A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 580 Carrot Meeting

In Gringotts, Crowland's fingers gripped the parchment so tightly it was about to crumble.

A wizard spy "obtained" the list of negotiators and their bottom line from Falbotton Castle. All the most prestigious wizarding families in Britain were involved. The compensation amount was less than ten million, only 998 million Galleons. In Cloland's eyes, this was a declaration of war, a declaration of war by wizards against fairies!
What Kloran valued most was the clause that the participating wizard families would share the economic benefits equally. This was a pledge of allegiance, representing that these wizard families were in the same trench and would fight together against the fairies.

Now that they dare to demand 998 million Galleons in compensation, who knows what they might do next?

It's certain that once wizards have tasted the benefits of fairies, they won't stop.

Kloran slammed the parchment onto his desk, leaned back in his chair, and felt a wave of powerlessness wash over him.

"It is the darkness before dawn!"

He murmured quietly.

Many years ago, a goblin fortune teller "saw" Dumbledore fall from the castle tower after a green light during a divination.

By then, Voldemort had been defeated by Potter, Grindelwald was imprisoned, and that terrifying being from the end of the last century had been out of contact for decades, so he was probably dead.

The only person in the world who can stop a goblin is Dumbledore.

Therefore, Cloland believed that the time had come to restore the goblins' glory, and he made preparations in advance, waiting for Dumbledore's death to be the time to start the uprising.

Although I heard some time ago that Dumbledore was dying due to health reasons, he doesn't seem to be dying now. More importantly, Grindelwald has been released and Voldemort has been resurrected, so there's more than one wizard who can kill goblins.

Now, Croland can only wait. The conflict between Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Voldemort is irreconcilable. As long as the goblins don't do anything to provoke them like they kidnapped Charles, they won't put aside their differences and join forces. Instead, they will fight amongst themselves, and eventually one or two of them will die. Then, the opportunity will come.

“Ten million Galleons…” a low growl came from Kloran’s throat, his deep-set eyes flashing with anxiety.

Wizarding infighting can wait, but this huge compensation claim can't wait.

Gringotts' vaults are bottomless, but they are not inexhaustible.

The fairies couldn't afford this money, and they absolutely couldn't let the wizards make exorbitant demands. There was also the compensation from the Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter; they were all waiting for the outcome here.

He needs to stall! He desperately needs time.

"Pull ring!"

Cloland's voice boomed in the dimly lit office.

Pull-ring felt like he was having the worst luck lately. Last time he negotiated with the wizard and drew lots, he was the one who got picked. This time, he made the lot himself, and yet he was picked again.

He cautiously entered the office, not daring to look up at Cloland.

"You! Represent Gringotts, go and talk to them!" Kloran ordered. "Remember, you have only one task—delay! Delay for as long as you can!"

"As long as you don't sign the agreement, everything is negotiable. You can verbally agree to things that aren't too unreasonable, and make up excuses to get by with the rest."

Pull-ring's face instantly fell into a bitter expression.

Dealing with that pack of ferocious pure-blood wizards, who also carried the shadow of Voldemort, was more dangerous than sending him to clean the teeth of a Hungarian wood bee.

But he dared not say no, and could only accept the hot potato with a long face.

Kloran stared at the pull ring as it hunched over and disappeared into the shadows, his eyes dark and brooding.

Simply dragging things out won't work.

He had to get the money to prepare, to fill this huge hole, and even to support a massive goblin rebellion that he desperately wanted to avoid but had to prepare for.

But to rebel now would be suicide, and the timing is far too late.

The only solution right now is to ask for help from outside.

Encrypted letters, filled with earnest words, flew through the fairies' secret channels to fairy lairs all over the world.

The first to respond was the Siberian Fairy Internal Affairs Committee, which sent ten tons of potatoes as a gesture of support.

A few days later, four goblin envoys from different regions and with vastly different styles, each with their own agendas, stepped into a glittering VIP conference room deep within Gringotts.

