Trade Conditions (3)
"Branch Leader Padeeeeec! Chief! We're in trouble! Saltias—Saltias is hurt!"
"What!?"
Lately every scrap of news that reached this makeshift tent had been anything but welcome. Padec, branch leader of the Karl Mercenary Group's Greenhilt outpost, ground his molars at the subordinate's shout.
"Is he badly wounded? Details. Now."
"We managed to lure the bastard into the trap exactly as planned. Drove every spear we had into him, doused him with oil, and Saltias finished it with a Fireball."
"And?"
"The thing's screams nearly split our ears. We thought it was done—then it suddenly thrashed, ripped free one of the sharpened stakes we'd planted at the bottom of the pit, and swung. Saltias had stepped in close for the spell and took the full force of that log..."
"His life?"
"That was its last thrash. It lost strength soon after and now it's burnt black."
"Not the orc—Saltias! Is he going to live?"
"Ah—yes, luckily he's still breathing. The attached priest is treating him right now. But bones are broken in several places; he'll be out for a while..."
"Haa... Damn it!"
Padec's face twisted as he slammed his palm down on the table and dropped into his seat. On the table lay a half-finished request for troop support addressed to Baron Greenhilt.
"Goddamn orcs."
For the past two years Padec and the Greenhilt branch mercenaries had held a defensive line centered on Wolf Tail Hill, holding the orcs at bay. When they first left the city they had thought a week would be enough. That estimate had been spectacularly wrong.
"How much longer are we supposed to hold out like this!?"
As one of the kingdom's premier wheat-producing territories, food supplies were ample. Manpower was the problem. The number of orcs they faced defied imagination, and every so often an Orc Giant three times the size of a normal orc would appear.
The branch currently fielded about eighty effectives; fifty of them were posted here on Wolf Tail Hill alone. Even adding the five attached priests and the hunters, they barely scraped together a hundred men—a pitiful force.
"Autumn's almost here. We barely made it last year. At this rate the line will collapse for sure."
The one small mercy was that the orcs showed no mass movement until late autumn, when food in the forest grew scarce. For now they only had to watch for the occasional berserk Orc Giant. But autumn was arriving on schedule once again.
"Are we all going to die at this rate? We need a plan. Orc Giant sightings have doubled!"
"I'll have to head into the city before autumn hits. Either I see the lord myself and wring something out of him, or I dissolve the Prolas branch and force the issue."
The mercenaries could not even enter the Wolf Forest; their limit was stopping the orcs that occasionally tried to cross the hill. Once the harvest began the orcs would move in force again. Survival would mean either running or reinforcing.
Padec snatched the unfinished request from the table, crumpled it savagely, and hurled it away. He had decided to go to the lord's manor in person.
"You—go get the loot and by-products we've stockpiled sorted. I'll sell them while I'm in the city."
"Yes, sir!"
It was an unexpected stroke of luck.
Roy had sent Marek out to tour the city for the first time in a while. He needed mana solution for the baron's sword in a hurry, so of course. The order had been simply to check whether top-grade materials were available—not to buy them yet. And what did Marek find?
By-products from an Orc Giant—something that appeared in this region maybe once every few years—were sitting in the market. Some of them were still remarkably fresh. On top of that, decent-quality mana stones had finally come up for sale again.
Roy almost believed it was a sign from the gods.
"There's the coming-of-age festival in August, so people are bringing out valuables they've kept at home. Mana stones especially—easy to store, value stays steady—so they work almost like gold or silver coin."
Apparently it was custom to give newly adult children a nest egg for independence. That made this the best time of year to acquire mana stones.
"Same with herbs. Farmers and rural herbalists who almost never come to the city make the trip in August. They're busy with the fields the rest of the year and the distance is hard, but for the baptism rites and coming-of-age festival they carve out the time."
"Interesting."
Right now the city was hosting the August Solar Fair—one of only two massive markets held each year—thanks to all these visitors plus the temple ceremonies. The other was the October Harvest Festival after the reaping finished.
I'd love to go look around myself, but...
Roy was still too young to leave the house freely. Baptism was behind him now, so things would improve gradually, yet the road ahead still looked long.
"Well then, I'm counting on you, Marek."
"Of course."
Roy licked his lips, handed every last gold coin he had to Marek, and ordered him to buy the materials. Orc Giant by-products would be fiercely contested and expensive, but this time he didn't need to purchase daggers, so funds wouldn't be an issue.
The real problem is where to craft them.
After lying low for so long, Roy was finally ready to restart the business—not merely a few magic daggers here and there, but a proper enterprise. Moving too openly, however, risked drawing the attention of anyone who recognized the value of the work, and he could not predict how they might strike. Extreme caution was required.
He intended to use his father the baron as a shield.
Well, the old man will learn my secret soon enough, but there's no need to show him the process and kill the surprise.
With that in mind Roy decided to use the empty ground behind the stables. The stables sat far from the manor on the opposite side from the training grounds, precisely because of the smell. Almost no one went there except the coachman and the stable master. Even when the baron needed a horse or carriage, the coachman brought it to the front of the house, so there was little chance of discovery.
Thus Roy bought the coachman and stable master with gold.
A single gold coin was an enormous sum to a stable master or coachman.
"Y-Young Master? Why such a large sum...?"
"Shh. It's a gift. In return, do me one favor."
"Of course. Anything you say."
He had delivered the bribe himself rather than through Marek. That raised far less suspicion, and it was the only way to make the groundwork of the past two years pay off.
For two full years Roy had spent every free moment following this servant or that, striking up conversations. Gathering information had not been the sole purpose. The main goal was reputation management. These people were the ones closest to him, the ones who saw him most often. They would remain so for at least the next decade, and as servants they would grant almost any reasonable request. Besides, the baron still paid their wages, so there was nothing to lose.
Of course, if forced to choose they would put the baron first. Roy understood that perfectly well, yet cultivating the relationship still cost him nothing.
Father might notice, but I'll have to explain everything to him in ten days anyway. As long as he doesn't interfere in the meantime, it's fine.
"Young Master Roy, what are you doing out here?"
"Misha, you're here. Did you bring what I asked for?"
"Yes. This pot—you use it when you do that thing, don't you? Don't tell me you're planning to work here this time?"
"Yeah. Figured people wouldn't notice us back here. You didn't let anyone see you bringing the pot, right?"
"Of course not! What do you take me for? I'm not the green newcomer from two years ago anymore!"
Misha too had shed her childish air over the past two years and grown into a proper young woman. Of course, to Roy—who still carried memories of a previous life—she still looked very young.
Mentally, at least.
Physically?
He decided not to comment on that part. He was only seven, after all.
"Still, just in case—while I'm working here, could you keep watch?"
"Of course. Gladly."
Roy asked Misha to stand lookout and set up a makeshift workbench complete with a fire pit. Smoke rising above the stable roof might be visible from the manor, but no one was likely to think twice about it.
Perfect. Now if Marek just brings the materials back safely...
Preparations to surprise the baron were proceeding smoothly. Once this job was finished he could finally launch the real business.
Time to start raking it in—for a new Dragon's Breath.
Roy's grand design was only now truly beginning.