Chapter 85: Sabotage
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 85: Sabotage
Even in an age where people sing of peace, the nature of war remains unchanged.
Some fight to take what they do not have, while others fight to protect what they do. Man against man. Group against group. Nation against nation. The victor takes everything, and the loser is left with less than nothing.
Such was the fate of a peaceful little village that once thrived on wheat farming.
Before they could even taste the golden bounty of autumn, the villagers were turned into refugees, forced to wander the wilderness. In the middle of a plain where a biting wind howled, they huddled together, sharing body heat to survive the encroaching winter.
They had welcomed the sight of the three men sent as envoys, but their joy was short-lived. There was no light of hope in the messengers' expressions.
"It seems this village won't help us either."
"Did they say they have nothing to eat themselves?"
"Isn't it obvious? They’re struggling just to survive the winter."
Winter turns hearts cold and miserly. At the end of autumn's abundance lies a season of cruel endurance; to survive that cruelty, people often have no choice but to be exclusionary. In such a state, refugees were essentially facing a slow death.
"Curse them. If they are fellow humans and followers of Alte, they could at least spare a scrap of food..."
"May the light of judgment fall upon those bastards..."
"That’s enough."
As the voices of resentment grew louder, a man stepped forward. He wore half-plate armor and was the only one among them carrying weapons.
"They’re just trying to survive; what can we do? They likely have nothing to spare. With the Empire in such a mess lately, corrupt officials are running rampant, aren't they?"
"But we have weapons... If we just demanded a little..."
"Don't do anything foolish," the man snapped. "We should be grateful we walked out of there on our own two feet."
"Walked out? Where else is there to go?"
They looked out over the vast plain. The winter earth was parched and desolate. The only thing waiting for them on this land was the grave.
"What about going south? At least it's warm there."
Just as the Far North has lands of ice and Frost Giants, the Far South is home to lands of fire and Lava Giants. The concept of a cold winter did not exist there.
The Village Chief shook his head.
"That’s not a good idea. I’ve heard the South is scorching during the day, but the nights are even colder. Many have died because they underestimated the temperature fluctuations. And..."
"And?"
"The people in that village said the southern bandits wait for exactly this time of year."
They wouldn't be the first refugees to head south to escape the bitter cold. Bandits would be lying in wait to plunder their meager belongings or sell them into slavery.
"Then what are we supposed to do? Are you saying we should just sit here and twiddle our thumbs?"
The refugees felt frustrated by the man's passivity, but the Village Chief felt just as desperate. It was his job to be the lamp that found a path through the darkness. After three minutes of agonizing silence, he spoke.
"Let's go to the Far East."
Everyone gasped at his choice.
"The Far East? You mean the Land of Demons?"
"I heard that's a place where humans can't even breathe. You want us to go there?"
The man looked at them firmly. "The villagers told me the Empire is looking for workers in the Far East. Apparently, someone called the Regent is building a town there. They say the daily wage is decent, and there’s plenty of room to sleep. There will surely be enough to eat. If we contribute, I’m sure they’ll accept us as residents."
"But to go to a land where monsters swarm..."
They hesitated, glancing at each other with reluctance. The man let out a heavy sigh. Until a moment ago, they had seen hope in foolish options, yet they showed such indecision toward a viable one.
"Then are you all just going to stay here and die?" he asked.
"..."
"It’ll be the same no matter which village we pester. Unless we turn to banditry, it won't be easy to buy food with a few coins—and I refuse to become a beast in human skin. Nor will I tolerate any of you doing such a thing."
"..."
"If we go to the Far East, at least there will be work. They’ll give us money to survive the day and a roof over our heads. For people like us, isn't that more than enough?"
Despite their aversion to the Far East, no one could voice a complaint. As the man said, there was no real alternative. Would they forsake God and become bandits? Or would they head to the wasteland in search of a new hope?
Whether they died one way or another, they had to choose the path that offered even a glimmer of light.
* * *
Isabella entered Ferda’s office and delivered her report.
"Reporting, sir. Thirty refugees have arrived from a village called White Bridge."
White Bridge. It was a village located in the mid-western part of the continent, on land belonging to Duke Yurei.
"This is the third group of refugees from Duke Yurei’s territory," Ferda noted. "What is the available manpower?"
"A total of six households. There are fifteen capable laborers, one elderly person, and fourteen children."
"Are there any specialized workers?"
"White Bridge was originally near a quarry. Some of them are stonemasons and possess knowledge of construction."
"Stonemasons will be useful. Understood. How many more can we accommodate for now?"
Isabella flipped through her documents. "Based on current capacity... we can accommodate three hundred more."
"There are many buildings."
"Quite a few. Normally, if this many refugees had gathered, half of them would have been forced to live in tents."
Ferda rose from his seat and walked to the balcony. As he swung the doors open, a cold wind rushed in as if it had been waiting. The dry, biting air licked the moisture from Ferda’s face. He could feel it vividly against his skin: the season of death was drawing closer.
