Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: Oh~ Renouncing the Monopoly Immediately?
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“Uh, um…”
“What is all this…”
A flood of rare alchemy and magic materials had poured in afterward, piling up in heaps.
Yeti fur hides said to block any flame, wyvern leather and scales that scoffed at steel spears and arrows.
For some reason, herbs brimming with saponins, rare metals with unique properties, frost crystals, and magic stones.
And—
“Cluck cluck!”
“Coooock-adoodle-dooo!!”
On top of a chicken coop that had transcended local power-level status into something more, dozens—no, millions—of eggs lined up in neat rows.
I let out a deep sigh as I gazed at the inventory list filling the entire Kandoria territory and the daily egg production reports pouring out of the Scarlett Pastures.
Thanks to the full backing of the Imperial Family and the Church, plus the flashy title of “Saintess’s Miracle,” the demand for mayonnaise had skyrocketed.
Even with the territory’s people and the Argentis family’s manpower, it was impossible to keep up. The facilities ran 24 hours a day with reinforcements from the palace, and this was still the result.
Yet these impatient giants, claiming they had no time to convert it all to gold, had sent heaps of rare materials from the wyverns and northern beasts they hunted, along with all sorts of specialties and rarities from beyond the Gray Mountains to Kandoria.
A quick glance at the ledger brought by the finance officer showed that the Valerius and Argentis families already had wealth piled up enough to live on for years.
But I wasn’t happy at all.
‘This isn’t it.’
I scratched my head looking at the mountains of wyvern hides and magic stones.
This wasn’t what I wanted.
All I had wanted was to eat delicious food.
Despairing at this world’s bland cuisine, I’d introduced various sauces, hoping someone inspired would create new flavors for me to enjoy.
But what was I doing now?
‘At this rate, I’m just the president of a massive mayonnaise factory.’
And the officially certified monopoly producer by the Imperial Family and Church, no less.
To meet the flood of demand, all my administrative power and time were tied up in egg procurement and mayonnaise production management.
Of course, I’d make a fortune this way.
But at this rate, I’d die churning out mayonnaise for the rest of my life.
Forgetting the infinite potential of eggs entirely, possibly dying obsessed with mayonnaise.
It was an ironic situation where my convictions were tripping up my own success.
“No good. This isn’t my way.”
I picked up my pen.
And without hesitation, I began drafting a plan to dismantle this massive mayonnaise empire and reorganize it.
A few days later.
Three official letters bearing my name were delivered to the Imperial Palace, the Papal Palace, and the Magic Tower.
Their contents were enough to shake the Empire once more.
“He’s mad! Lord Jonathan Valerius has finally lost it!”
The Finance Minister exclaimed in shock before Emperor Siegmund.
“Your Majesty! What’s the difference from slicing open the golden goose yourself? To give up that enormous monopoly!”
“...No.”
Emperor Siegmund stroked his goatee and began to chuckle softly. His red eyes gleamed with intrigue.
After reading the letter to the end, suspicion vanished from the Emperor’s lips, replaced by a thrilled, hearty laugh.
“Kuhaha! That sly fox! It wasn’t about monopoly at all. From the start, monopoly wasn’t what he was after!”
“Pardon? What do you mean…”
“Can’t you see? He’s turning every merchant and lord in the Empire into his serfs without lifting a finger!”
The Emperor stroked his goatee in admiration.
Jonathan’s proposal was as follows.
The Finance Minister gulped after reading the fifth clause.
The Emperor slammed the letter onto the throne’s armrest. His laughter echoed through the office.
“Kuhahaha! Finance Minister! Still don’t get it? The true meaning of this letter!”
The Emperor rose and gazed out at the capital.
“You said the youth of Valensia is gutting the golden goose. Far from it! He’s not satisfied with one goose—he’s forcing every chicken coop owner in the Empire to lay his goose’s eggs!”
Siegmund’s red eyes flashed.
