There was not enough money to support Duke's insatiable, ever-growing study of magic. This, he knew, was the biggest, most irritating shackle restricting Duke's meteoric growth, a financial leash holding back his true arcane potential. But what if this shackle, this petty, mundane constraint, was not merely loosened, but utterly removed? What if he had so much gold he could literally swim in it?
Duke could definitely become an immeasurable, terrifying new force in Stormwind! A force that would make archmages weep with envy and kings nervously check their treasury vaults.
His noble wizard status already allowed him to be gloriously independent from the grasping, petty aristocratic forces, a magical free agent. And his very status as a wizard meant that he simply could not devote too much of his precious, arcane-fueled time to the mundane, soul-crushing drudgery of business activities. He had spells to learn, monsters to flay, and perhaps, eventually, a world to conquer.
So Elizabeth Jones's sudden visit, in addition to merely discussing cooperation, also carried a deeper, more intriguing meaning. Otherwise, she, the "only" jewelry processing supplier in Stormwind, wouldn't have bothered to personally trek all the way to this tiny, desolate, murloc-infested island in the middle of nowhere. She was clearly sniffing out something big.
"Hello, Jones!" Duke replied, his voice a carefully modulated blend of gentle politeness and subtle, underlying power, neither too enthusiastic (which would make him seem desperate) nor too distant (which would make him seem rude, and he was, after all, a gentleman). He was a master of the polite power play.
Elizabeth Jones, an elegant lady in her thirties, had likely assumed, upon hearing Duke's tender age, that he would be a naïve, easily manipulated youth, ripe for the picking. She probably envisioned a charming, yet ultimately pliable, conversation. She was wrong. Terribly, hilariously wrong, right from the very first syllable.
Duke was obviously not the kind of fresh-faced young man who had never seen the world, who would be confused by a few well-placed compliments, or swayed by a dazzling smile. He'd seen things. He'd done things. He'd flayed things.
So Elizabeth, being the shrewd businesswoman she was, quickly recalibrated. She decided, with a mental shrug, to treat Duke as an equal, and a soon-to-be, incredibly lucrative, business partner.
She asked Duke in a very ladylike, very gentle voice, imbued with a hint of professional curiosity: "Can I know the quality and quantity of your pearls, and, if you don't mind my asking, the rather fascinating method by which you obtain them? Do you have a secret murloc farm?"
Duke, with a theatrical flourish, snapped his fingers. And then, with a dramatic splash that sent saltwater spraying across the beach, two figures erupted from the waves. The sudden, rather startling appearance of the fishmen startled Jones so profoundly she let out a tiny, ladylike squeak. Duke's newly hired sailors, already on edge from the general weirdness of their employer, practically jumped out of their boots, their hands instinctively reaching for their rusty cutlasses. They were almost ready to fight, convinced they were about to be dragged into the depths by slimy, gurgling horrors.
Because the ones coming were, indeed, murlocs! And not just any murlocs.
With their vibrant, oddly iridescent fish-shaped bodies and surprisingly strong, surprisingly agile limbs, the two fishmen held aloft a huge, impossibly pristine shell, carrying it with an almost majestic reverence. They waddled, with a strange, undulating gait, directly in front of Duke and Jones, utterly oblivious to the wide-eyed stares of the terrified sailors. They carefully, almost tenderly, put down the colossal shell, and then, with a synchronized plop, knelt down before Duke, their beady eyes fixed on him with utter devotion.
Duke, ever the showman, made a strange, gurgling sound, a perfect imitation of "Ohlagaoh" from his mouth. Then, with a joyful, almost comical enthusiasm, the two fishmen ran back into the sea with strange, happy steps, probably to tell their friends about the amazing human who spoke their language.
Two hands, shimmering with ethereal arcane light, appeared from nowhere, hovering over the shell, frightening Jones and the sailors again. Jones let out another tiny squeak, while the sailors collectively swallowed their tongues.
Duke chuckled, a low, satisfied rumble in his chest, and let the wizard's hand gracefully, almost delicately, open the colossal shell.
