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Ultima, the head of the Ultima Trading Company, had earned the nickname “The Merchant of Fortune” for rapidly building a mid-sized company from aggressive investment strategies that many considered suicidal.
Rumors circulated around his sudden rise to prominence—some claimed he was a fallen noble from the Empire, others thought he was the reincarnation of Bluegon, the legendary merchant. But those in the know were aware of the truth: Ultima was from Absinthe, the lawless city.
However, even that was a fabricated identity. In reality, Ultima was from Liqueur, a place from which no one was believed to be able to escape. But the answer to how he had managed to leave Liqueur was in a secret deal with the Godfather of Liqueur. Ultima left Liqueur through some mysterious contract and was pretending to be from Absinthe as he worked as a merchant.
“W-woah, am I still drunk from the drinks I had last night?”
Slap!
Ultima wasn’t someone who lost his cool easily, even staying calm when he dealt with a marquis. But now, he was slapping his own cheek in disbelief.
To Ultima, Keter was a dreadful existence; he never wished to see Keter, even in his nightmares. Yet Keter—a presence more terrifying than the worst of nightmares—was walking straight toward him.
“Number Seventy-Eight. No, you changed your name to Ultima, didn’t you? Why the sour face? Aren’t you happy to see me?”
Number Seventy-Eight was Ultima’s...
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