his slave. The tongueless one. Standing right there.

  The slave looked down. At the collapsed master. Understanding immediately.

  Then—movement. Quick. Desperate. The slave kicked the corpse. Hard. Again. Again. Several times. Years of hate released in seconds. Silent fury. Voiceless rage finally expressed.

  Then stopped. Stepped back. Distance. Professional spacing restored. Expression neutral. Like nothing happened.

  [They're not allowed to touch corpses,] Null observed. [Saw that earlier. Slaves forbidden from handling bodies. Probably some local belief about elixir-taint ruining purity. Contamination through contact.]

  Through the network, Spy's voice came. Still amused despite everything. ?The one you promised to kill? Dropped dead. Your wish is already granted.?

  ?Efficient,? Null replied. Matter-of-fact. ?Makes things easier. Don't have to come back later for personal execution. Promise fulfilled through poison alone.?

  ?You actually would have returned,? Spy observed. Not quite a question. Understanding settling. ?Just for that one slave's wish. Just to make one death special. You were serious about that.?

  ?Yes,? Null confirmed. Simple. Absolute. ?I promised. I respect promises. Even silent ones. Even to slaves who don't know I heard.?

  Spy was quiet. Processing that. Understanding something about her. About how she worked.

  ?That's... actually kind of honorable. In completely twisted way. But honorable.?

  The ceremony continued. The display began—tables of varieties. Samples offered freely.

  And then—

  —it happened.

  The bonfires flared.

  Not normal burning. Not natural flames.

  All six simultaneously. Shooting upward. Two hundred meters. Three hundred. Four hundred.

  Flames that weren't quite flames. Wrong color. Wrong texture. Magic leaking so heavily the air itself seemed to crystallize.

  Temperature dropped despite the inferno.

  Everyone froze. Watching. Terrified. Awed.

  The Twins grabbed Null. Both bodies. Broadcasting pure panic. "DRAGON! BIG SIS! DRAGON! RUN! RUN NOW!"

  Hysteria. Complete. Absolute. They were shaking. Trying to pull her. Trying to flee.

  Null held them. Firm. "Twins. Stop. STOP."

  They wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop. Terror overwhelming everything. Trauma response. Something from their past. Something absolute.

  "DRAGON! HAVE TO RUN! BIG SIS PLEASE!"

  She'd never seen them like this. Never. Not even close.

  The bonfires consumed themselves. Wood. Oil. Everything. Converted to pure magical transit. The hexagon pattern glowing. Active. Working.

  A massive sphere of flame appeared above the valley. Hundred fifty meters up. Maybe two hundred. Condensed fire and magic. Wrong. Too much power.

  It hung there. Pulsing. Growing.

  Then dissipated.

  Something appeared.

  Eastern dragon. Massive. Two hundred meters length. Twenty meters width. Scales like sunset and blood. Ancient beyond measure.

  Power signature: peer level.

  Null's assessment was instant. Automatic. Clinical despite the Twins' hysteria.

  Same class as me. Same class as Twins. Actual threat. Could actually kill us.

  The dragon hung in the air. Majestic. Terrible. Disoriented.

  Near the bonfires—the Keeper and ceremony leaders stood frozen. Staring upward.

  "It worked," the Keeper whispered. Voice shaking. Loud enough to carry. "It actually worked."

  Another elder: "The old legends. The sacred summons. We thought... just stories."

  "The founders said the circle was blessed. In dire need, the dragons would answer. But we never believed—"

  "This is real. The gods are REAL."

  ?They summoned it,? Spy sent. ?Accidentally. Ritual they didn't understand. Ancient magic they activated.?

  The dragon moved.

  Not speaking. Not observing.

  Feeding.

  It reached down with invisible force. Pulling. Ripping.

  Souls tore from bodies. Dozens. The Keeper. The ceremony leaders. Everyone near the bonfires.

  Forty people. Maybe fifty. Their bodies didn't burn. Didn't explode. Just... emptied.

