19. A Lucrative Outing
19. A Lucrative Outing
So here's how it happened.
'Of all the places to get caught.'
Not that it was ever really a secret anyway.
I was climbing into the carriage Professor Alon had arranged, together with Chloe, when our protagonist-nim-nim-nim... Rus spotted us.
She asked where the two of us were headed, and the look in her eyes was so murderous I had no choice but to answer.
'She had every right to be furious, honestly.'
My quality of life had transformed ever since Rus moved into the dormitory. She made breakfast every morning, and if I got home early she'd have dinner ready too—never mind the late-night snacks on top of all that.
Beyond that, the interior design and furniture had vastly improved. In my mind, Rus already ranked somewhere on par with the Church's own goddess.
But after she'd put in all that effort, I rarely came home from work on time. How was she supposed to feel about that?
From Rus's perspective, she had every right to come interrogate me. Which is to say—from the perspective of the man secretly living with her—that was exactly the problem.
Chloe, naturally, saw things very differently.
"Do you think this is some kind of picnic? The Finance Director and I are traveling on official business. The sheer nerve of a mere student butting into it."
"And you're acting like you're something special just because the Finance Director treats you well. There's no way he planned to take you along. You obviously pressured him into it."
"...And what exactly does that make you?"
Oh, that one landed.
Chloe, her expression shifting the instant the remark hit home, glared at Rus.
The audacity. A former member of the Budget-Destruction Four Heavenly Kings, staring down the protagonist-nim-nim-nim who'd personally blocked the audit.
For a split second I bristled, but being the prudent 1st Rank Finance Director I am, I held it in.
Her grip strength is a lot more terrifying than it looks...
"We're far closer than you'll ever be."
"Have you ever walked across a bridge made of hair-loss inducer?"
"...Did the Finance Director eat oatmeal for dinner last night?"
"What? Finance Director! What is she implying...?"
"We simply ran into each other at the dining hall."
Rus, Rus. You can't say things like that here.
I managed to smooth it over, but Chloe and Rus were clearly not going to warm up to each other anytime soon.
Well, whatever's going on between them isn't strictly my business anyway.
"At the very least, please refrain from unnecessary quarrels while I'm speaking with the Count."
"I'm well aware of that. Though I can't say the same for this wo—man here."
"I'll be on my best behavior, Finance Director."
In the end, bringing Rus along was my call. Honestly, I felt bad leaving her behind, and as a 6th Rank she was stronger than Chloe—reassuring to have around. More than anything, she was one of the few people who knew about the financial crisis, so if something unexpected happened, explaining the full situation would be simple.
Besides, I was the one doing the actual work. Chloe and Rus were really just escorts and window dressing, so I didn't feel much weight about dragging them along.
"Um, Finance Director? The carriage has been shaking for a while now..."
"Do pay it no mind and keep driving. I feel my enthusiasm for this investment dwindling by the second."
"I'll go at full speed!!"
Driving the carriage was Professor Alon. This wasn't a horse-drawn carriage—it was a mana-carriage.
For a long-distance journey I would've taken a horse-drawn one, but for the distance to Count Beryl's domain, this sufficed. A mage of Professor Alon's caliber could get us there in a day if he channeled mana into it without rest. And if need be, Chloe could help pitch in.
'It really is fast.'
Wasn't this close to train speed? We couldn't maintain this pace the whole way since we'd have to recharge the mana at intervals, but mages really were convenient.
Professor Alon was working with desperate intensity—probably because his own brother had promised him a significant cut. Between this and the investment-donation business, he seemed surprisingly desperate for money. First Kirke, and now this. Were magic-department professors all this money-hungry by nature?
Fine by me. I'll file that away for future use.
Chloe and Rus kept trading barbs, glaring at each other before simultaneously snapping their heads away or clicking their tongues. They sat directly across from each other but seemed to be pretending the other didn't exist.
And so a truly uncomfortable stretch of time passed.
Every time Chloe tried to speak to me, Rus would needle her. Every time Rus tried to speak to me, Chloe would cut her off. The pattern repeated itself over and over.
"W-We've arrived! This is the County of Beryl!"
"Oho..."