“Think about it! The Empire’s demand for mayonnaise is exploding beyond capacity. The northern giants are ready to torch trade posts if supplies cut off. No matter how much I squeeze the Magic Tower or pour in manpower, how can one or two workshops handle this?”
The Emperor pointed at the letter.
“But that youth solved it. How? Without spending a single Imperial coin—and even making money!”
The Emperor saw through the cunning of Jonathan’s plan.
“He dangled the recipe as bait. But the real money is in the production facilities and certification!”
“Lords and caravans wanting mayonnaise must grudgingly install the standardized facilities designed by the Magic Tower and Valerius. That massive cost goes straight to the Tower’s coffers.”
“All produced mayonnaise needs the Imperial Safe Mark. Certification fees fill the treasury, and in the process, the Imperial Family gets a clear view of every food factory’s hygiene and output across the Empire!”
“And finally, royalty. Kuhaha! He’s turning every merchant and lord into his serfs without lifting a finger—using Imperial authority for the tedious production oversight and quality control!”
The Emperor shivered in excitement.
Beyond just fleecing without effort, this was turning the entire Empire into his serfs—a whole new level.
And in doing so, his money, fame, and power would multiply dozens-fold.
Soon, the Emperor turned to his daughter standing beside him with admiring eyes and issued a command.
“Lorensia! Convey that we accept Jonathan Valerius’s proposal! The Imperial Family fully supports his will—expand the Imperial Safe Mark office immediately!”
A thick smile spread across Princess Lorensia’s face.
“As you command, Father.”
The same moment, the Papal Palace.
Pope Innocentius III read the letter and quietly crossed himself.
“Oh, Lord…”
He had expected Jonathan, whom he’d named a saint, to amass vast wealth by monopolizing the miraculous product.
It was the natural right of the one who first invented mayonnaise.
But he had relinquished that right himself.
“He truly wished to spread this miracle far and wide, to save even one more soul.”
Saintess Lumiel clasped her hands, shedding tears of emotion.
“Ah, Lord Jonathan… Transcending personal gain to practice the sublime conviction of universal happiness—you deserve all praise…”
The proposal sent to the Papal Palace differed in nuance from the Imperial one.
He offered to automatically donate a portion of the royalties to the Church’s relief fund.
He also permitted certified cathedrals and monasteries to produce and distribute “Saintess’s Salvation” directly to the faithful.
This was a radical proposal unimaginable from the Church’s perspective.
“Your Holiness! This fulfills the Church’s centuries-old aspiration!”
A cardinal cried out in rapture.
“The northern brethren converted for mayonnaise, but if supplies cut off, their faith might waver. Yet the saint shares the recipe himself, allowing the Church to soothe their hunger and solidify belief directly!”
The Pope closed his eyes. Where the Imperial Family saw economic control, he saw spiritual expansion.
“He’s not monopolizing the miracle—he’s spreading the very act of sharing it. Making every believer, every priest produce and distribute the Saintess’s Salvation to enact her will… This is the true posture of a saint.”
Lumiel clasped her hands.
‘Ah, Lord Jonathan. How deep and warm is your conviction. You’ve not only shown this frail apostle the path but are making the entire Empire follow your will.’
The Papal Palace had no reason to refuse. No—they had to accept.
“He possesses a vessel worthy of the saint title. Sacrificing personal gain for greater justice—this is the Lord’s teaching itself!”
Of course, the Church’s gains were immense.
All certified mayonnaise would circulate under the name “Saintess’s Salvation.” If the Imperial Family managed “hygiene,” the Church would guarantee its “holiness.”
Mayonnaise factories rising across the Empire would become another kind of holy temple, spreading the Church’s influence.
“Convey by letter that the Papal Palace upholds his sublime will and will devote all strength to ensure the ‘Saintess’s Salvation’ reaches every Imperial subject.”
Innocentius III crossed himself.
