An Offer You Can't Refuse
Six days later. Dozens of burly men had gathered in the courtyard of the Grand Duke's Mansion. The air inside the hall was heavy and cold. The terror of death was vividly etched on every face. Only one man, Anton, wore an expression that differed from the rest. It seemed his attitude grated on the others. Especially in the eyes of Vasily, who lived in the neighboring village.
Vasily—with his shaggy beard and hulking frame that gave him a downright menacing look—strode up to Anton and snarled.
"Hey, Anton! What the hell makes you so damn calm? If we're being real, this is all your fault!"
When Vasily's voice boomed, every eye in the hall snapped toward them. Anton bit his lip for a moment, then shook his head with firm conviction.
"There's no need to worry."
"Bullshit!"
"...His Highness."
Anton recalled the memory from six days earlier—the strange Grand Duke smiling brightly at him.
"He wasn't angry."
"What?"
"If anything... he looked like a kid who'd just found a fascinating new toy. He seemed genuinely delighted."
At Anton's words, the entire hall fell into dead silence. Delighted? That worthless drunkard who had beaten a noblewoman in the capital and pissed all over her? It was somehow even more terrifying.
"You're insane! We're all fucked because of you! Take responsibility, Anton, you son of a bitch! Take responsibility!" Vasily howled.
It was exactly then.
The moment that voice rang through the hall, the distillers—who had been murmuring anxiously only seconds before—moved in perfect unison as though rehearsed. They dropped their rough knees to the cold marble floor, bowed their heads deeply, and shouted as one.
Creak—. With the heavy sound of the massive door opening, Mikhail stepped into the hall. After strolling lazily to the unnecessarily ornate chair at the center, he sat down and spoke in a voice that sounded like an exasperated sigh.
“Rise.”
No one moved. It was unthinkable to stand before a member of the imperial family without explicit permission.
“My neck hurts. Looking down at you kneeling bastards is killing me.”
Mikhail rose from his seat and slowly scanned the distillers one by one. Every man whose eyes met his flinched and shrank back.
“I’ve tried every single liquor you people make.”
His voice was quiet, yet it carried clearly into every corner of the vast hall.
“Honestly? It’s garbage.”
A silence like ice water poured over them. A few men swallowed dryly without realizing it.
“However.”
The corner of Mikhail’s mouth curved faintly.
“I understand.”
At that single phrase, the frozen air shifted ever so slightly. A few men cautiously lifted their heads with puzzled expressions before quickly lowering them again.
“You make it to store, not to drink. There was never any reason to use good ingredients for good liquor. It wasn’t going to sell anyway.”
His words seemed to pierce straight through their hearts. Looks of bewilderment flashed across the distillers’ faces. Anton unconsciously clenched his fists. This Grand Duke truly knew everything.
“And I also know that to improve the product, you need distribution channels.”
Mikhail paused briefly, observing their reactions with a satisfied expression.
“So I’m thinking of establishing a company. All of you will simply come under my company.”
“……!”
Doubt, disbelief, and wariness filled their eyes. Though none dared speak, their gazes screamed crazy bastard.
“Of course you wouldn’t trust me.”
Mikhail let out a small chuckle.
“You’re probably thinking, ‘What nonsense is that trash prince spouting again?’ It’s written all over your faces.”
His blatant self-deprecation only deepened their confusion. Why would such a noble person disparage himself like that?
“But there is something I have that you don’t.”
He tapped his own chest with a finger.
“My name. The name of the imperial prince Mikhail, my seal, and my honor.”
When he spoke the word honor, a smile that bordered on mockery played on his lips.
“In other words, I will lend my name to this garbage liquor and guarantee its quality.”
The hall fell silent once more. Yet this silence was fundamentally different from the previous terror. It was pure, unfiltered confusion at hearing something utterly incomprehensible.
“What do you think the nobles in the capital will say?”
Mikhail spread his arms theatrically.
“‘That hopeless drunkard, Grand Duke Mikhail, put his own name on some liquor?’ Wouldn’t they buy it at least out of curiosity? Ironically, having a guy like me vouch for it might actually make it more trustworthy.”
Vasily’s jaw dropped. Pure shock dominated his fierce face. It was absurd, yet strangely persuasive.
“Of course, I’m not asking you to do it for free.”
Mikhail paused for dramatic effect before dropping the decisive line.
“I’ll ease some taxes. I’ll even help fund the new stills and warehouses you’ll need.”
In that instant, the atmosphere in the hall completely flipped. Money. Taxes. Those words worked like magic. Faint glimmers of life began returning to their previously dead eyes. Mikhail didn’t miss the change. With a satisfied smile, he drove in the final nail.