In the morning light, the dazzling array of pearls contained within this single shell, a shell large enough to comfortably fit a five-year-old child or perhaps a very plump piglet, almost literally dazzled Elizabeth Jones's eyes. They widened to the size of dinner plates, reflecting the shimmering bounty before her.
In her mind's eye, it seemed as if countless beautiful, dazzling, and incredibly profitable new pearl jewelry designs were instantly appearing, shimmering into existence, each one screaming "buy me!"
Only the sailors, still recovering from the murloc shock, managed to utter whispered exclamations, their voices filled with a mixture of awe and profound, existential confusion.
"Oh my god! Our employer, Sir Edmund, actually subdued the murlocs!?" one whispered, as if witnessing a miracle.
"Those rude and evil fishmen who hunt nearby humans?! The ones who steal our farm stock?!" another gasped, utterly bewildered.
Duke, sensing their burgeoning awe (and perhaps a touch of fear), raised his hand. The sailors' whispered discussions, along with their frantic, internal debates about the sanity of their new employer, suddenly ceased, as if a magical mute button had been pressed.
"Ms. Jones," Duke began, his voice calm and authoritative, "the situation is, as you can plainly see, rather unique. Because I took the time to master the rather charming language of the murlocs, I have, through some... persuasive means, controlled three murloc tribes on the northern coast of the Westfall. They will continuously collect pearls, corals, tortoise shells, and other valuable marine specialties for me. Think of them as very enthusiastic, very gurgling, underwater laborers."
Duke turned around and smiled at the sailors, a knowing, slightly mischievous glint in his eyes. "Similarly, ships with my wizard mark hanging prominently on the bow are absolutely, unequivocally safe in the waters between Stormwind Port and here. Not only will the murlocs not attack you, but on the contrary, they will protect you from attacks by other, less friendly marine creatures. Consider them your personal, scaly bodyguards. Of course, going out to sea is always risky, and even my murlocs cannot resist truly powerful marine creatures that are far beyond their combat capabilities. So, no trying to provoke a leviathan, alright?"
For a glorious moment, both Jones and the sailors were filled with an almost overwhelming, unadulterated joy! Jones saw endless profit, and the sailors saw a future where they didn't have to constantly worry about being eaten by something with too many teeth.
Jones, her hands trembling slightly with excitement, picked up pearls one by one, examining them again and again, as if reluctant to part with them, caressing them like precious jewels (which, to her, they absolutely were). Then she smiled, a wide, dazzling smile that could probably melt glaciers, and said, "Well, Sir Edmund, this is simply magnificent! Shall we go back to Stormwind City and discuss this in detail? Perhaps over a very expensive bottle of wine?"
"Very good," Duke replied, a satisfied smirk on his face. He knew he had her hooked.
It usually took a whole, arduous week to travel by land from Stormwind City, heading south to Goldshire, then west through the perpetually gloomy Westspring Fortress into the Western Wilderness, and finally reaching the desolate Northern Beaches. It was a journey fraught with peril, bandits, and the distinct possibility of stepping in something unpleasant.
Taking the sea route, however, was ridiculously simple. Starting from Stormwind Port and following the southwest coastline, it only took a mere day to reach the destination. A leisurely cruise, practically.
The waiting was, as always, boring. In fact, in the small, slightly cramped cabin on the ship, Duke had basically hammered out a comprehensive cooperation agreement with Elizabeth. He was a wizard, not a procrastinator.
This was a ten-year contract, a decade of guaranteed, glittering wealth.
From now on, Duke would guarantee to supply no less than one thousand pearls to Elizabeth Jones's burgeoning jewelry store every single year. As the raw material supplier, Duke would majestically receive 40% of the final selling price of the finished pearl jewelry, a percentage that would be mutually agreed upon by both parties when Duke delivered the goods. No haggling, no fuss.
When delivering goods, Duke, ever the pragmatist, always delivered the goods with one hand and collected the money with the other. A perfectly balanced, perfectly efficient transaction.
