Chapter 12
Chapter 12
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 012
Chapter Title: Seed of the Emperor
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Hmm...”
To Eugène, who had no children of his own, Theresa had always been a granddaughter-like child he adored.
He had served a total of three emperors in the past—from Emperor Leopold to his son Joseph, and then Joseph's younger brother, Charles VI.
This was his greatest honor and source of pride, and he was prepared to devote himself to the Habsburg family until his dying breath.
That said, Eugène was an extreme realist, so he refrained from passing any judgment on Theresa's personal abilities.
He simply wanted this granddaughter-like child to be happy.
But if she lacked the qualities for it, perhaps it would be better for her to marry a capable husband and step back.
No matter how much he loved and cherished her, what truly mattered was ensuring the empire and the imperial family endured forever.
However...
“I've heard that my father, His Imperial Majesty wishes to pioneer Asia. Unlike England, France, or Spain, Austria doesn't have any significant overseas territories.”
“I see. Then why was Spain specifically chosen as the treaty partner?”
“Well... The Ostend Company, founded by our family as its progenitor, aims to develop India, so it doesn't overlap with Spain, whose main hub is the Philippines, right?”
“So it's a treaty that satisfies both sides, and it should hold without issues going forward?”
Incredibly, the conversation was flowing smoothly.
To check if Theresa was just reciting memorized facts, Eugène shifted the direction of his questions several times, but she managed to respond each time, however clumsily.
And she did so in her own words, infused with her own thoughts.
Some of her opinions were even insightful enough to make Eugène pause and reconsider.
“The reasons for the treaty are clear enough... but that doesn't mean it'll actually go well, does it?”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well... This is just my opinion, but even if our territories don't overlap, if we successfully establish ourselves in India, it has to affect Spain somehow. If I were the King of Spain, I'd honestly hope the Ostend Company fails.”
“Hmm...”
She was right, in fact.
Europe was a continent with a tradition of not just envying a neighbor's success, but feeling compelled to grab a sword and raid their warehouses to soothe the pain.
From Spain's perspective, with their national power already declining, they had no desire to watch a country like Austria gain a foothold in Asia.
To prevent this, Austria had agreed to help Spain target Gibraltar at the entrance to the Mediterranean, but even that seemed unlikely to succeed.
Objectively speaking, the power gap between England, which held Gibraltar, and Spain had grown too vast.
Theresa couldn't possibly know all these details, but her inference that Spain might obstruct the Ostend Company's expansion was perfectly reasonable.
In fact, some diplomats had recently voiced unease that the treaty might last only a decade at most.
“If His Majesty had given you such instruction, I surely would have heard of it. So where exactly did you learn all this? Could it be...”
“Yes! I meet with Lord Franz several times a week. He explains everything to me in a way that's really, really easy to understand.”
“Then it must have been Prince Franz's idea to tell you not to show it off in front of others.”
“That's true, but deciding to hop around excitedly after the speech because I wanted cake—that was my own judgment. I thought it was the perfect moment.”
He hadn't even imagined that the act which had lightened the entire banquet hall's mood was staged.
Of course, it wasn't all calculated performance; more than half was genuine. But the key point was that she had read the room and responded proactively.
“You're learning remarkably well. I have a feeling I'll have plenty to report when I next see His Majesty.”
Considering she was only eight years old, this was truly impressive.
For a moment, he wondered if his worries about Charles VI never producing a son might prove unfounded after all.
And not just Theresa—Franz Stefan von Lothringen, whom she kept praising without end.
If he had truly orchestrated all this, then a 17-year-old boy possessed a depth of cunning beyond belief.
'A nine-year age gap will mean nothing in about ten years. By then, they'll make a fine pair.'
Above all, from Theresa's account, it was clear how much affection Franz lavished on her.
Considering the nobility's aversion to wives smarter than necessary, this devotion was almost inexplicably profound.
As these thoughts crossed his mind, Franz happened to descend from the second floor.
Spotting Theresa, he approached them directly.
“Welcome. Care for a glass of wine?”
Eugène personally poured and handed a glass to Franz, who had sat beside Theresa.
“Thank you.”
The way he gracefully accepted the glass and savored its aroma seemed so natural it drew a chuckle.
“Hoho, look at you. You drink like a true connoisseur already. Don't overdo it in your youth, or you'll end up like this old man.”
“Pardon? Lord Franz doesn't drink much... He prefers coffee.”
“Ah, is that so? Well, coffee enthusiasts savor aromas deeply too, so that must be why it looked natural. My apologies—I nearly mistook a fine young man for a drunkard.”
“It's fine. That said, Lady Theresa, it's getting late. You should retire. Your attendants are searching frantically for you.”
“Aw~ I want to talk a bit longer.”
“No can do. Tomorrow has its own schedule.”
His tone was firm, but the gaze he turned on Theresa brimmed with gentle warmth.
From a step back, they looked no different from a harmonious family.
“Prince Eugène, I'll take Lady Theresa back now. His Majesty asked me to ensure she doesn't oversleep.”
“Very well. We've enjoyed enough talk. Thank you for your precious time, Your Highness. Sleep well and rise early tomorrow.”
