Distilled Spirits and Deceptive Deals
Her oblivious behavior, rubbing up against her husband while unaware that I'd used my Incubus ability to render her infertile during our tryst, made my lips curl into a grin. If I lock in her infertility like this, it'll cause friction with her husband, and she'll cling to me even more. Heh heh. With that petty scheme in mind, I followed Margaret's lead into the house.
The interior, guided by her touch, matched the exterior's vibe—high-end decorations scattered tastefully throughout, exuding cozy luxury.
"The guild receptionist's perks are better than I thought, huh?"
Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked her directly. She, already thoroughly mistaken about me, smiled despite my rude casual tone, treating me like a laid-back superior.
"The master treats me well, so I get a decent salary, but nothing that extravagant."
"Uh... and your husband...?"
"Oh! I forgot to mention. He runs a small trading company. That's why I get treatment beyond my station. Hehe."
"A trading company... promising."
I nodded with a soft smile, and Margaret's eyes lit up with a knowing glint, her lips curving slyly. Adorable, how she's scheming to handle household duties and satisfy her desires through a foreign noble.
As long as his personality checks out, making money off distilled liquor could work fine.
Distilled spirits were obviously going to be a revolutionary product. Sure, institutional oppression and class conflicts worried me briefly, but with Guild Master Haron already bridging ties to imperial bigwigs, that was settled. Just keep sucking up to that noble's ass—whether it's him or her—and it'd be fine.
As I mulled over funding for easy access to this world's necessities, we arrived at what seemed to be the mansion's banquet hall. A room adorned with ornate candles and vibrant flowers greeted us, and a man seated at the head table rose with a smile toward me and Margaret.
"Pleased to meet you. Berg, right? I'm Stewart, Margaret's husband. She's told me all about you."
Margaret's husband, Stewart, looked less like a medieval laborer and more like a stereotypical scholar—slender, middle-aged, with refined features.
"Likewise, Stewart. I've heard plenty from receptionist Margaret too. Running a trading company, and yet you prepare such an lavish setup for a mere adventurer? I don't know where to put myself. Haha."
Stewart, tense at first from my striking looks and athletic build contrasting his frail scholar's frame, quickly shifted. His expression went from wary sapling to merchant spotting prime goods—it didn't take long.
I couldn't help but click my tongue at how his face flipped like a chameleon. Not a huge company, but he's got skills... Well, to land Margaret, he'd have to.
A glance at Margaret's retreating back as she bustled for final meal prep made me nod in agreement.
"Word is, you've just cleared the beginner floors but wield impressive power with a bright future ahead. Mind if I ask your target floor, Berg?"
Unlike his frail appearance, Stewart—true to his trading roots—cut straight to revealing his intentions.
I preferred direct need-matching over beating around the bush, so I smiled and spoke up.
"Funny you mention it—I just got a personal commission from Haron today."
"Ah...! From the Guild Master?"
At my casual name-drop, Stewart straightened his previously relaxed posture.
"Yes. Can't share details, but it'll involve frontline work soon enough."
"Something to do with wyverns...?"
True to a merchant thriving on info—married to the guild's sharp receptionist—he knew the frontline adventurers' issues cold. I flashed a faint smile and nodded slightly.
Seemingly deeming further probing pointless, Stewart's face broke into a genuine welcoming grin.
"What an honor to host such a guest unexpectedly. Haha."
"Same here."
With mutual background checks and ability assessments done in a flash, we dove into casual chat.
Topics centered on my low-floor exploits as a newbie adventurer: pathetic Leon, my romance with wolf beastkin Tier, the heroic clash with villain Zeke. Each tale drew awed gasps from Stewart, hyping the mood like epic sagas from a great hero.
How long did we chat over fine prepped wine and food? In this patriarchal medieval era, Margaret shuttled nonstop between kitchen and dining room, serving snacks and refills. Finally, she approached the table delicately, balancing a tray with the mansion's finest glassware and my brought bottle.
"Hm? Margaret, what's that?"
She set the tray down carefully before replying to Stewart.
"Darling, it's the gift Berg brought today."
She eyed me to explain the booze myself. I poured from the bottle into the glass and handed it to Stewart.
"Nothing special. It's from my homeland—luckily, I learned the recipe, so I made some after arriving here. Give it a try."
Stewart eyed the crystal-clear liquor, pristine as dew. As expected, he knew distillation; frowning at the potent alcohol scent, he downed it without hesitation.
His brow furrowed at the intense burn outpacing wine, but post-swallow, the clean finish and aroma unique to spirits lit up his eyes.
Merchant through and through—sniffs out money like a bloodhound.
I glanced at him pouring and chugging another before tilting my own glass.
"You... made this yourself?"
"Yep. A hometown favorite, but first batch here, so not sure how it turned out. Haha."
"Ho, possible for mass production?"
His gaze and tone turned unprecedentedly deferential.
Merchants gonna merchant, I chuckled inwardly, then replied leisurely.
"Maybe five or six bottles a month at best. Environment and lack of setup make mass production impossible."
"Ah..."
Stewart sighed in regret. Honestly, the cheap gaoliang I handed over was mass-shelf stuff back home—supply was no issue. But that missed the point.
Why bother when I can play noble-exclusive luxury?
More profit, less hassle—pick the smart path, right? Feigning sympathy, I continued.
"Still, as I said, five or six bottles monthly is steady. If I've got a solid buyer, selling's not bad. Hometown stuff's fine, but I prefer new ventures."
"Oho...! Then, if it's no trouble, could I get in on that?"
Sensing my direct style worked, he pitched his desire outright.
"Hm... You gotta love booze to sell it well. How about you, Stewart?"
With a mischievous grin, I topped off his glass full. His eyes hardened like a general's resolve.
"Stewart here—never heard I couldn't handle my liquor."
Like a hearty warrior, he slammed the potent gaoliang. I laughed heartily, refilled him, and clinked glasses.
Thus, zealous salesman Stewart and CEO-me dreamed rosy futures amid endless pours, roaring with laughter.
Drink up, big guy. Heh heh.
Different dreams under the same roof, huh? This dinner promised excitement post-blackout.