Chapter 57
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: A Desert, of All Places! (4)
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At the very moment Dominic was hardening his resolve, deep within the imperial palace of the Verona Empire, a woman was receiving a report.
“Even though he received word from the Magic Tower, the Sinclair Count isn't making a move?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”
It was a room eerily composed of nothing but white.
Spotless white marble floors, adorned with white lace and white silk.
The empress, mistress of this white palace, was the only splash of color amid the monochrome. Her fiery red hair, green eyes, blue dress, and gold jewelry from head to toe were enough to make one wonder if she had absorbed every hue that belonged in this place.
“They said he came from a martial house but works as a civil official—where's that signature Sinclair bravado? He's hunkered down like a rat clinging to its burrow. Tsk!”
“Still, wouldn't it be wise to wait a little longer? The Magic Tower's message was only just delivered, so it's too soon to abandon hope.”
“If it had been his father, he'd have already stormed the desert by now. Now that would have been a show worth watching.”
The empress smacked her lips, her face shifting into the grin of a mischievous boy who'd pulled off a prank.
But unlike a child's harmless fun, hers brimmed with malice.
“I tried pitting the desert against them for a scrap, but it's no fun at all. No fun!”
“Could it be they're dismissing all this as mere coincidence?”
“The southern barbarians may be crude, but surely not that dense.”
The empress let out a scoff at her subordinate's words, then began cooling her hot tea to sip.
She paused midway and posed a question.
“Have you uncovered why Sahar headed south?”
“Well...”
Clang!
A priceless porcelain bowl shattered against the white marble floor, scalding tea splattering everywhere.
“Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty!”
Spotting the change in her expression, the subordinate leaped from the sofa and prostrated himself on the floor.
“If you're going to flatter me, at least do your job properly first. A man who excels at his work and speaks smoothly is clever and capable—but one who bungles his duties while running his mouth is a sycophant deserving death.”
“...I shall keep that in mind.”
Born into one of the empire's premier noble houses—a marquisate among marquisates—the empress still saw herself not as imperial blood, but as a daughter of that house.
Even bringing in that scorpion from the desert beneath the southern mountains had been for the noble faction's gain.
“We need to sever the ties between the south and the desert, but tsk! Of all times, these baseless rumors had to spread now!”
The capital's nobles dreamed of monopolizing not just the empire's wealth, but the entire continent's.
The empress didn't begrudge them that.
If someone must claim it, why not our noble faction?
What had irked the capital's nobles—and the empress herself—was news that southern merchants were steadily increasing trade with the desert and foreign lands.
The empress found the southern savages reaching for their domain utterly insulting, so she resolved to drive a wedge between the desert and the south.
Both sides had egos to spare; a little prodding, and they'd clash on their own.
But the timing couldn't have been worse.
[Malicious rumors about His Highness the Crown Prince are circulating.]
If word had reached her ears, it had surely reached the emperor's as well.
Yet he hadn't made it public. The empress took that silence as a warning.
This is no time to draw attention.
Under normal circumstances, she would have employed more direct, relentless methods, but settling for stirring the pot with a single monster was the tangled result of various constraints.
“We can clip the south's wings later. For now, scour every detail to uncover why that old fox Sahar came in person.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
At any rate, Sahar's motives were the priority.
That a merchant under the sultan's protection had taken to the road himself suggested he might have gotten wind of something.
“Bring me any special news the moment it arrives.”
Only the rhythmic tap, tap of the empress's slender fingers on the armrest echoed through the silent palace.
Crackle, crackle.
The campfire in the encampment blazed brightly.
“It's amazing no matter how many times I see it.”
“The construction fascinates me. If we could replicate it, it'd be perfect for the barracks.”
Dominic and Ian chatted while gazing at the traditional tents the desert merchants had pitched in moments.
Their stay in Delt Viscountcy hadn't been long.
Dominic and his group subtly hoped Sahar would depart swiftly, but given the caravan's massive trade volume, they might have needed to hitch with another if luck soured. Fortunately, Sahar wrapped up in under three days and set off back toward the desert.
[I asked the warehouse workers—trade volume's about average this year. Doesn't that seem off?]
