Father's Foresight
Right after sealing that groundbreaking deal with Aila, I wasted no time heading straight to the outskirts of Peluah. A massive factory to run hundreds of Spinning Jennys and Power Looms at once. For that, I needed a huge plot of land. Drawing on my knowledge as Kang Woojin the engineering student, I laid out the site's requirements crystal clear.
First, it had to hug a river rich enough in water for a giant waterwheel—the power source for the machines. Second, the road network leading to central Peluah had to be flat for endless transport of raw cotton in and finished textiles out.
"Hydropower and logistics. Where near Peluah could satisfy both perfectly?"
I unrolled a map and spent days scouring the outskirts. And finally, when I reached the vast plains along the lower Rene River flowing lazily through Peluah's southeast edge...
"Huh...?"
I stopped dead, staring blankly at the enormous expanse before me. A plot I'd seen somewhere before. No—a place etched bone-deep into my memory.
Fragments of recollection snapped into place. This was none other than the Carnoble family estate I'd sold off first thing after taking full control of the guild!
Father had shelled out a fortune for this land right before he died.
The old me, that idiot, hadn't grasped its value at all. Not prime downtown shopfronts or mansions in the bustling districts—just wide-open farmland on the edge of nowhere. Why would the continent's gold-hoarding Carnoble guild bother tilling dirt in some backwater? So the moment I became guild master, I'd scoffed and dumped it for peanuts. Blew the cash on top-shelf champagne and all-night gambling binges.
But now, viewing it through an mechanical engineer's eyes—and a factory-building tycoon's—it hit me like a freight train. Goosebumps rippled across my skin.
Insane. It's perfect.
The Rene River curved around the plains like a bowstring, boasting ideal flow and terrain for waterwheels. The bedrock foundation was rock-solid for heavy machinery vibrations, and the plain's edge linked straight to Peluah's First Commercial District via a major road.
Father hadn't bought it for farming. He'd envisioned consolidating Peluah's cramped workshops into one massive logistics hub and production powerhouse!
Of course, his tech and mine were worlds apart, but still.
"Hah... Father. Just how far ahead did you see?"
He'd never dreamed his own son would torch that grand vision for a few coins' worth of booze. I clenched my fist, barely suppressing the urge to slap my past self silly.
"Fine. Time to make it right. The land I sold? I'll buy it back myself. This is my first factory site."
I bolted to the local estate office to check the current owner. Lucky break—the landowner had put this empty stretch up for sale, clueless what to do with it. I inwardly cheered and headed back to Peluah. Just ink the contract with Aila's investment tomorrow, and it was done.
*
The same hour. Peluah First Commercial District, Muller Guild's lavish office.
Muller, the pot-bellied merchant who'd led the charge mocking Elpanso at the banquet hall, lounged on a plush sofa, puffing an expensive cigar.
"Master, I have a report."
A knock, and one of the guild's informants slipped in cautiously.
"What? Did the southern silk shipment arrive?"
"No, sir. It's about... that wastrel from the Carnoble Guild. Elpanso."
"Hah? I told you never to mention that roach in my presence."
Muller's brow twisted in fury. But the informant pressed on, gauging his mood.
"He's been prowling Peluah's outskirts, sniffing around for a big plot. Specifically, that plain along the lower Rene River—the one the great master bought."
"What? Buying land? That penniless rat got money to burn?"
Muller snorted derisively. "Fool's errand. Wait—maybe that charity coin from Aila at Golden Fleece? Some half-baked scheme?"
He ground out his cigar, muttering irritably. To him, "Carnoble" was a cursed name, a lifelong symbol of inferiority that crushed him.
Back then, he'd been a second-rate trader not fit to lick Theodore Carnoble's boots. No matter how he struggled, the Carnoble shadow kept him a perpetual runner-up—at best third place. Every night, he'd prayed to the gods to bankrupt the Carnobles.
Then miracle: Theodore died, and the moron son shattered the guild. Muller had popped his priciest champagne in ecstasy. Finally, the cursed Carnoble name erased from Peluah. His chance to rule!
"Wish I'd never hear those three syllables again. We barely finished them off, and now this twitching? Pisses me off."
Malice flickered in his small, murky eyes.
"Fine. Let's sabotage him. Hey—send word to that landowner now. Whatever Elpanso offers, jack the price sky-high."
"Sir? But it's just barren plain—hard to even get fair value..."
"Idiot! I'm not buying! Pressure him in the Muller Guild's name. Tell him if he sells to Elpanso, we cut all grain deals with his firm. Got it?"
Muller chuckled, belly jiggling with vile glee.
"Broke punk can't afford triple the price. Gotta stomp worms thorough when you spot 'em."
*
Next morning, I strolled lightly to the landowner's trading house. Aila's hefty "contract deposit" gold pouch jingled in my pocket. Secure this plot, and I'd hire laborers tomorrow for groundwork.
"Sir, I've got the contract and deposit from yesterday. Just your stamp and..."
But inside, the landowner awaited—sweating bullets, eyes darting away.
"Uh, Elpanso, sir... Terribly sorry. This deal's off."
"What? Off? We shook on two silver per plot yesterday."
He fidgeted, wiping his dry face.
"Overnight... market shifted. Way up."
"Market up? On wasteland sitting idle ten years? How much you want?"
He glanced slyly, mumbling low: "Six silver per... no, seven."
My brain short-circuited. Seven silver per plot? Triple yesterday's price. Highway robbery for outskirts scrubland. Basically, "not selling to you."
"Ha."
I barked a disbelieving laugh. Not cold feet—his shaky pupils and skittish vibe screamed interference. My guild heir instincts flared.
"Who."
I dropped the smile, voice icing over. His shoulders jerked.
"Who's pulling strings? In Peluah, few can choke your firm's leash."
Overwhelmed, he crumpled, face crumpling in surrender.
"S-sorry! Muller Guild sent word. Sell to you, they cut all our grain trades. Threatened us... I gotta eat!"
Muller Guild. That name conjured the greasy face sneering at me like vermin. Back when Father lived, he'd bow and scatter at our banner—like a hyena. First to pounce when the guild tanked, ripping at the corpse.
"Muller Guild, huh."
I glanced at the ceiling, then stifled a bitter smirk.
Ridiculous. That petty sabotage, that idiocy of stepping before an unstoppable industrial juggernaut.
"Understood. I get your position, sir."
I pocketed the gold pouch, turning casually.
"But you'll regret it, sir."
"Huh? What do you...?"
Over my shoulder, to his baffled voice, I smiled coldly.
"Your last shot at two silver per plot."