Chapter 45
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: It Was Already Over
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It was already over.
The merchant arrived less than an hour after I sent for him.
"Would you like another cup of tea?"
"No, thank you. I didn't expect to be summoned like this, young master."
"You got here pretty quickly."
The merchant's eyelids twitched. The hand lifting his teacup froze awkwardly for a moment before moving again.
Right now, this virility enhancer that also boosted conception rates was in critically short supply—no substitutes available anywhere.
His original supplier had burned to the ground, and I was the only immediate alternative.
"So, how much are you looking to buy it for?"
"Before that, could I ask about your stock? How much do you have...?"
"Plenty. Tell me your price first."
Silence.
The merchant's fingers tapped twice on the teacup handle.
"15 gold per kg."
His voice was steady. His fingertips, setting down the cup, were not.
"Double the market rate. I think it's a fair show of good faith."
Not bad. For most people.
"I refuse."
"R-refuse?"
A tone he'd tried to suppress but failed.
"Double the market rate. I thought that would satisfy you, young master..."
"Not enough."
"Not enough? With all due respect, there's no one in the Empire who'll offer better terms..."
"There is. I'm already supplying noble houses directly. Ever since the debutante ball. It's not just an essential for the gentlemen and ladies' fun and games—it's vital for securing heirs too."
It was true.
After dancing with the princess, doors opened. Ducal houses, marquesses, counts. All the big names reached out first. No middlemen. Direct deals.
The merchant knew it. That's why he rushed over in under an hour.
"Ha, but even supplying noble houses won't let you move all your stock."
"True."
I nodded.
"That's why I called you."
"But at this price, I don't even need to sell."
"Pardon?"
"It's tough, but not impossible. Just takes time."
I stood from my chair. Celine peeled away from the wall.
"Thank you for your time."
"W-wait a moment!"
His chair scraped back across the floor.
"Please sit, young master. I'll—I’ll think it over some more."
Slowly. Leisurely. I sat back down.
Celine leaned against the wall again. Not a flicker in her expression.
Sweat beaded on the merchant's forehead.
I was in a hurry, it was true. The 6th Legion was coming. I needed a way to liquidate supplies into cash.
But I had no intention of taking a loss.
There were three merchant groups of similar scale to his. I had a virtual monopoly on Azure Crimson Herb.
More importantly, only Celine and I knew I was pressed for time—while his desperation was public knowledge.
"15%."
"Young master, that's too..."
"20%. It goes up every time you hesitate."
The merchant's mouth half-opened, then closed. Opened again.
"At that price, our margins..."
"Your margins are your problem. I can just dump it on the market. Short supply means it'll sell itself."
"But without distribution..."
"I'm already doing fine without your distribution network."
Silence descended.
The merchant's hand went to his pocket. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.
"I'll accept down to 15%."
"I said 20%."
"Young master!"
His voice rose. He immediately dropped his gaze.
"My apologies."
I didn't reply. Just stared.
The merchant's shoulders slumped.
"I-I understand your position, young master. Of course. But for us, 20% in cash is..."
His words trailed off.
"If cash is the issue, something else possible?"
"That's what I mean. How about goods in kind?"
Finally.
My face didn't move. Not an eyebrow, not a lip corner.
"Goods?"
"Yes. Instead of gold, we'll pay with items. We'll handle transport too."
"Hm."
I toyed with the teacup.
"What kind?"
"What's in our warehouse. Grain, textiles, iron..."
Iron.
I cheered inwardly.
The 6th Legion was coming. War supplies were needed. Iron, especially, was key.
A word I'd never once mentioned. He'd brought it up himself.
"Iron?"
Still nonchalant.
"Yes. High-quality iron. For weapons or farm tools... Plus wheat and barley grain. Textiles are cotton and linen. Iron is..."
The merchant rattled off his warehouse inventory.
My calculations checked out.
"Iron it is."
"Pardon?"
"Iron. Exchange it for Azure Crimson Herb at market rates."
The merchant's eyes widened.
"Really... you're fine with that?"
"Mix in some rations too. Wheat and salt."
"Understood!"
The reply was swift. He shot up from his chair, hand extended.
I shook it. His palm was clammy.
"You brought the contract?"
"Of course."
Out came the parchment from his bag. It unrolled quickly.
