SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse
Chapter 106: Priority sector

Chapter 106: Priority sector

As Violet made her way deeper into the castle grounds, her eyes caught something unfamiliar.

A new building stood at the far edge of the estate—modern, polished, and entirely out of place with the traditional architecture of the Harrier stronghold. What stood out even more was the long line of people stretched along the side of the structure, each waiting with a mix of anxiety and impatience.

Her elegant brows arched in surprise.

When she had left, this building hadn’t existed.

Before she could form the question, a voice bellowed from inside the building—

thunderous, casual, unapologetic:

"Lunch time! Everyone come back later!"

The effect was instant.

The lively murmur of the crowd collapsed into audible groans.

"Not this goddamn lunch again!" one man barked, stomping the dirt in frustration. He had a rough, weather-worn face, a sturdy bow slung across his shoulder, and hunting gear strapped to his back.

"I wanted to deposit money right now! My hunting mates are already waiting at the forest edge!"

He cursed under his breath, kicking a pebble into the cobblestone.

Further back in the queue, a young man with neatly combed hair and circular glasses adjusted the bridge with a sigh. His expression remained calm, but the disappointment in his tone was clear as he muttered:

"Damn. I just wanted to inquire about the priority sector lending. Is that too much to ask?"

He held a small leather pouch to his chest—likely containing notes, sketches, or experimental data. A soft gleam of hope still lingered in his eyes, even if it was now dulled by delay.

Some days ago, the Valthorn Banking Division had announced a new initiative—a bold policy to fund researchers and innovators, provided they met certain conditions.

It had sent ripples through the kingdom’s scholarly circles.

This young man was one of them—a divine researcher aspirant, someone who had spent years studying day and night to qualify for the upcoming examination held by the Divine Research Guild.

The exam fees alone were steep. Beyond that, materials, spiritual models, and simulation equipment drained every last coin.

He had already exhausted his savings on field tests and long-shot hypotheses.

Now, this initiative might be his only chance to move forward.

And yet, here he was—halted by a lunch break.

---

Violet took it all in silently.

She said nothing, but her gaze lingered on the building, on the people, on the energy.

This... was different.

When she had left, Valthorn was conservative, slow to change, grounded in nobility and tradition.

Now, it buzzed with enterprise. With ambition. With movement.

Whatever had happened during her absence—whoever had brought about this shift—had stirred the kingdom to its roots.

Carl knew one thing for certain—if he didn’t get this loan, there would be no divine researcher exam for him this year.

He had no rich family, no noble backers, and certainly no spiritual beast bloodline to rely on. All he had were his notes, theories, and a relentless desire to make something of himself.

Still... lunch was lunch.

With a collective groan of reluctant acceptance, the waiting crowd dispersed to find shade or food. Time ticked by. One hour passed.

Then, with a soft metallic clang, the bank’s window shutters reopened, and the flow resumed.

Fifteen minutes later, it was finally his turn.

Carl stepped forward, his eyes scanning the gleaming brass counter in front of him. Behind the crystal-glass panel sat a young woman in uniform—poised, expressionless, and efficient, with the air of someone who’d repeated the same script a thousand times.

"Deposit or withdrawal?" she asked, her voice clear and mechanical, almost rehearsed.

Carl didn’t answer the question.

Instead, he replied calmly, looking directly at her:

"I need a loan."

There was no hesitation in his voice—only quiet certainty.

The woman blinked once, then leaned forward slightly. Her tone remained professional:

"Okay, sir. I understand you need a loan. First, I’ll need your name and the reason for the request."

Carl gave a small nod.

"Carl Lutherberg. Aspiring divine researcher. I need the loan to further my research."

That was only half the truth.

In reality, the funds were to cover the entry fees and costs of participation in the upcoming Divine Researcher Exam.

But saying that aloud would’ve sounded... pathetic.

A divine researcher asking for help just to get in the door? He couldn’t bring himself to say it. So, with a straight face and eyes that didn’t blink, he lied.

For a brief moment, there was silence. Then Carl heard a faint whirring—the sound of gears turning, wheels ticking in some mechanism behind the counter.

