Chapter 77
Chapter 77
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: Blueport Development (2)
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The most important virtue for a leader isn't a benevolent personality, a cool-headed appearance, nor a warm and gentle fatherly demeanor. It's not even the inclusiveness that extends love to the common folk.
In truth, what these people need is the ability to solve the 'problems' of those they govern and the judgment to identify the root causes of those issues.
The other virtues, to put it exaggeratedly, are merely nice bonuses that shine when paired with the ability to resolve problems.
Because a leader, much like a doctor who understands and treats a patient's illness, must first solve the problems and save lives—even if they have a foul temper or chase women relentlessly.
That's why I decided to step up front and center as the 'ruler of Blueport' to directly demonstrate to them my ability to solve problems.
And to tackle such issues, while my own knowledge is important, insights from 'elderly locals who've lived in the area for ages' are essential when it comes to the natural environment.
So, the moment we arrived at the docks where the ship was moored, I grabbed some old fishermen and a few soldiers and boarded immediately, heading straight for the spot where the sea had reportedly turned white.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ My intention to work on solving the problem was good, but compared to modern ships, navigating the open sea on this particularly small mid-sized fishing vessel was far beyond what I could've imagined—it was pure torment.
At least I wasn't the one steering, so I just had to grit my teeth and hold on aboard...
Even on massive modern ships over 1,000 tons, some people get seasick. Riding this rickety 50-ton wooden tub through rough waves... it was downright horrific right from the start...
"Hey, are you insane? I told you to secure that oak barrel full of beer properly! You're lucky I dodged it, or my limbs would've been smashed!"
"I'm sorry!!"
"Sorry doesn't end your sailing career? Fine, get everyone from above under me!!"
"Foreman Sarius, please spare me..."
"With Count here aboard, you make a mistake like this and that's all you say? You pig-brained idiot!"
The ship rocked so violently that a 200-liter oak barrel filled with beer instead of seawater went rolling around.
Humans instinctively balance themselves and don't fall over easily, but that unique swaying and churning... there's no escaping it.
So I had no choice but to endure, staring out the narrow porthole of my assigned cabin at the vast sea beyond.
Looking at the ocean kept me from feeling trapped, and little by little, the nausea started to subside.
After gazing at the sea for a while, the queasiness finally eased. I nearly hurled...
Glancing around, I noticed a veteran sailor standing beside me.
No matter how much of a novice I am at sea, the first impression these folks get of the 'count' can't be that of a 'kid barely holding back seasickness'... it'd ruin my dignity.
So I called the sailor over and said,
"You, you saw nothing. Actually, remember that I was in the cabin poring over maps, devising grand strategies."
The sailor, looking extremely tense at my state, replied,
"Yes, sir. Understood. By chance, I witnessed Your Excellency carefully preparing for the future and was deeply impressed!!"
Well, that should do... He won't go blabbing about it over drinks, surely.
I waved him off dismissively, signaling him to leave, but before going, he said,
"Your Excellency, we're almost at the place where the sea turned white! Major Frost said to come out immediately."
"Thanks. Let's go."
Following the sailor's words, I stepped out of the cabin and up onto the deck.
Up on deck, Frost and his squad—who'd been on alert for 'pirates' as a precaution—were failing to adapt to their first time at sea, slumped against the deck like wilted seaweed.
Some clung to the railings, retching endlessly—"Urk, urk"—vomiting up meat and booze from the feast a few days back...
Honestly, I was a bit envious of them.
Because when the ship rocked, my stomach churned so badly that I wanted to just puke it out.
Moments later, the ship's captain approached me and said,
"This is the spot those young lads said the sea turned white. It's still a bit milky—take a look."
Looking at the sea as he spoke, the water around here wasn't the near-black blue I'd seen before; it was white like paper.
To check the seawater's condition, I ordered a nearby rookie sailor,
"You, scoop up some of that seawater right away. And bring the old fishermen too."
"Yes, sir! Understood, Your Excellency!"
After a short wait, the sailor came back grunting, hauling a ladle overflowing with over 10 liters of seawater.
Normally, seawater scooped from anywhere should be 'clear,' but this was still white as reported.
Steel ing myself, I plunged my hand into the murky water, like it had been doused with milk.
My hand came away with a slimy sensation, like touching greasy bath foam.
No way... This isn't that white, sticky stuff from those adult videos I remember, is it? Please, god, no.
