The Unexpected Windfall
The merchant lifted one of the teacups from the table with careful hands. He ran his fingertips over its smooth surface, holding it up to the light to meticulously inspect its thickness and transparency. Squinting his eyes, he examined even the inside of the cup with obsessive precision—a telltale sign of a veteran trader's thoroughness.
"The color is incredible. Aside from the lack of patterns, it holds up perfectly against the high-end workshops in the capital."
He kept murmuring admirations as he began inspecting each piece set out on the table. Behind the displayed top-quality items, wooden crates held neatly packed seconds, sorted by type. Though they had minor blemishes like tiny pits or uneven glaze, even these outshone ordinary earthenware. The merchant rummaged through the crates, nodding in satisfaction.
"This is even better than I expected."
His eyes had shifted from admiration to something greedier. He was already calculating in his head how much these would fetch.
Hermann watched the merchant's reactions quietly, then spoke up when the moment felt right. "I'm glad it meets your approval. Shall we discuss the actual terms of the deal?"
"Ahem." The merchant set down the teacup and straightened his clothes.
Hermann started by casually mentioning market prices. "I've already looked into the going rate for similar quality ceramics circulating in the count's castle. I think this price point is fair—what do you say?"
The merchant feigned distress at the figure Hermann proposed, pointing toward the manor grounds outside. "The road from this frontier to the count's castle is treacherous. As you've seen, there are costs for hiring escort mercenaries, transport fees, and tolls at every territory border."
He sighed. "After all that, there's no profit left. You'll need to make a more realistic offer for this to go through."
Hermann didn't blink at the exaggeration. "It's just three days' ride from here to the count's castle. And our family conducts regular subjugations, so security is maintained."
He pointed firmly at the teacup. "It's unreasonable to use transport costs as an excuse when you're getting a steady supply of this quality. We're already offering generous terms."
The fierce back-and-forth dragged on. When they finally reached an agreement, the merchant's face showed both exhaustion and satisfaction.
Prices varied by item. The celadon-glazed teacup and saucer sets commanded the highest at 8 silver coins combined. Matte bowls and plates were the cheapest at 1 to 2 silver coins. The presence or absence of glaze made a surprisingly big difference.
Seconds were bundled without nitpicking—30% of prime prices across the board. But celadon pieces with yellowing discoloration instead of the proper hue were valued much lower, at just 15%.
The merchant signed the contract and handed over a small box filled with silver coins he'd prepared in advance. And with that, the deal was done.
After deducting taxes on a portion of the primes and the manor's handling fee, the final profit came out to 243 silver coins in my hands.
A sum equivalent to two years' earnings for a low-rank knight, all at once.
"……."
I stared blankly at the small box brimming with silver coins. Cold sweat trickled down my spine.
It was over four times what I'd anticipated. Is this really okay? Nah, it's just low-rank knight salary level~.
I tried spinning hopeful rationalizations, but harsh reality swept in like a freezing gale, icing them over instantly. Okay? What the hell are you talking about?
Cold reality hit hard. In just four months, I'd turned bare dirt into enough for 20 gold coins. Without magic or fancy setups—just me and a clueless 12-year-old girl.
Simple math: 60 gold in a year. Enough to sustain my father's entire force on my personal income alone.
Bringing the stuff straight to the manor without checking prices first had been a blunder. When even the ever-stoic Hermann gawked at the goods, it was already too late.
My mind went blank on how to handle this.
"What are you thinking so deeply about, young master?"
Hermann approached me as I stood there, brain frozen. I forced my sluggish thoughts into gear, slipping into innocent young master mode.
"……Just how easy making money seems. The amount is bigger than I thought, so I'm surprised."
Hermann shook his head with a kindly smile. "Heh heh. Even at this sales pace, three years is the limit. After that, prices will drop sharply, or it won't sell at all."
He figured the market demand for ceramics would saturate in about three years. Why so short? Three years... simple calc put saturation at around 1,800 pieces. Factoring in households that could afford them, maybe a few hundred families. He was probably only considering demand inside Wainwright Count's territory.
If local demand dried up, just expand sales to nearby territories, right? Why couldn't we sell outside? Questions bubbled up.
"Why is that? Three years feels too short."
"Items like these are buy-once-and-done. In three years of you producing pottery, everyone in the count's territory who needs it will have it. No more buyers."
Hermann paused, then added, "You might think sell to neighboring territories, but major workshops already produce ceramics elsewhere. They're closer to those areas, with lower shipping costs."
"Ah."
Come to think of it, the merchant had said something similar. Combining their reactions, other workshops could produce even higher-quality stuff than mine.
From how deftly Hermann haggled earlier, both knew ceramics' quality and value inside out. Meaning glazing techniques for white porcelain existed here—and I didn't have a monopoly.
Producing pottery wasn't some ultra-rare skill threatening my freedom. Small mercy?
"Still, three years should earn me more than enough."
I feigned nonchalance, like the pottery was just a means to fund armor and a horse.
"Heh heh, indeed. That much buys fine full plate. Your goal's achieved, young master."
"Right? No more gear worries."
With that, the butler offered congratulations and left the great hall.
Back in my room, pondering it over, I realized his post-deal chat was a subtle probe. No further comments meant no immediate family clampdown or seizure.
Prediction: In three years, when I buy gear and sales drop, they'll make a move. Excuse? "You're nearly an adult knight—wrap up the business." No grounds to refuse in Father's territory anyway.
They might try poaching Clay, but the magic contract bound her tight. More likely, send someone for handover and tech transfer.
Thinking from Father and Hermann's view: A technique from distant kingdom-level workshops suddenly emerges from the third son's hands. Quality lower than master artisans' lifelong work, obviously—theirs supply nobles at premium.
But my single small kiln run's silver haul proved supply shortages. I'd targeted mid-to-upper class with mass-producible ware.
Probably due to limited kaolin sources—few workshops. Not enough to reach this border fringe.
My feat? Like a resource-poor mini-nation striking oil. Or shale tech in a barren land.
State loves the taxes, hates the tech holder vanishing or defecting. Natural: Bind the artisan or force transfer.
Hmm... on second thought, it is confinement-worthy.
Not the firing itself, but sedimentation and mix ratios. Hermann must be convinced I make white porcelain without kaolin— we'd hauled drab gray-brown dirt over a hundred times.
They might've scouted our dirt source while I was away.
Situation grasped. Time for countermeasures.
Simplest, cleanest: When family raises it, hand over tech coolly, cede operations. Magic contracts ensure tidy cleanup.
Downside: Leak my strongest ace. But... maybe not a big deal?
My goal: Escape the count's land, live freely comfy. Local tech spread won't reach my future distant haven.
Father's no fool; he'll guard it tightly. Not a bad play?
Other option: Night flight with just Clay. Too risky—lose knight title.
In a status society, title's crucial. Avoid extremes.
"……."
Considering upbringing here, education, impending knighthood—handing over tech as "raising and dubbing fees" felt fair, no real loss or grudge. Neglectful home, but decent for a reincarnator.
Fine. Father's word is law anyway. Can't unspill the milk, so rationalize: Cooperate maximally without curbing my freedom.