The doors to the Royal Vault were not just doors; they were a three-story statement of "We Have More Money Than You."
Forged from a mixture of solid gold and enchanted adamantite, they hummed with a low, vibrating frequency that made my teeth ache. Massive gears groaned behind the stone walls, a sound like a giant swallowing a mountain, and slowly, the vault of the Lux-Aeterna family yawned open.
Lord Valerius, the High Treasurer. A man who looked like he was composed entirely of dried parchment and nervous tics clutched my signed scroll with hands that were visibly shaking.
"Prince Willes," he wheezed, his eyes darting between the Imperial Seal and the fine print at the bottom of the form. "This... this 'unrestricted access for the purpose of asset stabilization'... I have never seen such a broad mandate. Are you quite sure the Crown Prince intended for you to have... everything?"
"Lord Valerius, are you questioning the Crown Prince's handwriting?" I asked, leaning in until I could smell the ink and desperation on him. I twirled the gold lion ring on my finger. "Because if you are, I'd be happy to drag him back here so you can tell him he's bad at paperwork. I'm sure he'd appreciate the feedback."
"No! No, of course not! Glory to the Sun!" Valerius squeaked, stepping aside so fast he nearly tripped over his own robes. "Please. Proceed. Though I must insist you sign for every item... for my own sanity."
I stepped inside, and for a second, I actually forgot how to breathe.
It was a hoarder's wet dream. Mountains of gold coins that reached the ceiling. Racks of legendary weapons that pulsed with enough mana to level a city block. Floating crystals, dragon-scale shields, and enchanted jewelry that sparkled with enough light to make a blind man squint.
(Oh my god. It's not a vault. It's a cheat code. If I sell even ten percent of this, I can buy a small country and name it 'Willes-is-Cool-Land.')
I walked past a glowing, two-handed claymore that probably cost a province. I ignored a crown that granted the wearer the ability to speak to birds.
(Too heavy. Too flashy. Hard to fence. I need liquid assets and portable utility. I'm not a hero; I'm a prince-shaped looter.)
Behind me, the sound of soft, rhythmic footsteps echoed. I didn't turn around. I was too busy eyeing a rack of "One-Time Use" catastrophic destruction scrolls.
"A generous selection," a flat, bored voice remarked from the shadows near the entrance.
I jumped, nearly knocking over a vase that looked like it contained a captured star. I spun around to see Random Maid A standing near the threshold, her arms folded, looking at a pile of gold bars with the same expression one might use to look at a pile of wet laundry.
"You!" I hissed. "Why are you here? This is a high-security zone!"
"I am the Royal Maid, Prince," she said, her tone dripping with the audacity of a background character who knows she can't be fired. "I am here to ensure you don't accidentally blow up the palace by touching something shiny. Also, the Treasurer looks like he's about to have a heart attack, and someone needs to catch his ledger when he falls."
I ignored her and continuing walking in the weapon isle "Watch and learn, Maid. This is what we in the business call 'Wealth Redistribution.'"
"Prince, you are currently walking past the Star-Shattering Claymore," the maid remarked, gesturing to a blade that pulsed with a rhythmic, cosmic purple light. "It is forged from the heart of a fallen moon. It can cleave an entire battalion in a single swing, provided the wielder doesn't mind losing their sense of taste for a decade."
"Cleave a battalion?" I snorted, not even slowing down. "Do you know how much the maintenance on moon-metal costs? You have to polish it with stardust. No, thank you. Too heavy. I'd throw my back out before I even reached the gates."
I pushed past a suit of armor that was literally made of solid diamond.
"The Armor of Eternal Reflection," the maid continued, her voice a monotone drone of legendary lore. "It negates all magical attacks and makes the wearer invincible. However, it weighs four hundred pounds and makes you look like a very expensive disco ball."
"Next," I snapped, my eyes darting around like a caffeinated squirrel. "I'm looking for mobility! Versatility! Resale value!"
