Viscount Rebion (2)
Is it working?
Jeron closely watched the shifting expressions on Viscount Rebion’s face.
His secret to surviving among countless other survivors on a ruined Earth had been his ability to read people’s psychological shifts with absolute precision.
In a dead world, it wasn't just the mutants you had to worry about; losing your life to fellow survivors was a daily occurrence.
A single misstep could cost you everything, making the ability to discern what others were thinking the very core of survival.
Compared to those hardened, cynical survivors, reading the expressions of the nobles of this era was child's play.
Even Duke Langton, a political giant and the leader of the Crown Prince faction, had been easy enough to read.
A mere provincial viscount stood no chance of hiding his thoughts from Jeron.
Viscount Rebion’s sagging jowls trembled slightly, and his pupils dilated before quickly constricting.
It was the classic progression from shock to greed.
Though the reaction lasted only a fraction of a second, it could not escape Jeron’s sharp eyes.
"Ahem. Do you happen to know why I have graced the Farrow territory with my presence today?"
"I could not possibly presume to guess the deep intentions of a man of your stature, Viscount. What could a young, inexperienced lord like myself possibly know?"
"Hahaha! You are indeed modest."
The viscount was intentionally avoiding a direct answer.
Jeron knew exactly what he was doing—he was laying down the bait.
Watching the man stroke his trembling double chin was a sight that made Jeron want to grimace.
Yet, Jeron maintained a flawless, hundred-percent professional smile.
"We have shared a border all this time, yet we have never engaged in proper exchange. Though we belong to different factions, the fact remains that we are neighbors. I have always felt a deep regret over this. Then, I heard rumors from the capital that the proposal you submitted is currently under review. Since Duke Langton is backing you, I expect the trade rights will be approved in no time."
"I am trying not to raise my expectations too high..."
"Come now, too much modesty is a discourtesy. How can the only person who doesn't know be the very man everyone else is talking about? Once you acquire those trade rights, you will need a substantial amount of capital. To secure such privileges, you must pay a hefty acquisition tax to the royal family. Coincidentally, the drums of war are beating across the kingdom, and you happen to deal in specialty goods that serve as raw materials for various armaments. If you supply those specialties to me first, I will purchase them at a price higher than the market rate. You may not know this, but thanks to my late father discovering a silver mine, my territory is quite flush with cash."
"A bit late, but allow me to offer my congratulations."
"Haha, thank you. Our families have traditionally not been on the best of terms, but I thought this might be a wonderful opportunity to forge a friendship. We may divide ourselves into factions in the capital, but is there any need to fight out here in the provinces? And as a token of that friendship and trust, I believe the relic left behind by your ancestors could serve as the perfect medium."
Look at this bastard. He went all the way around the world just to say he wants to steal this bottle.
Jeron found it absurd, but his smile did not waver.
At first, he wondered what kind of nonsense the man was building up to, but now it was clear: the viscount was lusting after the bottle of liquor.
Then again, by the standards of this era, it was a visual masterpiece that would drive anyone mad.
The liquid inside was Royal Salute, a drink that even twenty-first-century Earthlings only drank on special occasions. Combined with the mysterious aura of the bottle itself, the experience was intoxicating.
If one could secure just a few bottles of such legendary liquor to distribute as bribes, even the most stagnant political problems would resolve themselves.
To a commoner, it was merely high-quality alcohol, but to a noble, it was a formidable weapon.
Jeron, never one to be outmatched in verbal sparring, smoothly wrapped his own agenda in flowery words.
"I agree with you completely, Viscount. There is no need for us to carry the grudges of the past into our generation. Burying the past and looking toward the future is the mark of a true noble. To forge a new bond and friendship, a fitting token is indeed required, and this legendary liquor is certainly worthy of the occasion. However, I have heard that friendship is only eternal when it is built on trust and mutual benefit. While I could give you this rare vintage passed down from my ancestors, a one-sided relationship is easily broken, is it not? Therefore..."
Gulp.
The viscount’s throat bobbed, his fleshy neck trembling.
For Jeron, dealing with a man who possessed absolutely no self-control was a chore, but if he could fleece a sucker, he was happy to flash as many smiles as it took.
"If you are willing to settle our past grievances, Viscount, then a bottle of liquor is the least of my concerns. I would be happy to show my sincerity on a regular basis in the future."
"Past grievances... The history between the Farrow and Rebion families is long indeed. Speak freely. If there is a past to settle, I am more than willing to do so."
"The Ravilla Plains on our border originally belonged to my family. I understand there was a misunderstanding that led to your temporary occupation of it, but if you return that land, it would serve as a proper token of trust. Furthermore, if you could send about a thousand slaves my way, I will ensure you are well looked after in the future."
"Mmh!"
For a moment, the viscount’s face contorted.
Despite all the flowery talk of friendship, tokens, and neighborly love, Jeron was essentially putting a price tag on the liquor.
Land and slaves.
In this medieval era, power came from population. While slaves were treated as property, a thousand was still a significant number.
And the land?
The Ravilla Plains were currently wasteland, but giving them up still stung.
A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across the viscount’s face.
Anger, anticipation, greed, disappointment, and hesitation warred within him.
Shouldn't a noble be able to control his own emotions and facial expressions?
In that regard, the viscount was a failure as a noble.
Nearly five minutes passed in silence.
