Global Apocalypse: My System Is Always AFK
Chapter 39: Buy This? You Can’t Even Lift It

Chapter 39: Buy This? You Can’t Even Lift It

Devraj Malhotra did not take humiliation well, and he took it even worse in front of an audience.

By the time he’d stormed back to his estate, the market story had already outpaced him — three separate versions circulating by evening, each one making him sound more foolish than the last. In one telling, he’d begged on his knees. In another, Ethan had turned his entire retinue’s weapons to dust with a single glance, not just Sanjay’s blade. None of the versions were kind to him, and all of them were, in their own exaggerated way, essentially true.

"This cannot stand," he told his father that night, pacing the study while the elder Malhotra sat behind his desk, unmoved. "The whole district is laughing at us."

"Then stop giving them reasons to laugh," his father said flatly. "You went in with weapons drawn against something none of us understand. That wasn’t confidence, Devraj. That was carelessness."

"I’ll fix it," Devraj said. "Properly, this time. A formal negotiation. No weapons, no threats — just an offer he can’t reasonably refuse."

His father studied him for a long moment, weighing the wisdom of letting his son dig himself deeper against the political cost of the story spreading further unaddressed. "One meeting," he said finally. "Diplomatic. If he still refuses, you let it go. Do you understand me?"

"Understood."

The invitation arrived at Ethan’s building the next morning, delivered by a nervous courier who’d clearly drawn the short straw among the Malhotra household staff. It was, against Devraj’s own instincts, genuinely polite — a request for a private meeting at the Malhotra estate, an apology for the market incident, and an offer to discuss "mutually beneficial arrangements" without weapons or intimidation.

Ethan read it over breakfast, mildly surprised. "Huh. Guess he learned some manners."

"Are you going to go, beta?" Suresh asked, hovering nearby with the specific nervousness he’d developed around anything involving Ethan and other people with egos.

Ethan considered it, mostly because the letter had mentioned catering, and free food was free food regardless of who was offering it. "Yeah, sure. Might as well settle this properly so he stops sending guys with knives at me."

The Malhotra estate was, even by pre-apocalypse standards, ostentatious — a sprawling compound behind reinforced walls, private generators humming somewhere out of sight, a manicured courtyard that had somehow survived three weeks of chaos without a single blade of grass out of place. Devraj met him at the entrance personally this time, no retinue in sight, dressed in restrained, formal attire that made a visible effort at humility.

"Thank you for coming," he said, extending a hand Ethan didn’t shake, mostly because he had a mango in that one and wasn’t willing to put it down. "I want to formally apologize for the market. That was — poorly handled."

"Water under the bridge," Ethan said, unbothered, glancing around the courtyard. "You said there’d be catering?"

"There’s a full spread inside," Devraj said, gesturing toward the main hall, already leading the way. "Please. Let’s talk properly this time."

The main hall had been arranged with almost theatrical care — a long table set with an actual, genuine feast, the kind of pre-apocalypse abundance Ethan hadn’t seen in weeks, alongside a smaller side table positioned prominently near the center of the room, empty and waiting, clearly meant for a specific purpose.

"I’ve reconsidered my approach," Devraj said, gesturing Ethan toward a seat. "I’m not here to threaten or pressure you. I simply want to make my case properly. The Void Sword, in the right hands, could stabilize this entire district’s defense infrastructure. My family has the resources to protect it, maintain it, deploy it responsibly—"

"You still can’t lift it," Ethan said, mouth full of some kind of roasted vegetable dish he’d already started eating without waiting for the pitch to finish.

Devraj’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his composure. "Weight is a mechanical problem. My engineers can develop containment systems, mounted platforms, mechanical assists—"

"You could build a whole crane rig," Ethan agreed, "and it still wouldn’t lift it. It’s not that kind of heavy."

"With respect, I don’t think you fully appreciate what my family’s resources are capable of."

Ethan set down his fork, considered the conversation for a moment, and decided the fastest way through this was, as usual, simple demonstration rather than argument. He reached over his shoulder, pulled the Void Sword free from its sheath, and set it down — gently, by his standards — on the empty side table Devraj had so carefully prepared.

The table didn’t just break. It didn’t even really have time to break in any conventional sense — the four legs simply vanished into the floor beneath the sword’s full weight, the reinforced marble tabletop crushing flat instantly, and the concrete floor beneath that cratered downward in a spider-webbing collapse that swallowed the table entirely and kept going, a deep circular depression spreading outward through the foundation with a groan of stressed structural supports somewhere beneath the room.

Dust billowed up from the new crater. Somewhere in the walls, pipes groaned in protest. The entire hall’s chandelier swayed gently overhead from the vibration.

Devraj stared at the ruined floor, his prepared negotiation collapsing along with it, both literally and figuratively.

"That," Ethan said, picking the sword back up out of the wreckage without any apparent effort, the blade sliding free of the crushed marble like it weighed nothing at all now that he’d decided to lift it again, "is what happens when I set it down gently. You want to talk about mounted platforms and containment systems for something that just did that to your very expensive floor?"

Devraj’s mouth opened and closed several times without producing any sound.

"I’m not trying to be a jerk about it," Ethan continued, sheathing the sword and returning his attention to the feast, genuinely more interested in the roasted vegetables than the crater he’d just created. "But you keep acting like this is a negotiation about ownership. It’s not. Nobody owns this thing except me, and honestly, I’m not even sure I own it so much as it just decided to stick around. Your engineers could spend the next ten years building the world’s strongest crane and it still wouldn’t budge an inch unless I wanted it to."

"...I see," Devraj managed finally, staring at the crater where his negotiating table used to be.

"Also," Ethan added, gesturing at the wreckage with his fork, "you might want to get that structurally checked before the floor above this caves in. Just a heads-up."

Somewhere in the estate, a distant alarm began chirping — a structural integrity sensor, Ethan guessed, finally catching up to what his eyes had already told him. Devraj’s staff came rushing in moments later, alarmed at the sudden crater in the middle of their formal dining hall, and the young master stood frozen amid the chaos, watching his carefully planned, humility-driven second attempt collapse as thoroughly and literally as his own floor had.

Ethan finished his plate in comfortable silence, thanked the visibly shell-shocked serving staff for the meal, and made his way back toward the door, pausing only to offer one last, genuinely helpful piece of advice on his way out.

"For what it’s worth," he said, "if you actually want something valuable out of me, ask about the void inventory stuff. I’ve got tons of gear I don’t use. That’s actually for sale, more or less — well, tradeable, anyway. The sword’s just not on the table. Kind of literally, now."

He left Devraj Malhotra standing in the ruins of his own dining hall, staring down into a crater that would take his family’s considerable resources weeks to properly repair, and understanding, finally and completely, exactly how far outside his family’s reach the Void Sword — and its owner — truly sat.