Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: Bark Makre Opens Trade at Age 84 (1)
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The humid air of the southern jungle was no longer pierced solely by the cries of venomous insects.
The heavy footfalls of massive rock troll warriors parting the underbrush with their great axes.
At their forefront stood the tribe's heir, Rak Jin.
Their journey had been strangely smooth.
As if the jungle spirits themselves had cleared the path, they cleverly bypassed the most treacherous swamps, and they always managed to avoid the lairs of ferocious beasts by a step.
Rak Jin occasionally sensed glimpses of ashen skin peeking from the bushes or eyes glinting between the branches.
Black Moon Caravan.
True to their promise after receiving the letter, they were opening the safest path.
Without ever showing themselves or speaking a word, they guided the Raktali tribe's delegation precisely into imperial territory from the shadows.
And finally, when the suffocating veil of the jungle lifted to reveal the well-paved imperial post road of the southern empire...
"…"
Rak Jin turned to offer thanks, but only the jungle's silence remained.
The shadows had already vanished like smoke.
"Let's go."
Without further delay, he strode boldly toward the heart of the empire.
.
.
.
The imperial capital's palace was abuzz with the unexpected visit of foreigners.
The ministers could scarcely hide their shock at the massive rock troll delegation before their eyes.
Warriors of the jungle, with rock-hard skin and sturdy tusks, distinct from the northern giants.
But what astonished them even more was the identity of the two trolls at the delegation's head.
One was Rak Jin, prince and heir of the Raktali tribe, armed with beast hides from jungle predators and an obsidian axe.
And beside him stood an elderly troll, smaller in stature than his son but with eyes exuding the dignity to command the entire jungle.
"Th-that one...!"
"Bark Makre! Isn't that the 'Gentle Rock'?"
Gasps erupted from the ministers' mouths.
Just a few weeks prior, he had been listed as on the verge of death in the empire's southern situation reports—the chieftain of the Raktali tribe. For him to set foot in the empire's heart alongside his son...
Emperor Siegmund, seated on the throne, gazed down at this peculiar pair with intrigued red eyes.
Bark Makre stepped forward. His voice, though aged, boomed through the throne room.
"Chieftain Bark Makre of the jungle's Raktali tribe pays respects to His Imperial Majesty, the great Emperor of the Empire."
Siegmund stroked his goatee and asked,
"We had heard you lay bedridden, your life's flame flickering out. What brings you to us in such robust health?"
Bark Makre bowed deeply once more toward the throne.
"Your Majesty's words are true. I was indeed withering away amid the jungle's damp moss."
A stir rippled through the ministers again.
Relief that the empire's intelligence was accurate, mixed with bewilderment at what this troll before them could be.
In that moment, Bark Makre's heavy voice quelled the murmurs.
"But I have tasted the empire's 'miracle'."
"Miracle...?"
"The 'saint's' sauce that my son Rak Jin brought back restored this old body's lost appetite and reignited its dying embers."
Rak Jin nodded firmly, affirming his father's words with a steadfast expression.
The emperor on the throne, too, had his red eyes flash at the mention of that name.
"But Your Majesty, I do not stand here to beg for that miracle."
He straightened his back and faced the one on the throne directly.
"I have come to make a deal."
Siegmund suppressed a hearty laugh, stroking his chin with evident interest.
"A deal, you say. We never imagined anything our empire needs could emerge from your humid jungle."
"That has been true until now."
Bark Makre met the emperor's provocation head-on.
"That has been true until now, Your Majesty. Our sweetest fruits rotted within two days of leaving the jungle, and our tenderest meats reeked before reaching the capital."
"Hmm..."
"The blessings of our temperate jungle climate allowed self-sufficiency, but that became our curse. All we could offer the empire were trinkets like the sturdy crocodile scales in my son's hand—not silver. But."
Bark Makre's aged eyes gleamed fiercely.
"The saint did not merely restore my lost appetite. I hear he has mastered the northern frost to conquer the jungle's heat with a new miracle."
The emperor's red eyes flashed again.
He too had received reports on cold chain logistics and new processes via a joint letter from Iris, the Magic Tower's representative, and Jonathan.
"Hmm, cold chain distribution, is it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Bark Makre glanced at his son standing beside him.
Rak Jin, inheriting his father's will, bellowed toward the throne in a warrior's voice.
"Your Majesty! The Raktali tribe wishes to offer our goods to the empire and receive the empire's in trade!"
Rak Jin continued,
"Our jungle brims with blessings the empire lacks: the sweetest fruits, the tenderest meats, thousands of rare herbs. Yet all spoil in two days under the jungle's heat."
Heat infused his voice.
"But the saint holds the key to breaking that curse. We are prepared to offer all of Raktali's resources."
