Shortly after...

  Behind a desk, a young maiden massaged her temples as she watched the numbers her "Afterlife Underfirm" insurance company had produced. The list of negatives was so long that the premiums appeared as meaningless, sporadic injections. The firm was completely illiquid; when the next batch of adventurers—or rather, their families—came to cash in their insurance, she’d end up in jail.

  "But why...! Why do you die so quickly!?"

  It didn't matter how much she screamed at the ledger; the numbers wouldn't change. The banks had cut off her credit; she was literally out of options. Then, a rapid succession of knocks sounded at the door. Her secretary rushed to her side after letting himself in and whispered, "A man from Steel Scales Protection Co. is here to see you, ma'am."

  "What...?"

  As she wondered who on earth wanted to see a ruined insurance owner, mentally sifting through her competitors' fantasy names, a tidy blonde man entered her office. He cast his green eyes over the empty desks where the staff she’d had to lay off should have been. She gritted her teeth. Ereden Siedburg—a celebrity among corporate circles and the best mediator money could buy.

  "So, I take it Scales isn't a new player, then? Why haven't I heard the name, Ereden?"

  He perked his pointed ears, as if only just then perceiving her presence. She knew what he was doing: diminishing her position to gain better negotiating leverage.

  "Ah, hi there, Irine. Scales is actually a new player on the board, and one with bold moves planned. I couldn't help but notice the office looks a bit run down for the largest company in the market?"

  "Don't play coy, elf. You know about the potion crisis; every insurance company is on the brink of bankruptcy."

  "Ah, straight to business, then." He slammed a bulky stack of papers on her desk. Irine put on her reading glasses—going through so much paperwork had aged her eyesight—and slowly began to unravel the documents. She noticed right away it was nothing short of an aggressive takeover.

  "This is utter madness! You want us to sell our entire customer book to Scales for 250 thousand gold? After settling the debts, I'll barely have enough money to set up a lemonade stand!"

  "This is a generous offer, and you know it. The king refuses to bail you out, the banks have frozen your accounts, and the bills are mounting. This is a bridge I'm offering you—a bridge out of prison."

  "You're not offering me anything. Scales is a subsidiary of a shell company for Dragon’s Share, the infamous tax scam by the dragon. You think I wouldn't notice that? So, what is this, truly? Insider trading? Market manipulation? Your dragon overlord has begun killing adventurers to throw insurance companies into debt and buy us off, huh?"

  Ereden snatched the documents from her hands and scoffed. "If this is what you think, then I have nothing else to do here."

  He began walking away. Irine panicked as she imagined life behind bars; she had burned all connections to her family to secure the company that was now crumbling to pieces. Once she was out of the picture, her brothers would carve up her property piece by piece. Even if she survived prison, she’d have nothing left.

  "Wait!"

  The elf stopped moving, not deigning to face her.

  "I'll take it. I'll take the meager 250 for the customer book."

  "The 180, you mean."

  "What!?"

  "It was 250 before you compared his Dragon Lordship to a common street tough. His Lordship is feeling less... generous now."

  "How is this generous? You're leveraging my desperation!"

  "Desperation resulting from your own actions. Did you not sign all those premiums, knowing you didn't have the liquidity to afford a spike? And would you not have had that bank if you hadn't tried to take over the market with expensive advertisement campaigns? Did you not decide to sever the insurance coalition to expand? Should I continue the list, or do you now realize how generous it is for His Dragonship to take over your sunken, deficit-ridden, mortgaged business?"

  "I'm sorry."

  "Good. Because the deal just went down to 160."

  Irine clenched her fists, breaking into a cold, pale sweat of fury. "...Fine."

  With a smile from the elf and a signature, three generations' worth of networking went straight to Steel Scales Corporate. Ereden didn't get comfortable, however; this was only one of the dozens of settlements on his itinerary this week.

  Meanwhile, at a nearby tavern:

  "In the last moment the valiant warrior drunk, The magical dragon's miracle draught! Fire and steel, claw and fist, The wicked witch falls at the warrior's powerful roar..."

  A loud round of applause followed as the bard finished his epic tale and bowed to the crowd. He overheard comments of enthusiasm for the brand-new Dragon Potion as he ordered the fanciest meal in the pub. Eating his extravagant meal, tears welled in the bard's eyes. It was his first real meal after months of eating "rat dust soup" while saving to get to the capital, where the bards' school was located.

  Recently, a mysterious donor had begun funding other bard schools. While the fees were steep, there was a scholarship sponsor in exchange for special, mandatory courses and performances. Barely anything that would impact him, he thought, smiling at his monthly bank note for 200 gold coins—enough to live luxuriously outside the capital. He would sing anything the sponsor asked, because what was an hour of work compared to a life's dream?