The bags of gold from the United States rushed in almost exactly at the opening hour of Wall Street.

He was as big as a blockhead, wrapped in an expensive wizard's suit that was impeccably tailored, adorned with gold thread, and even the buttons were miniature gold coins, making him look like a walking gold mine.

The enormous gold coin tie dazzled the eye under the magic lamp.

His hawk-like eyes darted around as soon as he entered, quickly assessing the value of the gilded decorations on the walls, the mithril floor tiles, and even the antique goblin armor on Kloran's body.

He spoke as fast as a machine gun, and after a hearty laugh, he said, "Cloran, old buddy!"

"We understand your troubles. Ten million is nothing. We have plenty of cash on hand!"

"Interest rates? No problem, no problem, I guarantee you the best in the market!"

He rubbed his chubby hands, which were covered in jeweled rings, his smile full of greed.

Following closely behind was the European continent's special envoy, Copper Sound, who lazily sank into a chaise longue covered with thick velvet. He was "floated" in by a house-elf using a levitation charm and firmly occupied the warmest seat by the fireplace.

He wore an elegant but wrinkled and loose-fitting dark purple silk robe, and held in his hand a glass of homemade fairy liquor with a strong aroma of oak and berries.

Tong Xiang squinted, let out a long yawn, and slowly spoke in Italian-accented English: "Oh dear Kloran, what's the rush? Money is plentiful."

“Of course we can lend it, but…” He took a slow sip of his drink, as if savoring the moment, “We’ve been quite interested in developing the rare magical mineral veins beneath some of the ‘historical sites’ in the British Isles lately.”

"Perhaps, the debt can be settled by you sending fairy servants as payment?"

He was happily imagining the days of making money without lifting a finger, clearly treating the British devils as ready-made laborers.

Soon, a wave of heat mixed with a strong metallic smell, accompanied by a loud, cold snort, rushed in.

The anvil, from the African continent, had a short, stocky build like a bronze statue. His bulging muscles were covered with scars from both old and new burns, left over from when he made his tools.

He wore only a leather apron covered in sparks, and his waist was draped with heavy forging hammers and pliers, which clanged as he walked.

Iron Anvil's voice boomed like thunder as he roared without any politeness, "Kloran, I'm not going to beat around the bush with you! We have plenty of gold, more than you have in this cold, damp cellar!"

"But our gold didn't just fall from the sky, so you decide what to do."

Fairies who have gold mines at home speak with great confidence.

Finally, as if seeping directly from the shadows of the wall, Sylvain, from Southeast Asia, appeared silently.

He was taller and more hunched than the other fairies, his dark green skin damp with the swamp's moisture, and he wore a robe woven from dark moss, seaweed, and shadow beast skin.

He moved with a gliding motion, his hoarse, deep voice like a whisper, yet it clearly penetrated the ears of every elf in the slightly noisy hall: "The ancient covenant of Kloran is murmuring; a storm is taking shape."

His unfathomable eyes, seemingly capable of swallowing light, swept over the crowd with a hint of pity and detachment.

"We can't help with the money."

“Our own big moves require every penny and every bit of effort.”

He shook his head slightly, and the moss on his robe seemed to tremble as well.

"Your war is your destiny."

"We have our own whirlpools to struggle in."

He hinted that the Southeast Asian fairies were plotting some unknown and deadly secret operation, which piqued the curiosity of the other fairies.

As Kloran looked at his four kinsmen before him—a greedy banker, a lazy middleman, a grumpy blacksmith, and a mysterious fortune teller—his heart sank to the bottom of an icy abyss.

He took a deep breath, trying to make a final struggle, his voice deliberately feigning tragedy:
"Fellow countrymen! This is not just a crisis for Gringotts alone, it is the wizards declaring war on our entire goblin race!"

“Charles Smith is just the beginning. Malfoy, Lestrange, and those arrogant ‘Holy Twenty-Eight’ families are sharpening their knives, their targets being our millennia-old wealth and our means of survival!”