  Souls ripped out cleanly. Bodies collapsing gently. Intact. Undamaged. Just vacant.

  Like puppets with cut strings.

  The wrongness was worse than violence. Bodies perfect. Souls gone. Empty shells.

  The dragon pulled the souls to itself. Hovering fireflies. Glowing essence.

  It inhaled. Tasting. Assessing.

  Then—

  —RECOILED.

  Violent rejection. Like biting poison. The dragon's head snapped back.

  "WHAT—?!"

  It spat the souls out. Forceful. Disgusted. Pure life energy scattered everywhere.

  Some slammed back into bodies. Random. Uncontrolled. Just AWAY FROM ME.

  Five people gasped. Sitting up. Confused. Terrified. Alive again.

  Ten more stirred. Waking. Not understanding.

  Thirty-some remained empty. Dead. Souls lost. The Keeper among them.

  The survivors looked around. At the bodies. At each other. At the dragon.

  Horror. Incomprehension. "What... what happened?"

  The dragon ROARED.

  "ELIXIR-TAINT!"

  The valley shook. Reality bent around pure fury.

  "EVERYWHERE! EVERY SINGLE ONE! CONTAMINATED!"

  "YOU IDIOTS! WORTHLESS INCOMPETENT DESCENDANTS!"

  Thrashing. Not attacking—just rage. Wings causing windstorms. Tail lashing. Power leaking.

  "WE TAUGHT YOUR ANCESTORS! SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS! NO ELIXIRS! IT RUINS THE TASTE!"

  "CENTURIES! GENERATIONS OF CAREFUL CULTIVATION! DESTROYED!"

  The dragon circled. Furious. Disgusted.

  "PURE STOCK! CLEAN FEEDING! THAT WAS THE AGREEMENT!"

  "YOUR FOUNDERS UNDERSTOOD! WE PROTECT, YOU STAY PURE, WE HARVEST OCCASIONALLY!"

  "AND NOW? POISONED! INEDIBLE!"

  Then—worse:

  "AND NOT JUST ANY TAINT! THIS IS MASTER-GRADE! ARCHMAGE-QUALITY CORRUPTION!"

  The dragon's voice carried genuine confusion now. Baffled fury.

  "WHERE DID YOU PRIMITIVE LIVESTOCK EVEN GET SOMETHING THIS POTENT?!"

  "YOU CAN'T AFFORD THIS! THIS COSTS KINGDOMS!"

  "CENTURIES OF WORK! DESTROYED WITH ELIXIRS YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN POSSESS!"

  Null stood very still.

  Processing.

  Understanding slowly.

  [The poison. I added that. Master-grade elixirs from 22's supplies.]

  [This sect—dragon-made. Dragon-maintained. Livestock management spanning generations.]

  [The "no elixirs" belief—not purity. Seasoning. Keeping humans clean-tasting.]

  [The festival drug—dragon recipe for making them palatable.]

  [And I poisoned them. Accidentally. For soda.]

  ?I think we ruined a dragon's farming scheme,? she sent through the network.

  ?You THINK?? Spy's laugh was strained. Horrified amusement. ?Host, this entire culture was dragon-maintained food production. Multi-century operation. And you poisoned it. With archmage-grade elixirs. For Coca-Cola.?

  The Twins were still hysterical. Clinging to her. Broadcasting terror through every channel. "We did bad thing? Very bad thing to DRAGON?"

  Null looked up at the raging dragon. At the valley frozen in terror. At the bodies scattered around the bonfires.

  ?I hope,? she sent, ?that we can actually talk this through.?

  ?Host. You accidentally destroyed a multi-century dragon farming operation. With master-grade poisons you used to save soda supply.? Spy's laugh was strained. ?I'm not sure 'talking it through' is going to work this time.?

  [Emperor POV] (Same time - Imperial Palace)

  The Emperor sat on his private balcony, overlooking the Great City. Tea in one hand. A small folded note in the other.

  He looked better now. Much better.

