Void Lord: My Revenge Is My Harem

Chapter 242 : Opening Shop and Increasing Harem Members XIX

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John reached into his bag, carefully, and set the firearm on the desk wrapped in cloth. He unrolled it slowly.

The gun lay there with quiet menace, runes etched into its structure with deliberate precision. It looked clean. Efficient. Dangerous in a way that does not need to shout.

Snake stared.

For a long moment, the headmaster did not speak at all.

Then he exhaled through his beard, slow. "What is this?"

"A mana tool," John said. "It fires condensed mana. It can be used by any mage who can supply mana input."

Snake’s gaze sharpened. "How did you make it?"

John met his eyes and lied with a straight spine. "Luck. A special material. A set amount."

Snake’s eyebrows rose slightly. "You are telling me you can only make a hundred."

"Yes," John said. "I found... enough material for a hundred. Only a hundred. After that, no more until I find more."

Snake’s fingers hovered over the runes but did not touch them yet. "And the output."

John kept his voice controlled. "It fires three bullets per weapon. Then it requires recharging and a new core. The power is circle three level. Meant as a collectible piece for the rich. Something rare."

Fizz coughed dramatically. "It is also excellent for scaring people who deserve to be scared."

John shot him a look.

Fizz put on the face of innocence and failed.

Snake’s mouth twitched. It might have been amusement. It might have been the thought of disasters.

"A limited run is wise," Snake said finally. "If you flood the city, the price drops. Worse, criminals will use them. They will rob caravans and call it innovation."

John nodded. "That is why I want an auction. Controlled. Buyers screened. And the academy’s name... quietly behind it."

Snake leaned back. "You want my shadow, not my face."

"Yes," John admitted. "Your protection, not your publicity."

Snake studied him with the steady gaze of a man who had seen many talented students fail because they loved money more than growth.

"Your focus should be your studies," Snake said.

John did not flinch. "I will not neglect them."

Snake tapped the desk once. "I have high hopes for you."

Fizz clapped both paws together and announced, "I also have high hopes for him. Mostly because I live in his life."

Snake ignored that with practiced skill.

"Listen carefully," Snake said. "I will help. But you will not create more after the hundred. Not for now."

John nodded slowly. "Agreed."

"Until you are at least Circle Six," Snake continued. "Until you graduate. Until your strength matches your danger."

Fizz whispered to John, "Circle Six means you can buy me a palace."

John whispered back, "Circle Six means you can stop talking for one full minute."

Fizz looked pained. "That is impossible."

Snake’s gaze flicked to them, and the air chilled just enough to remind them he was not only a teacher. He was a man with teeth behind his smile.

"I will handle the paperwork," Snake said. "This must be registered through the royal artifact office. Without registration, it cannot be sold legally. If you try, you will not only be punished. You will be hunted."

John’s jaw tightened. "Understood."

Snake slid the cloth over the gun again. "Leave it with me."

John hesitated. Not because he distrusted Snake. Because the weapon in the wrong hands could make a mess of his life.

Snake’s eyes hardened slightly. "Do you trust me, boy."

John bowed. "Yes. I do."

Fizz nodded solemnly. "I trust him. Mostly. 50 percent."

Snake did not respond to the number.

"Go to your classes," Snake said. "I will call you when it is done."

John nodded again, turned, and left the office with Fizz hovering behind him like a bright, smug comet.

As the door closed, Snake’s gaze lingered on the wrapped weapon.

His office became quieter. The shadows in the corners seemed to lean closer.

He spoke without raising his voice. "This boy always surprises me."

A soft presence shifted in the darker half of the room, and a woman’s voice answered from the edge of light. Calm. Old. Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful from a distance.

"If he focuses on business," the spirit said, "what happens to your dream. Time is not waiting."

Snake’s fingers tightened around his pipe. He did not look at the spirit, but his tone carried weight. "I know."

The spirit’s voice softened, almost cruel with honesty. "He needs to grow stronger soon. The coming tide does not care about shops."

Snake’s eyes narrowed. "Let him build his foundation. Let him taste success. It will anchor him."

The spirit’s laugh was quiet, like silk dragged across stone. "Or distract him."

Snake’s voice went colder. "When he is done stabilizing this business, I will take him there personally."

"To where," she asked, though she already knew.

Snake’s gaze turned inward, as if he could see a map written in bones. "The Beast Domain. The Forest of Death."

The spirit’s presence hummed, pleased and wary at once. "Good. You cannot coddle him forever."

Snake exhaled slowly. "I am not coddling. I am sharpening."

The spirit whispered, "Then sharpen quickly. The time is coming."

Snake turned his attention back to the wrapped gun like it was a prophecy disguised as metal.

Outside, the academy moved on, ignorant and loud. John and Fizz went to the classroom.

(The story shifted away from the headmaster’s tower and returned to the capital, to a quiet shop that was trying very hard to look ordinary.)

Gael stood behind the counter with the face of a man who had measured a hundred things and trusted none of them until he tested them twice. Kel leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching the street through the window like a bored guard dog. Orna rolled her sleeves up and began arranging blades on display stands with the pride of a woman laying out her arguments.

Edda stood at the cashier spot, posture straight, eyes alert, expression neutral enough to be safe.

Neutral was not natural to her. Neutral was something she wore like a mask that itched.

She had made flyers. Not pretty ones. Effective ones.