My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 112

Chapter: 223

He looked at Lloyd, his eyes holding a new, almost daunting, level of seriousness. “You impressed him, Lloyd. More than you know. Not just with the soap, but with your mind. Your confidence. Your unexpected capabilities. He sees in you not just an innovator, but a potential future power player on the continental stage. A future ally, perhaps. Or a future rival to be managed. His investment… it is a way of getting a seat at your table, early. Of ensuring he has your ear, your goodwill, as you grow into your power.”

He offered a final, grim smile. “Welcome to the Great Game, son. You are no longer just a boy making soap in a smokehouse. You are now a piece on the board. A very interesting, very valuable, and very, very visible piece. And the King of Bethelham has just made his opening move.”

The full weight of his new reality, the vast, dangerous, exhilarating game he had just been thrust into, settled onto Lloyd’s shoulders. This was about so much more than just soap. It was about power, politics, kingdoms. And he was, whether he was ready or not, right in the heart of it.

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The weight of his father’s revelation settled around Lloyd like a shroud woven from silk and steel. The Great Game. He wasn’t just a piece on the board; he was suddenly a very valuable, very visible piece, one that had attracted the direct, personal attention of a king. The soap empire, his brilliant, almost comically mundane path to power and System Coins, had inadvertently become a tool of international diplomacy, a fragrant pretext for geopolitical maneuvering. The thought was both exhilarating and deeply, profoundly, terrifying.

He left his father’s study in a daze, his mind reeling with the implications. The fifteen thousand Gold Coins, the future manufactory, the royal endorsement… it was all happening, faster, bigger, more complicated than he could have ever imagined. He felt a headache beginning to form behind his eyes, a familiar thrum of stress that had nothing to do with awakening ancient bloodline powers and everything to do with the sudden, crushing weight of royal expectations.

He was just making his way back towards his own wing of the estate, his thoughts a chaotic jumble of lye concentrations, diplomatic protocols, and the lingering, unnerving image of Ken Park single-handedly committing mythological deicide, when his father’s voice, sharp and commanding, echoed down the corridor behind him.

“Lloyd! A moment more.”

Lloyd froze, sighing internally. What now? Had the King decided he also wanted a line of Ferrum Family Finest Medicated Foot Powder? A royal decree demanding a lavender-scented variant for the Queen’s corgis? He turned, schooling his features into an expression of polite, attentive curiosity.

Arch Duke Roy Ferrum strode towards him, his expression the usual unreadable granite, but his movements held a certain… purpose. He stopped before Lloyd, his gaze sweeping over his son, taking in the slightly dishevelled tunic from the tournament, the lingering exhaustion around his eyes, the new, almost unnerving, confidence in his stance.

For a long moment, Roy said nothing. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken thoughts. Lloyd waited, bracing himself for another lecture, another warning, another set of daunting expectations.

Then, Roy did something truly, profoundly, shocking. He reached into a heavy leather purse that hung at his belt – the ducal privy purse, Lloyd recognized, the one that held funds for personal, discretionary spending, separate from the formal treasury – and withdrew a small, but unmistakably heavy, cloth bag. It clinked with the solid, satisfying sound of a great many gold coins.

He held the bag out to Lloyd.

Lloyd stared at it, then at his father, his mind a complete blank. “Father…?” he began, utterly bewildered.

“Take it,” Roy commanded, his voice gruff, almost dismissive, as if embarrassed by the gesture. He pressed the heavy bag into Lloyd’s unresisting hand.

“But… the ten thousand…” Lloyd stammered. “The Bursar… the deed… you said by sunset…”

“This is not part of the investment, Lloyd,” Roy cut in sharply, his gaze flicking away for a fraction of a second, as if uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “This is… separate. Personal.” He cleared his throat, a rough, awkward sound. “The tournament. Yesterday.”

He finally met Lloyd’s gaze again, and for the first time, Lloyd saw not the Arch Duke, not the strategist, not the stern patriarch, but just… his father. And in his father’s eyes was a flicker of something raw, something genuine, something so rarely seen it was almost a mythical creature in itself: unabashed, fierce, paternal pride.