Refugees are overflowing.
This was the time when refugees were most numerous, and when they died in the greatest numbers. For the Far East, which lacked a population, this was a grim sort of opportunity.
Ferda looked down from the balcony. Normally, he would have seen nothing but a thorny field of bare branches. Instead, he saw wide-open plains and rising structures. In the spot where only a tangled forest should have been, there were buildings where people lived.
He saw the thirty newly arrived refugees huddled around a brazier. As soon as Ferda’s approval was granted, officials began handing out relief supplies. Tears of emotion flowed down faces gaunt from hunger, and smiles of joy bloomed.
Just like that, three hundred people had formed a community.
It’s living up to its name.
Hestia—the goddess who guards the hearth. It was the name of the city that had won first place by an overwhelming margin, beating out all the candidates Isabella had suggested.
Already, twenty buildings had been constructed. Structures originally intended as communal spaces were being transformed into shops and inns, forming the beginnings of a commercial district. This was possible because of several favorable factors.
The support from the South was the biggest factor.
When he first heard that Halim would provide support, Ferda hadn't expected much. Usually, 'support' meant doing the bare minimum just to add a line to a bard's song. However, when the delegation from Halim arrived, he realized how sincere the man was.
Hundreds of workers, long lines of construction materials, and even elephants. It was on a completely different scale from the Pascal Trading Company’s contributions.
Isabella said it was almost scary to think about what he might demand in return.
For the usually composed Isabella to say such a thing, one could imagine how total that support was. Regardless, they had quickly erected buildings in their own architectural style using materials brought from the South. In just two weeks, a place for the delegation to stay and a trading post had been built, with ten more buildings added since.
And besides that, there’s also...
Ferda looked toward a site where large bundles of logs were floating through the air. Looking closely, the figure of a sturdy man could be seen in the middle of them. That man, dressed in armor that looked entirely out of place at a construction site, was the greatest contributor of all.
Just who are you?
The way he would suddenly appear, shoulder ten logs at once, and move them in a flash was extraordinary. Ferda wanted a report from someone who had seen what was under that helmet, but no one had ever seen inside the armor. He disappeared immediately after the work was done. Sometimes he wouldn't show up at all, and sometimes he would suddenly bolt off in the middle of a task, but he always did more than enough to earn his pay.
The duty of those who possess power... is it?
Service for the weak. People praised him, saying he possessed a magnificent sense of chivalry even in simple labor.
It’s highly likely a ploy to receive a title, Ferda thought cynically. It was foolish to think he was doing it out of pure intentions. Ferda was preparing to meet whatever demands the man might eventually make, equal to the value of the service provided.
"Are there any other unusual matters?"
"If you mean unusual... it’s not a major problem yet, but there is one thing," Isabella replied.
"What is it?"
"There seems to be a problem with the food and monster supply lines; the delivery is about four days later than scheduled."
Four days. The transportation environment was poor and travel was limited, but for Ferda, this was a significant issue. He had agreed to receive priority for all supplies from Stephan. The word 'priority' meant everything would be supplied exactly on the scheduled date. The fact that it was four days late meant a breach of contract.
Stephan.
He was a man whose head worked well for a merchant. His calculations were precise, and his strategies weren't bad. But that’s all. Stephan had a passive, compromising nature. In the work Ferda had to carry out, that personality was a major obstacle.
Should I discard Stephan?
Ferda had nothing to lose. He could simply return what Stephan had invested in the form of treasure. Furthermore, since Halim was actively helping them grow, he could partner with them instead. Halim was likely hoping for that as well.
Discarding him would be easy.
As Ferda was contemplating this, a knock came at the door.
"Lord Ferda," Ruri called out. "Stephan Pascal wishes to see you."
Speak of the devil.
"Tell him to enter."
The door opened, and a man walked in. It was hard to believe he was the same man Ferda knew.
Stephan Pascal, the second-generation head of a corporation, had been plump and exuded an air of wealth during their first meeting. Now, that fat was gone. He had become haggard, looking more like a refugee who hadn't eaten in weeks than a merchant prince.
Ferda sensed immediately that something had gone wrong.
"It has been a while since the exhibition, Regent."
Ferda kept his expression neutral. "I was just talking about you."
"It’s because the supply delivery is late. Yes, I wish to apologize for that. And..." He struggled to find the words. "I think it would be best if the connection between... the Pascal Trading Company and you ends here."
It was a request to terminate the contract.
Ferda touched his face, processing the words. No matter how he looked at it, this made no sense. Ferda had been considering terminating the contract himself, but it wasn't something Stephan should have brought up first. Ferda could simply find someone else, but Stephan would lose everything.
He was curious where this irrational judgment had come from.
"Why?" Ferda asked.
"I don't think it's an area I can handle anymore," Stephan answered.
"What is the area you can handle?"
"The things I can do... and the things I possess."
"What I expect from you hasn't changed," Ferda said coldly. "Everything remains the same. What has changed must be your heart."
