Chapter 37
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Door at the Dead End
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Is it Ernst's orders? Or did the Mueller Count House act on their own?
I pondered for a moment.
And quickly realized it didn't matter either way. Regardless of who gave the command, it meant they'd pegged me as a "threat worth keeping in check."
A ten-year-old bastard son.
The bastard son who'd sworn to live quietly, buried in history books and research.
They'd decided that son now posed a real danger to Ernst's position.
And since Father had officially acknowledged me, claiming now that I had "no ambitions at all" would just come off as deception.
I pulled out my options one by one in my mind.
First: Give up.
Shut down the blue-red herb business. Step back quietly.
I glanced out the window.
The pioneer village's lights dotted the landscape. Five thousand people. Five thousand I was feeding out of my own pocket. The moment my coffers ran dry, those lights would go out.
Quitting wasn't an option.
"Young master."
Lize's voice came from behind me.
"What if we negotiate with the Mueller Trading Company? Share some profits..."
"Do you know what they really want?"
"...Money?"
"No. They're trying to stop me from growing at all. No reason for them to sit at the table."
Lize bit her lip.
"Then what about merchant houses in other regions? Down south or central..."
"Do you know how far Mueller's influence reaches?"
Silence.
Of course she wouldn't. Lize had a sharp mind, but she was still a maid.
Even with her enhancements and knight training, she couldn't grasp the web of merchant alliances.
"The entire North. Same story wherever you go."
A dead-end alley.
Three doors. All slammed shut.
No.
Not shut. There were no doors to begin with.
That's what happens when you try playing by the existing rules.
So...
"I'm starting my own trading company."
"A trading company? You mean the young master of a ducal house running a business himself?"
"Yeah. Over ninety percent chance of success. Can't let pride get in the way."
"Chance of success?"
"It's not just anything—it's a virility tonic. Demand's guaranteed. Father's usage alone must be massive."
A man with over a hundred kids. Impossible without the blue-red herb.
"Pfft! You're right. Nobody skips it. Even the female knights buy it for their husbands..."
"The young master is ten years old, Sir Wolfram."
Sir Heinrich's voice cut in firmly just as Sir Wolfram started veering into ribald territory.
"Ahem... ahem..."
Sir Wolfram cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Anyway. Back to the trading company. Say we sell blue-red herb in the capital. What do we bring back on the return trip?"
"Can't we just sell the blue-red herb?"
Sir Wolfram answered.
"Pull an empty cart all the way back?"
"That does sound inefficient..."
"Feed costs, cart costs, labor, escorts. All that just to sell one product? Half-baked trade."
Sir Heinrich and Sir Wolfram exchanged glances.
"What about grain or iron? The North's short on those."
"Where in the North gets grain?"
Sir Wolfram shut his mouth.
Sir Heinrich replied quietly.
"...Mueller Trading Company."
"Iron?"
"Mueller."
"Cloth?"
"...Mueller."
"Salt? Tanning chemicals? Farm tools?"
No answer.
None needed.
Mueller Trading Company.
The giant that controlled over half the North's logistics. Run by Ernst's maternal family.
"Why does the Mueller Count House run such a massive trading company? Aren't counts high nobility? Don't nobles that rank think trade is beneath them?"
A fair question.
By imperial custom, great nobles rarely ran trading companies directly.
Face to uphold, risks involved, and no need anyway. Taxes from their lands sufficed.
But the Muellers were different.
"They lost most of their prime lands."
"To who?"
I pointed out the window.
The legion garrison's flag. House Krushtein's crest.
Lize nodded.
"So Krushtein and Mueller still aren't on good terms?"
"If they were, Father would've named me heir over his own wife's nephew?"
"True."
"A few days ago, he called them 'that pathetic Mueller Count House' right to their faces."
Sir Heinrich chuckled.
"He's said it a few times over drinks in front of us. Called the so-called 'champions of the North' spineless idiots who folded easy."
"Their reputation outshone their actual fighting, honestly."
Sir Wolfram shrugged.
"If things are that bad between them, why not just raid them?"
"Raid?"
