Chapter 179: Chapter 179—Merchant Calculation

The following morning, all first and second-year candidates assembled in Sparkshire’s main auditorium—a massive space designed to accommodate the entire student body, tiered seating ensuring visibility, and soul-force acoustics making speakers audible throughout.

Bright settled into a seat beside Duncan, his spatial awareness automatically cataloguing the assembly’s organization, noting security presence that seemed enhanced beyond normal protocols.

Something significant, Bright assessed

Aldric Thorne took the stage without ceremonial introduction—the old man’s presence alone commanding attention, his authority requiring no verbal establishment.

“This is a Brief announcement regarding modifications done to the curriculum,” Thorne began. “Next month, thirty-five candidates from Federated Kingdoms of Ashmar and Theocracy of Solhaven will join the Academy for a semester-long educational exchange.”

Murmurs rippled through the assembled students—surprise rather than concern, curiosity rather than resistance.

“These foreign candidates will integrate into our existing training protocols,” Thorne continued. “Same curriculum, same standards, same evaluation criteria. They will participate in combat training, theoretical instruction, and field deployments.”

“This initiative was presented by the Senate,” Thorne explained bluntly. “It is a political program, and the Academy’s been chosen to carry it out. You don’t need to worry about the bigger strategy. Just train and perform like you always do, no matter who’s beside you.”

Most students aren’t reacting much, Bright observed, scanning the assembly. They’re taking in the announcement without real concern. A few are curious about the new faces. Most are treating it like a routine administration, not a real disruption.

“Questions?” Thorne invited.

A noble candidate raised hand. “Will these foreigners receive preferential treatment? Or modified standards accounting for our different training backgrounds?”

“No,” Thorne said flatly. “The Academy standards apply universally. The foreign students would experience the same training as our students. If their backgrounds didn’t prepare them adequately, that’s their problem to solve.”

“Will they participate in Shroud deployments?” another student asked.

“Yes,” Thorne confirmed. “Standard field exercises. Same risks, same evaluation criteria. If they get injured or killed, that may creates some complications. But the Academy maintains its training protocols regardless.”

“Final point,” Thorne added. “Some of you will take part in a reciprocal exchange—attending the partner institutions in Ashmar and Solhaven. The selction criteria will be announced next week. Volunteers will receive priority consideration.”

A reciprocal exchange, Bright noted. Exposure to different training systems. Different doctrines. A chance to see how other nations shape their military candidates.

And a chance to observe potential allies—or future opponents—up close.

That’s not trivial. That’s information you don’t usually get handed.

Worth considering, if the opportunity comes.

“Dismissed,” Thorne concluded. “Return to your normal schedules. Foreign candidates arrive in a week. Be ready for integration.”

The assembly dispersed—students processing the announcement with varying levels of interest, most returning to immediate concerns rather than dwelling on any administrative changes.

“Fresh faces,” Duncan said as they filtered out of the auditorium. “Could be interesting. Could be complicated. Probably both.”

“Definitely both,” Mara replied. “Different training backgrounds mean different techniques. If we pay attention, that’s a learning opportunity.”

“Or a political nightmare,” Adam added, already sounding like he was running risk assessments. “Cultural friction turns into violence, someone gets hurt, and suddenly it’s an international incident. The old man’s confident about maintaining standards, but reality’s messier. Those candidates have national backing. Disciplining them won’t stay internal no matter how justified it is.”

“That’s not our problem,” Bright said. “Our job doesn’t change. We keep training. Keep improving. If the foreign candidates integrate cleanly, good. If they cause issues, the Academy deals with it. We’re not here to manage Senate politics.”

Still, Bright admitted to himself, it’s interesting.

Different doctrines. Different development paths. Other ways of shaping combat capability that the Republic might not emphasize—or might actively ignore.

That kind of exposure doesn’t come often.

If nothing else, it’s a chance to observe. To compare. To learn what works and what doesn’t.

If the Senate wants to use the Academy for political theater, then the least I can do is extract something useful from it.

Turn a political program into an educational advantage.

That’s worth paying attention to.

—–

Five hundred kilometers south of the Republic border, in the Merchant Republic of Valdris’s capital of Aurum, the Council of Coin assembled in a chamber that made opulence seem understated.

Gold leaf covered every surface. Precious stones embedded in walls caught lamplight and transformed it into a prismatic display. Furniture carved from rare materials suggested wealth beyond most nations’ treasuries. Soul-force matrices maintained temperature and air quality at perfect levels regardless of the external conditions.

This is what money builds, the chamber announced. This is what commercial dominance produces. This is power expressed through accumulated wealth rather than military might.

The Council consisted of seven Merchant Princes—individuals whose personal fortunes exceeded some noble houses’ generational accumulation, whose economic influence shaped some parts of the Republic’s and neighboring nations’ markets, whose decisions moved currencies and commodities with more impact than military campaigns.

“What do you think of the situation we find ourselves in?” Prince Merchant Corvus opened the discussion, his tone carrying irritation beneath his professional composure.

“Singled out by those shits,” Prince-Merchant Thalia said flatly. “Left out of the Republic’s so-called ’cooperative educational initiative’ while Ashmar and Solhaven get invitations. That’s not oversight—that’s an intentional isolation. The Senate’s making it clear they don’t see us as a valued partner.”

“I’ll give them this,” another Council member said, voice edged with reluctant admiration. “It’s a sharp move by the men in suits. Those Senate bastards know how to play the long game. They’ve cracked our potential coalition without firing a shot—selective inclusion, selective favor. Now Ashmar and Solhaven have to wonder whether sticking with the excluded party is worth the cost.”

“It’s psychological pressure,” Thalia said. “Textbook manipulation. They’re not threatening us outright. They’re just nudging Ashmar and Solhaven to step back while the Republic lines up whatever economic or military pressure comes next.”

She leaned back, expression hard.

“They isolate us socially first. Then they squeeze us materially.”

“We can’t let this stand,” Corvus said. “If we accept being sidelined, the Senate sets the terms and we’re stuck reacting.”

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