Void Lord: My Revenge Is My Harem

Chapter 240 : Opening Shop and Increasing Harem Members XVII

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Then his gaze slid past John to Orna and Edda standing behind him.

Fizz inhaled.

Fizz’s ears rose.

Fizz’s whiskers quivered.

Fizz’s mouth opened slowly like a man discovering a tragic truth.

"You," Fizz whispered, pointing a paw at John. "You smell... like romance and bad decisions."

John’s stomach fell.

Gael’s eyes flicked once between them —quick, not rude— and then he set his bundles down with the patience of a man who had raised miners and knew exactly what young people did when left alone for more than five minutes.

Kel cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling as if he had just become religious.

John forced his voice steady. "We were... practicing the gravity skill."

Fizz stared at him with the full disbelief of a spirit who had watched him kiss one woman before and had since suspected he was incapable of speed.

"Practicing," Fizz repeated. "Yes. Practicing. Maybe with hugging. And... advanced kissing exercises."

Edda smiled sweetly. "Lord Fizz, do not gossip. It is unbecoming."

Fizz gasped. "I am not gossiping. I am conducting quality assurance. My company cannot afford scandal without proper branding."

Gael spoke over him to change the topic. "We have supplies," he said calmly. "We have shelves to fill. We have a shop to run."

Fizz blinked, offended at the return of responsibility. "Fine," he huffed. "But I am filing this under: Suspicious Smells."

John’s ears stayed warm. He moved quickly to the back room, picked up the cloth he’d thrown over the new weapon, and carried it out like he was presenting a tool rather than a secret.

He set it on the counter.

Gael’s eyes sharpened. Orna leaned in. Kel stepped closer. Even Fizz stopped vibrating.

John pulled the cloth back.

The new firearm lay there — clean lines, rune channels etched with careful precision, a core slot built into the side chamber. Not flashy. Not ornate. The kind of thing that looked ordinary until it destroyed stone.

Gael stared for a long moment. Then he said, quietly, "That is... not a hunting bow."

Kel swallowed. "It is smaller than I expected." Fizz already bragged about the gun while shopping.

Fizz puffed up like a proud parent. "That is because John’s hands are blessed by destiny and also by me, Lord Fizz. You may applaud."

Orna’s eyes traced the runes. "This is the one you tested," she said.

John nodded. "Yes."

Gael’s gaze snapped to the broken slab in the forge area where the test had been done. He walked over, crouched, touched the edge of the hole. The stone looked punched through, not exploded. Clean violence.

He stood slowly. "This," Gael said, voice careful, "will change things."

John met his eyes. "I know."

Kel’s mouth tightened. "If you sell these, people will notice."

"Exactly," John said.

Gael’s brows rose. "You want to be noticed?"

"I want the shop to be known," John corrected. "Not me. Not my magic. The business."

Fizz pointed at his own chest. "Also me."

Gael ignored that with the ease of long practice. "Tell me your plan, Boss."

John breathed once and spoke clearly. "I am going to make one hundred of these."

Silence.

Then Kel said, flat, "One hundred."

Orna stared at John like he had just announced he planned to wrestle the ocean. "Do you realize what that means," she asked.

"It means we will be busy," John said.

Fizz clapped. "It means we will be famous."

Gael didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He did the thing he always did when big decisions arrived: he went still and made the world feel like it should be serious too.

"Pros," Gael said. "Money. Reputation. Leverage."

Kel added, "Customers. Repeat buyers."

Orna’s eyes narrowed. "Danger. Attention. Enemies. The academy." She looked at John. "Also, you are a student."

"I have permission to do business," John said carefully. "It’s public. Not wide. But permission."

Gael blinked once. He understood what that implied without asking for names. "You secured support," he said.

"I did," John replied. He did not mention Snake. He would not.

Kel rubbed his jaw. "Cons," he said. "We sell weapons. People will ask who we are. Where we got the design. Who backs us."

"And if we refuse," Orna added, "they will not stop asking. They will simply ask louder."

Fizz leaned in, eyes shining. "But if we do it right," he said, suddenly serious in a way that made everyone remember he was older than he acted, "we become untouchable. Not because we are strong. Because we are useful."

Gael nodded once. "Usefulness is protection," he agreed.

