The Extra's Rise - Chapter 719

719: Digital Gold (1) 719: Digital Gold (1) The morning after our strategic planning session, the primary development lab of Ouroboros felt like the lung of a sleeping giant drawing its first deliberate breath.

Engineers moved with quiet urgency among racks of crystalline hardware; light from the Aetherite cores pulsed a clean, surgical blue, throwing geometric reflections across glass and steel.

Power lines thrummed softly under the floor.

The air smelled faintly of ozone and hot metal-new infrastructure being born.

At the heart of the room, the prototype array waited inside a transparent containment shell: hexagonal plates of Aetherite veined with silver conduits, each facet inscribed with sigils that doubled as circuit and seal.

When the cores synchronized, the sigils shimmered, and the blue deepened toward indigo-the chromatic signature that had become synonymous with our particular brand of revolution.

“Final diagnostics complete,” Dr.

Sarah Chen reported, hands flitting through three layers of holographic displays.

Equations spilled and recomposed around her like living mathematics.

“Aetherite verification is stable.

We’re holding at ninety-nine point seven percent efficiency on the full protocol suite.

Transaction security is, for all operational purposes, absolute, and net processing throughput is up by a factor of ten thousand over current Imperial systems.” Tiny cheers rippled from the nearest workstations before the staff smothered them into professional smiles.

I let myself nod once.

The gesture was small; the implication was not.

Aetherite had finally done what our prior generation of hardware could not: collapse cryptography and consensus into a single physical phenomenon.

The crystalline lattice didn’t just run the algorithms-it embodied them.

Validation, settlement, fraud detection, and proof-of-state emerged as properties of the material under load.

For empire-scale finance, that meant something simple and brutal: bottlenecks we had lived with for a century vanished in an hour.

“What we built here will stop being a product the second it leaves this room,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else.

“It becomes architecture.” ImperialCoin had been a successful currency; this made it a spine.

Every old-world bank and trading house that had built empires on skimming, delaying, and gating payments would discover they were guard posts on a road that no longer existed.

‘This is going to shake the foundations of how business is conducted,’ Luna observed from the back of my mind-eyes of thought narrowing, a familiar tilt of amusement under the analysis.

‘That’s the point,’ I answered.

‘Auristrade controls sixty percent of continental financial infrastructure.

We’re not competing in their lane.

We’re removing the lane.’ Helena Voss, the guild master who had welded Auristrade’s power to traditional finance, would not expect the ground itself to move.

She had spent decades threading her network through institutions-compliance officers, consortium committees, sovereign treasuries-everywhere rules ossified into gatekeeping.

She would prepare for a siege.

She would not prepare for a bypass.

My phone chimed.

A priority seal flashed crimson, then unfolded into a secure call from the Imperial Palace.

Cecilia’s image bloomed over my palm.

“Arthur,” she said, warmth threaded through a tone that could chair a council.

Even in casual clothes she radiated ceremony; her blonde hair was pulled back with minimalist precision, and the cut of her jacket implied authority.

Her crimson eyes assessed me in the way only someone with power and personal familiarity could.

“The session went exactly as planned.

Chancellor Amelia introduced your enhancements as critical infrastructure.

The vote was unanimous.” The tension I hadn’t acknowledged loosened by a degree.

“Then it’s real,” I said.

“Thank you-both of you.” “Amelia enjoyed herself,” Cecilia replied, the corner of her mouth curving.

“Helena Voss will not.

She’s good with private leverage; she’s slower when the ground tilts under public mandate.” “I’m counting on it,” I said.

“We’ll move now.” She inclined her head in farewell.

“Then go write the next chapter of the Empire’s economy.” When the projection faded, I turned to the western-continent link and keyed a secure channel.

The air above the console rippled, resolving into two life-sized figures: Prince Jin Ashbluff and Kali.

The compression artifacting cleared a heartbeat later; both stood with that particular stillness of people waiting to move.

“Status,” I said.

Jin was immaculate, as always-black hair combed into studied ease, black eyes sharp.

“Western networks are staged for integration,” he reported.

“We have memorandum-level commitments from twelve major noble houses to serve as early adopters.

They’re prepared to route payroll, taxes, and vendor contracts through ImperialCoin the moment you go live.

That gives us legitimacy at the household and merchant scales simultaneously.” Beside him, Kali wore field blacks without ornament.

Her dark hair was braided up and away; her gaze measured the room as if she could see past the projection into our lab.

“Security protocols are live,” she said.

“Identity attestation, fraud sinks, and transaction throttles are staged.

We’ve layered countermeasures for predictable Auristrade interference: regulatory complaints, pressure on gateways, and consortium-level coordination.

If they try to lean on western infrastructure, the pressure points will bite back.” Jin shot her a quick look, equal parts respect and familiarity.

“She means the bite will be quiet, immediate, and deniable.” “Try me once, learn forever,” Kali said, deadpan.

A crease softened at the edge of her eyes-amusement, quickly gone.

Their alignment didn’t read as performance.

They’d been meeting early, trading notes late, building a joint language where strategy and security meshed instead of argued.

I had seen more than one elite partnership.

This one hummed.

“Execute western integration,” I said.

“Helena’s model counts on being able to slow-roll or fence us into retail payments.

We’re going to starve that plan of oxygen.” “Understood,” Jin said.

“Make it clean,” Kali added, more to herself than to me.

I pivoted back to the core team.

“Dr.

Chen, initiate global launch sequence.” “Copy,” she said, and touched the command that changed the shape of commerce.

The lab’s lights dimmed almost imperceptibly as the array drew its planned surge.

On screens and in the air, graphs steepened from test curves into live telemetry.