  Outside, another bard had cashed his check for 80 gold coins from "Dragon’s Share Scholarships" and was now preparing his rhyme to thank his savior:

  "Oh, Dragon’s Brew! Oh, Dragon’s Brew! It makes old bones feel like new! One sip from the vial, and the pain grows wings to fly; get the power of scale, or prepare just to die!"

  ***

  Ophion sighed as he struggled to stretch across the tiny mound of gold—as it couldn't be called a hoard anymore—to fit his enormous body. The price had been steep. The kobolds had to donate part of their salary, the alchemists had to begrudgingly work overtime (with no extra pay), and even the gold statue had to be melted down and sold. Ophion smirked to himself while looking at the custom, oversized ledger for Dragon's Share. The price was well worth it. The stock price was higher than ever, and the total, unrealized, non-taxable capital was in the millions mark, well over the size of his original hoard. A stray thought came to mind as he realized the current cave wasn't large enough to even hold that amount of coins, or even half! He looked at the flattened coins underneath him, barely enough to get a minimal expansion on the cave, and to make matters even more dire, he was getting quite hungry. Now, as a citizen of the kingdom, flying over a farm and eating all the cattle wouldn't cut it. The king would seize all his assets, and it would turn into the most expensive lunch in history! Ophion narrowed his eyes and called his aide.

  "Tinknob, you think we can disguise cattle purchases as reinvestment?"

  "Not really, boss. Maybe it'd work initially, but when the audit comes next month and the royals realize none of the cattle actually exist, they'll gain a legal foothold to claim embezzlement or self-dealing, piercing our corporate veil and foreclosing our current agreements."

  "Huh. And if we sold the shares at the current price?"

  "The king is counting on it. He's pushed a royal decree that claims 30 percent tax on realized income through share sales."

  "30 percent!? That thief! Really, just a thief with a crown..."

  "Really so, boss. It's a miracle the serfs aren't revolting every fortnight."

  Ophion widened his eyes at that last statement.

  "Tinknob, why fortnight? Aren't taxes charged as market tolls for the serfs every day?"

  "Well, there are like thirty different taxes, but I said fortnight because the most popular current bank loan agreements are paid bi-weekly, so serfs are often left without cash or grain to pay the other taxes that rise arbitrarily."

  "So, does the king not tax the loans?"

  Tinknob laughed.

  "Of course not, boss! That would be crazy... Wait, you don't mean...?"

  "Absolutely, Tinknob. We must secure a bank loan!"

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "But, boss! We don't have any actual property besides the den! And to pay the debt, you'd have to sell some shares, which would leave us right where we started. You don't mean we just skip payment, right? The bank will take the land itself!"

  "Tinknob. We have these to put as collateral, remember?" Ophion pointed at the gilded stock share, smiling to himself. The kobold widened his eyes, marveling at the unparalleled mastery of the dragon at fooling the human king and his pesky taxes. He could see the glitter in his eyes as the dragon prepared yet another devious task to secure even more gold.

  "Oh, and make sure to start buying all the farms, mills, and silos you can, Tinknob."

  ***

  Part IV: Forclosure and indentured servitude

  Months later, in the royal palace...

  Arthur hurled his throne across the room, shattering it into very expensive wooden splinters. The aide cringed as every step of the king resulted in another valuable relic destroyed—more expensive than what he'd make in his entire life.

  "What do you mean there's no grain? Where on earth did this famine come from! The augurs said this would be the most bountiful year in the century!"

  "Your majesty, we, uh, believe the grain has been withheld."

  "What!? Why! Do farmers want it to rot in the silos while everyone starves to death!?"

  "No, sir. The grain has already been sold."

  "I don't understand." Arthur practically stabbed the aide with his emerald eyes, a ruler of might and not of trade.

  "Dragon's Share has purchased the grand majority of the farms and mills and signed contracts to buy even more grain for cheap when the augurs' prophecy reached the markets."

  "That dragon again! Prepare the soldiers! This is an assault on our economy! On our people!"

  The aide raised his hand.

  "Your majesty. We can't. The dragon has already signed multiple release agreements on the grain now that the price skyrocketed due to the scarcity."

  "What? How is this even possible!?"

  "It's the future market, my liege. He signed all agreements at the perfect time. The farmers didn't know he'd buy all the grain, and the retailers didn't know he'd release it suddenly. He has profited massively, your majesty."

  "But... but I heard he's desperate enough to take loans from the dwarf banks! They even sent me petitions to close on his stocks. How could he have so much money!"

