The Jealous Brother's Gambit
"When you've just earned someone's trust, you have to work harder than anyone else to leave an even better impression."
This was a critically important moment, and the retainers' faces were etched with tension and anticipation.
All except for two: Tems Oclo and Edmon Oclo.
"We'll hear from Palan soon enough, but before that, come up with stable ways to supply ingredients and report back."
"Yes, sir!!"
Their response came without a hint of hesitation, their eyes burning with passion.
"This war—and this venture—will surely be the springboard for our house to leap even higher. Give it everything you've got. The rewards will overflow."
True to his seasoned merchant nature, Broad wrapped up the meeting by dangling that carrot.
The retainers dispersed to their posts afterward, and the first to leave the conference room was Tems Oclo.
Crash!
"Shit!!!!!"
The moment he entered his room, Tems grabbed everything in sight and hurled it against the wall.
"Why the fuck is that worm racking up results?!"
When Broad had first announced he'd hand the house over to Palan, Tems had felt annoyed, but it wasn't a huge blow.
That loser would die in the army anyway, or even if he survived, his pathetic skills would keep him from inheriting anything.
But things had gone sideways.
The moment Palan graduated from training camp at an absurd runner-up spot.
"Why... why the hell is he doing so well?!"
Before he could even process that runner-up nonsense, Palan had somehow ended up as the second merit in the Rimir Castle reclamation op and got promoted to lieutenant.
Even Tems, a total army newbie, knew that was huge.
"If he gets recognized for merchant talent too, it's over."
Tems could feel his position slipping lately.
Rumors even swirled that Haiyel—one of the top five influencers in the company—was starting to back Palan.
"I have to block him."
Talent. Fine, he admitted it.
But sitting idle meant losing everything.
"Y-Young master... what was that noise just now?"
The maid had heard the racket ages ago but only poked her head in now, terrified, to check on him.
"Nothing. Tell Father I want to see him."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
"Hey."
As the maid bolted for the door, Tems called her back in a menacing tone.
"Y-Yes, sir?!"
"You think you can just run off like that? Clean this shit up."
Tems pointed at the glass shards that had been a decorative piece moments ago.
"S-Sorry!"
"You're pissing me off. Do it right. With that ugly fucking face, you're ruining my appetite. Who the hell hired you?"
Consumed by rage, nothing pleased Tems anymore.
And that afternoon, Tems Oclo entered the family head's office.
"What is it? I'm busy as hell."
Broad eyed his eldest son with clear displeasure; requesting a private audience during their busiest time yet.
"I have something to say about what came up in today's meeting."
"If it's some petty bullshit about sabotaging your brother, get out. Not interested."
Broad had already clocked his eldest's jealousy toward the rising youngest.
"No, sir. I actually see this as a historic opportunity for the house. Our little brother's done something huge."
"Hm?"
Broad tilted his head at the unexpected response.
"With the house and our youngest racking up merits together, once the war ends—even if not right away—we might even aim for a viscountcy someday."
Viscountcy.
Every house head's dream, but damn near impossible under normal circumstances.
Yet there was one moment when those doors cracked open: wartime.
"Exactly. You're seeing the big picture too. Good. This isn't something to envy."
With the house already short-staffed even if united, Tems's words were enough to win Broad over.
"Yes, sir. I was jealous of my brother's talent for a bit."
"Sure. But he's out there on the front lines, striving for the Empire and our house."
Tems barely held back from grinding his teeth at Broad's words.
'That incompetent fuck is 'striving'?'
Fifteen years since he started learning the trading company ropes.
Harder than anyone—and now this punk, reformed for just a few months, gets higher praise? His head boiled.
"So, Father, as his older brother, I want to help him."
"Help?"
"Yes, sir. With food supplies being key to Rimir Castle, don't we need someone there to coordinate with Palan?"
"Haiyel's handling that."
"No matter how vital Rimir is, shouldn't the advisor oversee the entire west?"
"Hmmm."
Not a bad point.
'Experience-wise, it wouldn't hurt.'
He'd named Palan heir, but that didn't doom the other direct descendants to irrelevance.
The Empire was vast, talent always scarce—direct heirs with elite education from youth were perfect workers, no question.
