Chapter 262
Chapter 262
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 262
Chapter Title: Planting Stakes in Enemy Territory (3)
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As I entered the banquet hall, the influential figures from the western coastal cities were seated, chatting among themselves.
The topics of conversation—likely because they had spotted me and the Reich Empire soldiers—were such that not a single one of them revealed their true feelings.
They exchanged only trivial banter: which brothel girl was the prettiest, how steeping tea leaves this way improved the flavor, or suggestions to grab a drink.
Naive kids or greenhorn officers might look at this scene and think they were all old pals.
"Oh, Mr. Milton. Maria, who works at Butterfly's Night in our city, is a real beauty. Why don't you swing by Graspro sometime? I'll treat you to the full course."
"Mr. Dosfyeski, it's been a year since your grandson's wedding. How about a drink after the meeting?"
"An honor. But what about beer and sausage? Best combo there is, right?"
But anyone giving it a moment's serious thought would realize that these self-proclaimed pillars of the western coast were rivals clashing over profits long before they were partners who needed to cooperate.
Even a ten-year-old knows you can't build a genuine bond with someone you're fighting tooth and nail over money.
If I let surface appearances fool me, I'd be a damn idiot.
As I stepped into the hall, these nobodies—local bigwigs without so much as a noble title—bowed deeply before me.
"Raise your heads. Sit comfortably."
At my words, they cautiously returned to their chairs, sitting ramrod straight like they were in a job interview.
Looking at them settled back in, I channeled the arrogance and intimidation befitting an Imperial Army commander and count, pressing them with a domineering tone.
"So, do you know why I've summoned you here?"
At my question, these local hotshots—who each carried weight in their own towns—glanced left and right at their neighbors or rolled their eyes, pondering answers.
But like college students dreading a pop quiz, not one stepped up first.
As the silence dragged on, I pointed at one of the front-row influencers with a finger and asked again.
"Do you know why I've called you?"
"You've seized the ports and castles along the western coast, so to govern this place smoothly, you want our cooperation..."
"Exactly. The Reich Empire and Warsaw Grand Duchy may still be at war, but this land is already under our control. Since that's the case, wouldn't it be wise to forge a mutually beneficial relationship?"
"We are grateful for your merciful words, Commander."
My acknowledgment of their value lit up their faces.
By their expressions, they'd fetch and carry anything I asked; there was good reason for their eagerness.
As occupation commander, I could execute a few of them on the flimsiest pretext without backlash.
They'd wisely figured that fawning like obedient puppies was smarter than risking my ire.
Deep down, they were probably thinking that if they played the good dog, I might toss them a bone—or bigger profits—like a treat for good behavior.
Not bad at all. Far sharper than their own grand duke back in the duchy.
"I'll get straight to it. Fully cooperate with everything the Empire does. In return, I'll guarantee your interests."
"Interests... what exactly do you mean?"
"Your real estate, trading companies, goods, assets, cash—everything. I'll keep my hands off them as much as possible. Accept my offer, and I swear by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor: I won't touch you arbitrarily."
The fortysomething men before me didn't cheer at the promise to safeguard all their interests.
A man with the power to swallow their businesses and fortunes whole, swearing protection without demanding a cut in return—it might seem odd they didn't whoop for joy.
Flip it around, though: no price for protection meant if I felt like it, I could wipe them out, and they'd have to take it lying down.
Hell, even if I'd promised to protect their profits, I could sic my officers on them, skim a tidy tribute, and wash my hands clean.
Taking protection money upfront made it a tax; even as occupation commander, I couldn't just gobble up their entire fortunes on a whim.
These influencers knew the brutal reality all too well—their eyes widened, faces clouding with deeper anxiety.
In this cutthroat world, if they couldn't trust Peter Jaeger, who the hell could they trust?
One local lord couldn't stomach the tension any longer. He rubbed his hands and sidled up to me.
"Commander—no, we are truly grateful for His Imperial Majesty's grace. So, I, Rudnia Garievski, wish to offer 2,000 gold in thanks. Please accept it in good faith."
"Haha, didn't I say in His Majesty's name that your property is safe? No need. I'll accept the sentiment."
"...... Understood."
The guy who'd brazenly tried paying protection money slunk away rejected, and worry rippled across the faces of the others up front.
Not my problem.
"Now, let me tell you what I'm actually asking of you. Nothing major—as you all know, the western coast is critically short on food. Warsaw Grand Duke His Highness pulled out all the garrison troops and nobles here, scraping every last scrap of provisions with them."
Division MPs had investigated: our cursed Warsaw forces had left households with barely a week's worth of food—ten days if they starved themselves.
"Of course, His Imperial Majesty the Emperor pities the people. He's prepared aid to ensure no one in the western coast goes hungry. Massive shipments should start next month. But factoring in transport, we'll have a gap of about a month and a half."
The influencers caught my drift and shook their heads.
They'd read my intent—requisitioning grain—before I even finished. Sharp bunch.
"No long speeches. As subjects of the Empire, leave just the bare minimum for your families' consumption and hand over all your wheat, barley, oats, and the like."
"...... Some of us here live off selling grain. Take it all, and we'll starve. Please, show mercy..."
"Aren't you—from rural serfs to city influencers—all subjects of the Empire now? We'll buy every bit of grain you've purchased. 850kg of flour for 1 gold."
Standard Empire market rate—buying at exact cost.
Those here dealing in grain had likely borrowed heavy to hoard wheat, barley, and oats, betting on war profiteering.
They might go bust, but guys exploiting their own country's crisis for cash deserved a beating anyway.
"On top of that, there seem to be folks in the cities grumbling about our Imperial forces. Handle them properly. If you can't keep the alley rats in check, I'll be sorely disappointed."
I'd wrapped their property protection in a pretext, handed them tasks in exchange—the influencers nodded, signaling full compliance.
Time to toss them some candy.
"When the food shipments arrive, you'll assist with city administration alongside—or under—Imperial officers. Show solid results, and I'll specially appoint you as mid-level city officials."
Unlike modern society, on the Europan continent, unless your assets topped 10 billion in modern terms, your status lagged behind even a mid-level official—equivalent to a 7th-grade civil servant.
Plus, as long as you avoided blatant corruption, you could moonlight as merchants.
For the first time, faint smiles cracked the local lords' faces.
"Further orders later. You're dismissed."
At that, they all filed out of the banquet hall.
**
The next morning, I woke to a flood of bribes before me: letters, jeweled trinkets, pouches bulging with gold.
In a region housing nearly two million souls, it was easily tens of thousands of gold at a glance.
A few had even sent beauties as maids, hoping to ease my stay away from home.
I wanted to ship it all back or plow it into stabilizing the west coast...
Returning it would plunge our local lords into needless panic over rejected protection fees, making them slack off.
Diverting it unilaterally to "stability funds" invited brutal postwar audits from General Staff—high chance.
They'd suspect I'd pocketed some while logging these bribes as stability funds.
So in the end, for the maid-senders: if uglier than Charlotte I'd seen yesterday, I wrote they didn't catch my eye and returned them all.
Jewels, trinkets, and gold sacks went to the MPs: cataloged precisely, then sealed.
I sent a letter up the chain on handling the valuables and cash: "Received these; await His Majesty's guidance."
"Whew. Since I razed their villages before, I get the anxiety. Overlooking it this time—but send crap like this again, and it's public executions."