Unable to hide my disgust, I grimaced in front of them and said,
"For now, this isn't harmful. The sea isn't poisoned—it's just fish semen..."
The old fishermen, hearing my words, asked,
"Then... could this be the 'herring' my father used to eat when he was young? He was starving near death from lack of food, and his last words were, 'The sea's gone white... I see a white sea... Drop the nets, and we'll have herring aplenty. At least we won't starve...'"
"How would I, no fisherman, know better than you? But from what I know, yes. This is herring milt. Drop nets here, and you'll find the herring your father sought in abundance. Crew, anchor here for now and start fishing for an hour."
With that, I set up the simple sundial I'd prepared for times like this on a sunlit spot on deck.
The shadow's at 'lion' now, so stay till it reaches 'monkey.'
Then I returned to the cabin and, drawing from memories etched in my mind, began jotting down as much as I could about the 'herring preparation method' used in great Amsterdam, built on herring bones.
Yeah, it was basically gut the herring, soak in super-salty brine, and done?
But how did they make that brine? Boiled it, I think...
Planning to make artisans handle the work, I roughly sketched tools for the process.
A huge pot for boiling seawater, cutting boards, knives, fish tubs, etc. As I sketched, a soldier entered.
"Your Excellency! The captain says the baskets for herring are already full, though time isn't up. Shall we go check? How should I reply?"
"Tell him I'm coming up now."
I rushed to the deck, where cheers erupted.
"Half water, half fish!"
"Exaggerate a bit, and we could grab 'em barehanded! Jackpot, total jackpot!"
"What fish schools like this? Just 10 guys fishing, and already this much?"
"These are plump too—grilled with salt and beer? Perfection!"
"Wise as always, Captain! Boys, Captain's treating!!"
Pushing through the jubilant crew, I checked the herring baskets.
A massive box that could hold 100 kilos was packed with still-flapping herring.
This amount could feed 300 serfs for a day.
So I just laughed like a maniac.
"That scum Kim Mal-saeng from my Hanseatic League research days, the one with zero morals—he ranted to the prof that the Hanseatic League was really the 'Herring League,' and he'd write a paper renaming it. Now I'm a lord, a ruler, facing this firsthand... I get it. It's food duplication. Hahaha..."
Normally I wouldn't laugh like this unless around trusted folk like Ella or Baldt, but now I couldn't help it.
Because if I salt and preserve this herring, I could supply tasty protein to even mountain serfs—exaggeration aside—as much as they want.
Selling it would give me a chokehold on the Northern Alliance's food and cash flow. Even if four-field rotation totally flops and we get famine, we could hold out years without starvation deaths.
And in an era before the Industrial Revolution—before Fritz Haber's nitrogen fixation—the lord who prevents famine gets crowned king unconditionally, like in the Bible.
Why else would the Jews go wild after Jesus' miracle of the loaves and fishes, yelling, "Follow this guy, no more hunger! We're invincible!" ready to revolt against Rome?
Truly an unimaginable 'stroke of unexpected luck'...
To maximize it without wasting a second, I ordered the crew,
"All hands, return to Blueport at max speed. Rewards: 2 silver to the captain, 1.5 silver to deck master and below officers, 1 silver per sailor. I'll host a modest feast too."
The crew swiftly turned the ship.
I'd endure a few all-nighters with Chris, but dominating herring means owning the North's economy—she'll love it.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Back from sea, I awarded the promised bonuses and commandeered a seaside inn, ordering booze and 'herring snacks' for the crew.
This way, Blueport's people will truly grasp: work for the lord, get rewarded without fail.
Other lords wouldn't dream of feasts or bonuses for this—peanuts at best.
A skilled worker earns 5 coppers a day; conscripted, they'd pay 3-4, making excuses.
Scum like Schwein would say,
"Serving me is your family's eternal glory, you moron sailors!! That's the best reward!"
The next day, I ordered soldiers to post my proclamation across the city.
📜 OFFICIAL PROCLAMATION 📜 Find the proper brine concentration for salting herring, or craft a small knife that removes the guts in one go: 200 gold reward. Complete both at once: 500 gold reward. —Count Siel von Kroitel—
Knight reading this would freak: "Crazy? 200 gold for a knife and brine ratio?!"
But nailing those two unlocks at least 1 million gold annually for this city.
Not just herring sales, but the economic ripple from folks sustained by it...
I'll pocket 100-200k one way or another...
Time to crank up the money printer—like with sugar.