"I'll go help our youngest."
Broad pondered Tems's seemingly ideal attitude.
'And that's all it took to fool him.'
One lesson from decades as a merchant: people don't change easily.
'He'll go sabotage things, not help. Pathetic.'
Too obvious.
He'd probably thought he was acting his heart out, but Broad's palm was beyond him.
'When will he grow up?'
"Sigh."
Broad let out a weary breath at his pitiful eldest.
"Why the sigh?"
"Nothing. So you want to go help your brother?"
"Yes, sir."
"Fine. Go with Marco and assist Palan."
"M-Marco... the instructor, too?"
The savvy merchant who'd made a killing selling luxuries to nobles—and once tutored all three direct heirs.
Most crucially, a self-proclaimed bachelor married to money.
"Problem?"
"No, but... it's a bit uncomfortable."
"Can't succeed by avoiding the talented just because they're inconvenient."
"True, but maybe Lorenz instead of Marco..."
The instant he named his ally Lorenz, Broad's brow furrowed.
"No, sir. I'll go with Marco."
Tems knew that was the line; no other choice.
"He may be questionable as a man, but exemplary as a merchant. Learn from him."
"Yes... sir."
Two days after the house head's approval.
A carriage carrying Tems Oclo and Marco set off for the west.
"Whew, after weeks of just potatoes, seeing meat again makes me feel alive."
A week since arriving at Rimir Castle.
Finally, the Oclo Trading Company wagons rolled into the fortress.
"Brought extra generous portions."
"No losses on your end, right?"
"Haha, never seen a loss in my life."
Haiyel's words had Palan nodding instinctively.
"Figured as much."
"This old man's barely slept thanks to you, young master. Two thousand men, then four? No wagons left at HQ."
"Sorry about that. But it caught me off guard too."
"I know. Just an old fart's grumbling—ignore it."
They strolled the area as ingredients were unloaded.
"Starting next week, the eldest young master will handle deliveries."
"Pardon...? For real?"
Unexpected and unwelcome news wrinkled Palan's brow.
"Haha, no worries. Marco's coming too—he'll help out big time."
"Marco... ah, got it."
Didn't take long to recall the man.
'The weirdo.'
A guy married to money, merchant through and through.
With him along, some relief.
'He'll block any bullshit from Tems.'
Still, best if he didn't come at all—but "next week" meant halfway there already.
"It'll be a huge help."
"Not sure about my brother, but Marco definitely."
"Haha, brotherly bonds never change."
Haiyel's kindly grandfatherly chuckle fit perfectly.
"Any luck on the potato front?"
"Hmmm, was gonna mention it—potatoes are tricky."
Simple reason.
Too much volume, contract price too high.
"Even at half price, no profit after processing."
"As expected."
"Only way I see is dumping it here with forty thousand mouths."
"Sigh."
The death sentence drew an involuntary sigh from Palan.
'Am I really gonna die in a mutiny?'
Potatoes at every meal.
Truly hopeless.
"Old man's idea: cook 'em tasty?"
"Supply sergeant tries new recipes daily."
Sergeant Colton's 37 potato dishes were already infamous.
'Whole potatoes, soy-steamed, shredded... ugh, thinking about it makes me wanna puke.'
Never loved potatoes, but now the smell alone soured his face.
"Right. Still, might be untried recipes—I'll dig up some books."
"Appreciate it."
Tough road, but the thought warmed him.
"No problem. Good news, I'll write."
"Looking forward."
More chat, then he saw Haiyel off and headed to the mess.
"Soldiers are gonna lose their minds today."
Colton beamed brighter than ever checking the haul.
"Hope so."
They'd need the morale boost to survive another week of potato party.
'Can't swap potatoes for lotus root or something?'
"Shop."
Back in his office after ages, he opened the shop.
"Still nothing useful."
Supply company work added a few relevant items, but that was it.
"Tough. Real tough."
Brain on overdrive lately—fatigue was no joke.
"Um..."
As he pondered torching the potato warehouse, a familiar voice came from the office entrance.
"Yes—who... huh? Derek?"
Looking up, the visitor was none other than his training camp classmate, Derek Rahila.