My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 27

Chapter : 53

His mind raced, the eighty-year-old former army officer and engineer suddenly awake and buzzing with potential. Saponification. The basic chemical reaction wasn't complicated. Fats or oils + Lye (alkali) -> Soap + Glycerin. Earth science 101.

The key was control. Careful measurement. Using plant-based oils – olive oil, coconut oil (if he could source it), maybe even nut oils – instead of just tallow. Controlling the lye concentration precisely to ensure complete reaction, leaving no harsh, skin-burning alkali behind. Adding natural moisturizers – maybe glycerin itself, a byproduct often removed in crude soap making, or lanolin from sheep's wool. Scenting it delicately with distilled essential oils, not overpowering perfumes. Coloring it with natural pigments. Shaping it elegantly.

Luxury soap. Gentle cleansing bars. Scented, moisturizing, beautifully crafted.

He looked at his reflection in the small, polished mirror above the basin. His eyes were wide, alight with sudden, fierce excitement. This wasn't a complex technological marvel requiring unobtainable resources. This was basic chemistry, applied intelligently.

The potential market… Nobles paid fortunes for imported perfumes from distant lands, for silks, for spices. They valued luxury, refinement, comfort. Would they pay for soap that didn't feel like washing with gravel? Soap that left their skin soft, clean, subtly scented?

Gods, yes, he thought, the possibilities blooming rapidly. They'd pay through the nose. Wealthy merchants, guild masters' wives, anyone with disposable income and sensitive skin… it was a completely untapped market.

Production? Relatively simple. He could start small, maybe even use a corner of the estate kitchens off-hours, acquiring oils, carefully sourcing or preparing the lye (the tricky part, requiring care), experimenting with scents.

Challenges? Guilds, maybe. Existing soap makers (probably operating under some minor craft guild) might object. Sourcing consistent, high-quality oils might be difficult initially. Distribution. Marketing.

But compared to building a fusion reactor or establishing interplanetary trade routes? This felt… achievable. Scalable. Profitable. Fast.

He gripped the edge of the basin, his knuckles white, the initial spark of an idea rapidly solidifying into the framework of a viable business plan. Forget consulting for now. This was tangible. This was product-based. This could generate the gold coins he needed, consistently, maybe even quickly. Enough to max out the daily System Coin conversion. Enough to start funding his real goals.

He splashed more water on his face, not just to refresh, but to ground himself in the sudden surge of adrenaline. Soap. Who knew salvation might come in the form of a well-crafted bar of soap?

He glanced back towards the main room, towards the shadowed bed where Rosa presumably still sat, oblivious to the chemical revolution plotting itself in her husband's mind next to the washbasin.

One Gold Coin a day. Ten System Coins. The bloodline awakening. Upgrades for Fang. Refining his own powers. It all started here. With lye, oil, and a desperate need for capital.

A slow, determined smile spread across Lloyd’s face. Alright, Riverio, he thought, the weariness replaced by focused energy. Prepare to get clean. Whether you like it or not. The soap business was officially open. Mentally, at least. Step one: figure out how to make lye without blowing up the washroom.

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The air in Training Ground Three smelled faintly of packed earth, old sweat, and the subtle metallic tang that often lingered after vigorous Void Power exertion. Unlike the meticulously manicured gardens surrounding the main estate, this area was functional, almost stark. High stone walls, scarred from countless impacts, enclosed a wide, flattened expanse of dirt. A few weathered wooden posts served as practice dummies, bearing the brunt of swords, energy blasts, and probably sheer frustration. It was secluded, practical, and blessedly free of potpourri.

Lloyd Ferrum stood near the center of the grounds, the morning sun warming his back. Beside him, radiating a low-level hum of contained energy that made the air around him feel crisp and electric, sat Fang. The seven days of dedicated feeding, coupled with whatever mysterious System shenanigans or innate potential had been unlocked, had transformed him. Gone was the hesitant, scruffy wolf-thing. In its place was a creature of storm clouds and shadow, sleek muscles rippling beneath a coat the colour of twilight thunder, golden eyes burning with unnerving intelligence. He looked less like a summoned spirit and more like a demigod trying very hard to pretend he was just a wolf.

Standing a respectful distance away, near the scarred perimeter wall, was Ken Park. Immovable. Silent. Dressed in his usual dark, practical livery, his face an impassive mask. He’d followed Lloyd here without a word, accepting the destination as implicitly as he accepted any command from the Ferrum household. He was professionalism given human form, albeit a form likely capable of snapping trees in half.

Chapter : 54

"Alright, Ken," Lloyd called out, breaking the quiet hum of the morning. His voice sounded younger than he felt, a constant source of internal dissonance. "Appreciate you meeting me here."

