Chapter 56
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 56
Chapter Title: A Desert, of All Places—Me in the Desert! (3)
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The caravan leader's tone made it hard to read his emotions.
Ian tensed up sharply. He couldn't tell if the man was showing favor or hostility toward these empire folk with their different skin tones.
Could he hold his own if things turned violent?
Hard to say. He had no confidence—he'd never crossed blades with desert warriors before.
"Ah, sorry about that. It's just my first time seeing a real camel after only seeing them in pictures. They're even bigger up close. And the way they walk is so fascinating!"
But Dominic spoke up before Ian could.
"Are you interested in camels?"
"I've heard riding one feels just like being on a ship, so I've always been curious. But they're not exactly easy to come across..."
Camels don't walk like most four-legged beasts. The two left legs move together, then the two right—creating a gait and sway utterly unlike a horse.
Seeing Dominic's eyes sparkle in a way that was out of character, Karim and Anton tilted their heads, wondering if he had this kind of hobby.
But Ian saw it differently.
He's putting on an act.
They'd been stuck together for a full year. He still couldn't predict Dominic's thoughts, but he could at least tell his tastes apart by now.
He's not the type to genuinely care about animals.
That outburst about "double-humped camels being every man's dream!" right when he saw the caravan might've been a real, unfiltered reaction from some hidden fondness. But everything after? No way that was sincere.
Ian's guess hit the mark.
You can't spit in the face of a smiling one.
Dominic had once dreamed of riding a camel under the stars in the desert—a huge Arabian Nights fan, obsessed with Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.
So he'd blurted something silly upon seeing this camel train straight out of a movie.
But he snapped back to reality fast, racking his brain on how to turn the situation to their advantage.
Karim said he got grief for his skin color, so the empire's discrimination against desert tribes is out in the open. A caravan like this probably mixes in fear too—their trip here couldn't have been fun.
No doubt the desert merchants were treated like monsters in the empire. Instinct drove most folks to reject anything strange or scary.
Dominic finished his calculations in a flash and wielded his "interest in camels" like a weapon, cozying up to them like a kid chatting with the neighborhood elders.
It worked.
Wheek—
Thud!
The merchant let out a low whistle, and one of the men lined up in the back dismounted his camel and knelt on one knee right away.
"Feel free to give it a try."
"Really? Thank you!"
The desert merchant returned the empire man's friendliness in kind.
Dominic hopped on with help, no polite refusal needed. When the camel stood, he nearly pitched forward, but he managed to steady himself.
Maybe it was the two humps, but riding comfort aside, the stability felt superior, he thought.
Better than a horse? Should I snag one while I'm here and ride it around?
Even in this urgent moment of building rapport, a pointless thought popped up—proof that horse-riding pressure had quietly worn on him.
"Empire merchant. Have you come to this land to sell goods?"
The caravan leader soon addressed Dominic atop his camel.
"No, sir. We're heading through Viscount Delt's territory to the desert. Our group's small, so traveling alone seemed risky. We were hoping to join a caravan that crosses the sands."
The leader's eyes narrowed at Dominic's words.
"Ah, we did have an agenda, but my curiosity about camels is totally real."
His companions tensed at Dominic's unhidden intent.
But the desert merchants nodded approvingly at the frank admission.
"All empire folk fear us one and the same. You don't find me frightening?"
"If I'm set on going to the desert, can I let something trivial scare me off?"
A faint smile finally touched the caravan leader's face.
"Well said. Truly well said. Your spirit qualifies you to face the desert. Tell me your father's name."
"I'm a commoner—no family name. Just Dominic."
"The empire's customs are bizarre. Even the lowborn have roots. So, what do you trade in?"
"A bit of seafood, but I'm more interested in desert spices."
"Spices, eh. Most worthwhile ones are already cornered by others. Nothing your scale could touch. Best not waste the long trip."
He clearly thought well of Dominic—offering advice straight up.
As he said, popular foreign spices like pepper flowed into the empire steadily through desert kingdoms. That's why prices stayed reasonable and stable—long-established trade.
"What about cumin, cardamom, turmeric?"
"Have you ever been to the desert?"
"First time."
