Chapter : 343

The whisper became a roar. The connection was made. This wasn't just a random piece of art; this was a public declaration. A testament to the power of the legendary, almost unobtainable, AURA. The painting was no longer just a beautiful image; it was a symbol of the city’s greatest, most exclusive obsession. It was proof.

The story of the mysterious, overnight appearance of the ‘AURA painting’ spread through the city even faster than the initial rumors of the soap itself. It became the single biggest topic of gossip and speculation. People made special trips to the market square just to stand and stare at it, to marvel at its artistry, to whisper about its meaning.

It became a social divider. Those who owned AURA would stand before it with a knowing, proprietary smile, explaining its significance to their less-fortunate companions. Those who were on the waiting list would look at it with a kind of desperate, hopeful longing. And those who had no hope of ever acquiring it… they simply stared, a new, powerful seed of aspiration planted deep within their hearts.

Lloyd and Mei Jing watched the phenomenon unfold from a discreet vantage point on a second-story balcony overlooking the square.

“It’s working,” Mei Jing breathed, her dark eyes shining, her usual professional composure forgotten in the face of their overwhelming success. “They are not just looking at it, my lord. They are… absorbing it. It’s becoming a part of the city’s consciousness.”

The public canvas had been claimed. The story had been told. And the revolution, fueled by art, by desire, and by the undeniable promise of a better, cleaner, more beautiful life, was just beginning.

The single, magnificent painting in the central market square was not just an advertisement; it was a declaration of war on the old way of doing things. It was a shot across the bow of every harsh lye block, every crude washing-tub, every accepted notion of mundane, uncomfortable cleanliness. But a single shot, no matter how powerful, does not win a war. Lloyd and Mei Jing knew they needed more. They needed an army. An army of art.

The next phase of their audacious marketing campaign was rolled out with the swift, precise efficiency of a well-oiled military operation. The partnership deeds that the terrified, and now deeply grateful, Bathhouse and Washerman’s Guild owners had signed were not just commercial contracts; they were instruments of enlistment.

Clause 4, subsection B: “The Partner agrees to prominently and respectfully display all official AURA promotional materials as provided by House Ferrum within their establishment, in a location deemed suitable for maximum client visibility.”

At the time of signing, the clause had seemed innocuous, a minor, almost trivial, condition. Now, its true, brilliant purpose was revealed.

One by one, the eight former conspirators, now the charter members of the AURA Distribution Network, were summoned to the manufactory. They arrived, not with the arrogance of guild masters, but with the humble, almost fearful, deference of men who had stared into the abyss of their own ruin and been granted an unexpected, almost miraculous, reprieve.

They were met not by Lloyd, but by Tisha, whose bright, disarming smile and unshakable calm had become the official, welcoming face of the AURA enterprise. She greeted them not as former criminals, but as valued partners.

“Master Marcus! A pleasure to see you again! I trust your new shipment of elixir is proving popular?”

“Master Theron! Welcome! I have the latest production schedule for the Radiance laundry powder prototypes you requested. The results are… promising.”

She led them into a newly prepared reception area, a space of clean lines, polished wood, and comfortable chairs, where they were served chilled nectar and honey-cakes. The message was clear: you are no longer supplicants at the gate; you are insiders, partners in this exciting new venture. Their loyalty, already secured by trust and the promise of profit, deepened into a fierce, almost zealous, devotion.

Then, Mei Jing would enter, her expression one of crisp, professional purpose. And she would present them with their ‘promotional materials’.

They were smaller versions of the massive art board from the square, but no less impressive. Beautifully crafted replicas of Faria’s painting, set in sturdy, dark ironwood frames, their surfaces protected by a thin, clear layer of alchemical varnish that made them resistant to the steam of a bathhouse or the dampness of a laundry.

“As per our agreement, gentlemen,” Mei Jing would state, her voice leaving no room for negotiation, “this is to be displayed in your primary place of business. In the main bathing hall, Master Marcus. In the central receiving area of your guild hall, Master Theron. A place where every client, every member, cannot fail to see it.”

