“Although this isn’t exactly by the book, I don’t see it as a problem,”
The head of the Royal Bank’s loan department said with a smile to a nobleman. The nobleman, initially displeased, managed a more restrained smile.
The noble had arrived early in the morning, requesting to mortgage his estate, villas, luxury cars, and a large collection of art and jewelry.
To be honest, nobles like this usually meant big profits. There were typically two types of situations with such nobles:
First, they might have gotten involved in a high-stakes gamble and lost everything.
There were gamblers even among the nobility, and they played big.
Bets of hundreds, thousands, even tens or hundreds of thousands—it was never enough to excite them.
When you have that much money, winning or losing just becomes a change in digits. That kind of change doesn’t get the heart racing.
Only by gambling their entire fortune could these noble gamblers feel that thrill—walking the tightrope of fate above an abyss, savoring the excitement of the unknown.
In Gephra’s history, there have been nobles who went bankrupt at the card table—more than a few.
The second possibility was that the noble’s cycle was ending. Maybe they weren’t sure if the emperor would grant them another favor. They could be reduced to commoners.
Their assets might soon become liabilities. In that case, liquidating their estate and leaving Gephra wouldn’t be a bad idea. Of course, they might also use the funds to try buying their way back into favor, persuading the Privy Council to grant them a title.
Regardless of the reason, mortgaging assets to the bank always meant profit. Even nobles couldn’t get loans at 100% of market value.
Seventy percent was the upper limit. Commoners mortgaging to noble or royal banks only got 40% to 50%. Merchant banks offered slightly more—but never above 60%.
Seventy percent might not sound like much, but it’s a lot—especially since nobles always had valuable items.
Royal gifts, donations from other nobles, or lavish tributes from capitalists hoping to curry favor. If appraised too generously, the bank could end up just being used as a cash-out channel.
This noble had mortgaged nearly everything in one go. The loan would be profitable, but it wasn’t easy to approve—he was asking for too much.
Fortunately, he was only a minor noble, not deeply rooted.
While explaining how tricky it was, the department head still stamped the contract with a smile—balancing procedure with flexibility, ensuring he wasn’t seen as the bad guy later.
“I’ll have the funds transferred to your account shortly…”
The young noble gave a small, satisfied nod and asked casually, “Could I get it in cash?”
The department head was… surprised. “You want it in cash?”
“That much cash would nearly fill this room. Transporting it would be a hassle—and people would know there’s that much money in your house. It could cause serious safety concerns.”
The noble hesitated. “Let me make a call…”
Escorted to a private lounge, he returned a few minutes later, calm as ever.
“Cash is fine, but you must guarantee I can withdraw it on demand. We’ll need a supplemental agreement.”
The department head didn’t fully understand, but nobles were always unpredictable.
“There’s really no need to worry. As the Empire’s central bank, we have both the confidence and capability to honor any withdrawal at any time!”
He said this with genuine pride—he didn’t even bother including Royal in the name, though it should have been the Royal Bank.
That alone spoke to the bank’s strength.
But while the department head was confident, the noble was not.
“If we can’t sign the supplemental agreement, then give me cash. The security issue is none of your concern.”
Seeing the noble wasn’t joking, the department head hesitated.
“I’ll need to check—please wait a moment.”
He went next door and called the acting executive director, currently in charge at the bank.
The executive director also found it strange but admitted that moving that much cash at once would be a pain. The underground vault was a nightmare to open—complex procedures and five directors inserting keys simultaneously.
For a relatively small sum, it wasn’t worth the hassle.
“I agree in principle to the supplemental agreement. Just make sure to get legal to draft the terms carefully…”
Soon after, the department head returned with a stamped copy of the agreement and signed it with the noble.
The agreement stated that if the noble couldn’t access his money on demand, the bank would owe him at least 1.5x in compensation, increasing by 5% daily for every delay.
The contract looked solid. After signing, the department head personally saw the noble out.
He had barely returned to his office when the front desk called—another noble wanted a loan.
“What’s going on?” he muttered as he picked up the phone—but he still received the guest.
This noble had nearly identical requests: maximum mortgage, in cash. The paperwork was thorough, including multiple proof-of-ownership documents. Servants even wheeled in over a dozen wrapped oil paintings and various art pieces.
The process repeated. Another supplemental agreement was signed.
Afterward, the department head asked softly, “Forgive the question—but why insist on cash withdrawals?”
The noble glanced at him, then shook his head and said nothing.
Yet even in silence, the department head seemed to understand.
“Apologies, I overstepped.” He stood to see the noble out.
Once the noble was gone, he went straight to the executive director’s office.
“Another noble just came in—same deal. I think… there could be a third, even a fourth.”
The executive director, a man in his sixties, set down his work and looked at him.
“What are you trying to say?”
The department head hesitated but decided he had to speak. If something happened, he’d share the blame—unless he raised the alarm now.
“If they all come to borrow and demand cash with unrestricted access… won’t it disrupt our normal operations?”
He carefully avoided saying the vault might not have enough cash—just hinted at operational concerns.The Executive Director thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“Don’t worry about that. We have the capacity to meet any withdrawal requests they make. Have some confidence. If we couldn’t handle something like this, we wouldn’t be the largest bank in the Empire.”
He picked up his pen but kept his eyes on the department head.
“Anything else?”
The department head had more to say, but seeing the Executive Director clearly dismissing further discussion, he knew pushing it might only offend him—so he left.
What he wanted to say was that the nobles’ money in the bank wasn’t just the loan amounts—they also had significant personal deposits. That was no small sum.
But the Executive Director clearly wasn’t interested. He wouldn’t involve himself any further either.
The department head had reported the issue. If something went wrong, the blame wouldn’t fall on him. Whatever the consequences, they were no longer his concern.
Soon, more nobles began appearing—not just at the Royal Bank, but across the capital and surrounding cities. Nobles were borrowing heavily from every bank. A strange atmosphere began to settle over the capital—faint, like the smell of blood in the air.
It was like… a single drop of blood falling into the sea—spreading in thin, invisible threads. You knew it was there, but couldn’t see it.
You couldn’t see it, but something could—like a shark.
At 9:30 a.m., the Gephra Financial Index crashed right after the market opened—down 2% instantly.
The plunge was mainly triggered by comments made by the Minister of Finance on television the night before: he announced a full investigation into the operations of publicly listed companies.
This wasn’t an empty threat. Six major weighted stocks were suspended, corporate bank accounts were frozen—he followed through with real action.
But just as people feared the Gephra Financial Index might keep plummeting, something strange happened.
The index didn’t continue falling. After some sideways movement, it even edged slightly upward. It was a small rise—but on the charts, it was there.
The news spread across Gephra quickly. The Minister of Finance heard it too.
He didn’t look pleased—in fact, he looked scornful. Rumor had it he cursed under his breath:
“Lowly bones.”
