The second Slave Trade License auction had no "under-the-table operations," and the price rose rapidly, skyrocketing to 27,000 gold coins in the blink of an eye. These merchants shouting out prices were no fools; daring to bid such a high price meant they could reap even more profits from it. The annual transaction volume of the slave trade in Bell Province was around 200,000 gold coins, with very little capital invested. In two years, a license priced at 50,000 gold coins could easily be earned back with surplus.

  What’s more, Arno had promised to crack down on illegal slave trade within Bell Province. The slave trade differed from other businesses like handicrafts. For example, if you don’t sell a craft, buyers can find it elsewhere; if your price is too high, they can go to another place to buy. But slaves were different. The Orlando Empire had only three slave-producing regions: the northern grasslands, the Salme Mountains southeast of Pramisburg, and the Waggri Mountains in the southwest.

  Besides these, most of the people living in other places were citizens of Orlando. If slave-capturing teams dared to target citizens without their voluntary sale into slavery, it would be suicidal. Orlando VI would make these slave merchants understand what royal wrath meant. The royal family had always maintained a good image and moral bottom line—whether genuine or performative, they acted that way regardless.

  It can be imagined that with three operation licenses in a slave-producing region, monopolizing the slave capture and trade in Bell Province would be equivalent to controlling the lifeblood of one-third of the empire’s slave merchants.

  As several unfamiliar bidders continued to raise the price to 29,000 gold coins, bidding from other forces slowed—mostly due to dwindling funds.

  Arno frowned and beckoned, and the trusted garrison captain by his side immediately approached. Holding the hilt of his sword, he bowed meticulously, his movements a sign of noble education. His first words confirmed this: "Respected Lord, how may I serve you?"

  He used "Lord" instead of "City Lord," a nuance that made Arno take a few more glances at this newly appointed garrison captain. "You are… Cooper?" Arno asked hesitantly.

  Cooper snapped to attention, spurs clinking crisply as he nodded. "Yes, I am Cooper, at your command."

  His tone was steady, but Arno detected a faint tremor—natural for anyone aware of the transcendent status of Golden Nobles. Such nobles, though Arno’s house was in decline, inspired deference due to their sacred bloodline. Even a fallen Golden Noble outshone ordinary lords.

  Was the world fair? Hardly. Some privileges were innate, impervious to effort. A great noble like Joan, the First Female Grand Duke, could never become a Golden Noble, no matter her deeds—such bloodlines were reserved for select families.

  Precisely because of this, Arno had to initiate reforms immediately and firmly grasp control of the city.

  Those who dared act against a Golden Noble must also be a Golden Noble, with equal status.

  Snapping back to the present, Arno pointed to the third-row merchants who had bid highest. "Drive them out," he ordered, voice unmasked.

  The merchants froze, their leader rising to bow, a mix of anxiety and indignation. "Respected City Lord, why expel us?"

  "Only Pramisburg residents may bid," Arno said bluntly. "I’ve never seen you—you lack auction qualifications."

  The man started, pulling out a scroll. "My Pramisburg citizenship papers, granted the day before yesterday. I am now a resident!"

  Arno raised a hand; the document was passed to him. It was valid—issued two days prior.

  This world had a strict household registration system, born from the First Imperial Civil War. Orlando II imposed it to solve tax issues, requiring citizens to pay taxes for legal protection; those without became "free folk," a euphemism for pariahs.

  Arno tossed the papers back, standing to address a familiar Pramisburg merchant. "30,000 gold coins—the second license is yours."

  Local merchants rejoiced; Milin’s slave traders were too wealthy, but Arno’s intervention tilted the balance.

  The rejected merchant flushed, suppressing anger. "I heard you were fair and just. Is this your justice?"

  Arno nodded. "In my city, I dictate fairness and justice." He smirked, scanning the hall. "Who disagrees?"

  All heads bowed. Arno reseated himself. "I won’t interfere with the third license."

  The merchant, stunned, quickly apologized and praised Arno, returning to his seat.

  The third license sold for 41,000 gold coins to the newly immigrated Milin merchants.

  As the auction concluded, Arno stepped forward, locking eyes with the merchants. "No matter your past, as Pramisburg citizens, you owe loyalty. Two rules for your teams:" He held up two fingers, their symbolism intensifying his words. "First, all employees—slave hunters and caravan members—must be local. Former subordinates may join only if men marry Pramisburg women and women marry locals. Disobedience equals treason."

  "Second, Pramisburg citizenship is permanent. Unapproved defection to another city? I’ll send 1,000 men to hunt you across Orlando until death. I’m not generous or kind—follow my rules, or leave."

  Local residents cheered. Arno’s actions, far from oppressive, felt like protection. His efforts for Pramisburg were tangible; hearts, not words, recognized his dedication.

  Outside, civilians roared approval. Three slave guilds and plunder teams would employ 3,000 locals, transforming over 20,000 lives.

  Another firm step forward for the city.