After Duke delivered the first, dazzling batch of pearls, Elizabeth needed to pay Duke an additional 10,000 gold coins. This wasn't for the pearls themselves, but as a generous signing fee for obtaining the exclusive, highly coveted sales rights for Duke's magnificent pearl route. It was a small price to pay for a literal goldmine.
In the cabin, Elizabeth's impeccably dressed servant handed over fine wine, its ruby liquid shimmering in the lamplight, a symbolic gesture of their happy, incredibly lucrative cooperation. Duke and Elizabeth clinked their glasses gently, the soft chime echoing the pleasant jingle of future gold coins, a silent toast to their shared prosperity.
"Honestly, Mr. Edmund," Elizabeth began, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of admiration and a hint of professional regret, "I have to remind you that I will earn significantly more than you think through this kind of cooperation. If you were willing to accept post-sale settlement, which is settled every quarter, you could at least get twice as much wealth as you have now. I'm practically robbing you blind, but I can't help myself!"
Duke gently swirled the wine in the tall glass, allowing the complex aroma of the alcohol to escape, and sniffed it gently, a connoisseur of both fine spirits and lucrative deals. "For businessmen," he stated, a philosophical air about him, "pursuing greater profits is instinctive. It's in your very blood. But I am a magician first, and then the master of the Pearl Road. My priorities are... different. And frankly, I have better things to do than count every single coin."
"I understand what you mean," Elizabeth replied, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It is precisely because we value different things that we can have such a pleasant cooperation. You want magic, I want money. A perfect situation."
"Indeed." Duke's smile was a little intriguing, a hint of something deeper, darker, and perhaps a touch mischievous. "Besides, you took a considerable risk by buying my pearls outright. It's not unacceptable for me to sell them at a lower price. Especially considering the... unforeseen circumstances that might arise in the future."
"Although I am a little sorry to say this, Sir Edmund," Elizabeth said, her eyes narrowing slightly, "you are far more mature and shrewd than your age would suggest. It's almost unsettling."
Nonsense! I am a college student who just happened to stumble into a fantasy world and figure out how to exploit its resources! Duke grumbled internally, a wave of familiar guilt washing over him. He didn't know how long Jones could truly make money from the pearl business. He only knew that if, or rather when, the orcs came and Stormwind inevitably fell, Jones would lose a truly staggering amount of money.
What a shame, he thought, stifling a chuckle. For the future of Stormwind, Amen! Good luck! You're going to need it!
With the formidable help of Elizabeth Jones, a woman who could sell ice to a Frost Elemental, Duke's pearls became the new, glittering favorite of Stormwind socialites in a very short time. Almost all the upper-class nobles in Stormwind knew, with a mixture of envy and impotent rage, that Edmund Duke owned a literal hen that laid golden eggs, or rather, a tribe of murlocs that collected them.
Unfortunately for their greedy little hearts, no one could intervene.
It wasn't that there were no nobles who had cast covetous eyes upon the glittering promise of the Pearl Road. Oh, they tried. They sent out their own secret fishing boats, their privateers, their shadowy agents. But every single one of those vessels was mysteriously, brutally, and rather hilariously attacked by the fishmen, causing heavy casualties and even heavier financial losses. Duke, with a perfectly innocent shrug, simply stated that those particular fishmen were "not his business" and had "nothing to do with him." He was, after all, only responsible for his murlocs. The others were simply... enthusiastic.
Just like that, Duke, now armed with a colossal, ever-growing wealth that made even the most seasoned dragons envious, casually stepped onto the hallowed, dust-free steps of the library of the Stormwind Royal Academy of Magic.
He faced the stern, bespectacled librarian, a woman who looked like she subsisted solely on disapproving glares and stale parchment, who informed him, with a sniff, that it would cost a considerable sum to copy each spell here.
Duke, with a flourish that would make a king blush, only said one sentence, his voice echoing with the casual arrogance of a man who had more gold than God: "Please pack it up! I want all the spells of the Apprentice Wizard level! And perhaps a few extra copies, just in case I lose one."