Unexpected Gains (1)

Only a generation ago, the Rebion family had been mere barons. However, after the discovery of a gold mine left them overflowing with wealth, they began pouring astronomical sums of money into politics.

By bribing officials across all factions without discrimination, the current head of the family had successfully elevated their status to viscount and acquired a substantial amount of territory.

It was a grand achievement in its own right, but human greed knows no bounds.

Not long ago, Viscount Rebion heard news that iron ore had been discovered in the neighboring Farrow territory.

It was painful enough when a rival succeeded, but hearing that the dirt-poor Farrow family had struck iron ore gave the viscount such severe heartburn that he could not even sleep.

At first, he tried his best to ignore it. But when the Farrow territory secretly dispatched miners to begin excavation, the viscount's greed finally erupted.

It was from that moment.

He began stretching his claws toward the Baron of Farrow, who held the status of Duke Langton's protégé.

Viscount Rebion sent secret letters to the central political circles, lobbying them to approve a territory war.

However, the response from the capital was cold.

Several letters arrived for the viscount, and their contents were all similar.

All three major factions opposed the idea, and the response from the Crown Prince faction was outright hostile.

They were warning him not to touch a lord who belonged to their alignment.

If he had been an ordinary noble, he would have given up at this point.

But the viscount's greed exceeded all imagination.

After agonizing over the matter for days, he devised a plan to throw out a bait to lure Baron Farrow.

He declared his intention to execute the plan during a meeting with his vassals and proceeded to ask about the progress.

"Has that bastard replied?"

"A reply did arrive, stating that he wishes to meet at the border of our territories to settle the matter, but..."

"If he is coming, he is coming. Why do you hesitate so?"

"I simply wonder if it is wise to push this far when every faction in the capital opposes it."

As expected, his vassals voiced their opposition.

The advisors, in particular, were desperate to dissuade the viscount.

They believed, just as Duke Lion had warned, that they might face a severe political backlash.

However, the viscount thought differently.

"Only a single prerequisite is needed for a territory war to be approved."

"A single prerequisite?"

"Baron Farrow's consent. If that bastard sends letters to the factions and exerts his influence, it can easily be approved."

"What?! Baron Farrow is no fool. Why would he ever consent to that?"

"Which is why we must dangle a mouthwatering piece of bait."

"Is it truly necessary to go to such lengths just to seize an iron mine?"

"His growth is too rapid. We must stop him here. The other factions, excluding the Crown Prince faction, will not be pleased to see Baron Farrow grow any further either."

That is just your delusion!

To the vassals, the viscount's words were nothing but stubborn excuses.

The influential nobles of the capital did not care how much a baron tucked away in the remote northern mountains grew.

Since Baron Farrow was showering them with bribes, they only wished for the flow of money to never stop.

Finally, Sir Bertin, the chief advisor, decided to try one last time to persuade the viscount.

"Should we happen to lose the territory war, the backlash will be catastrophic. Besides, Baron Farrow will not agree to a territory war unless the stakes are exceptionally high."

"Lose? Do you think we would lose? Do not forget that we have the finest knight in the north, Junior Baron Burcain, on our side."

"But!"

"Enough. Tell him I agree to the meeting. I am confident."

The vassals bit their lips at the viscount's stubbornness.

No matter how they looked at it, this plan carried far too many risks.

Jeron returned to the territory after personally leading the trade expedition, which had concluded with resounding success.

Beyond the great wall, soldiers and farmers could be seen moving back and forth.

Now that the territory's borders had expanded to the Lemberin River, the administrative office had begun reclaiming the farmlands adjacent to the Great Wall to boost agricultural output.

Once these lands were fully cultivated, they would undoubtedly yield massive profits.

The administrators did not want to waste this opportunity and were already planning to build another wall further down the Lemberin River.

Since Jeron also harbored ambitions of territorial expansion, a pioneering group would likely set out before long.

As the merchant caravan entered carrying a mountain of ice troll carcasses, the working residents knelt in respect while staring at the sight with fascinated eyes.

"What beautiful fur. Is that an ice troll?"

"So they say. Beasts that live in the Great Snowfield."

"Does this mean the trade was a success?"

"Who do you think our lord is? Handling a few barbarians is child's play to him."

The faces of the residents were filled with anticipation.

The administration had actively promoted the trade with the barbarians, making sure everyone knew how much it would improve their livelihoods.

This was a calculated political move.

By raising expectations of massive wealth flowing into the territory, Jeron reassured the people that their funds would never run dry.

The territory was developing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at a breakneck pace.

The northern Great Wall grew taller by the day, and its repairs were nearly complete.

In one area, the training of new recruits was in full swing, while the main roads inside the territory were nearing completion.

Jeron entered the castle, watching the scenery with deep satisfaction.

In front of the castle gates, an unexpected figure was waiting for him.

"You have returned, Baron!"

"Oh, what brings you here? Shouldn't you be at the county right now?"

"I pushed myself a bit because it seemed the trade with the barbarians was going exceptionally well."