  Not the desiccated corpse from few years ago. Not the dying ancient clinging to life through desperate measures.

  Young. Vital. Healthy.

  The divine elixir had worked wonders. Just one dose. One small vial made from the power his Head Mage had returned. Power she'd kept safe for seven thousand years. Preserved when he would have wasted it. Saved when the Empire was collapsing.

  He felt alive again. For the first time in millennia.

  The door burst open. A servant—breathless, panicked, running when protocol demanded composure.

  "Your Imperial Majesty! Forgive the intrusion but—"

  "Speak." The Emperor set down his tea. Alert. Concerned. Servants didn't run unless crisis warranted it.

  "True dragon summoning detected! Just now! The monitoring stations picked it up—massive magical signature, dragon-class entity manifesting!"

  The Emperor's mind raced. Dragon summoning. Massive power expenditure. [Dragons are also interested in isekai. Do they know something? Are they coming to snoop around our work?]

  "Where?" His voice tight. Controlled panic.

  The servant handed over paper. Coordinates. Location data. Official report.

  The Emperor scanned it. Read carefully. Understanding settling.

  [Kingdom territory. Not ours. Not related.]

  Relief. Immediate. Substantial.

  He pulled book from his item box. Old records. Intelligence reports on dragon sites across the continent—happily there were only a handful. Centuries of accumulated knowledge.

  Compared coordinates. Cross-referenced. Found match.

  "Sweetwater," he said aloud. Processing. "Dragons' farming site. Our intelligence suggested it was inactive. Abandoned. Clearly not."

  He looked up at the servant. Decision made. "Ignore it. Kingdom problem. Not ours. But raise alert level for our border security. If dragons start moving, we need to be ready."

  "Already done, Your Majesty. Border stations notified. Security increased. Tracking enhanced."

  "And Head Mage? She needs to know. Dragon activity this close to our timeline—"

  "Already alerted, Your Majesty. She acknowledged. Said it's unrelated to current projects. Advised we maintain focus on our own operations."

  The Emperor nodded. Satisfied. "Good. Efficient. Dismissed."

  The servant bowed. Left quickly. Professional despite the panic that had brought him running.

  Alone again, the Emperor looked at the small note in his hand. The one he'd been reading when interrupted.

  Folded paper. Elegant script. His Head Mage's handwriting.

  Imperial Isekai Conference. All questions answered. All plans exposed.

  He smiled slightly. She really knew how to bait his interest. That tone. That phrasing. "All plans exposed" like revealing grand conspiracy. Dramatic. Calculated to make him curious.

  She'd been so busy since arriving. Years of work. Hired every competent mage in the Empire for her projects. Consumed resources like breathing.

  They'd seen each other. Meetings. Status updates. Professional coordination. Brief exchanges about progress and timelines.

  But nothing personal. Nothing like before. No time for old friends catching up. No time to hear about seven thousand years of absence. What she'd done. Where she'd gone. What she'd discovered.

  She'd always had such interesting hobbies. Collected strange stories. Found amusing news from across the world. Shared them with that dry humor only he really appreciated.

  He missed that. More than he'd expected.

  [She's been back for years and we've barely had a real conversation. Too busy. Both of us. Always too busy.]

  The note promised answers. Time. Attention. Finally.

  He looked out over the city. His empire. Reduced but functional. Surviving. Slowly rebuilding.

  And soon—if she succeeded—abundant again. Powerful again. Everything they'd lost, recovered.

  The conference couldn't come fast enough.

  He finished his tea. Returned inside. Work awaited. Empire demanded attention.

  But for the first time in millennia, he felt something besides duty.

  Anticipation. Hope. And underneath it all—genuine happiness at the prospect of finally talking properly with his oldest friend.

  About plans. About the future. About seven thousand years of stories he'd never heard.

  Soon.

  ?? New Upload Schedule:

  Chapter 65', we've switched to 3 chapters/week (Monday / Wednesday / Friday).

  Next chapter: Wednesday!