Aetherite sigils flared indigo.

Over the next nine seconds, the first wave of Ouroboros and former Ferraclysm facilities brought their nodes online; thirteen seconds later, the second wave answered; at twenty-one, the continental backbone locked state.

We didn’t announce a product.

We turned on gravity.

Within minutes, microtransactions from pilot partners threaded the network-test payments, payroll pings, vendor reconciliations.

In half an hour, the numbers eclipsed daily volumes for several mid-tier banks.

At the two-hour mark, we crossed what most traditional institutions processed in a week.

Six hours in, transaction volume exceeded what some did in a month.

But velocity was only one vector.

The shockwave came from somewhere else: large corporations began to adopt.

Not because a brochure told them to, but because the calculus had inverted.

Absolute settlement, nanosecond verification, and an Imperial mandate quietly published to every ministry-no CFO was going to explain to a board why they had chosen friction instead.

By design, we had placed three early adopter contracts where optics would carry weight: a shipping consortium with a reputation for moving faster than regulation, a medical supply chain whose entire business hinged on traceable, tamper-proof payments, and a northern mining syndicate tired of banker gods.

Their logos hit the network, and a dozen more followed.

When risk officers looked for reasons to say no, they kept finding Chancellor Amelia’s signature.

When they looked for reasons to say yes, they found everything else.

Six hours into the launch, Helena Voss called.

Her hologram resolved with the crispness of money well spent: silver hair cut to a blade, steel-gray eyes that had logged decades of war and profit, a suit whose minimal lines said she had no interest in being decorative.

She did not posture.

She didn’t need to.

“Arthur Nightingale,” she said, Imperial court cadence wrapped around a voice that could fix a market with a syllable.

“Your… enhancement to Imperial cryptocurrency is impressive.” “Guild Master Voss,” I replied.

“I’m honored Auristrade noticed.” A smile edged across her face-pleasant to the point of cruelty.

“I notice when someone tries to erase entire classes of financial intermediaries.

Aetherite-backed verification.

Quantum encryption.

Theoretical speed limits demolished.

Very impressive, for someone so young.” “The Empire seemed to agree.” “The unanimous vote,” she said, and let the temperature of the room drop by a degree.

“Quite the triumph of politics.

But you’ve made a category error, Mr.

Nightingale.

Finance is not a ledger and a lock.

It is services-complex, regulated, institutional.

Loans.

Credit risk.

Cross-border settlement.

Compliance frameworks.

You’ve built beautiful rails.

I own the trains.” She lifted a hand, and a cascade of her own data unfurled-committees, calls, signatures.

“In the past six hours, I have spoken with eight banking consortiums, twelve major corporations, and four allied guilds.

They all share concerns about institutional oversight for large transactions.” The smile returned, smaller, sharper.

“By tomorrow, multiple bodies will recommend that major payments continue under traditional banking supervision.

Your system will remain excellent for personal transfers and novelty use.

Serious commerce will flow where grown-ups keep it honest.” It was a good move, and exactly the one I’d sketched on a whiteboard three months ago.

She would not attack the math; she would isolate the math with policy-ostensibly “prudence,” practically a moat only her institutions could cross.

It would not matter that our security outclassed theirs; if she framed the question as oversight, she could enforce a pause that funneled value back through her hands.

“An impressive demonstration of Auristrade’s reach,” I said, and this time I let a trace of concern touch the words.

“It’s clearer now how you’ve held your position for so long.” Her eyes softened by a fraction-the way a hawk’s might when a mouse stopped running.

“Perhaps we can discuss partnership terms,” she offered, generosity like a knife in velvet.

“Actually,” I said gently, “I’m impressed by your ability to coordinate such a response in six hours.

It must have cost you significant political capital.” Her smile thinned as she looked for the shadow behind the compliment.

“The thing about government authority,” I went on, “is that it isn’t ambient.

It flows through channels.” I gestured, and my own documents replaced hers.

“For example: Chancellor Amelia’s directive establishing the enhanced Imperial cryptocurrency as the preferred standard for all government transactions.

Or this-” I brought up a second seal, scarlet and gold- “Crown Princess Cecilia’s formal notice that the Imperial Treasury is transitioning to direct cryptocurrency systems for procurement, salaries, and inter-ministry transfers.” Color drained from her face in a degree only a lifetime of control made noticeable.

She understood exactly what I was saying because she had taught half the continent to say it.

Oversight wasn’t a moat if the Empire itself moved onto our rails.

The recommendation letters she was about to sponsor would die in committee under the weight of policy that had already sprinted forward.

“You see,” I said softly, “while you were leveraging private relationships, we were writing public rules.

You can ask your consortiums whether they prefer to work against the Empire’s payment standard or with it.

I predict they’re not keen to take the wrong side of payroll.” Helena’s expression didn’t crack.

She had not built a guild of that size by folding at the first reversal.

She would regroup, attack on a new axis.

So I closed the door she would most likely try next.

“And just to ensure clarity about your position,” I said, and slid one last pane of data into view.

She didn’t look at the numbers.

She looked at my eyes.

Professionals first recognize that they’re about to see something they shouldn’t.

“Three days ago,” I said, “you placed a fifty-million-credit position against Auristrade’s own stock-structured as a hedge, yes, and legally clean, but perfectly timed to profit from short-term volatility caused by precisely the policy outcomes you just attempted to engineer.” For a fraction of a second, her mask fractured-enough that I saw the truth she would never confess: she always carried two plans.

One where she won outright.

One where she harvested the loss.

The projection cut.

Luna’s presence brushed my thoughts again, lighter this time.

‘Opening move?’ ‘Opening move,’ I agreed.