We had finally reached Count Beryl's domain. It had been uncomfortable, awkward, a bed of nails—but those few seconds with the Chairwoman had felt longer, so it was bearable.
More to the point, I'd been told the house was in decline, but...
"Ah... mm."
"...It hasn't changed much."
Even Chloe and Rus, who'd been snarling at each other moments ago, seemed at a loss for words.
That was only natural, given that Professor Alon had proudly announced our arrival, but...
"Professor Alon."
"Is something the matter...?"
"Are we staying at this inn?"
"Indeed you are! Despite its appearance, this is the finest inn in the County of Beryl. Please, rest from your journey and see the Count tomorrow!"
The inn where the carriage had stopped was, to put it mildly, badly aged.
Not ruin-level dilapidated or anything, but honestly, it fell far short of the academy's exclusive dormitory. No—it was just a plain, ordinary dormitory level.
The academy's ordinary dormitory was the finest inn in the County of Beryl.
'It's dinnertime, and there aren't many houses with smoke rising from their chimneys.'
What passed for a marketplace at least had some people in it, but its scale was tiny.
This was the seat of the lord's castle—the most prosperous spot in Beryl's territory. If the market was only this size...
'Lower than most viscounties. Calling it a city would be a stretch.'
How on earth had they scraped together the funds to buy a rock salt mine and part of the territory from a place like this?
Was this gamble truly the Count's one and only shot in a lifetime?
"The rock salt mine is... over there, I take it?"
"Correct! Preparations of all sorts are already in progress!"
Professor Alon, now addressing me in full deferential speech and practically bowing, pointed a finger toward a site where major construction was unmistakably underway.
It sat at an ambiguous distance from the city—not far, not close. The flow of mana was visible to the naked eye, likely a sign that multiple mages were working there.
"Student Chloe, what do you make of it?"
"...Roughly ten 5th Rank mages. They seem to be pooling their power to cast spells beyond their individual Ranks, rather than operating separately."
"Student Rus, do you sense anything?"
"Nothing in particular."
"We're outside the academy, so I'll authorize the use of your sword aura. Should anything threaten your safety, wield it without hesitation."
"Understood."
Speaking of which, that voice—I couldn't hear it at all. I'd kept a close watch on Chloe inside the carriage too, but there'd been no sign of it reaching her.
Was the voice's owner deliberately staying silent, or had she simply stopped being audible?
Unlike Professor Alon, who was about to head into the inn, I remained standing outside.
"Finance Director?"
Professor Alon looked at me with anxious eyes, but.
What could I do? Someone had come out to greet us.
"You are Adam Caines, Finance Director of Grandis Academy, are you not?"
"I am. And you, elder?"
"I am Norman, head butler of the House of Count Beryl. And... young master Alon."
"Head Butler Norman."
"The Count was greatly pleased. Please, follow me."
"...A respectful tone I never once heard when I was a child. So I'm 'young master' only at times like this, I see."
"I shall guide you in."
Head Butler Norman let Professor Alon's sarcasm roll right off him and took the lead.
I walked first, and behind me—student and faculty though we were—Chloe followed with a slightly tense air, mindful of her escort role, along with the impassive Rus. Professor Alon, his snide remarks finished, trudged along at the rear.
It was fascinating how he so openly broadcast his foul mood, yet the instant I glanced his way his face snapped into a salesman's smile, but whatever.
The place to which Head Butler Norman guided us was unmistakably a lord's castle—exactly the sort of place a count would live.
It was a castle that felt mismatched with the near-empty city, and indeed, the number of servants was far too small for its size.
I was an honored guest who'd come to invest in the rock salt mine the Count desired so fervently. Naturally, they should have rounded up every servant in the castle to attend to me—and yet this was all.
And so, receiving the servants' greetings, we were led inside.
"Welcome, Adam Caines, Finance Director."
"I am honored to meet you, Count Anton."
"Hoho, no need for such ceremony. Sit, sit."
It was a reception room, tastefully decorated with a decent collection of paintings and furniture.
Someone rose from the seat of honor. A middle-aged man who appeared to be of a similar generation to the Head of Academic Affairs—Count Anton Beryl.