Ken inclined his head fractionally. "Young Lord. How may I assist?" His voice was the usual flat baritone, betraying nothing.

Lloyd gestured towards Fang, who rose fluidly to his paws, stretching with a predator's liquid grace that hinted at terrifying speed. "My Spirit partner," Lloyd began, choosing his words carefully. "He's undergone some… development. I require an assessment. A practical evaluation of his current capabilities."

He saw Ken’s gaze sweep over Fang. Professional assessment, devoid of surprise or curiosity, though Lloyd couldn't help but wonder what the stoic bodyguard really thought of the wolf's dramatic glow-up. Had Ken noticed the near-overnight transformation? Probably. Did he care why? Unlikely. Duty was Ken's operating system.

"I need a sparring partner for him," Lloyd continued. "Someone strong, controlled. Someone who can provide a genuine challenge without necessarily aiming for incapacitation." He paused, meeting Ken’s steady gaze. "Your Spirit, Ken. Redborn. Would you be willing to summon him for a brief session?"

Okay, here we go, Lloyd thought internally, a flicker of nervous energy mixing with anticipation. Asking the Arch Duke's top bodyguard, a man whose power level is probably several tiers above mine even with my hidden tricks, to use his main Spirit for a glorified dog-and-pony show. He half-expected Ken to politely decline, citing security protocols or the inappropriateness of using a high-level Spirit for such a mundane task.

But Ken Park simply nodded again, the movement economical, precise. "As you command, Young Lord. Redborn can provide adequate resistance for assessment."

No questions. No hesitation. 'Adequate resistance.' Lloyd mentally chuckled. Understatement of the century. He knew Redborn. From fragmented memories of his first life, from whispered rumours among the estate staff, from the sheer weight of Ken’s own power signature. Redborn wasn't just 'adequate'; it was a walking siege engine with a fiery temper.

"Manifestation level only, of course," Lloyd added quickly, just to be safe. "No need for… advanced forms today."

"Understood," Ken confirmed. He took a half-step back, creating more space. His hands remained loosely at his sides, but Lloyd felt the subtle shift in the air around him, the gathering focus, the thrum of Void energy specific to Ken’s lineage mixing with the nascent call to his Spirit Core.

Okay, Fang, Lloyd sent a silent thought towards his partner, feeling the wolf’s heightened awareness respond instantly. Showtime. Let’s see what that hundred-coin bonus skill can really do.

Ken made no grand gestures, uttered no arcane words. He simply closed his eyes for a brief second, and the ground before him seemed to darken, radiating heat. The air shimmered violently, like looking over scorching pavement on a summer day. A low, rumbling sound emanated from the distortion, growing rapidly into a bass snort that vibrated in Lloyd’s bones.

With a final, explosive shimmer, reality seemed to tear, and Redborn solidified into existence.

The creature was immense. Easily twice the size of a normal bull, its body was a powerhouse of corded muscle covered in thick, reddish-brown hide that seemed to absorb the sunlight. Steam puffed from its flared nostrils with every powerful exhalation. Its eyes were intelligent but held a core of primal fury, glowing faintly like embers. And sprouting from its broad forehead were two massive horns, wickedly sharp, dark as obsidian but seeming to pulse with an inner heat. The air around Redborn instantly grew warmer, carrying the faint scent of sulfur and hot metal. This was Ken Park's Spirit partner. A literal force of nature, grounded and brutally powerful, the perfect embodiment of controlled destruction.

Lloyd felt Fang tense beside him, not with fear, but with instinctive, primal challenge. The lightning energy humming around the wolf intensified, crackling faintly, a stark contrast to Redborn's earthy, fiery presence. Air versus Earth. Lightning versus Fire. Speed versus Brute Force.

"Impressive as always, Redborn," Lloyd commented aloud, mostly to fill the sudden, heavy silence.

Ken opened his eyes, his gaze fixed impassively on his spirit. "Redborn is ready, Young Lord."

Lloyd remembered Redborn's abilities from hazy fragments of memory and deduced knowledge. Fireballs launched from its mouth, concentrated beams of heat lancing from those formidable horns. Raw, destructive power. In its Ascension form – which Ken thankfully wouldn't use now – Redborn became a towering, burly, middle-aged man, still horned, capable of wielding fire magic with terrifying proficiency. Manifestation-level Redborn was challenge enough for today.

He focused back on Fang. "Alright, Fang," Lloyd commanded, his voice ringing with newfound confidence. "Engage. Attack pattern alpha!" (He didn't actually have numbered attack patterns, but it sounded suitably commanding, he thought).