I Resign From the Coin Mercenary Knights

The Codana Exchange was an outright battlefield throughout the afternoon.

Everyone, let’s close the exchange first. The Codana market can only stabilize after the hero provides an explanation. Everyone has lost their minds right now…!

Explanation, my foot! The hero is the root cause of this mess. He blatantly fabricated defeating an undying Demon Lord, didn’t he?

But the hero isn’t the only problem! What does it mean that 150 units were offloaded to the Church Empire yesterday? Doesn’t everyone know the Second Prince is the hero’s patron?

First, make them stop placing sell orders!!

There were heated debates about the cause of the crash, people grabbing the hapless exchange staff by their collars and snarling, some nobles even vaulting over the counters to directly disrupt operations, all decorum abandoned.

But human stamina has its limits.

With closing time approaching, the commotion had simmered down considerably.

Not because the Codana investors had achieved enlightenment and become impervious to the crash, but simply from exhaustion after venting such intense emotions in a short span.

The Minister of Justice had already fainted, being carried away by his attendants, while the Imperial Guard’s Deputy Commander slouched in the reception area, muttering incoherently in his local dialect.

The current price stood at 180 million rir.

A plunge to less than half in just a few hours.

The bigger problem was that even this price couldn’t be trusted.

It had formed solely because the sellers desperately seeking any exit kept lowering their ask prices despite an utter lack of buyers.

There had been a single 1-unit transaction at 240 million, but after that, the buy-side had utterly vanished.

180 million was merely the listed ask price – the actual bottom remained unimaginable.

“…We shouldn’t have opened the exchange today.”

“What’s the point of saying that now?”

Whether an accurate market price could even exist without concluded transactions, what Codanas were truly worth now, why buy-side interest had evaporated despite such a massive negative catalyst – everything was shrouded in uncertainty.

In the end, the Codana Exchange closed amidst dejection.

The investors who had stubbornly held their positions finally left with despondent expressions – from the whales holding dozens of units to academy students clutching just one. All with slumped shoulders.

“The truth hasn’t been fully revealed yet, so let’s wait a bit longer… Don’t entertain any extreme thoughts, alright?”

“Isn’t the Imperial Palace or the hero’s party going to issue a statement? After this uproar?”

There were some trying to strike a positive tone, but that was only possible for those who had recently sold off some Codanas to secure cash reserves.

Those holding their full allotments wore expressions too agonizing to describe.

“This is my first time trying ice cream. I’ve only had shavette once in the winter before.”

“Same here. It’s quite tasty.”

Even as we enjoyed the sweet ice cream crafted through household magic, I could sense the Imperial City’s descent into chaos.

An odd comparison, perhaps, but it felt akin to a village ravaged by monster attacks.

A mere half-dozen starving goblins could annihilate an entire hamlet in an instant during such raids. At minimum, one or two casualties were inevitable in the process of repelling them, with even more sustaining property damage.

From childhood until now, I had witnessed that grim reality time and again.

As a youth, I had been among the victims, and after taking up the sword, I frequently encountered such scenes during campaigns to liberate territories under the banner of “rescuing the realm.”

Regardless of scale, there would always be victims whose losses were far from equitably distributed. Some might fully preserve their homes and farmlands, while others could lose everything in an instant.

And that disparity often bred further calamity.

The current atmosphere in the Imperial City was precisely that.

‘Am I being overly apprehensive?’

To be honest, I hadn’t ventured outside today.

After taking a vitality elixir to aid my morning meditation practice, I had focused on training. In the afternoon, I inspected the scrolls and weapons I had prepared in advance.

While I had learned of the suspicions surrounding the hero’s false report late last night, I had yet to directly witness the full extent of its repercussions.

Still, I chose not to ignore the sense of unease weighing on my mind.

“Amelia, we’ll be accepting no visitors for the time being.”

“Not even Bingo?”

“He’s an exception, but that brat will likely be laying low as well after cashing out his nine Codanas just before the market closed yesterday to become a nouveau riche. If anyone comes knocking in my absence, do not respond. Act as if you cannot hear them.”

These were my instructions to Amelia, my maidservant, as we sat together enjoying the ice cream.

It was quite rare for an employer to dine together with servants, whether among nobles or commoners. Perhaps out of concern that such intimacy would breed bad habits, or simply because the idea of servants consuming the same food was unpalatable.

But I tended to share meals with Amelia whenever possible. Better than eating alone in gloomy silence.

“…If you insist, I shall do so, but may I ask the reason?”