"Thus, we beseech you. We formally request trade with the empire using imperial silver coin!"
"In exchange, please officially share the saint's cold chain technology and miraculous products with our tribe!"
Silence fell. The ministers held their breath.
These barbarians dared negotiate a deal before the empire—before the emperor himself.
That silence was broken by Emperor Siegmund's deep laughter.
"Kuh... kuahaha! Kuahahaha!"
The emperor's hearty laughter shook the throne room.
The ministers stared at him in bewilderment.
Siegmund, still laughing, stroked his goatee.
'How delightful this is.'
Just weeks ago, intelligence reports had forewarned of headaches ahead.
Upon the death of the Gentle Rock, Raktali's king Bark Makre, the southern jungle would erupt in civil war between the Abarut and Raalak tribes.
The empire would need to pour vast military funds and troops to prevent the chaos from crossing the border.
'And yet, Jonathan.'
One sauce he created saved a dying chieftain and averted southern chaos, while another turned the troublesome jungle into a golden goose.
Moreover, trade with the southern jungle had been strictly barter-based, yielding scant luxuries of dubious utility.
But now?
These barbarians offered to trade with imperial silver coin.
They were volunteering to integrate their economy into the empire's monetary system.
And was that all?
Trading with the empire meant imperial personnel would inevitably flow south.
The imperial household had a duty to protect its subjects' lives, whether inside or outside the borders.
If imperial citizens venturing south for trade and wealth got caught in war...
'...Then the empire could station troops in the southern jungle under the pretext of protecting its subjects, deterring further unrest without spilling a drop of blood.'
All this board had been set—not orchestrated, but upended—by a single delicious sauce from Jonathan Valerius.
Siegmund erupted in another hearty laugh that shook the throne.
"Very well, Bark Makre! We accept your deal!"
Joy lit the faces of Rak Jin and Bark Makre at the emperor's declaration.
"The empire recognizes the Raktali tribe as an official trade partner and decrees the transmission of the cold chain technology developed by the saint. In exchange, you shall trade all jungle resources solely with imperial silver coin!"
"We are eternally grateful, Your Majesty!"
Rak Jin immediately dropped to one knee and cried out.
"Your Majesty! Trade routes will be needed. Jungle paths cannot accommodate carriages. Let our Raktali warriors pave the roads alongside the empire's engineers! With our strength, we will open the path to welcome the saint's miracle!"
"Kuaha! Excellent! The northern giants hunt frost wyrms, and now the southern trolls carve open the jungle! All this stems from a single saint!"
The emperor's hearty laughter shook the throne room once more.
Bark Makre and Rak Jin could not contain their overwhelming emotions and prostrated themselves before the throne again.
"Your benevolence is boundless, Your Majesty!"
The ministers below the throne could only stare blankly at this unbelievable turn of events.
These jungle barbarians, who had seemed poised to set the imperial south ablaze just recently, were now bowing their heads.
Siegmund continued laughing heartily, but his red eyes coldly calculated profits sharper than anyone's.
'Jonathan Valerius.'
The emperor inwardly repeated the name and burst into laughter once more.
At first, he had seen him as merely a talented youth, a clever man who caught the eye of his shrewd daughter Lorensia—perhaps suitable as a one-night partner to sire heirs.
But now?
He had boosted the empire's morale and fattened the imperial coffers, mended the long-standing rift between the Papal Court and the throne. Gaining the untouchable honor of becoming the saint himself was merely a bonus.
He tamed the ferocious northern giants into lambs, and now sought to turn the rotting southern jungle into the empire's golden vault.
All with that one sauce.
What centuries of emperors failed to achieve with blood and iron, this youth accomplished with sauce and pots.
Because of exceptional talent? No. He was a monster reshaping the empire's destiny.
Siegmund's hearty laughter faded, replaced by a deep, satisfied smile.
'A seed for heirs.'
How foolish and shortsighted that thought had been.
Such a monster could not be treated as a mere tool or seed. He was a treasure to bind eternally to the empire.
The emperor thought of his ambitious daughter Lorensia—she had been the first to recognize this monster's true value.
There was no longer reason to hesitate.
Such a man was not mere dalliance for his daughter but a true consort worthy of sharing the empire's future with her.
'Compared to his feats, Scarlett Pasture seems trivial.'
The emperor stroked his goatee in thought.
It was time to summon the saint, the prospective imperial consort, to the palace.
Granting him new lands near the capital or an official imperial position to keep him in the palace would not be amiss.
Siegmund envisioned the golden age his daughter and that man would forge for the empire, a smile of utter satisfaction on his face.
'Of course, I'll need to prepare a chamber in the palace. The most comfortable one, with top soundproofing and an en-suite restroom magic tool.'
A touch of personal consideration—for heirs, as well.