Every Poison Can Become a Medicine - 5
As soon as the door to the trading post swung open, Shatinbelle Silkraise dashed inside.
"Please, please...!"
The other Joinkind remained plunged in despair. A few who had snapped out of it first were venturing into the forest to scavenge whatever food they could find right away. Some were building shelters, others chopping wood. But the hopelessness in their eyes hadn't faded. They might have grown slightly accustomed, but they were still trapped in agony.
I have to solve this problem all at once.
That was why Shatinbelle was so obsessed with the trading post. The immediate food shortage was bad enough, but the lack of hope was an infinitely greater crisis. Realistic or not, she needed to plant the seed that this could be overcome. And for that, she needed him.
Please...!
"You must have had a rough night of it mentally," he said, gazing at her with a serene voice, as if he'd foreseen every bit of this.
Ugh...
His unflappable eyes only heightened her anxiety. The tables had turned overnight. Now she was the one who had to grovel before him, while that merchant could offload his wares at absurd markups.
Shatinbelle didn't hide her predicament. It bruised her pride, but she couldn't afford a staring contest or drawn-out haggling—not when time was so precious. If he could provide food, she needed it in her hands yesterday.
Fortunately, his demands hadn't changed. The Heart of the Storm. Something this colony didn't have—something she didn't need to hand over right now.
But it didn't end there.
"Would the Governor grace me with a bit of 'respect' for my opinion?"
Shatinbelle bit her lip hard.
"Speak. What do you want?"
"First, I need information. The colony's current population and racial breakdown."
"Joinkind. Ninety souls."
"Understood. And the terrain of your settled outpost?"
"Fertile soil, stone deposits. We haven't sent out scouts yet, and timber's plentiful."
"Not bad at all. Then, before we get into planning... I suppose I should send over some food first."
"Yes. As quickly as possible, if you please."
"But... well, it feels a tad uncomfortable just handing it over for nothing..."
"I understand. You're a merchant; no one wants to eat a loss."
"It's not just that... but could you send over something of value in return? To make it feel like a proper trade."
"There's a sacred flame I brought from the city. Would that suffice?"
"Ah, no, that won't do. It's essential for expanding the colony, isn't it? I can't ask you to part with something you need to use right away."
"Something valuable that the colony doesn't need..."
Shatinbelle bit her lip again. Humiliation gnawed at her.
But I have to do it.
Shatinbelle slowly began unfastening her uniform.
"...What is this?"
"The finest craftsmanship—my mother, Charlotte Silkraise, made it herself. A luxury uniform she gave me to celebrate my governorship."
Her hidden feathers were revealed. Her attire was now far more modest.
"This should count as payment, right? Something commoners could never dream of touching in a lifetime...!"
It wasn't something she'd want to hand over. Not for its monetary worth, nor the magic woven into the fabric—far too precious to trade for mere food. But the colony didn't need it right now. For her success and survival, she'd pay any price.
"I hadn't planned on taking heirlooms... but very well. I'll keep it safe and return it when you can reclaim its full value."
"Thank you."
"No need for long talks, then—there's a large box to the side... or rather, like a small room. Put the uniform in there and close the door."
"As you wish."
Shatinbelle felt a flicker of puzzlement. If the merchant had come in person to take her uniform, there'd be no need for this awkward charade.
"Door closed... and, er, like this?"
"Perfect. Now open it again."
"Magic. I can feel the traces. But what in the—huh?"
Opening the door again, Shatinbelle couldn't process the sight before her. The air was thick with the scent of paper. Stacks of substantial boxes filled her view.
"This is... uh..."
She inhaled deeply. Beneath the paper smell, a fragrant, appetizing aroma wafted subtly.
"Open a few."
"This is... fr-fruit! How is it so fresh..."
"Most are dried, with only a bit fresh. I could supply endlessly, but storage would be an issue."
"Such quality... Even the city orchards rarely yield top-grade like this. And this..."
"Raw grains to fill bellies, plus shrimp and nuts."
"Shrimp! Sea worms, yes? I've heard they're fragrant and delicious, but I never dreamed we'd eat them."