Stephan could not answer. Ferda leaned forward, his gaze piercing.
"If it makes sense, I will terminate it. So tell me. What on earth happened?"
The words were forced out of Stephan’s lips as he poured out his story. He told Ferda about the dinner with his father, the friction between brothers over Halim, and the things he had lost because of it. Only then did Ferda see the internal collapse he hadn't known about.
"Murchit was angry with you, and you said you would monopolize the rights to Halim?"
"...Yes."
"So all the mercenaries who were originally guarding you left, and things started falling apart?"
It was a story that made sense within the Empire’s systems. Since commerce was highly developed, mercenaries operated as corporations. The Pascal Mercenary Agency, founded by Murchit Pascal, was the undisputed leader of the industry. With over 10,000 direct members and 30,000 subcontractors, clashing with Murchit meant losing your protection overnight.
The sword and shield in Stephan’s hands had vanished in an instant.
"Even though you filled the void, they weren't reliable, and incidents began occurring."
"That’s right..."
If security is lax, the system collapses. The goods that were supposed to be supplied to Ferda as a priority had been stolen. It was like an exhibition hall without glass windows.
"And so... the carriage heading toward the Archduchy... was also attacked."
Now the reason for the delay was revealed.
"I found out two days ago. The carriage was attacked, and everyone... Sandy, Coben..." Stephan covered his face, unable to continue. That incident had been the final blow to his spirit. "I can't do it anymore. I was never a person with the capacity for this. Wanting to take over the Pascal Trading Company, wanting to monopolize Magitech... they were all things I should never have reached for."
"..."
"So I will give up. Regent. Thank you for giving this pathetic man a chance until now—"
"That monopoly," Ferda cut him off. "Was it something we needed?"
"Mo-monopoly, you say?"
"Yes. Was it necessary for the interests we must protect?"
In his broken state, Stephan thought: Was it necessary? He could have shared the pie instead of insisting on holding it all.
"Think carefully about the reason you had back then and answer me," Ferda commanded.
Stephan recalled the memory of that day. He remembered the fire in his gut.
"...Yes, it was."
"Then you’re saying you fought to protect what is ours."
"..."
"You fought for the first time, and you were met with frustration."
"That’s right."
"Are you ashamed of the fact that you failed?"
Stephan hung his head low. "It is a disgraceful thing."
"And so you’re trying to avoid this situation by terminating the contract?"
"I am not avoiding it."
"It is avoidance. You are compromising instead of facing the pain."
"That incident was an opportunity for me to look back at myself," Stephan laughed hollowly, his pupils unfocused. "I have no talent, yet I’m pointlessly greedy. I don't even have the courage to hold onto anything. I’m the kind of third-rate hack who only comes to his senses... after losing everything."
Self-deprecation and self-loathing. Ferda could see the crushing weight on the man's shoulders. He recognized it because he had experienced it himself.
"Is that why you couldn't reach out to me?"
"...Yes."
Stephan had been terrified that his incompetence would grow, that he would show his flaws and be despised for them. That fear had grown until it forced him to his knees.
"Stephan."
"Yes, Regent."
"I only asked for one thing. Do you remember what it was?"
He knew. Ferda’s words were etched into his mind.
"You told me... to become the master of the Pascal Trading Company."
"That was our contract. What did you do for that contract? You supplied goods."
"I did."
"You filled the supplies that were lacking throughout the Archduchy and opened up roads. Such a process could never have been easy, yet you endured."
"..."
"To become the master of the Pascal Trading Company."
Stephan did not answer. Fearing he might sob if he spoke, he kept his mouth shut.
"I’ll say it again: we have a contract," Ferda continued. "You supply us with goods, and I make you the master of the Pascal Trading Company."
Those words had once pressured Stephan. But strangely, at this moment, the pressure felt like a support.
"That means if you fight to become the master of the company, I will gladly take your side."
Stephan felt the weight on his shoulders lift.
"So, I will ask you one last time," Ferda said, his voice calm but absolute. "Do you truly want to give up everything?"
Vitality began to return to Stephan’s hollow eyes. Everything he had come here to throw away began to look different. Stephan was a merchant. No merchant enjoys losing. He didn't want the "peace" of having nothing. He wanted to use failure as a stepping stone to leap toward success.
"Ugh... hhh..."
Stephan shed tears. Along with the sorrow rising in his throat, he voiced the ambition he had carried since childhood.
"I want to... become the master of the Pascal Trading Company."
Stephan sobbed, his nose pressed against the marble floor. He wailed, unable to say anything more. Ferda looked down at him and spoke softly.
"Administrator Isabella."
Isabella, who had been watching the entire exchange, pushed up her glasses. "Please, speak."
"Summon all the nobles of the Far East Archduchy to the Far East Front Alliance Hall."
"Understood. What reason should I list for the summons?"
Ferda’s eyes turned cold.
"Sabotage against the entire Archduchy."