In that instant, Jonathan’s pure conviction perfectly bound the Imperial Family’s interests and the Church’s cause.
The final letter arrived at the Magic Tower.
The Tower Lord’s granddaughter, Iris von Valkenriter, adjusted her glasses and meticulously scanned to the last line.
Her laboratory was wrapped in silence. Only the rustle of paper sounded.
“...Intriguing.”
Her usually impassive purple eyes sparkled with intellectual curiosity for the first time.
Where others saw power like the Emperor or justice like the Pope, Iris analyzed from technology and efficiency.
“Disclosing the recipe… Bearing the risk of tech leakage?”
Beneath her emotionless face, her purple eyes narrowed.
‘Sharing the recipe. No fear of tech leaks?’
Her curiosity ignited.
At first, she thought it foolish.
Once the emulsification principle of eggs and oil was known, imitation was only a matter of time.
But Iris spotted Jonathan’s true intent in the second and fourth clauses.
[Second, must install “standardized hygiene facilities” designed by the Magic Tower.]
[Fourth, receives a set percentage of sales as “royalty.”]
“...So that’s it.”
A faint smile crept onto Iris’s lips.
“It’s not that he doesn’t fear spreading it. He’s proactively spreading it to subordinate the market to his tech standards.”
Jonathan knew mayonnaise flavor couldn’t be replicated by ratios alone.
The core of his sauce: the “precise temperature and stirring speed” for perfect emulsification.
Achieving that core required massive trial and error; mistakes would bring food poisoning or quality drops.
Jonathan planned to cunningly embed this core into the standard equipment produced by the Tower.
“Crude counterfeits can’t beat the overwhelming quality of Jonathan’s certified product and the trust of the Imperial Safe Mark. In the end, all producers will have no choice but to buy the Tower’s equipment.”
This was a huge opportunity for the Tower too. Magitech would spread Empire-wide.
The data and wealth from that process would be unimaginable.
And Jonathan demanded “royalty”—a concept nonexistent in this world—for designing the entire system.
“Without lifting a finger, factories across the Empire earn money for him…”
Iris was impressed. This wasn’t alchemy or magic. It was “systems engineering.”
Perfectly understanding and executing how knowledge and tech become “wealth” and “power”—a paradigm shift.
“He doesn’t fear imitation. He’s establishing an absolute standard imitators can’t touch, then monopolizing the tech to maintain it, securing profits for the Tower and himself… How far ahead does this man see?”
Iris picked up her pen.
“Fine, Jonathan Valerius. The Tower accepts your proposal. But I’ll be watching your moves up close.”
Back in the Kandoria castle office.
I couldn’t hide my baffled expression staring at the three replies before me.
The first from the palace. Emperor Siegmund’s hearty laugh seemed to echo through voice support.
I set down the first reply with a dumbfounded look. When did I say I was turning the Empire into my serfs?
The second, from the Papal Palace. Sentences in what seemed Saintess Lumiel’s hand, even smudged with what looked like tear stains.
This time my head truly spun. Was giving up monopoly seen as sacrifice?
Sure, I added the donation clause for Church buy-in, but it was just to offload annoying production management for royalties…
And the last, from the Magic Tower. An extremely curt, businesslike letter in Iris von Valkenriter’s name.
‘Tomorrow already?! Wait, today’s date—’
At that moment, the secretary burst into the office like he’d break the door.
“B-Big trouble! Young master—no, my lord!”
“What? What’s going o—”
Before I could continue, a cold, curt voice came from behind the secretary.
“As stated in the letter, I’ve arrived on the ‘promised time.’”
A woman in a robe embroidered with the Magic Tower’s mystical constellation pattern entered my view—purple hair, purple eyes.
The Tower Lord’s granddaughter, Iris von Valkenriter, gazed my way with a smile.
“Hm, perhaps I should’ve set the deadline a bit more loosely.”
“Pleased to be working with you, Sir Jonathan?”