Finally, the viscount let out a long breath.
"Don't you think that is a bit excessive?"
"I will give you three bottles."
"...!"
The viscount’s eyes shook violently once more.
Three bottles of this divine nectar?
"Let me think it over! It won't take long. May I give you my answer before the day is out?"
"Of course. Even if it takes longer, I do not mind."
"Then let us toast once more to our friendship."
"Indeed."
Clink!
Their glasses met in the air.
The viscount hurriedly left the office.
Jeron decided to wait patiently.
One thing he had realized since reincarnating into this medieval world was that people here took their sweet time with everything.
It was a rigid society, and the very nature of nobility made them resistant to change, which was why so few people succeeded no matter how hard they worked.
Because of that, they handled most matters at a snail's pace.
In fact, he had found it strange when the viscount set a deadline of less than a day. Normally, deliberating on such an important matter would take at least a week.
Jeron summoned Sir Jenald.
The loyal knight immediately dropped to one knee upon entering Jeron's presence.
"I greet the Lord."
"Sir Jenald, you must have seen the viscount arrive and leave after our conversation. What is he doing now?"
"Just as you expected, my Lord, he is inspecting the territory. In particular, he has been observing the barracks from a distance, seemingly lost in thought."
"Is that so?"
"I fear he may have designs on our territory."
"Well, most likely."
"Did you anticipate this?"
"The moment that man laid eyes on the modern wonders of our territory, this outcome became inevitable. It will take some time, but it will eventually lead to a territorial war."
The veteran knight simply bowed his head, listening intently to Jeron's words.
"Even if a territorial war breaks out, I do not believe we will lose. In fact, I am hoping for it. We have loyal knights, so we will prevail."
"Your wisdom is absolute, my Lord."
Jeron had anticipated this from the moment he saw the greed in the viscount's eyes.
During his days on the ruined Earth, Jeron had seen that look on survivors countless times.
They would start with friendly overtures, but the moment greed crept into their eyes, disaster was sure to follow.
Jeron recognized the gaze of a predator in the viscount. The man wouldn't scheme right here on the spot, but he would eventually find a pretext to launch a territorial war.
As the territory developed and capital began to flow, flies were bound to gather anyway.
It was far better for Jeron to deal with small fry like the viscount and grow his own strength before the truly powerful players noticed him.
If a territorial war was inevitable, he would speed up the timeline.
"Sir Jenald, I need you to do something for me."
"Command me, my Lord."
"Make our forces look as incompetent as possible. For today only, our army must appear weak, cowardly, and riddled with corruption. Pass this order to Sir James and Sir Garcia as well. Tell them they can consider today a holiday."
"I shall obey your command, my Lord."
Viscount Rebion was passing through the clean, orderly streets of the territory, flanked by his retinue.
Due to his immense weight, he could not walk himself and instead rode in a custom-made palanquin carried by six bearers.
Though the six men drenched themselves in sweat in the midsummer heat, their plight was of no concern to the viscount.
His attention was entirely captured by this mouthwatering territory.
The entire fief is being organized. The castle walls are rising, and they are expanding the infrastructure by digging roads and waterways.
This was not something lords of this era usually did.
However, nobles were not stupid; they knew that a well-ordered territory with good infrastructure was beneficial.
They simply didn't want to waste money and effort on things they deemed unnecessary.
But seeing it fully organized, the territory looked remarkably clean.
And what about the behavior of the peasants?
They were working like demons, chanting some strange, rhythmic song. The sight made the viscount covet the territory even more.
He felt as though the very constitution of these peasants was superior to those in his own land.
Jeron Farrow is currently selling off all kinds of treasures passed down from his ancestors. He is betting everything on this generation.
The letter from Duke Otto had mentioned this as well.
It was highly unlikely that a giant like Duke Langton had moved solely for money; he must have been gifted a family heirloom to secure his backing.
He had probably secured his connection with Count Hanes, the ruler of the north, in a similar fashion.
Though the Farrow family was currently a mere barony, they were one of the founding noble houses with a long history.
At one point, the Farrows had held the position now occupied by Count Hanes, and they had enjoyed a golden age. It was clear they were releasing the treasures accumulated during that era to fund their current projects.
The ultimate proof of this was the ancient, legendary liquor.
Having tasted the alcohol, which felt as though it had been aged for a thousand years, the wines he had drunk before tasted like garbage.
What would its political value be?
It was beyond imagination.
Because they were throwing around treasures so recklessly, they had even distributed high-quality iron farming tools to mere peasants.
As Viscount Rebion was lost in thought, Sir Asti, who had been sent to secretly scout the barracks, came running back.
"My Lord! I have returned with a report!"
"Ah, how is the situation inside the barracks?"
"It was an absolute mess, my Lord. The discipline is nonexistent, the soldiers are weak, and they are cowards."
"Oh? Did he neglect the military because he was too focused on internal affairs?"
"I doubt those men can even be called knights. They were taking bribes from soldiers and peasants alike, and they were squandering the money on gambling. It was a disgraceful sight."
"Ho, so Baron Farrow talks a big game, but he has neglected the most important aspect of his rule—his military?"
The viscount’s greed, which had been steadily building, finally erupted upon hearing Sir Asti’s report.
In his mind, he could already see himself seizing all of the Farrow family's treasures, vastly expanding his territory, and rising to new heights of power.