"Yet you know our spices well. Empire traders barely glance at them."
What Dominic named were bold in aroma and flavor—staples in desert kingdoms, but mismatched with empire recipes, so overlooked in trade.
The nearby merchants and warriors listening in softened their expressions too.
Basic goodwill toward a foreigner showing interest in their culture.
"Some empire noble once said these don't suit their tastes."
"Just unfamiliarity."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Whether the unfamiliar repels or fascinates depends on who's handling it, don't you think?"
"...Meeting a pleasant conversation partner on an unfamiliar road—truly blessed."
As Evergreen grew, dealings with big merchant groups picked up.
Right after deciding on the desert trip, Dominic eagerly set up meals and tea sessions with traders who'd been there, gathering intel.
So market stalls stuff pouches with dozens, hundreds of spice varieties?
He learned that while the stalls brimmed with yellows and reds, two-thirds were too pungent or spicy for import.
Dominic clenched a fist under the table, shaking his head along with the merchant.
I might be able to make curry!
Even the yellow, soupy curry from mass feedings wasn't bad. Richer solid cubes were great too. Indian-style or Southeast Asian twists had their own charm.
Dominic's next goal formed—after that black bean sauce stunt.
White rice with yellow curry,
And top it with fresh tonkatsu? Two bowls easy!
Folks might balk at first, but good taste wins out.
Curry mixed myriad spices anyway—tweak for local palates, and it'd catch on. Dominic was convinced.
Of course, Karim and Anton, unaware of his full scheming, were stunned.
Don't bring back stuff that looks good—make it look good after!
Those world-shaking ideas didn't come from nowhere.
Basic marketing, but the field's formal study didn't start till the 19th century.
Dominic kept unwittingly stimulating Karim—a natural genius, though unintended.
"Your village was promoted to town status?"
"Yes. All thanks to Count Sinclair's grace."
At Viscount Delt's castle, Dominic quickly met the viscount.
But their time was short.
"Sorry. I got word from your count, but winter's our busiest season—tons of deals to close. Can't host properly; don't take it personally."
"Of course. Just meeting you in person is an honor."
"Polite one. Off to the desert, you said? I know a caravan to introduce you to..."
"Ah, we already found company on the way."
"Hm?"
"Sahar's letting us travel with him."
Viscount Delt let out a dry chuckle.
"Did you say Sahar?"
"Yes."
"Figured he wasn't ordinary, but still. Building ties with Sahar? Congratulations."
"Pardon?"
"He's trusted by the desert sultan himself. You didn't know?"
The room Viscount Delt provided was quite luxurious.
Designed to impress merchants from countless lands, it had a different flair from the Sinclair estate's guest quarters.
But Dominic couldn't relax and enjoy the "castle vacay."
Something feels off.
He hadn't even unpacked—pacing the bedroom for dozens of minutes now.
"What're you mulling over? Everything went great."
"...So no more knocking? That's the new rule?"
"A guard knight's like a shadow—no need for formalities."
"Woof?"
Dominic stared in disbelief at Ian's personality, so changed from their first meeting a year ago.
Who to blame? All my fault. Sigh. Should've never let him hang with the fishing co-op uncles.
He refused to admit his role in Ian's shift, even at the end.
"So what's eating you?"
"Do I look worried?"
"Don't you?"
Dominic sighed softly at Ian's certainty and continued.
"It's nagging at me."
"What is?"
"Sahar. Him being a big-shot merchant trusted by the sultan—it bothers me."
"Isn't that good?"
They'd planned to leverage Viscount Delt for ties to desert nobility. Gaining favor with a guy like Sahar? Things falling into place on their own.
To Ian, Dominic's fretting made no sense. Luck rolling in full-bloom—what was bad about smooth sailing?
But Dominic saw it differently.
"Would a merchant of his stature personally trek this far?"
"......"
"If it were me, no way—I'd send underlings."
Ian paused at that.
"You think trade isn't his main goal?"
"Worth suspecting, right?"
Dominic rubbed his forehead.
Stuck playing spy out of nowhere.
Just get through the desert, and I'll hole up in the village for a year straight. Nowhere else.
A vow that might or might not stick.