Eugène bid them a kindly farewell, then seized the moment for a parting witticism.
“In Wien, those who rise early become the Gewinner.”
A heavy silence descended instantly.
Theresa's eyes widened just like when she'd heard the wine pun earlier, and Franz turned to regard Eugène steadily.
For about two seconds.
Suddenly, Franz burst into applause and laughter.
“Hahaha! Prince Eugène, how am I supposed to handle you swooping in like that? The angle was so sharp, I thought I'd been hit by a chariot.”
He laughed so hard his chin tilted up slightly, his body leaning back about fifteen degrees.
It was a flawless reaction even his attendants had never witnessed.
“Hohoho, so you appreciate this subtle wordplay.”
“I had no idea you possessed such talent, Prince Eugène. Haha!”
Perhaps it was the French blood, making him fundamentally different from the stiff Germans—he knew how to have fun.
Franz Stefan, you pass. Unconditionally.
With utmost satisfaction, Eugène turned and headed to his chambers.
But he didn't know.
That Franz was inwardly thanking the professor from his past life who spammed dad jokes at every company dinner.
And that... Theresa had swallowed back the words that Eugène's joke didn't seem genuinely funny to anyone laughing along.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The banquet ended in grand success, complete with minor mishaps and substantial gains.
Eugène, clearly taken with me, repeatedly insisted on visiting me at the Hofburg Palace and even saw me off to my carriage.
Of course, on the way back, Theresa grilled me several times on whether that pun was really funny, but my silent chuckles were our little secret.
“Lady Theresa, humans are social creatures. To win others' favor, you must constantly make the effort.”
“...So you're saying you faked laughing because it wasn't funny at all? I really thought I was the only one who didn't get it. You're amazing, Lord Franz. How do you fake laughter so convincingly?”
“Ahem, it's not acting—it's effort. Effort.”
A skill anyone with 21st-century social experience picks up naturally, but explaining it in detail here was tricky.
Anyway.
Having gained a sturdy ally in Eugène, I returned to the palace, took some rest, and awaited the right moment.
We held enjoyable lessons with Theresa, chatting away; occasionally, Eugène visited the palace, and I learned strategy from him; before long, several weeks flew by, culminating in Charles VI's lavish New Year's gala.
And finally, the news I'd been waiting for arrived.
“Your Highness! The response is finally here.”
Wolf Wertheimer, in charge of the cochineal smuggling operation, spread out stacks of documents detailing his results and unleashed a torrent of explanations before me.
“As per Your Highness's instructions, we've spread samples everywhere, claiming that cochineal substitutes will soon flood in from India. Market prices are already shifting, and the Ostend Company is being bombarded with inquiries about importing alternatives from India.”
“And the Ostend Company's reaction?”
“They say they can't properly establish themselves in India yet, so they're just looking into it. But the market is definitely reacting, and once this reaches the New World, Your Highness's prediction will come true exactly as foreseen.”
Releasing fake information to disrupt market prices was a timeless winning strategy across history and cultures.
The key to its success was the information's credibility—and right now, that boiled down to four letters.
Britain.
The British Empire, unable to stand by while Spain prospered any longer, would flood Europe with substitute dyes from India.
What could be more plausible and persuasive?
Leaving it to Wolf alone would yield at least double the invested amount in profits—three or four times if all went well.
But as I said before, for me, this was merely seed capital.
My real target wasn't the cochineal trade at all, but something entirely different.
“Handle the cochineal side as you see fit, then. Can I ask for one more thing?”
“Of course. Just give the order.”
“When buying cochineal from the southern New World, bring back other metals too. As much as possible.”
“Silver, you mean? But exporting silver is even harder than cochineal...”
“Not silver. Precisely, fake silver. Bring back as much as you can of that trash they call Platina del Pinto there.”
The metal that early European conquerors mistook for silver, got wildly excited over, then hugely disappointed upon realizing it couldn't be processed.
By the mid-18th century, Spain deemed it waste that diluted silver's purity and even enacted laws to dump it into rivers or the sea.
Since that decree hadn't been issued yet, diverting this valueless ore shouldn't be too hard.
“Fake silver... You mean the stuff mixed into silver coins for counterfeiting? Your Highness, surely you're not planning to counterfeit silver coins...”
“Of course not. Do you think I'd, as a noble, go mad and mint fake coins?”
“But if not for that, fake silver has no value. It glitters like silver on the surface, but you can't remove the impurities at all, so any close inspection reveals it instantly.”
“Exactly why it'll be easy to acquire. Gather as much as you can.”
“Understood. Procuring it won't be difficult at all.”
Wolf nodded, utterly baffled but compliant.
No point explaining in detail—they'd never fully grasp it without seeing the results.
In truth, it wasn't a technological barrier but a lack of chemical knowledge and refining techniques that made smelting impossible.
With my current tech, I could refine this fake silver into jewelry.
I could monopolize supply for at least twenty years, so I'd set the price myself.
Time to assign the proper market value to this ill-fated metal, platinum—worth far more than silver yet dismissed as fake.