Peddling Snake Oil (3)
"I had no idea you had a wife and child. And to think your wife is of the forest folk—how truly marvelous."
"Haha, well, to be honest, I wrote this latest book with my kid in mind," Yohan bantered in response to the printing press owner's remark.
He then naturally rested a hand on Charles's shoulder. Charles's lips twitched violently, but he somehow managed to maintain a sweet, smiling eyes. Falco, on the other hand, played the role of Pharmacist Martin's wife with seamless ease. From the look of things, she was clearly enjoying the situation.
"Excellent. Shall we depart immediately, then? The transportation has already been arranged."
"Right, right. Let's go," Yohan said, climbing into the carriage.
Falco and Charles followed close behind, and the printing press owner boarded last, closing the door behind them.
"The distance from Westania to Burgund is quite substantial. Even with brief rest stops, the journey alone will take about two days."
"Right, right."
The plan was to take the carriage to the station and then use a long-distance teleportation magic circle to reach the Corporate State. Honestly, considering the travel time and the inevitable motion sickness that followed teleportation, relying on the Goddess's power would have been much better. However, since this trip to the Corporate State was strictly under the guise of 'Pharmacist Martin,' it was only proper to quietly use the transportation provided by the printing press.
"And as you may know, long-distance teleportation magic circles can cause nausea or dizziness immediately after activation..." The printing press owner trailed off, casting a worried glance at Charles. He seemed concerned that the journey would be too physically taxing on such a young child.
"I'll be fine. I've traveled all over with my... F-Father since I was very little," Charles said, offering Yohan an awkward smile. Yohan nodded vigorously in agreement.
"That is a relief. To be honest, even fully grown adults often struggle after their first long-distance teleportation."
The printing press owner had mentioned earlier that it would take a full two days just to get from Westania to the Corporate State. This was because the estimate included waiting times at the magic circle stations and rest periods, not to mention having to travel by land through sections where direct teleportation wasn't possible.
Well, if he thought about it, traveling between continents by plane in his original world took a full day anyway. Yohan shrugged.
After about thirty minutes of traveling through the royal capital, the carriage rattled to a halt. *Clack.* They had arrived in front of the teleportation magic circle station. Peeking through the carriage blinds, Yohan saw a bustling crowd of pedestrians passing by the station entrance.
"Let us head inside straight away. I have already reserved our tickets for the magic circle departing from the capital. However, please understand that we may have to wait near the stations at subsequent transfers."
"Oh, don't worry about it. It's perfectly fine."
After all, if they chained teleportations back-to-back, they would probably end up throwing up everything in their stomachs.
"Haha, thank you for your understanding, Master Martin."
"You're paying for all the tickets, so why would I complain? Right, d—*cough*." Yohan, trying to act nonchalant, had started to address Falco beside him, but a powerful, instinctive wave of revulsion forced him to swallow the word back down. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to utter that word. He clutched his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Yes, dear. You're absolutely right."
"Blegh—!"
But Falco had gone ahead and said it anyway. Yohan dry-heaved on the spot, and even Charles turned pale, his shoulders trembling.
Bwahaha! The Goddess's boisterous laughter echoed in his mind, while Falco stood before him with a triumphant smirk plastered across her face.
"M-Master Martin, are you alright?"
"Ugh, it's been so long since I've ridden in a carriage... I think I'm getting motion sickness..." He wasn't technically lying. Yohan really hadn't ridden in or driven a carriage lately.
"We still have some time before our scheduled teleportation, so why don't we step outside and get some fresh air?"
"Whew... Let's do that."
He had a strong feeling this trip to the Corporate State wasn't going to be easy. Hiding his trembling hands, Yohan let out a quiet sigh.
Still, it wasn't all bad. The very fact that he had received an invitation from the Corporate State, a nation located far from Westania, was an incredible stroke of luck. Of course, this was partly due to his rising fame as 'Pharmacist Martin,' but regardless, the fables published under the same name had sold so well that the Corporate State had practically begged him to visit.
And that wasn't all. If things went well, he could use the Corporate State—whose economic influence rivaled even that of the Empire—as a springboard to distribute his fables across the entire continent.
He would introduce the teachings of the Goddess of Justice to nobles and intellectuals across the land, and eventually, reveal the existence of the Goddess's faith to the world. On top of that, if he could convert the clergymen of the Central Church... then even the Holy Kingdom, with its ruthless persecution of heresy, wouldn't dare to openly crush the Goddess's faith. After all, suppressing someone by brute force only worked when there was a massive disparity in weight class.
"Hehehe..." Yohan let out a sly chuckle before finally stepping down from the carriage.
Burgund was a nation with commerce far more developed than any other country on the continent. This prosperity had earned it the moniker of the 'Corporate State'—a term that referred to Burgund's unique administrative system, while also poking fun at the fact that every single citizen, from the highest to the lowest, was constantly moving money around.