The intel from the laborers loading cargo just before leaving Delt Castle only deepened Dominic's suspicions.
It's not about securing food, then?
So why had that elderly merchant come all this way in person? His mind raced.
Ah, whatever. I'll hunt for scorpions, stock up on spices, and head home.
Soon enough, he shrugged it off with a Why am I even fretting?
Unless Sahar's business tied to Evergreen, he'd ignore it.
He could headache over it if trouble arose later.
No point worrying ahead of time. Stay cautious, but don't overdo the paranoia.
With that settled, traveling alongside the camel train became downright enjoyable.
The desert merchants had initially kept their distance, but Dominic and crew's persistent friendliness wore them down—they now seemed genuinely fond.
Scoring points on first impressions had paid off.
“Care to join us for dinner?”
“Sure thing!”
After repeated viewings of Dominic delighting in novel spices and dishes, the merchants now invited him to their tents each evening.
“How's the lamb?”
“Oh! I snagged some beer from that village we passed. Be right back.”
He returned with beer to find thick lamb ribs about to hit a broad, flat pan greased for grilling.
Sizzle.
Oil and juices seeped from the lamb on the hot pan, emitting an appetizing hiss.
“This is our family's secret spice blend. Pairs perfectly with meat.”
“Such a treat! Thanks. Guess I'll have to overeat tonight. Haha!”
Dominic bantered as he grabbed a fully cooked rib bone and all, dipped it lightly in the mix, and popped it in his mouth.
Every tent that had hosted him had offered homemade spice blends, just like this one.
It's like them bragging about their kimchi.
He realized it was a desert dining custom: pull out the family spice mix like Wanna try our house kimchi? and gauge the guest's reaction.
“...!”
“Not bad, eh?”
The merchant grinned slyly.
Dominic knew from the first bite that the confidence was well-earned.
Top among all the invitations so far.
Spicy kick up front, a minty cool midway, finishing mysteriously sweet.
Exotic aroma and flavor, yet it banished gaminess, amplifying nutty oil and rich meatiness flawlessly.
“Nine varieties blended together.”
“I'd be stumped just naming them, let alone replicating the mix.”
“Plenty have tried copying ours. All failed.”
“No surprise there.”
As they chatted, Dominic resolved:
Once we arrive, I'll snag invites everywhere. Contract with the one that suits our tastes best.
Then bottle those blends—each stamped with its desert house name—in fancy, luxurious jars?
Label by number or color? People love collecting series like that.
Dominic envisioned a lineup of table treasures.
In his mind, the desert was morphing into a land brimming with gold. Earlier annoyances? Vanished.
“The empire mostly processes leafy herbs and stems into spices, right?”
“They do favor herbs.”
“Fruits and seeds have some gems too.”
Comparing culinary habits amused Dominic. Lately, he'd taken to jotting notes on spices and recipes.
The merchants, seeing his eagerness to learn their culture, shared even more.
“I figured the Desert Kingdom did no farming at all.”
“Most imperials think that. They imagine nothing but sand.”
“The Sand Sea image is just too vivid.”
Ian chimed in between bites.
Desert Kingdom.
Most imperials pictured endless dunes.
Yet it had mountains and valleys. Barren rocky peaks with scant trees or grass, but villages midway grew dates, lemons, peaches, grapes—not to mention veggies and grains.
Thanks to the irrigation canals called Palaz.
Many spices were imports, but they grew a fair share too.
“I was shocked hearing about Palaz first. Desert Kingdom meant sand ocean to me.”
“Can't blame you. It's not entirely wrong.”
The merchant laughed heartily.
“Like seafolk challenging the waves endlessly, we desert dwellers strive for the heart of the sand sea.”
“The Sand Sea's center?”
“We believe our origins lie there.”
Desert lore.
He'd heard it in other tents.
“That endless desert's midst holds a vast oasis and a primordial city glowing green...?”
“Exactly.”
Dominic noted how desert folk lit up mentioning the primordial city—like kids awaiting a picnic.
If it really exists, I hope they find it someday.
The thought slipped into his mind unbidden.