“Of course, the choice is yours. I’m a generous man. If you don’t want to work under me, you’re free to keep doing things your own way.”
His voice was endlessly gentle. But the thorn hidden within that gentleness was razor sharp.
“Ah, but one more thing.”
Mikhail snapped his fingers as if he had just remembered.
“From now on, brewing licenses in this territory will only be issued to ‘my company.’”
The air turned frigid. The temperature in the hall plummeted in an instant. Brewing licenses. They wouldn’t die without them. Profits had been low anyway. But it was certain their lives would become even harder than before.
Vasily clenched his fist so tightly he didn’t even notice his nails digging into his palm. Mikhail looked over their pale faces with clear enjoyment and continued.
“As you know, the soldiers of the Far East Maritime Province don’t have much to do. If I order them to crack down on illegal liquor, don’t you think they’d happily get to work?”
It was a threat. Yet no matter how blatant the threat, no one dared utter a word. He was royalty, after all.
Mikhail crossed his arms and looked down at them with a satisfied expression.
“Right, then. Let’s hear your answers.”
Leaning back on his throne-like chair with a face like he was holding back a yawn, Mikhail said,
“Anyone opposed to my proposal, raise your hand.”
Only suffocating silence filled the hall. Dozens of men kept their heads bowed, not moving a muscle. Not a single finger twitched. The corner of Mikhail’s mouth quirked up.
How very democratic. Just like that northern neighborhood.
A short, dry laugh escaped him. He nodded in satisfaction.
“Unanimous. A truly beautiful sight.”
He stood up and brushed off his clothes as if dusting away something unpleasant. His entire demeanor suggested that all the annoying business was finally over.
“Good. Then we’ll consider the discussion concluded.”
“My servant over there will explain the detailed contract terms and support measures.”
Mikhail jerked his chin toward Boris, who stood like a shadow in the corner of the hall.
“I’ll be going now. I have other matters to attend to.”
Without looking back, he left the hall with his usual languid stride.
Creak—. The heavy door closed, leaving only the stunned distillers and Boris, whose face had hardened like stone.
The labor force needed to sweat on the front lines had been secured through a very democratic process. What Mikhail needed now was a competent proxy who could manage them and sell the finished product.
Sunk deep into the chair in his office, Mikhail leafed through the stack of documents on his desk. The result of keeping several servants and low-ranking officials up all night. It was a complete list of every merchant group currently using the ports of the Far East Maritime Province.
The state of things is... yeah.
Every page he turned made him want to laugh bitterly. The polarization was extreme. Either massive merchant coalitions with distribution networks spanning the entire empire like spiderwebs, or tiny operators barely running one or two ships. It really showed just how hopeless this territory was.
His finger stopped on one name.
Valeriano Merchant Coalition.
I’ve heard that before.
It was a familiar name. He skimmed the summary written on the document. Their main goods were timber, seafood, and grains from the Far East Maritime Province. They counted as fairly large within the territory, but empire-wide they were only mid-tier—a shark nervously swimming among whales.
The founder was Andrea Valeriano, from the Empire’s autonomous republican union. He had died recently, and his only daughter had inherited everything.
Laura Valeriano.
The moment he read the name, a fragment of forgotten memory surfaced.
Ah.
A character from Blood, Lilies, and the Double-Headed Eagle. A socialite star and the queen of the empire’s underworld, the villainess who had served as the loyal right hand of the Second Princess Anastasia. A genius merchant who valued trust more heavily than gold itself—yet in the end, that very sense of honor led to her being purged and driven to a miserable suicide.
But...
If his memory was correct, Laura only fully fell into corruption with Anastasia after seizing complete control of the company and advancing into the capital. Which meant right now she was still simply a talented merchant who treated her credit like her life.
The note at the very end of the document—“rumors of internal strife”—supported that conclusion.
She’ll do nicely.
He smiled with satisfaction. Young, competent, and desperate. There could be no better candidate.
Ding—. Mikhail lightly rang the bell. Soon, hurried footsteps approached from outside the door.
Bang! The door flew open to reveal Anya, the young maid with freckles dotting her face. She still looked utterly terrified of him.
“Y-You called for me, Your Highness!”
“Come here.”
Mikhail handed her the sloppy business plan he had scribbled out himself.
“Deliver this document to Laura Valeriano of the Valeriano Merchant Coalition along with my message.”
He tapped the glass bottle on his desk with a fingertip. The liquor inside sloshed gently.
“Tell her I will make her an offer she cannot refuse.”