"Think about it! If it were Gringotts in England, our strongest fortress would be the first to fall. Do you think those greedy wizards would let you off the hook?"

"If the lips are gone, the teeth will be cold! Helping me today is saving your own tomorrow!"

"We need to stick together! We need to!"

His passionate speech was interrupted.

"Come on, Kloran!" Jin Dai waved his chubby hand, covered in gold rings, impatiently. "Can sentimentality be spent like gold coins?"

Do you understand risk premium?

"Oh, you might not know, but Gringotts Bank in the UK is the oldest warehouse bank."

"Britain is a powder keg! Voldemort, Dumbledore, and that elusive Grindelwald could blow up the whole of Britain at any moment!"

He wasn't afraid of Voldemort, but he was afraid of Grindelwald. After swallowing hard, he continued, "Our money doesn't grow on trees. High risk means high reward!"

"25% annual interest, and bring me everything on this collateral list. I'll write a check right now!"

He spoke rapidly and pulled out a frighteningly long roll of parchment.

Tong Xiang shifted in the recliner, finding a more comfortable position, then yawned and slowly said, "Forming a group? Heh, when the fairies of Eastern Europe were sent to Siberia, you guys were celebrating with champagne."

"Cloran, take my advice and admit defeat. Consider my 'debt settlement through work'?"

"The sunshine in Sicily is much more pleasant than the smog in London. I guarantee I'll arrange a mine with a superb view for you."

His voice grew softer and softer, as if he were gradually drifting off to sleep.

"Hmph!" The anvil's roar shook the crystal chandelier. "Show me the real thing, don't try to fool me with empty words!"

"I want to see an equal amount of treasure, otherwise, there's no point in talking!"

He slammed his large, fan-like hand onto the jewel-encrusted conference table, leaving a clear handprint, and the chandelier on the ceiling swayed a few times.

Sylvain stood there silently, his dark green face expressionless, his eyes unfathomable, as if he had already seen through all of Kloran's struggles and calculations, and declared the futility of this plea for help.

His silence was the firmest rejection, and his refusal to turn away was purely out of politeness.

Kloran stood frozen in the main seat, his face turning from pale to ashen, finally radiating a deathly despair.

His carefully prepared platitudes of righteousness proved as fragile as a piece of waste paper in the face of his compatriots, each with their own ulterior motives and driven only by self-interest.

Looking around, there was no passionate resonance, only naked transactions and cold rejections.

He knew he had absolutely no other choice.

The only sounds in the room were the rustling of the gold pouch turning through parchment, the even snoring of the copper bell, the heavy, impatient breathing of the anvil, and the chilling aura emanating from Sylvain like background noise.

Kloran closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, all his emotions were forcibly suppressed, leaving only cold calculation and resigned weariness.

He looked at the golden pouch, its golden light gleaming before his eyes, his voice dry and hoarse, uttering each word slowly and deliberately:
“Okay, 25% annual interest, I’ll sign the collateral list.”

"Paying off the debt with work is also an option, but it can only be done three years later."

"I will bring you a product that will satisfy you!"

He picked up the heavy, pure gold dip pen, feeling as if it weighed a ton.

He knew that signing this name was like drinking poison to quench thirst, betting the future of Gringotts and even the entire British goblin community on that group of greedy and insatiable kin.

But faced with the surging tide of wizards and the chilling internal divisions, his sinking ship could only cling desperately to the barbed driftwood before him, even if it would eventually drag him into a deeper, darker abyss.

The golden light in the negotiation hall still shone brightly, but it could no longer illuminate the darkness that had sunk to the bottom of Kloran's heart.

Fairy unity?
Faced with absolute self-interest and everyone's own ulterior motives, it is nothing more than an old and laughable joke.

In the end, he had to shoulder the burden of his war alone, and settle scores with them slowly after the victory!
(End of this chapter)