On the surface, his smile gave nothing away, and his voice was just as free of openings. He may have been the head of a declining house, but he'd surely accumulated far more experience and negotiating skill than I had.
So what was the move here?
'Stand still and you're halfway there.'
In the end, Count Anton was the one in a hurry. If this were an equal-footing situation, I'd be hopelessly outmatched in skill—but right now, it wasn't.
React as neutrally as possible.
"Your boldness surprised me, Count. To think you'd attempt to rebuild a collapsed mine."
"The idea of an arrogant, recklessly bold fool."
"...Pardon?"
"But that kind of foolish decision was necessary. For this godforsaken territory."
I'd expected a volley of polite formalities.
Instead, Count Anton began by savagely disparaging himself and his territory from the outset.
Behind me, Chloe and Rus were more flustered than I was.
And someone stepped forward, propriety be damned.
"Brother!"
"Alon. It's been a long time. The image of you storming out while cursing this house is still vivid in my mind."
"Brother Anton, what are you saying! Cursing the territory our father left you—and you the head of the house!"
"The one who cursed it first has no right to speak. You're just hoping to lick up the sweet syrup yourself, not caring a whit about the territory."
"Even so—!"
"Did you see the chimneys outside? The market? The inn? You, who never showed your face while the territory sank to this state—your words are more laughable than painful. We are before an honored guest. Shut your mouth."
"Brother Anton!"
Hmm. What was this atmosphere?
Chloe was oddly composed, but Rus seemed quite taken aback by the sudden fraternal brawl—especially since she'd so often seen Alon practically groveling to me.
Good. Then.
"Count, forgive my impertinence, but may I venture a question?"
"The discourtesy was mine. I am merely embarrassed before an honored guest."
"Was this little drama staged in advance between you?"
"What?"
"I am young and my experience is shallow, so perhaps I fail to grasp the effectiveness of such methods."
"...Oho."
The Count's eyes shifted. I'd thought his gaze was merely genial, but this seemed to be Anton Beryl's true look.
The method by which I'd realized the quarrel between Professor Alon and Count Anton was an act was simple.
<What an obvious performance. Signaling each other with communication artifacts, no less.>
The voice had spoken.
I personally hadn't noticed a thing. I'd thought Professor Alon had simply snapped—had no idea it was staged.
But the voice that suddenly reached me whispered as though offering me help.
'It might just be a hallucination.'
Still, I was in the advantageous position regardless, and even if I'd been wrong, an apology would've sufficed. Count Anton was the desperate one—if I'd bowed my head and said I'd misunderstood, it would've blown over.
But as it happened, it had turned out to be real.
A quiet wariness settled into Count Anton's eyes.
"How did you know?"
"That item in your breast pocket—isn't it a communication artifact? There'll be another in Professor Alon's pocket as well."
"Correct. Good heavens. I'd underestimated you for being so young, but you're not to be taken lightly. Younger than my own son, yet far sharper and more perceptive."
Wrong. I only knew because the voice told me.
But it suited me fine if they flattered themselves otherwise. Bolstering my trust in the voice, I calmly met Count Anton's gaze.
"You asked if this method was effective. It's more effective than you might think. A childish fraternal spat, staged before a guest, makes the other party believe they've gained the upper hand. Even more so when the territory's shameful circumstances are confessed aloud. And in negotiation, overconfidence inevitably breeds carelessness."
"You must be quite close with Professor Alon. To perform such a drama together."
"Not in the slightest. That fool does anything for money. Norman, pay him and send him off."
"Thank you, Brother!"
Clink.
Alon received a bundle of cash from Head Butler Norman, bowed his head repeatedly to the Count and me, and exited the reception room.
How to put it—it felt less like inherent frivolity and more like a pathological fixation on money. After all, the reason he'd barged into my office during the entrance ceremony was ultimately to secure investment funds.
Immediately afterward, Count Anton fixed a sharp gaze upon me.
"I made a point of mentioning the chimneys, the market, the inn—and yet you weren't flustered. You must've already surveyed them. There are novices who come to these hostile parts without even grasping such things, you see."
