Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: Blueport Development (3)
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My original plan had been to expand the Four-Field Rotation, sell off the surplus food, acquire northern specialties in exchange, and sell those to surrounding nations and territories—ultimately building a city around that trade.
But with herring returning to these waters, I now needed to overhaul that plan entirely.
Because when I first devised it, I hadn't accounted for any base industries here that could produce and process goods in one seamless step.
So I gathered the district managers and began explaining my revised strategy.
"Listen up. Captain Holk already went out with just ten crewmen and, using fishing rods, hauled in a hundred kilos of herring in an hour. If he'd used nets, the boat would've been packed full in that same time."
The district managers' eyes lit up as they turned to stare at me.
"Once we secure this much herring, we'll never have to fear poor harvests again. In lean years, we can just put some serfs to work fishing it up. In good times, we sell the surplus around us and amass a fortune."
Even in the modern era, herring are fair game during spawning season—no regulations, because everyone agrees their numbers are so vast they never truly deplete.
Herring populations are so enormous that even with 'net-equipped fishing boats,' you couldn't make a dent.
And since food's relative value here dwarfs the modern world—where meat and fish fetch prices like gold—herring, despite being plentiful, can circulate at about half the price of wheat, even as an animal protein source.
Trade in this era caters mostly to the desires of the middle class and above, a narrow market. But herring? Preserve it right, and it'll suck coin straight from the pockets of serfs, who make up the vast majority.
No matter how poor they are, if there's protein cheaper than wheat, they'll buy as much as they need—or more.
So to drive that home, I told them:
"Herring's so abundant, you just stake a claim to a fishing ground and toss in nets to haul 'em in. They're tasty too, perfect for feeding serfs in place of meat. Hell, if we can distribute them, we could swap 'em for wheat in poor serfs' diets. We can sell 'em cheaper than grain, after all."
The district managers gasped in shock.
"...Fish cheaper than wheat?"
"Your Excellency, even so..."
"Exactly. Wheat just needs plowed fields to plant. But fish? You can only catch 'em in the sea."
I flashed them a gentle smile and said:
"Who are you debating impossibility in front of? You haven't forgotten who I am, have you?"
If some other noble said that, it'd just be empty bluster—forcing merchants down with raw power and authority, no proof behind it.
But I'm a merchant and entrepreneur who's pioneered countless markets myself.
I've extracted sugar from beets, boosted yields with Four-Field Rotation until grain overflowed, sold the excess to support a population of 200,000 while raising 5,000 elite troops. Legend status.
Sure enough, their faces filled with eager anticipation.
"Will you cut us in on that too?"
"Follow my orders to the letter, and I'll give you more than your share. Stick with me, and I'll grant you wealth and honor rivaling any baron in another land. No, wait..."
I paused mid-sentence, raising my right hand to my lips and whispering:
"I'll make every one of you a noble. Can't hand out lands, mind you, but merchant nobles richer than any knight with a fief. As a token of that promise, I'll grant you privileges."
The merchants before me lit up more at "privileges" than the distant dream of nobility.
To instill certainty they could become nobles by following me—and kindle their desire for it.
To make them buy noble dignity with coin, trickling wealth down to enrich us all, I declared:
"Effective immediately, the County of Kroitel abolishes sumptuary distinctions between nobles and commoners in clothing. Even if you're not noble, you can wear silk in any color but black, eat the same foods as nobles, hire servants in fine livery and carriages. But—no noble titles, no personal crests. Obviously."
The district managers were floored, forgetting my presence as they chattered excitedly about their dreams.
"Me in red silk? At my age—over forty—dressing like a prince? My dream was always to wear clothes from a fairy tale..."
"Yes! Gotta get Mother a bright silk dress. She loves yellow—yellow silk it is..."
I clapped twice to refocus them.
"In exchange, obey me without question. Convince the citizens under you to follow suit—make 'em willing to pretend to die at my command."
Silence fell, thick enough to hear eyelashes flutter.
I broke it:
"If you won't, speak now and leave. But step out here, and you'll leave the city too."
One bold district manager spoke up:
"And if we do leave? You gonna kill us?"