  "These are old news, your majesty. Dragon Stock just opened its own bank system, Hoard and Associates. He timed it just during the bank run as the retailers went to withdraw from their accounts to secure his grain deals during the famine. The dwarves had to request a bailout from their own king, but it delayed too long and the frightened clients ran to the Hoard, who secured a whole lot of clients."

  "But... what about the insurance companies? Do banks no longer have insurance? The potion crisis is news of the past! Why haven't they bailed them out, or at least won them some time?"

  "Your majesty... the dragon owns all the insurance companies. He bought them when the royal treasury refused to cover their 'negligence,' as we labeled it."

  Arthur sat on the floor next to the splintered throne. He could see his own power over the kingdom drain, and he watched, powerless and pale. He rose back up after a few moments and declared:

  "Rally the men. Prepare the levies. If we can't brand the dragon an outcast, we can at least prepare for a last-ditch assault on his lair. Once he's dead, we'll take over and redistribute his goods."

  "But, my lord! The laws! The nobles will rebel, the neighbor nations will declare war!"

  "We'll deal with the repercussions later. Be subtle, but rally as much as you can. The dragon can buy all the mercenaries in the kingdom; we need to be careful and be prepared..."

  ***

  The center of every kingdom's economy is not the property tax, the consumer tax, or even the wealth tax—it was, of course, the dungeons! The kings of the world rapidly realized that simply handing out all the future revenue to a private entity, or even charging rent on the dungeon, was unprofitable when adventurers could just pull a mythical or legendary artifact out of them.

  Dungeons are, effectively, the ultimate mine and sole wealth of a nation. As such, every adventurer needed to secure a permit to exploit the wealth of the kingdom, issued by the Ministry of Dungeons and signed by the king himself—irrevocable, transferable, and extremely costly due to all the bureaucracy. But the problem was everyone wanted to be an adventurer, but not everyone was rich. So, Eagan, an illiterate barbarian and also one of the many customers of the Dragon's bank, came to sign a loan to secure his license. The problem was, he didn't actually own any property to put as collateral—that's why our good kobold friends are generous enough to loan Eagan the money to buy the license with only the very license as a lien, and as such Eagan was only a few signatures away from fulfilling his dream of finally becoming an adventurer.

  "And we need a signature here, and here, and another one here..."

  The kobold administrator for Hoard and Associates fixed his monocle as he pointed with a golden plume to the document. The adventurer scratched his head a bit, trying to decipher the clauses of the contract, but ultimately shrugged and just signed with a big "X."

  "Remember that to apply for this loan, you need to be covered by Steel Scales, who in turn void their clauses if you don't use the one and only legitimate Draconis Vitae," the kobold added helpfully.

  "So... The payments don't start until the second month, right?"

  "Of course! Here at Hoard and Associates, we understand that adventuring takes a bit of warming up before the cash starts to flow in, so the contract stipulates a... maturity payment, whose interest only grows along with the adventurer, unlike our competitors who demand rigid, fixed payments."

  The adventurer nodded enthusiastically. He didn't care that his neighbor had just lost his house when adventuring turned out less profitable than he had thought, or that his second cousin just lost his dungeoneering license when the payments ballooned faster than his natural growth. He thought he was the exception and that uncounted riches awaited him beneath the dungeon.

  After signing every paper and unknowingly becoming a beneficiary of Steel Scales, he approached the dungeon and paid the toll to enter it, as imposed by the owner of the land where the dungeon sat on, who was of course none other than the dragon under a persona.

  Over the next months, the toll booth itself would recoup the cost of the loan from the adventurer, meanwhile other, less fortunate adventurers whose skills didn't match their ambitions lost their dungeoneering licenses, which were now owned by Hoard and Associates—who wouldn't have been able to secure the permits directly from the king even if they paid three times the amount the adventurers did.

  Then, the Hoard "sold" the licenses to another Dragon Share's subsidiary, Drakemine, who in turn "hired" the ruined, indebted adventurers to gather artifacts on the dragon's behest. Eagan didn't know this yet as he rushed enthusiastically to slay his first goblin, but he'd get stuck on the dungeon's fifth floor for one too many months, and only a sliver away from securing the last, enormous, draconic payment, he'd lose his license to Drakemine, who'd promptly employ him as yet another numbered "extractionist."

  Ophion surveyed his empire with a smile from ear to ear as convoys full of gold carried the load to his recently expanded vault/lair, stretching all the way to the horizon.

  He could almost feel it, total dominion within the reach of his claws, barely one pinky finger away. It was time for Dragon Share to do the ultimate and final takeover.