It was Junior Baron Romid.

Jeron felt as though he had only just seen him off before departing for the Lemberin River, yet the man had already traveled to the county and back.

Count Hanes truly cannot resist the scent of money.

Then again, who in the world hated money?

Even the other lords, who held highly isolationist views on trade, were always quick to accept bribes.

Count Hanes, with his broad vision shaped by years of international trade, had immediately recognized just how lucrative trading with the barbarians would be.

Jeron walked side by side with Junior Baron Romid.

"What did the Count say?"

"He approved it without a moment's hesitation, of course. I have brought the official document detailing the terms we previously agreed upon!"

"Excellent."

Jeron did not hide his smile.

Junior Baron Romid must have reported the situation the moment he arrived at the county, and the Count had swiftly approved the preliminary agreement, turning it into a formal contract.

Romid had then immediately ridden back with his escort.

The formalization of the document meant that the Count had officially dipped his toes into the barbarian trade.

The condition of the contract dictated that forty percent of the goods traded with the barbarians would be sold through the Count.

In exchange, Jeron received a ten percent tax exemption for his merchant groups operating within the county, and the Count's side agreed to handle the transport of goods traveling between the two territories.

This was an incredibly favorable deal for Jeron.

He had expected Count Hanes to deliberate for at least a few days once the draft reached him, but the Count had signed and returned it without delay.

This speed proved that Count Hanes possessed an extraordinary business acumen.

All the way to the lord's castle, Junior Baron Romid did not stop singing Jeron's praises.

"How did you manage to win over the barbarians so easily? I heard they are violent by nature and prone to constant brawling."

"They certainly are. I even heard they sometimes kill each other during their disputes."

"My word, is that true?"

"They told me it is just a cultural difference and not to worry about it. So I let it be. As long as they do not harm us, what does it matter if they use fists or blades against one another?"

"I suppose so, but they truly are savages."

Jeron shared a few stories about how dangerous the barbarians could be.

As they conversed, they quickly arrived at the workshop district.

Junior Baron Romid could not hide his astonishment as he looked at the streets, which had transformed beyond recognition.

"Heavens, how did these workshops spring up so quickly? Seeing the territory develop day by day leaves me utterly speechless."

"Well, I am pouring the entirety of my family's fortune into this development. If we cannot manage even this much, our house is finished."

"Even so, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was a bold decision."

Upon their arrival at the workshop district, artisans immediately gathered to butcher the ice troll carcasses.

Their hands moved busily as they drained the blood, skinned the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hides, and sorted the bones.

While the freezing weather of the Great Snowfield prevented carcasses from rotting easily, the Farrow territory did not share that climate, making speed of the essence.

"We will prepare the goods, so please rest at the castle in the meantime. The items will be ready within three days at the latest."

"Then I shall leave it in your hands!"

Junior Baron Romid retired without any suspicion.

This, too, was part of Jeron's calculations.

Count Hanes had sent an escort of three hundred men. Since so many ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠people could not sleep on the streets, the local small businesses of the territory would reap significant profits. That money would eventually return to Jeron in the form of taxes.

Preparing the goods would not actually take three days, but since it was beneficial to keep them staying as long as possible, Jeron had set a generous deadline.

Watching Romid's retreating figure, Sir James shook his head.

"They say Hanes County is rotting with wealth, but to think they view lodging three hundred men for three days as nothing..."

"Count Hanes must become our giving tree. This is only the beginning."

Jeron took the iron ore acquired from the barbarians and headed to Mr. Kang's workshop.

Mr. Kang was busy shouting instructions to the workers.

Between constructing buildings and manufacturing armaments, he looked entirely overwhelmed.

Even so, he welcomed Jeron warmly upon spotting him.

"You're back! I was actually waiting to discuss a few things with you."

"How is the work going?"

"I think we need more support. We're short-handed trying to produce armaments alongside everything else."

"Just speak to the administration, and they will assist you immediately. I have already issued a special order to prioritize your requests above all else."

"Thanks!"

"Here, a gift for you."

"Oh! You shouldn't have."

It was a pack of Rose cigarettes, Mr. Kang's favorite brand.

He immediately pulled out a lighter and took a deep, satisfying drag from a long cigarette.

"Phew! I feel alive again! This is the stuff. Finding filtered cigarettes these days is like searching for a needle in a haystack."

"Smoking is bad for your health. It would be best to quit."

"Hahaha! I'll be fine. I've smoked my whole life, and since nothing's gone wrong yet, it must just suit my constitution."

After chatting for a bit, Jeron asked Mr. Kang to appraise the raw steel ore he had received from the barbarians.

Mr. Kang brought over a microscope from the workshop and began a highly detailed examination.

A moment later, an exclamation of surprise escaped Mr. Kang's lips.

"Huh?"

"What is it?"

"Does an ore like this even exist? Why is the color like this?"

"The color?"

Jeron took the microscope from Mr. Kang to look for himself.

Then, his eyes widened in shock.

"Wait, why is this here?"