Outworld Liberators-Chapter 145: Spreading the Name and the Brand

Radeon, however, was keen on those who saw the educated crowd, the supplies, the order, and chose work over wandering.

They joined on the spot, and the ghosts praised them loudly for being smart, for recognizing a lucky day when it arrived.

Watchful people in other surroundings noticed Cairnlight letting strangers enter even though the sleeping fog had been used.

Curiosity turned into envy. Envy turned into questions. More people began to inquire if they too could come in. Those who approached asked with respect. They weren’t blind to the power of Cairnlight, yet they also saw the fairness within the peak.

However, the ghosts could only offer apologies. The refusal was calm. It was also firm.

They had already read what kind of people Radeon was seeking. He was looking for those who wanted to stay on the peak, not part-timers.

Then delegations arrived from other cities, one after another, carrying words and bearing gifts.

They spoke of relations and mutual aid and shared security, all of it polite, all of it obvious.

The reason was simple.

What the Aberrant had done reminded them that even city lords could be prey.

Today it had been one monster with a hungry idea. Tomorrow it could be something bigger, something smarter.

Even a city lord whose home had been half destroyed came, not to complain, but to say thanks.

Calyx’s blows had been cushioned. Even as a nascent soul cultivator, the lord could sense a field around Calyx that made him feel safe near it, and that safety made gratitude easier.

Calyx had not meant to be kind. He had meant to be efficient. The difference did not matter to the living who still had roofs.

The ghosts guarding the door gave them scrolls instead.

No gifts were accepted. No bribes. No private whispers pressed into a palm.

Every delegation received the same answer, delivered with the same stillness.

A black scroll, sealed with a grey band.

It held no obvious power. No pressure. No scent of qi that made the skin prickle.

It was simple enough to seem harmless. It was luxurious enough that no one could pretend it was an afterthought.

City lords and the Five Emperors took the scrolls and their expressions split in a dozen directions.

Some saw Cairnlight Barterhold as a rival with teeth, a business threat dressed up as mercy.

Some were only curious about how they could benefit alongside whatever Eldric had in mind.

Others wanted martial arts, the kind that could keep their people alive the next time a calamity walked.

Curiosity sat under all of it. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

The letter did not just invite visitors. It promised a presentation, something Cairnlight intended to show.

It did not name the thing. It only made the promise and left the rest to imagination, which was always the most faithful salesman.

Even the small settlements received the same paper.

Towns with only a few thousand souls. No barriers. No protection.

Barely more than a cluster of roofs with a well at its center.

When they sent goodwill, a rider returned with the same black scroll and grey band.

No one was offended.

They did not treat Eldric as a regular city lord. He was an old fellow, and many were certain that calling him an ancestor would not be a stretch.

He had transcended the fanfare youth chased and the pride lesser cultivators wore like armor.

As news spread, anticipation of Cairnlight Barterhold’s reopening became a new topic on every peak.

Men left with the scrolls held tight and tongues already working. They looked at the sky and wished a week had already passed.

It did not erase grief from the calamity. It showed light to still to those who wanted to live.

At the bottom of Cairnlight Barterhold, the ghosts had barely finished sorting the wares before another order landed on them.

Weapons looted from the wreckage were dragged into the smelting halls.

Ores and swords with no spirituality, iron and copper, were fed to the furnaces. They went in as blades and came out as clean bars, pure metal stamped into silence.

Anything with special metals was handled differently. Those pieces were stripped down, peeled apart until whatever made them rare was exposed.

The special parts were sorted and sealed away. If possible to be ingots, then they were turned into ingots.

Gold was the priority. Not because it was the rarest, but because it was the easiest leash to place on strangers.

Every coin, bar, and stolen statue was fed to the furnaces. The metal ran bright, then dulled as it mixed.

The purity dropped on purpose. Tons of silver, copper, and zinc were poured in until the gold became a cheap alloy, heavy enough to feel valuable, common enough to spread.

Radeon planned to mint it all. He did not need perfect gold. He needed perfect reach. What he stamped into the new coins was not a crest or a motto.

It was his soul. Not a blatant curse. Not a visible brand. A quiet imprint with innumerable uses.

Anyone who kept his gold would start to look at the coins the way hungry people looked at bread.

That was already a win. It was a prayer to himself for fortune.

And he understood the oldest truth of rulers. If you wanted to be a deity, you did not begin with temples. You began with money.

Radeon passed tasks to his four disciples as well.

They stood shoulder to shoulder with ghosts and sorted herbs by touch and smell, hands stained green, sleeves smeared with mud.

Their clothes were ruined. Their faces were tired. Their eyes were bright anyway. They all knew it was the kind of hard work they could carry for the rest of their lives.

They rotated between the forging kilns and the cauldrons, learning what heat did to metal, what timing did to medicine.

As raw materials were processed, Radeon did not idle.

His living hands moved over paper, scribing designs.

From the small ones, knives and throwing weapons, to popular choices like bows, swords, and spears.

Then the ones for those who wanted heavy hits, hammers, axes, staves, and gauntlets.

On the other side of the hall, his ghost body wrote down pill and potion recipes in a neat, tireless script.

Eldric sat nearby and wrote mobile arrays, circles meant to travel, to be carried, to bite when needed.

Calyx watched all of it with a tightness in his jaw.

He had been assigned as right hand man. That meant he was supposed to speak when something felt wrong. Anxiety made him honest.

"Sire," he said, indicating the ridge where the infection still smouldered. "You wanted that Cairnlight Barterhold must make a name for itself. If it please you, there is no finer hour than this to offer our aid to cure the hybrids, no?"

Radeon shook his head.

Calyx was not naive. He was simply not human enough.

He had lived with ghosts too long, where hunger was abstract and consequences came slow.

His attempt to articulate himself was already good.

So Radeon did not rebuke him. He asked him a question instead.

"You knew what happened when the famine started. Wheat prices spiked." Radeon’s pen didn’t stop moving. "Now picture the disaster at the peak. How much is wheat then?"