It was a place where some made fortunes trading essential grains, others specialized in weapons and armor, and still others distributed books collected from all corners of the continent. Yet, the quirks of this unusual nation did not end there.
There were no nobles in Burgund. From the very beginning, its founding monarch had styled himself as a Chief Executive Officer rather than a king, a tradition that persisted to this day with the 'Board of Directors' managing the affairs of the state.
This did not mean, however, that Burgund was a progressive utopia that had abolished class divisions. Those who amassed rapid wealth through superior business acumen, along with the descendants and families who inherited their fortunes, were known as the bourgeois.
While the Corporate State of Burgund had no legally defined caste system, a clear distinction existed between the common folk and the upper class based entirely on personal or family assets. Those who lived hand-to-mouth and the patriarchs who led merchant groups spanning centuries naturally lived in completely different worlds.
It was only recently that the name of an eccentric from a small country in the southern continent began to circulate among Burgund's high society.
Martin. An anonymous pharmacist who had appeared like a sudden gust of wind, declaring his presence by selling exceptionally high-quality High Potions. At the same time, he was the author of a collection of fables that, while appearing to be simple children's stories on the surface, carried profound moral weight.
High Potions were, without a doubt, high-priced luxury commodities. Capable of seamlessly reattaching severed limbs or even regrowing them, these miraculous elixirs were constantly sought after and stockpiled by countless individuals and organizations, from private adventurers to national militaries.
Manufacturing a High Potion required an immense level of magical and scientific knowledge. Whenever a war broke out between nations, prices would skyrocket, and shortages would plague the entire continent. Yet, Pharmacist Martin produced these High Potions entirely on his own—and in staggering quantities, at that.
This feat alone was enough to prove his extraordinary capability. Mage guilds across the continent were already vying to recruit him.
But Pharmacist Martin didn't just brew High Potions; he also wrote captivating books. His work, Martin's Fables, had caught the eye of a prominent literary critic in the Corporate State, and before long, there was hardly a bookworm in the country who didn't recognize his name.
Eventually, a publishing firm in the Corporate State secured the official rights to publish his fables. To celebrate the signing of the contract, they had invited Martin to a grand banquet. Naturally, many of the bourgeois were in attendance.
"So that's him..."
"He's much younger than I expected."
Capital, the bustling metropolis of the Corporate State. Inside a lavish banquet hall, the guest of honor, Martin, finally entered, accompanied by his wife and daughter.
The head of the publishing firm hosting the party personally welcomed him. Even in this distant, foreign land, Martin exchanged greetings with a composed expression, showing a hint of caution but absolutely no intimidation. Every eye in the hall locked onto Martin and his family.
"His wife appears to be an elf."
"A man from the southwestern fringes of the continent married an elf from the Great Forest and even had a child with her?"
"I see. It's because he has traveled the continent that he's able to spin such profound tales."
The guests shared similar impressions, their thoughts aligning. Thus, in their minds, the man named Martin was established as a 'brilliant recluse who had traveled the continent in his youth, married an elf of the forest folk, and settled down in a small kingdom in the southwest.'
Of course, not a single person at the party admired him out of pure goodwill. This gathering was far more than a simple welcoming ceremony for a guest from afar. Even as they sat comfortably, sipping tea and chatting with acquaintances, every single one of them was calculating how to handle this man named Martin.
Should they establish a business relationship with him as a new partner? Or should they interact with him purely as author and reader? Or perhaps...
"..."
Louis, the master of the Dorleans Merchant Group—one of the largest conglomerates in Capital—watched the Martin family from a corner table. To be precise, his gaze was fixed not on Martin himself, but on his wife. Though he had briefly locked eyes with Martin's young daughter a moment ago, Louis had eyes only for the breathtakingly beautiful elf.
Initially, he had attended the party merely thinking it might benefit his business. He had read Martin's fables, but not because he actually enjoyed them; it was solely to gather information to use in conversation. Consequently, he hadn't expected much from this gathering.
But at this very moment, Louis's perspective shifted entirely. No matter how impressive it was that he could brew high-quality High Potions and write engaging stories on his own, that man was ultimately nothing more than a country bumpkin from the backwaters of the continent. And an elf of such elegant, radiant beauty was far too good for a rustic fool like him.
He made up his mind. Louis firmly decided on his course of action. No matter what it takes, I will make that elven woman mine.
This was Burgund. A world of pure survival of the fittest, where money could buy absolutely anything. He was, after all, the man who had abandoned his own brother before the boy's voice had even cracked, all to seize complete control of the family business. Having kicked him out with a measly sum of money under the pretense of 'broadening his horizons,' the boy was likely nothing but white bones buried under the dirt of some wasteland by now. Louis sneered at the thought.
"Perfect."
First, he would make his presence known. At the same time, he could gauge what kind of man Martin was through a brief conversation.
Louis rose from his seat with practiced grace. With leisurely steps, he made his way toward Martin, his wife, and their young daughter.
"A pleasure to meet you, Master Martin. Having read your book, I have long hoped for the opportunity to meet you in person."