Had my unusual instructions sparked her unease? Amelia stole sidelong glances at my expression.

Of average height with brown hair, not a stunning beauty but certainly cute in her own way.

Having previously assisted in the Imperial Knights’ administrative division, she was quite skilled at maintaining her composure, which made her current visibly anxious demeanor all the more notable.

“Think of it simply. Are you a native of the Imperial City?”

“No. I’m from a remote estate called Yenga. My father was a farmer there.”

“That’s a relief. Imagine if there was a famine in your hometown, but your family’s fields alone enjoyed a bountiful harvest with every ear laden with plump kernels. How do you think your deprived neighbors would feel watching that? They may not have actually lost anything, but the sense of deprivation would be profound.”

“Such a situation would be… Ah, I see what you mean.”

Fortunately, she seemed to catch on. If she happened to make careless remarks while conversing with other households’ servants, it could lead to trouble.

“Consider me that farmer blessed with abundance right now. I may not have committed any crime, but I’m in a prime position to be resented.”

“……”

“Of course, the brunt of the abuse will be directed at the hero and Second Prince. But they aren’t exactly easy targets, are they? I’m relatively more accessible.”

“Yes, I understand.”

Amelia nodded with palpable tension, even resolving to avoid going out except for essential errands.

Though there was no need to barricade ourselves indoors. Perhaps I had instilled too much trepidation in her.

Still, I saw no need to allay Amelia’s vigilance, for not long after, the maddening sound of furious pounding on the door assaulted my ears.

Bang, bang, bang!

Completely disregarding the bell installed beside the door, the aggressive knocking carried an implicit threat – open up swiftly, or the door would be broken down.

‘But isn’t this a bit too soon?’

I let out a chuckle as I retrieved my sword. As rude as the visitor might be, responding with blades would be improper, but some precautions were wise.

Bang! Bang!

“Enough, I’m coming.”

Khung…

Expecting a confrontation, I flung the door open wide.

A middle-aged man frozen in his door-pounding stance. Yet I felt no need for an aggressive response.

“Professor Weaver?”

He was a familiar face – a senior professor from the academy’s arcane faculty residing in the same district.

I recalled him cautiously approaching to introduce himself the day after I had moved in, reminiscing about having seen me a few times back when I was a student and attempting to strike up a rapport.

Our students only talk about Codanas these days, heh heh. Your name even comes up occasionally, Eric… Truth be told, I’m hardly in a position to admonish them about that.

This affable mage, far from putting on airs despite his status, had warmly welcomed me as a neighbor, even making meaningful remarks like, “I’ll be joining your ranks soon enough,” while playfully nudging my side.

But now…

‘He’s crying.’

Tears welled in his unfocused, wavering eyes, his complexion flushed crimson from the nape to earlobes – clearly in an extremely agitated state. The same man who had been furiously pounding on my door was now rendered speechless before me, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

At this point, there was only one conceivable reason for such an abrupt mental breakdown from a senior academy professor.

“What happened?”

“…The…The Second Prince, no, the hero…the Humanoid Lord…!”

“I’ve heard. Suspicions have arisen about the hero’s false report.”

“Even before anything has been clearly established, people are already going mad over it.”

He seemed to struggle finding the words, punctuating his disjointed ramblings with agitated gestures born of sheer frustration.

I was under no obligation to indulge an unfamiliar neighbor’s lamentations. Yet I did not rebuke him with, “Why are you telling me this?” – no need to needlessly make an enemy.

“So, uhh, this whole thing with the exchange pricing staff constantly…”

“Everyone is selling, but no one is buying, is that it?”

“Exactly!!”

He suddenly shouted while clenching his fist, only to immediately deflate, hanging his head in dejection. Even he seemed unable to control his emotions.

A wellspring of vexation and suffocating despair, with no outlet for release – enough to drive one insane.

“…Professor.”

He ended up crumpling to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I could only regard him with a troubled gaze, refraining from making any physical contact.

His weeping did not cease until family members finally arrived to support him, their faint voices apologizing to what seemed to be his son.

Witnessing that scene, I could well imagine the catastrophe unfolding without even visiting the exchange…

No, whatever I imagined would likely pale in comparison to the reality.

But one thing was certain:

‘I need to hasten my preparations.’

The investors’ unrest seemed more severe than I had anticipated. This was not a situation to celebrate my own exemption.

The professor had simply arrived to lament in solitude before breaking down in tears, but the next visitor might not be so harmless.

Too many lives were being devastated in real-time. Survival would require keeping my wits about me.