"Nah. I'll just buy out your entire fortune with my personal funds. No idea how much you've got, but my own wealth could snap up all the businesses and real estate of two or three of you. Then I'll slot in obedient replacements."
I rang the bell on my desk, summoning a servant.
"Bring the contracts."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
Moments later, contracts lay before us and the managers.
"Read 'em. Decide. Actually, by the time you're done, I'll give you one last chance—think it over carefully."
"Yes, Your Excellency, Count of Kroitel."
They pored over the documents meticulously.
Some, hunting for hidden traps in every letter, donned monocles and traced lines with pens like underlining.
Reminded me of my high school top student with those thick glasses—but their life-or-death seriousness was a world apart.
Soon, pens dropped. I asked:
"Anyone want to leave?"
"No. But we have questions."
I'd figured granting silk—the mark of nobility—would keep them from bolting. But not one rose even after reading? Unexpected.
"Speak."
The questioner glared like he'd kill me if I weren't a count.
"We get dividing districts into arms workshops, armor forges, food processing plants, mass garment factories. You've bundled guilds in the County of Kroitel for massive success—we'd follow Your Excellency anywhere for that. But... why must we open our account books to you starting next year?"
I answered the accusatory merchant with innocent cheer:
"To guarantee your maximum profits. Submit ledgers from next year, and if needed, I'll send troops to protect your caravans."
On the surface, openness in books and profit protection seem utterly incompatible by this era's logic.
Merchants here underreport sales to hide tribute from lords—and pocket the difference.
It's standard practice, mostly winked at.
So he's preemptively guarding against losses from me ignoring that norm.
I dangled the carrot:
"Open your books, pay just 30% of net profits in tax. In return, you get my full protection and support."
"What support? Protection? We just need rights to trade, run workshops and factories in your lands."
I tsked twice.
"Tch. Listen. Submitting books and taxes is like the mutual pact between knights and me. Report your commercial earnings and pay up, and I'll protect you like my own vassals."
"You mean...?"
"If a noble in my lands demands bribes from you, that's theft from my property. If another lord harasses you, I'll write protesting letters myself. War if need be."
Radical stuff for this era.
Lords here just think taxes, never pioneering markets for merchants—or shielding them from harm. If trouble brews, they ditch you.
They'll smooth conflicts with rivals while squeezing taxes and bribes both.
Back in Hamburg as apprentice, without direct deals, I'd have bribed influencers as much as export tariffs on sugar...
All the district managers gaped at me.
"Why so shocked? I'm no ordinary lord—I've traded as a merchant like you. I know your pains better than most. Be honest: operating here, how much gets extorted in bribes or bad loans? Earn 200 gold? Eighty vanishes that way, plus twenty in taxes from the rest, right?"
No rebuttals to the bullseye.
To those stunned faces, I extended my right hand like a devil:
"So, join me? Work with me, and I'll hand you the North's vast markets. Even goods they overlook—cheap to produce here, sell for 10-40 times cost. I'll share some. That's all from me—handle the details yourselves. Anyone leaving, go now."
They stayed.
Gazing at me with greedy eyes, one asked:
"Your Excellency commands factories and workshops—but how will you staff them?"
"Gather second and third sons with no prospects from Nant, Kroitel, Helsman. Train some for herring, artisans, builders, sailors. County of Kroitel alone has over 40,000 ready to bring. In other words..."
They swallowed hard, hanging on my words. I beamed:
"Each of you eight gets 5,000 subordinates. Wow—no taxes from 'em, but 5,000 underlings? Nobles won't envy you. Hell, most rural barons won't."
Finally:
"You stayed and pledged cooperation, so I've prepared a modest feast. The cuisine here will tempt incoming nobles and merchants... anticipate it. Actually, you'll eat till you're sick of it soon enough—so gorge today. You'll tire of it in months anyway."
Then we quietly savored the upscale dishes I'd offer in Blueport, my trade-and-tourism hub.
Two gold per head budget, but these dishes would fetch at least twenty gold each...
Sure to enchant nobles chasing splendor and novelty.
Soon, I left the territory to Frost, Chris, and officials, taking Ella to seduce the Northern Alliance nobles.
Those hicks with nothing but eyes? I'd lure them with dazzling foods, majestic architecture, art. No doubt.