"The Holy Grail of Aeterna? It grants the drinker a century of youth."
I glanced at the gaudy, jewel-encrusted chalice. "It's the size of a soup tureen. Do you have any idea how hard that is to hide in a carriage? Every thief from here to the border would see the glow through the wooden planks. Pass."
I entered 'Manic Mode.' I started sweeping small, unassuming items into a velvet sack with the efficiency of a professional burglar.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
"What are you doing?" the maid asked, her stoic facade finally cracking with a hint of genuine confusion. "Those are... those are just Grade-S Mana Crystals."
"Exactly!" I hissed, stuffing a handful of thumb-sized rubies that contained enough fire mana to heat a city for a month into my pocket. "Portable. High-density value. Easy to fence. And this—" I grabbed a stack of thin, golden parchment scrolls. "—these are One-Time Warp Scrolls. If I get cornered by a dragon, I don't need a moon-sword. I need to not be there anymore."
"You are looting the treasury for... utility?" She sounded almost offended. "Most heroes reach for the legendary artifacts that define their destiny."
"Destiny doesn't pay for a retirement villa in the neutral zones, Maid," I replied, grabbing a pair of enchanted silk gloves that improved dexterity. "Now, stop criticizing and help me find something that can hold more of this stuff. My pockets are reaching their structural limit."
She sighed, a long, suffering sound. "The Infinite Pouch of the Glutton is in the third aisle. It's shaped like a potato and looks hideous. I assume it's exactly what you're looking for."
"Perfect!" I shouted, sprinting toward the third aisle. "I love potatoes!"
---
I was busy stuffing the potato-pouch with enough gold bullion to sink a ship when my foot caught on something metallic.
"Ouch! What in the—"
I looked down. Propped against a dusty crate of 'Cursed Spoons' was a long, thin object wrapped in faded white silk.
I picked it up. It had a heavy, cold weight to it. I unfurled the silk, and my eyes widened.
It was an umbrella. But not just any umbrella. It was a frilly, lace-trimmed, aggressively Victorian parasol. The handle was carved from ivory-white magitech steel, and the fabric was a shimmering, reinforced silver-silk that looked like it belonged to a very pampered duchess at a picnic.
"Oh, that," Random Maid A said, stepping up beside me. " A disastrous collaboration between the Northern Engineers and the Southern Weavers. It was intended to be the ultimate personal defense for royalty."
"Disastrous? It's beautiful," I said, running a thumb over the intricate gear-work near the handle.
"It is made of ultra-density Northern steel," she continued, her voice flat. "It is virtually unbreakable and can theoretically withstand the impact of a falling castle. However, the project was scrapped because the military commanders found it... 'insufficiently masculine.' No general wanted to be seen leading a charge with a frilly sunshade."
"They're idiots," I whispered, clicking the release button.
SH-THUMP.
The parasol snapped open with the sound of a heavy vault door closing. The ribs were thick, solid steel disguised as delicate lace. The silver-silk canopy didn't just block light; it pulsed with a faint, defensive mana field.
"It blocks the sun?" I asked, testing the weight.
"Yes."
"It blocks arrows?"
"It could block a ballista bolt, Prince."
"Does it cover workplace liability?"
The maid blinked. "I... suppose if a building fell on you while you were holding it, you wouldn't be able to sue for damages because you'd still be alive."
"Sold!" I shouted, twirling the parasol with a manic grin. I looked absolutely ridiculous—a man in a navy suit holding a dainty, lace-trimmed weapon of mass destruction. "It's perfect! I don't need a sword. Swords are sharp and dangerous. This is just... aggressive shade."
I swung it like a baseball bat, the weight of the steel whistling through the air.
"I shall call it the Bastion Parasol, or to be short, Just Parasol" I declared. "Because it protects my most valuable asset: my skin."
"You look like a very confused governess," the maid remarked, her stoic mask finally settling back into place.
"A very safe governess," I corrected, clicking it shut with a satisfying clack. "Now, let's go."