He imagined a rune-inscribed mana engine processing his identity, scanning his aura signature, verifying that he wasn’t some fraud or bandit.

Finally, after a few heartbeats, the woman spoke again—her tone slightly changed, more direct now.

"It appears you are not a local, Mr. Carl. Normally, our policy forbids granting loans to non-residents."

Carl’s shoulders stiffened.

"However," she continued, "your request falls under the Priority Sector Lending Program. Because of that, your case is eligible for further consideration."

Hope stirred in Carl’s chest.

"But before we can issue any amount," she added, "you’ll need to meet personally with Prince Devrok. Only after his approval can the funds be released."

Carl blinked.

Prince Devrok?

A chill of nervous excitement ran down his spine. The prince wasn’t just a political figure—he was a battlefield legend. A warrior. A cultivator with a terrifying reputation.

Why would someone like him get involved in small-time research loans?

But Carl didn’t voice his doubts. He simply nodded and stepped back.

Because right now, even the slimmest chance was enough.

Carl stood frozen.

His mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened.

He hadn’t expected the process to go so smoothly—or so quickly.

For a few seconds, his thoughts raced in place, looping over the conversation again and again. It wasn’t until the middle-aged man behind him tapped his shoulder and asked, "Hey kid, everything alright?" that Carl snapped out of his daze.

He nodded instinctively, murmuring a vague "Yeah," and took a slow step back from the counter.

Just as he was about to walk away, the bank clerk’s voice called out from behind the crystal window—sharp and precise:

"Mr. Carl, please deliver this document to the prince when you meet him."

With a faint whoosh, a small object sailed through the air and landed cleanly in his hands.

A scroll.

But not just any scroll.

The moment his fingers made contact with the surface, his expression shifted.

The texture was unmistakable—smooth, but laced with faint spiritual runes that pulsed under his touch like a heartbeat.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"A spiritual contract..."

He whispered the words to himself, awe and respect threading his tone.

These weren’t ordinary agreements.

In the cultivation world, spiritual contracts were serious—binding pacts enforced by soul-searing runes and Amma-infused oaths. Breaking such a contract didn’t result in legal action... it resulted in spiritual backlash, crippling one’s cultivation or even worse, killing the offender.

The bank clearly wasn’t handing out loans on goodwill and handshakes.

But instead of feeling intimidated, Carl felt invigorated.

They meant business. And that meant this was real.

If they were handing him a spiritual contract, then it wasn’t some polite dismissal or elaborate rejection tactic. He was in. He actually had a chance.

For the first time in a while, a genuine smile crept onto Carl’s face.

He tucked the scroll under his arm and walked away with confidence in his steps.

Just as he was crossing the waiting area, a gravelly voice rang out:

"Long time no see, Mrs. Beth."

Carl’s ears perked up.

He didn’t turn around, but his grin widened.

So that’s her name.

Beth, the woman behind the counter.

Efficient. Sharp. And clearly more powerful than she let on.

With a chuckle under his breath and the scroll pressed to his chest, Carl stepped out into the sunlight—hopeful for the first time in a long time.

Meanwhile, back in the hallway, Queen Violet turned her head slightly, her gaze following Carl’s departing figure. A flicker of intrigue passed through her sharp blue eyes—a strange, thoughtful look, as if she’d just caught a glimpse of something she couldn’t yet define.

Then she slowly shifted her attention back to the two people standing before her—Niomi and Devrok.

Her voice was calm but carried an unmistakable edge.

"Can anyone care to explain what this so-called ’bank’ is that people keep talking about?"

There was no urgency in her tone. No raised voice. But the weight of her authority pressed down like a silk-wrapped blade.

Devrok’s lips twitched into a smile—but it was clearly forced. He glanced at Niomi for support, but she pretended to adjust her sleeve, wisely choosing silence.

"It’s a long story," Devrok finally said, scratching the back of his neck.

Violet’s eyes narrowed, glinting like steel under starlight.

"Go on," she said coolly. "After all, I’ve just returned. I have all the time in the world."

Her words were delivered with grace, but the implication was clear—there would be no dodging this question.

Devrok’s smile immediately stiffened.

He sighed.

This wasn’t going to be easy.