The Golden Harvest and the Baron’s Bargain
Rumors had spread like wildfire, and merchants began arriving one after another. We had decided to market the planet’s unique specialty—wheat—but since the next harvest was still months away, we had no choice but to sell the accumulated animal furs and leather we had stockpiled. In return, we received Imperial wheat seeds and various daily necessities from the traders.
Eight peaceful months passed after that. I actively worked to increase the number of tribesmen. Sometimes through conversation, sometimes through threats. Yet neither method proved difficult. After all, we were a tribe of over thirty thousand with advanced technology, while our counterparts were small tribes of only dozens of people.
Eventually, the population surpassed thirty thousand. That was more than enough to be considered a small country. In the pre-modern era, many nations had populations well below that figure.
However, what mattered more than sheer numbers was that harvest time was finally approaching. People were buzzing with excitement, for they had spent years clearing land and planting wheat in anticipation of this very season.
Harvest time arrived in earnest. Each tribe began reaping the fields they had cultivated, and half of the harvested wheat was given to me.
The total yield reached 220 million Erans. Of that, my personal share amounted to 110 million Erans and 273 thousand Erans.
One hundred ten million Erans—what did that represent? The wheat I had sold to Baron Rittenberg previously had been around ten million Erans. In a single season, we had produced ten times that amount.
And just as harvest time arrived, Baron Rittenberg appeared, leading a fleet of warships.
From orbit, gazing down at the planet, Baron Rittenberg could hardly believe his eyes. The farmland had expanded dramatically. Where there had once been nothing but forest, vast swaths had been cleared and turned into golden wheat fields.
Even though it was only a portion of the planet, it was rapidly becoming a land of gold. Watching the swift pace of civilization take root, the baron’s heart raced with excitement.
“Incredible. When did you manage all this land clearing…”
With only a single year, they had acquired farmland nearly ten times larger than before. Baron Rittenberg found himself stunned by their ingenuity.
“And Petron cannons? Even ordinary pirates wouldn’t dare approach this place.”
Three Petron cannons in orbit meant the planet was virtually impregnable. Space pirates would find it nearly impossible to launch an assault.
“What kind of magic is this? The speed of civilization here is extraordinary.”
Baron Rittenberg revised his assessment of the planet—from “a good land for wheat” to “a land of enormous potential for high-quality wheat.”
He watched the planet for a while longer, then finally gave the order to land. The fleet descended upon the northern plains.
And there, just as it had been the previous year, Sihyun was waiting.
“Long time no see, Baron.”
“Indeed. Coming down, I noticed three Petron cannons installed. Were they purchased from Marinuss?”
“Yes. Thanks to Baron Rittenberg’s introduction letter.”
“With the 525 ducats I received, I doubt even Marinuss could have bought those cannons.”
Sihyun proceeded to recount the events. How a pirate ship had attacked the tribe, how his subordinates had captured it, and how they had sold the ship to purchase the cannons. He omitted any mention of Hildegard, for her existence could not yet be revealed.
Baron Rittenberg’s eyes widened in surprise.
“A native tribe… captured a space pirate?”
“Casualties were inevitable. It was no easy fight.”
“Still, impressive. Perhaps your tribe possesses exceptional combat prowess.”
“The Baron’s praise is more than I deserve.”
After a few exchanges of modest remarks and pleasantries, Baron Rittenberg finally got to the heart of the matter.
“By the way, the wheat. Judging by the expanded farmland, the harvest must have been enormous. There should be a surplus of around twenty million Erans, right?”
“Correct.”
“Then, right now—”
“However, there is one change.”
Baron Rittenberg fell silent, as if he had sensed something.
“You intend to raise the price?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I plan to set the selling price higher than before. One thousand Erans for approximately seven hundred ducats, that would be fair.”
“Seven hundred ducats…”
After a long moment of contemplation, the baron spoke.
“I believe your wheat is worth every ducat. But selling it to me at that price does not make sense.”
“Why not?”
“There are two reasons. First, I wrote an introduction letter in your name to Marinuss. And Marinuss does not discriminate against customers. Without my letter, they would never have come all the way to this backwater planet. You owe me a great debt.”