"Hostile parts? Not an inaccurate description. But am I not an honored guest?"
"You are a bold one, young friend. But you're right! The world runs on status, power, and money. Regrettably, lacking status and power, all I have is money."
The head of a count's house, reduced to less than a barony.
Anton Beryl—ranked higher than me, yet a mere 2nd Rank commoner at best—smiled a guarded smile.
"I assume you were drawn here by the phrase 'ten times.'"
"Your opening gambit certainly set the hook. As Finance Director, it was a figure I couldn't let pass."
"To cut to the conclusion: I am indeed prepared to give you ten times the investment."
"...Prepared?"
"With a condition attached, however."
Right. No one gives away ten times the investment amount for nothing. Hand it over without conditions, and you'd end up bankrupt again the moment you finished rebuilding the mine.
The seasoned, shrewd nobleman raised a finger.
"Only one condition. Payment in installments."
"How do you propose to divide it?"
Installments—that was reasonable enough. Given the academy's financial situation, it made me a little uneasy, but looked at another way, it could be a long-term revenue stream.
Getting the entire tenfold sum at once was appealing, but there were advantages to receiving it monthly as well. I'd been worried, but this level was certainly workable.
Of course, I'd need to scrutinize whether the mine could actually be rebuilt——
"——One hundred years."
"...Excuse me?"
"The County of Beryl intends to pay ten times the investment sum in installments over the next one hundred years."
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said. And I have no intention of budging an inch from this condition."
What in the world.
Installments over a hundred years? No—would the County of Beryl even still exist in a hundred years?
His intent was transparent. He'd give me ten times the amount, yes—but at a pace the house could bear.
If the rock salt mine reconstruction truly succeeded, then a century from now the County of Beryl might well have regained the true stature of a count's house.
From the Count's perspective, it was a masterstroke. Or so he'd call it.
'But not from mine.'
And yet storming out of my seat would also be awkward.
"...Outside, I saw 5th Rank mages working even at this late hour."
"You noticed even that."
"Where did that money come from?"
"Where do you suppose it came from?"
It was obvious. Professor Alon was the seventh son, so it was probably the fifth or sixth son who'd brought in an investment prospect. There was no other way a territory like this could hire ten 5th Rank mages.
Which meant another investor had already accepted Count Anton's terms.
No one with common sense would accept based purely on the "ten times" figure alone.
'So there really is a genuine possibility of reconstruction.'
The hundred-year figure was utterly ridiculous, but if the rock salt mine's reconstruction actually succeeded, investing was unquestionably the correct answer.
Still, a hundred years was a bit much, wasn't it? By then I'd already have died of old age. The Chairwoman... well, she'd probably still be perfectly fine.
'What to do.'
Letting it go felt wasteful, but accepting it felt dubious. A true white elephant of a situation.
As I stood there, Count Anton, who had been smiling with easy confidence, was approached by Head Butler Norman.
"My lord, a moment..."
"...What? Arrived at this hour?"
"How shall I handle it?"
"Hmm... Adam, Finance Director, forgive me—another esteemed guest has arrived. Would you object to their joining us?"
"It's no concern of mine."
This wasn't a pub crawl. What was with this "join-the-table" approach to negotiations?
But naturally, Count Anton wasn't doing this without calculation. He'd show the new investor my hesitating face to encourage investment, while I'd get to glimpse the new investor and feel the pressure to commit sooner myself.
As my discomfort deepened, Head Butler Norman opened the reception-room door.
"Greetings, Count Anton Beryl. I am Finance Officer Marcus, here representing the Royal Court."
"Finance Officer Marcus Lutel! Your reputation precedes you. First, forgive my discourtesy. This is my only reception room at present, so I had no choice but to suggest sharing it. You will not have met before—this gentleman here is..."
"...Finance Officer Marcus?"
"Finance Director Adam?"
"......Hm?"
What the hell. Why was that demon of a finance officer popping up here?
Wait—hadn't he just said he was here representing the Royal Court?
'Could this be...?'
In that instant, my gaze and Finance Officer Marcus's met—two 1st Ranks locking eyes.
Grin.
Two working-level officers.
Raised the corners of their mouths in unison.