Shatinbelle dropped her guard, beaming with innocent delight.
I thought it'd be a few sacks of rotting grain at best!
This quantity could feed that many people for half a year without shortage—maybe more. And it wasn't cheap slop; it promised nutrition and taste. Top-shelf goods, no question.
"You're my fair wind. When I stabilize this colony and return triumphant to the Hearthfire Empress, I'll make sure she knows how invaluable your aid was."
"Your words alone are thanks enough."
"With this, everyone can find hope. Fertile land means farming won't be hard. If we just grow wheat and solve the food issue—"
"What are you talking about?"
"Hm?"
In that instant, his demeanor chilled ever so slightly. Shatinbelle instinctively shrank back, feathers bristling.
The man on the screen smiled, but his expression radiated firm refusal.
"Wh-what do you... want?"
"It might be wiser to act efficiently."
"Efficiently?"
"In colony management, foraging for food... unless you're on the brink of starvation, it's all pointless."
"What do you mean by that?"
Colony operation guidelines were set in stone. Once settled, secure food first. Achieve stable self-sufficiency—that was the governor's prime directive. Don't take in too many people until then. Use limited manpower on nearby natural resources like wild berries, efficiently wrapping up food stabilization.
But he declared the whole process foolish.
"That's... not what I was taught?"
"The situation's different, isn't it? Not every governor meets a merchant as generous as me."
"That's—"
"I can keep supplying this level of food. More, if needed."
"That's truly grateful, but—"
"Immodest as it sounds, meeting me is your golden opportunity."
His face unchanged, he boasted of the monumental gift he'd bestowed on this outpost.
"Yes. Undeniable luck. I won't deny it."
"Meeting me is luck, but using it is the Governor's skill."
Shatinbelle nodded reluctantly.
"So, what do you think I should do?"
She felt led along. But she had promised to respect his views. Unless his demands were utterly unacceptable, she couldn't ignore him fresh off this bounty.
"Start farming right alongside shelter-building. Skip wheat—plant moonstalks for fiber."
"Moonstalks?"
A plant impossible to find in the city, thriving only in cold rains and life-rich soil. Fiber from its stalks could yield fine cloth.
"Clothes aren't urgent right now, are they? Is that truly necessary?"
"But you want them, don't you?"
He smiled. Shatinbelle couldn't deny it.
"...Yes. I do."
Joinkind loved making and wearing clothes. Wealthy ones like her had wardrobes bigger than commoners' homes, spending hours selecting outfits with contented smiles. Not everyone lived like Shatinbelle, but no Joinkind skimped on clothes. Even in poverty, they'd buy as many as possible.
"Not just you—the Joinkind following you crave it too. Gathering cloth, tailoring garments, donning fresh new clothes... that's their dream."
He knew Joinkind well. She had to concede it.
It was powerful hope. A mighty motivator for Joinkind pioneering this colony. And in a settlement, fulfilling 'desires' meant more than just feeling good.
"But this is a colony. My followers know they can't make clothes in this situation..."
Still, unease lingered. Food stabilization wasn't even done. Without his supplies, starvation loomed. Prioritizing moonstalks over crops on limited fertile land was a hard sell.
"Why so anxious, Governor? You have me. As you see, a merchant who delivers bulk food for a pittance."
"..."
She didn't know his magic, but shifting that volume without warning was no small feat. Even accounting for limits, it was wizardry not to take lightly.
"Will you go the ordinary route like other governors? Five years for food security, five more for industry, five for harvest rites and exploration...?"
"That's—"
"You know it. No need for that."
Shatinbelle bit her lip. He was right—meeting him was luck. Even the most inept governor could stabilize with such fortune.
...
His words rang true. Relying on an exceptional merchant yet matching 'ordinary' governors would prove her inferiority.
"Tell me."
She was dancing to his tune, fully aware. But Shatinbelle couldn't resist. She refused to see herself as lesser.
"What must I do?"
Shatinbelle asked, laced with anxiety and anticipation. He smiled leisurely.