“I acknowledge that.”
“Second, it is not only you. Other companies also supply the military at prices below market value. Weapons, clothing, daily necessities—they all receive far lower prices from the army. Do you know why?”
“Because the military can provide large, continuous quantities. A stable customer base.”
“That is part of it. But the greater reason is that supplying the military itself functions like a quality certification. Products bearing that title attract far more buyers. Your wheat is no different. With the military supply title alone, countless people will seek it out, driving up the price. I am granting you that benefit, so naturally, I should be able to purchase your wheat more cheaply.”
It was an irrefutable argument. I had benefited from Baron Rittenberg, and I would continue to do so.
“A valid point. I will accept only sixty percent of the regular price from you.”
“Sixty percent of seven hundred ducats… four hundred twenty ducats. That is a price I can accept.”
“However, may I make one additional request in return?”
“A request?”
“As far as I know, the planet I belong to is called BK-201.”
“That is correct.”
“The star system is the Cyclops Star System.”
“Also correct.”
“And the most advanced planet in the Cyclops Star System is Brontes.”
“It serves as the capital.”
“Please take me and my guard to Brontes.”
Baron Rittenberg fell silent for a moment, then asked.
“Why not use a civilian ship or a merchant vessel?”
“I am a native.”
“So?”
“If anything happens along the way—if I am robbed, overcharged, or even killed—I have nowhere to seek justice. Imperial law does not protect natives of backwater planets. Therefore, I would rather board the ship of a trustworthy person.”
“Am I a trustworthy person to you?”
Trustworthy? Personally, I could not say, but in terms of ability, yes. At the very least, I know enough to understand that remaining alive and maintaining friendly relations is beneficial for the future. Therefore, the answer is yes.
“Yes. I trust Baron Rittenberg.”
“That is a grateful story. However, there is a catch.”
“What is it?”
“Unless it is an Imperial Space Army vessel, I cannot remain aboard for more than three days.”
Baron Rittenberg shook his head.
“I did not know there was such a regulation.”
“I believed Imperial soldiers stationed in backwater planets were subject to more lenient military law.”
“That is also our army’s shameful secret. Backwater Imperial soldiers are, in effect, feudal lords—half outside central control. But I grew up in the center and graduated from the Galactic Empire Space Academy. From that position, I cannot easily disregard military law.”
“Then… is the answer no?”
He shook his head again.
“I do not wish to break military law. But bending it slightly is acceptable. You will serve in the Imperial army for a while.”
“In the Imperial army?”
“Imperial army soldiers may be discharged after five years of service. Therefore, you will serve five years in the Imperial army.”
“What will happen to my planet if I join the Imperial army?”
“You need not worry. After the voyage, I will assign you the mission to develop an uncharted planet, allowing you to remain on your own world. In short, you will merely have your name listed on the Imperial army rolls.”
If that were true, it was perfect. Obtaining the status of an Imperial army soldier was equivalent to gaining Imperial citizen status.
“According to knowledge obtained from Verata, after five years of service in the Imperial army, individuals—regardless of species or origin planet—may acquire the status of Galactic Empire citizens.”
I would become a Galactic Empire citizen, not a native. In other words, I would be protected under Imperial law from that day forward.
“Could you prepare this content in written form?”
“Of course.”
Baron Rittenberg extended his hand. His adjutant handed over a document. The baron then wrote two copies of the contract, and Sihyun and the baron each received one.
Afterward, Sihyun and Kumpa boarded Baron Rittenberg’s ship—as members of the Imperial army.
The following day, after receiving their military uniforms aboard the ship, Kumpa grumbled.
“Ugh, Chief. The clothes are tight. Uncomfortable.”
“Endure it for a while. It is the largest size. You are simply too big.”
“Why not just wear the clothes I brought, Chief?”
“No. On a warship, one must wear the military uniform. If you are mistaken for a suspicious person and shot, what then?”
“Understood, Chief. I will wear it. But, Chief.”
“What is it?”
“Where are we going?”
Sihyun smiled.
“To buy a ship.”