  "Tinknob. Stop playing and come here, I have orders."

  The kobold could barely move with the trail of females on his tail, and his many, many children popped from every surrounding bush, trying to get the attention of who was effectively the happiest minion on the planet.

  "Boss! I can't believe how much we've achieved. I can afford to educate all fifty of my children! Little Tintin is going to be a bard who'll praise your name all over the seven realms, boss!"

  "We still need more, Tinknob."

  The kobold's mind simply refused to understand those words. How could there be more? The lair had already needed ten expansions only to fit the ungodly amounts of wealth. How could there be more?

  "My bard network has detected one latent business that hasn't been properly exploited: blacksmithing."

  "Black... Smithing? What?"

  "The cost of maintaining our Drakemine employees and Lair Security Solutions is far too costly. Each sword, each armor, custom made—costs time, expertise, and more importantly, lots of money. The human blacksmiths have profited enough. Even our nails and metal bar requisitions for our construction subsidiaries have been going up in price. It's time we put an end to this."

  "But... But how, boss? It's impossible! We will never reach the masterworks of a true smith, even if the kobolds toil day and night!"

  "No, Tinknob. Relative worth. We don't need masterworks; we need standard issue. Create a subteam in the extraction teams at Drakemine composed of peasants, even children if there are no available hands."

  "But they'll die! Those are huge liabilities, boss!"

  "No, they won't go into danger. They sweep the rooms after the adventurers. No more will dungeon iron swords be left behind because they're not magical or sharp enough. No more will skeleton armor be scrapped because it's incomplete or stinky..."

  "Boss?"

  "Have the kobolds set up a repair factory, a foundry, and molds for the simple metal parts. The recovery teams send their findings to the kobold repair factory, where they're reconditioned and shipped in batches for sale or use."

  "Boss... This is insanity! The dungeon-spawned swords are brittle and dull, and armor isn't nearly as comfortable or durable as one made by a proper blacksmith! There's a reason why these are never recovered, boss! And the molds? The nails and screws will come out rough, even if we polish them!"

  "Tinknob, you still doubt me? What we need is cheap, mass-issued equipment and consumables. Not masterpieces, nor artisans. It's time to industrialize, Tinknob!"

  ***

  The effect was immediate and devastating. The initiative had been called localized madness, but the construction costs plummeted and fielding larger groups of men became finally feasible. The Master Craftsmen were forced to narrow their target group to only wealthy, extravagant nobles as successful adventurers simply got their gear from dungeons, and their apprentices were funneled into the dragon's metallurgy. Every army started adopting the kobold industry, standard-issued armor and weapons, even before realizing who was even making all this gear.

  In the palace, a fully armored and armed King Arthur prepared to face the dragon that had snatched his kingdom from his hands. The costs had been great, and he had to pull lots of political strings to manage levying a substantial field army of 100,000 men, all wondering why the king had summoned them and where they were supposed to be marching.

  The king addressed the crowd:

  "Dear citizens! We stand at a point where monster industry has robbed us of opportunities and labor! There, where a proud craftsman once hammered with soul and passion, a cold, sweaty kobold mass-produces recycled garbage! Where a family had joined hands to build their home, a crowd of kobolds now built their own! None have been spared; we've systematically been replaced! Today, we march against the evil dragon Ophion, mastermind behind all the famines and shortages we've been having, and sovereign over the kobold pests! Are you with me!?"

  But no furious, passionate roar came, only stillness. The king's aide approached Arthur.

  "Your majesty, the men won't budge. They see the dragon as their savior. Their very equipment is dragon-issued, their families work in dragon-owned industries, and their houses are provided by the dragon. You're asking the impossible."

  "No, I refuse to accept this! Appeal to the nobles! Threaten them if you must! Force them to move!"

  "Your majesty, the nobles' entire households depend on dragon-issued loans. If they declare war on the dragon, he'll freeze their accounts and the levies won't be paid. Their entire fiefs would collapse in weeks!"

  "There must be something... Something we can do... The church, the mages?"

  "The church and all magic students are being sponsored by the dragon, and not only that, every member of the corps has at least one sibling who's being patroned by the dragon... But most importantly, my lord... They love him."

  "What...? How...?"

  "Every song they hear, every story they read, dragons help humans, dwarves, and elves alike. They're depicted as friends of the gods and as powerful as one. They love him, and even if they didn't, they'd be too terrified to even hold their swords properly."

  The king collapsed on the floor, foaming from his mouth, thinking on how a tiny piece of paper had cost him his entire kingdom, whishing "If only he had burnt down my capital..."