John tapped the counter lightly, bringing their attention back. "I will not sell to anyone," he said. "We pick buyers. We test them. We limit early sales."

John showed them what the gun can do. After a few moments of pause...

Kel snorted. "How do you limit something that powerful. People will offer coins you cannot imagine."

John’s eyes went steady. "Then we imagine refusing."

Orna watched him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Fine," she said. "But we do not do this alone."

John nodded. "We need a strong support."

Gael’s gaze sharpened. "Support like a guild."

"Or a sponsor," Kel said. "A known name."

Orna’s lips pressed together. "Or the goddess temple."

John didn’t answer that immediately. His mind flashed to Sera. To the Black family name. To the dangerous warmth that came with her and the shadow it could cast.

Fizz noticed his pause and grinned like a demon who smelled romance and opportunity on the same plate. "Oh," he whispered, "I know that look."

John shot him a warning glance.

Gael looked between them. "Boss," he said, practical, "we need legitimacy. If we start selling these without a protective roof, we will be robbed, taxed to death, or invited to a ’meeting’ that ends with knives."

John agreed. "That is why I am leaving."

Orna’s eyes narrowed. "Now?"

"Tonight," John said. "Before rumors spread. Before someone else sniffs this place and decides it belongs to them."

Kel frowned. "You just did something... You should rest."

John nodded once. "I will rest when this is stable."

Gael’s voice went softer. "Be careful."

John met his eyes. "Always."

Fizz floated up, puffed his chest, and made a grand sweeping gesture toward the door like he was sending a hero off to war. "Very well," he declared. "My disciple —because yes, I have decided I am also your mentor— go forth and acquire powerful allies. Make them fear you. Make them admire you. Make them offer you snacks."

Kel muttered, "You are not his mentor lord Fizz."

Fizz ignored him. "I will stay here and protect the shop with my immense presence and my even more immense charm. If anyone comes to threaten us, I will insult their bloodline until they cry to death."

"No, you are coming with me." John replied.

Gael sighed like a man who had accepted this was his life now. "We’ll open the shop tomorrow," he said. "Sell tools. Small work. Quiet customers."

"Recognition first," John agreed. "Then the guns."

Orna’s eyes held his. "And when you come back," she said quietly, "we finish... training."

John’s throat went dry.

Edda smiled, sharper. "Yes," she agreed. "Control practice."

Fizz’s ears shot up again. "I KNEW IT," he shouted, pointing wildly. "THE SHOP HAS TURNED INTO A ROMANCE DEN."

Gael clapped a hand on the counter. " Lord Fizz, he is our master."

Fizz stopped instantly and sat like a scolded cat, offended but obedient.

John pulled his coat on, checked the inner pocket where his papers were, and glanced at the weapon on the counter one more time. It looked simple. It was not.

He looked at Gael. "Keep it covered," he said.

Gael nodded. "Always."

John turned to Orna and Kel. "Do not talk about it outside," he said.

Kel lifted a hand. "We like living."

Orna smirked. "We like living comfortably."

John looked at Edda last. She tilted her head, eyes bright with amusement and something else he did not want to name.

"I will see you soon... tomorrow," John said.

"You will," Edda replied. "If you do not get kidnapped by someone who smells money."

Fizz floated to John’s shoulder for a final whisper and then made it dramatic on purpose, voice full of ceremony. "Go, John. Become terrifying in the marketplace. Return with allies and pastries."

John sighed. "I will return with allies. You are coming. Don’t act like you didn’t hear what I said earlier."

Fizz nodded solemnly. "Fine... you need to buy me pastries."

John did not deny it.

He stepped toward the door, the street waiting like a mouth full of teeth and opportunity. Behind him, the shop breathed — full now, alive, dangerous in the way new things are dangerous.

And in his mind, the mission number sat like a weight. "Sell one hundred guns."

A reward that could teach his void magic to sing through steel.

John pulled the door open, stepped out into the capital’s evening air, and did not look back until he had to.

The shop behind him settled into its first real night. And the future, as always, began with a choice and a locked door.

As the door closed, Gael looked at the covered weapon and spoke to the room, not loudly. "We guard this," he said. "And we guard him."

No one argued.

Outside, John walked into the capital’s evening, heart steady, future heavy in his pocket.

One hundred guns. One shop. And a path that no longer belonged only to him.

A few minutes later John came back to take the gun with him....