Anno sat back down, looking skeptical. "What is it?"
Grant exhaled, glanced at his daughter, and tapped the document on the table. "You’ve been to the South Harbor District more than once, so you should be familiar with it."
"So, let me ask: the South Harbor District District Office has just submitted a proposal, requesting the city to pay for the construction of two new tram lines connecting to other districts."
"What do you think is their real purpose?"
Anno furrowed her brow. "To help the South Harbor District shake off poverty and become prosperous?"
Grant blinked. "Really? Think again?"
Anno shook her head. "I can’t tell."
Grant sighed. "It’s to serve the Amazons."
Seeing his daughter’s confused expression, he explained, "The residents of the South Harbor District have no use for this. They won’t be traveling to other districts, and even if these two tram lines are built, they can’t afford the high fares."
"These routes are being proposed solely to accommodate the Amazon Fisheries Company’s transportation needs."
Anno frowned slightly, recollecting her visits to the South Harbor District, and spoke, "Dirty, poor, corrupt, despicable, content to be fallen."
"As for the Amazons... arrogant, savage, yet incomparably powerful."
Grant nodded slightly. "A very precise assessment, as sharp and cold as a scalpel."
He paused. "But what if such a mob of fallen, arrogant, and wild people is encouraged by City Hall, and they all rush together into the other districts—maybe even the Mithral District? What would happen then?"
Anno opened her mouth. She’d had this kind of conversation with her father many times before, and at that moment, her reflex was to say what he wanted to hear.
It would sully the eyes of the nobility and their living spaces.
But just as the words were about to leave her lips, she swallowed them back. Her eyes flickered—Charles’s words to her echoed repeatedly in her mind. After a little reflection, she responded, "They would gain hope, become motivated to move up, quickly gain wealth, and learn what true civilization is."
Grant was taken aback. "What did you say?"
Anno repeated her words, and finally added, "This cheap, convenient route would serve as a beam of hope for the poor of the South Harbor District."
Grant’s expression grew subtle. He looked at his daughter, suddenly feeling a trace of unfamiliarity, unable to comprehend why she thought this way.
After a moment, he suddenly understood, then smirked, "So, you approve of building this line?"
"Truly for this reason?"
"Yes, I believe wealth is the first step toward civilization."
"Not because, once it’s built, it will be more convenient for you to visit your little boyfriend?"
Anno’s face flushed red in an instant. "Father!"
Grant laughed heartily, but she hurried to explain, "If I wanted to visit him, I could just hire a carriage—there’s no need for something ... I truly mean what I said!"
Grant’s laughter faded. Seeing his daughter’s embarrassed and annoyed expression, he sighed gently. "No, Anno, you’re too naive."
"This road won’t make people in the South Harbor District wealthy. It will only let thieves and robbers run wild across the city, upsetting the order of other districts."
Anno frowned even deeper. "But if they were wealthy, they wouldn’t have to be thieves or robbers anymore."
"But they won’t get rich. They lack knowledge and skills. Even if they arrive in other districts, they’ll still only do what they did before," said Grant. "Perhaps you’ll argue that they could become laborers in the East Harbor District, but think about it—isn’t the area where dockworkers gather in East Harbor District also the most lawless?"
He finished, "They lack education. Until they are educated, opening passageways would only bring disaster."
As Anno was about to argue again, Grant sighed, "Look, I could give you countless arguments about how the base-born poor can never change, but you won’t accept them. You believe people are born good, don’t you?"
Anno frowned a little, then shook her head. "No one is born good, just as no one is born evil."
Grant made no comment. "Ah, empty words won’t convince you. You’ve been stubborn since you were little."
As he spoke, he circled something on the document. "Let’s run an experiment—let the South Harbor District pay for it themselves, and add a few new, inexpensive tramcars to see what happens."
The South Harbor District was poor and had little influence—it wasn’t controlled by any faction powerful enough to kick Grant up into the upper house. So, when it came to handling this district, he was, for once, able to indulge himself and use his authority however he pleased, both to give his daughter a lesson and, maybe, to satisfy a little of her own small, secret wishes.
"Anno, I hope harsh reality can put an end to your unrealistic fantasies," he finished.
Anno only replied, "Let’s see what happens, then. Dad, I’ve answered your question—give me money, I’m going to buy a Flametongue."
Grant started to speak, sighed at last, and conceded, "Fine, how much?"
"Ten thousand," said Anno.
Grant winced as he wrote the check, then asked, "Oh, by the way, when will you bring your little boyfriend home for me to meet him?"
Anno’s cheeks reddened. Then she counted on her fingertips.
"After the Demon Lords are defeated," she replied. "Once the city is safe, I’ll bring him home for you to see!"
Midnight, South Harbor District, inside the monastery.
Charles, the seven witches, and Nidalee—nine people in all—gathered in the lobby housing the goddess’s statue, beneath the statue of the Goddess of Life.
After long effort, the monastery’s area had finally broken through one hundred thousand. Their prestige value had long since reached the required level, and now it was time to level up!
Taking a deep breath, Charles opened the system, switched to the monastery interface, and tapped the Level Up button.
Ten thousand Purification Points were instantly consumed, and in the chapel, a familiar scene unfolded again.
Misty purified white light slowly emerged, then expanded rapidly, soon covering the entire monastery.
Yet, at that moment, those resting there felt nothing at all, and outsiders observed no traces of what was happening.
The seven witches closed their eyes, pure white light pouring into their bodies, making their powers more refined and their Strength soaring: their spellcasting abilities, movement speed, memory capacity, or even foresight...
Only Nidalee stared with wide eyes, looking all around and then at herself—feeling nothing whatsoever, she felt like a bystander.
Moments later, the Witchs opened their eyes one after the other, with expressions of sheer delight on their faces.
"I can cast Fireball now!" Ekta was the first to shout out. She raised her hand, and a fireball the size of a basketball formed in her palm.
The intense heat radiated outward, and the rest of the Witchs’ faces abruptly changed. "Put it out, or you’ll blow this place up!"
So Ekta let the energy dissipate, giggling twice but saying nothing more. Thıs content belongs to NoveI-Fire.ɴet
Charles didn’t mind, smiling, "That’s great, Ekta! Congratulations. From now on, you’ll be the best artillery in the monastery!"
Fireball—a 3rd-level spell—with a massive radius and destructive power, rivaling an artillery shell.
Disregarding its drawbacks—indiscriminate effect, lack of control, and its tendency to ignite spoils—it was the earliest, most cost-effective AOE spell there was.
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