"Yeah. Iron, salt, grain—stuff they can't do without. Hit their wagons carrying it."
Sir Wolfram frowned.
"Then what? Use it ourselves?"
"That'd be ideal, but not necessary."
"Then?"
"Burn it."
"What?"
"When goods vanish, prices skyrocket. Think blue-red herb. Stravb Mountain burned, prices doubled."
Sir Wolfram's eyes widened.
"Ah."
"Keep hitting Mueller wagons, markets dry up. Buyers stay, sellers vanish—prices go insane."
Sir Heinrich rested his chin on his hand.
"So we sell our goods at a premium?"
"Not just that. Merchants get scared. 'Mueller stuff's risky—who knows when it'll get hit?' They shop safe."
"From the young master's company."
"Exactly."
Sir Wolfram smacked his lips appreciatively.
"Devious."
"Cut supply lines, enemies starve. Same principle."
Sir Heinrich chuckled.
"Sever a trading company's supply lines? But blue-red herb's different—no deaths from missing it."
"That's the key. Blue-red herb? Prices double, people shrug it off. 'Too pricey'—they skip it."
"Fair. It's just a virility tonic."
"But iron? Salt? Farm tools?"
Sir Wolfram's expression shifted.
"...Skip those, you die."
"Right. Triple the price, you buy. Tenfold, still buy. Skip it, you starve."
"What does Mueller sell again?"
Sir Heinrich asked lowly.
"Iron, salt, grain, cloth, farm tools."
I answered.
In the North's harsh lands, they focused on essentials over luxuries.
"All must-haves. Disrupt supply, chaos erupts. Blue-red herb's nothing compared."
The two knights eyed each other.
"Hold on. Where'd a kid learn supply and demand like that?"
Sir Wolfram asked.
"From the young master."
Their gazes turned to me.
It was true.
Something gleamed in their eyes.
Awe. Or close to it.
To them, I must've looked like a genius.
But I knew better.
This wasn't my brain.
Books from my past life. Econ 101. Business strategy. Trade wars in history. Supply, demand, monopoly, competition. College basics became revolutionary here.
"Problem is, openly raiding Mueller? Even if His Grace stays quiet, retaliation's certain."
"No need to be overt. Use the Kuman and tribesfolk."
Sir Heinrich's brow arched.
"Disguise it?"
"Yep. Mueller hit by Kumans. We know nothing."
"Smart people will know."
"Suspicion without proof's fine. Big difference."
Sir Wolfram propped his chin.
"Kumans raiding south for loot... Plausible. They were doing it recently."
Sir Heinrich nodded.
"Solid plan. Just keep our tails clean."
I spoke up.
"Great idea. Really great."
Lize's face brightened a touch.
"But add one more thing."
"Huh?"
"Call Kuulruk. Bring tribe elders who know the lay."
Lize tilted her head.
Sir Heinrich and Sir Wolfram gave me puzzled looks.
30 minutes later.
Kuulruk arrived.
Not alone. Two elders flanked him, faces etched with tattoos—shamans, by the look.
"You called?"
Kuulruk bowed.
I skipped greetings and cut in.
"You hate the Golden Bear Tribe?"
Kuulruk's shoulders tensed.
One shaman narrowed his eyes. The other ground his teeth.
No words needed.
Their faces said it all.
"Hate doesn't cover it. They stole our lands. Took families. Half our tribe grinds teeth at their name."
"Good."
I nodded.
"Got a plan to screw the Golden Bears. Interested?"
Kuulruk's eyes flashed.
The shamans straightened.
"Speak."
"Disguise as Golden Bears. Hit a specific trading company."
"...Disguise?"
"Flags, markings, tactics. Make it look Golden Bear. Victims blame them."
Kuulruk frowned.
"I get the intent, but... will it work? Why would Golden Bears raid southern merchants?"
"It'll fly."
"'Fly'?"
"That company? Bad blood with Golden Bears."
Kuulruk's face changed.
The shamans exchanged looks.
Dawning realization.
"Don't tell me... you're targeting the Mueller Count House?"