Chapter : 344

The merchants, far from seeing it as a burden, were ecstatic. To have a copy of the most talked-about work of art in the entire city, a symbol of their new, exclusive partnership with the powerful and impossibly popular AURA brand… it was a mark of immense prestige. It was a way for them to publicly, proudly, announce their inclusion in this new economic order.

Suddenly, the AURA girl, as she was now being called in the city’s streets, was everywhere.

Her image appeared in the steamy, marble-tiled halls of the city’s most exclusive bathhouses, her serene, radiant smile a silent promise to the wealthy merchants and off-duty city guards who soaked in the hot pools. She was there in the bustling, linen-scented headquarters of the Washerman’s Guilds, her glowing skin a stark, damning contrast to the red, chapped hands of the laundry maids who scurried past.

The network of distributors had become an unwitting army of advertisers, each one a strategic outpost in the campaign to conquer the city’s consciousness. They were spreading the visual gospel of AURA to every corner of the capital, from the most opulent noble districts to the most hard-working artisan quarters.

The effect on sales was exponential. The demand, already a frenzy, became a tidal wave. The waiting lists grew longer. The gold poured in. And Lloyd’s System Coin balance, the true, secret measure of his success, ticked ever upwards.

It was during this period of explosive, almost chaotic, growth that the System, in its own, inscrutable way, offered its own verdict on his marketing strategy. He was in his study late one night, reviewing the staggering sales figures Mei Jing had prepared, a sense of profound, almost disbelieving, satisfaction settling over him, when the familiar, smug chime echoed in his mind.

[System Notification: Strategic Initiative Assessed - 'AURA Visual Persuasion Campaign']

[Analysis: User has successfully implemented a multi-layered, psychologically sophisticated marketing strategy. The creation of a central, high-visibility art piece ('Public Canvas') successfully established brand mythology and public intrigue. The subsequent deployment of replicated art through a contractually obligated distribution network ('Army of Art') has achieved near-total market saturation of the brand’s core visual message. This is noted as a highly effective, if unorthodox, application of partnership leverage for marketing purposes.]

[Conclusion: The target populace has been successfully, and comprehensively, persuaded. Desire has been weaponized. Well played, Major General. Well played.]

[Bonus Reward Issued: 100 System Coins (SC)]

[Current System Coins: 1590 (Previous) + 100 (Reward) = 1690 SC]

Lloyd stared at the notification, a slow, wolfish grin spreading across his face. A hundred coins. For a marketing campaign. The System wasn’t just rewarding him for fighting monsters or completing quests anymore. It was rewarding him for being a brilliant, ruthless, capitalist. This changed everything. The Great Game wasn't just about swords and sorcery; it was about supply chains and brand identity. And in that game, Major General KM Evan, the man from a world of global corporations and billion-dollar advertising budgets, had an advantage that was perhaps even more potent than his Steel Blood or his Black Ring Eyes.

He looked out the window at the sleeping city, at the thousands of homes where people were now dreaming of silken lathers and fragrant refinement. He had sold them a story. A beautiful, compelling, and incredibly profitable, story. And the System, it seemed, was a very big fan of a good story.

---

A few days later, a fragile, almost hesitant, peace had settled over Lloyd’s chaotic life. The AURA marketing campaign was a self-perpetuating engine of desire, managed with ruthless efficiency by Mei Jing and Tisha. The factory, under the steady hand of Jasmin and the watchful eyes of the alchemists, was a model of productive harmony. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Lloyd found himself with a moment to simply… breathe.

He sought the familiar, quiet solace of the estate gardens, needing to escape the lingering scent of rosemary and the endless, exciting chatter about profit margins and distribution logistics. He walked the gravel paths, the late afternoon sun warm on his face, Fang Fairy (in her less conspicuous wolf form) a silent, contented shadow at his heels. His mind, for once, was not churning with strategic calculations or existential dread. It was… quiet.

He was passing a secluded section of the rose garden, a place his mother favored, when he saw her.

Rosa.

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