Chapter: 224

“You fought well, Lloyd,” Roy said, the words seemingly costing him a great deal of effort, yet delivered with a profound, undeniable sincerity. “You faced down your cousins, your sister… you faced down Rayan. You demonstrated not just unexpected power, but courage. Cunning. You did not break. You did not yield.” He paused, his gaze hardening slightly. “You silenced the doubters, Lloyd. The whispers about your… inadequacies. Your victory solidified your position as heir in a way no decree from me ever could. You earned their respect. Not through birthright, but through demonstrated strength.”

He gestured towards the heavy purse in Lloyd’s hand. “The victor of the Summit tournament is traditionally awarded a prize from the Patriarch’s own coffers. A recognition of their prowess. A reward for bringing honor to their line.” His voice became gruff again, the moment of overt emotion passing, replaced by a more familiar, almost business-like tone. “Consider this your prize. Two thousand Gold Coins. Use it as you see fit. For your personal expenses. For further… ‘unorthodox’… experimentation. I do not care. It is yours. Earned. No strings attached.”

Two thousand Gold Coins. Personal capital. Not tied to the soap venture, not part of the Ducal investment. His. A reward. For winning. Lloyd felt a wave of emotion so potent it almost made him dizzy. It wasn't just the money, though the sum was staggering, a fortune that would have been unimaginable to his first-life, allowance-starved self. It was the acknowledgment. The praise. The simple, unadorned statement: You fought well. From his father. It was worth more than all the gold in the Ducal treasury.

“Father… I…” Lloyd began, his throat suddenly tight, unsure what to say.

“Do not say anything,” Roy cut him off, his discomfort with the emotional display palpable. He had said his piece. The moment was over. The Arch Duke mask was firmly back in place. “Simply… do not make me regret my confidence in you. Or this investment.” He clapped a heavy, slightly awkward hand on Lloyd’s shoulder – a rare, almost shocking gesture of physical contact. The pressure was firm, grounding. “Now go. See to your studies. And for the love of the ancestors, Lloyd… try to stay out of any more cursed forests for at least a week. My nerves, and the Ducal Guard’s overtime budget, can only take so much.”

With a final, sharp nod, Roy Ferrum turned and strode down the corridor, leaving Lloyd standing there, the heavy weight of two thousand Gold Coins in his hand and a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest.

He looked down at the purse, the reality of it finally sinking in. Two thousand Gold. He could convert a hundred Gold Coins into a thousand System Coins right now, if he wished, though the daily limit still applied. The thought was intoxicating. But no. The investor, the eighty-year-old pragmatist, asserted itself. The daily conversion was for long-term growth. This… this was different. This was operational capital. Seed money for the truly interesting things.

He thought of the System shop. The options he hadn't yet been able to afford. Spirit upgrades. Void power rank-ups. That fifty-coin skill tree for his Black Ring Eyes. With his current balance of 313 SC, plus the potential income from this new personal fund, his options had just expanded exponentially.

The path ahead was still fraught with danger – the Altamiras, the lingering threat from Rubel, the enigma of Ben Ferrum, the general chaos that seemed to be his constant companion. But for the first time, he felt… truly equipped. Not just with hidden powers and secret knowledge, but with resources. Real, tangible, spendable resources.

He hefted the purse of gold, a slow, determined smile spreading across his face. Okay, he thought. Let’s go see what’s for sale in that cosmic superpower nightclub. The bouncer can’t possibly turn me away now. I’ve got cash. And I’m feeling… lucky. The soap empire could wait a day. Today was for a different kind of investment. An investment in power.

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The morning after the Summit felt like waking from a fever dream into a world subtly, yet irrevocably, altered. The Grand Hall, now cleared of its festive banners and simmering tensions, was just a vast, echoing space. But the decisions made within its walls resonated with the force of an earthquake, and Lloyd Ferrum was standing directly at its epicenter. The ten thousand Gold Coins from his father and the five thousand from a king weren’t just numbers in a ledger; they were a crushing weight of expectation, a tangible measure of the trust and ambition now placed squarely on his shoulders.