"Quantity here, items here. 300 kin of iron, 50 sacks wheat, 20 sacks salt, and gold for the rest as listed. Correct?"
"Yes."
He handed over the quill. Opened the inkwell.
Scritch scritch.
I finished signing. He snatched up the parchment.
"I'll send the copy tomorrow."
"And transport?"
"Within three days. No, two days."
He stood and bowed. Deep. Nearly ninety degrees.
"A fine deal, young master. Looking forward to more business."
The door closed.
Footsteps faded. Quick steps. Almost a run.
He vanished like he was fleeing. Almost comical.
Fool.
In a month, iron prices in the North would triple.
Once our covert plundering became overt, demand for military supplies would explode.
If it came to clashing with the 6th Legion? Five times over was possible.
The iron he gave me was worth six times the Azure Crimson Herb.
"Iron was the goal?"
Celine asked, peeling from the wall.
"Yeah."
"From the start?"
"Yeah."
"But you never mentioned it once."
"Price would've gone up if I did."
I stepped into the corridor. Celine fell in beside me.
"Con artist."
"Call me a negotiator."
A snicker escaped her.
The deal went off without a hitch.
Centered on iron, I secured the needed goods in kind—and some in gold coin too.
The gold was for hiring mercenaries.
500 men. An elite cavalry unit, supposedly...
Frankly speaking, they barely qualified.
"Those guys actually supposed to be riding those horses?"
Kuulruk pulled his horse alongside and asked.
The lead mercenary wobbled atop his mount. His grip on the reins was awkward. He couldn't even keep his butt planted in the saddle, bouncing all over.
"They're going forward, at least."
"Forward, sure. But combat on horseback like that? We knew southerners couldn't ride, but this is ridiculous."
"Don't compare them to you and your men."
"Fair point."
Kuulruk nodded.
He was a steppe nomad. Born on horseback, died on horseback.
They learned riding before walking.
Wrong comparison.
"Even accounting for that... they ride worse than you, young master."
I inwardly agreed. Didn't say it.
"Can we even use them like this?"
Celine asked.
"We need them for now."
The wagon train kicked up dust heading north.
Various supplies and 500 subpar mercenaries.
War might break out soon.
Someone might say: Even so, infighting between legions in the same ducal house, with Father Duke wide awake? Ridiculous.
That it wasn't ridiculous was the problem.
The great Walter von Krushtein wouldn't just watch his children slaughter each other with popcorn—he'd egg it on.
Yet.
We crossed the border. Nothing happened.
Passed the plains. No one there.
Through the forest path. No ambushes.
Tension should rise as the legion camp neared.
But it was too peaceful.
The camp's main gate came into view.
The iron gates creaked open slowly. That familiar sound.
Soldiers lined up. Salutes rose.
But.
"Something's off."
Celine spoke first.
"Yeah."
The soldiers' faces weren't tense. They had a festive gleam.
Eyes sparkling. Shoulders bouncing with excitement.
Not pre-war vibes. More like the night before a festival.
"Weren't they on alert for the 6th Legion?"
"Yeah."
"Why's everyone like that?"
"No idea."
The wagons entered.
Whispers spread through the soldiers.
"He's back."
"Brought supplies too."
"As expected."
As expected?
Expected what?
Lize's letter clearly said the 6th Legion was coming. Led by Ernst's maternal family. Passing through our camp.
That's why I got iron. Rations. Even mercenaries.
I came prepared for war.
So what was this atmosphere?
Something was wrong.
Or was it?
Maybe it was going right?
The wagons stopped. In front of the headquarters.
Click. Click. Click.
A figure descended the headquarters steps.
Silver hair. Petite build. Black hat.
And.
My face.
It was Lize. Wearing a disguise hat.
Like looking in a mirror. Same silver hair. Same features. Same build.
Just the vibe was off. Somewhat stiff.
"Young master, you're late."
Lize spoke.
"What's with the speech?"
"I'm acting as you. Gotta talk like you."
Lize removed the hat.
Back to her real face. Silver hair intact. Red eye with eyepatch.
"The 6th Legion?"
"Handled it!"
"What?"
Lize stepped aside.
Footsteps from behind headquarters. Multiple. Dragging something.
Two knights appeared. A man between them.
Armor stripped. Face dirtied.
Bound, knees scraping the ground.
"Who's that?"
Celine asked.
Lize answered.
"The 6th Legion's commander."