Business Launch (2)
"Is the lord's son's tutor really that impressive?"
"Oh, don't even start. Not only did he teach the magic that took down the ogre this time, but they say he's the one who made those magic weapons everyone's talking about."
"I heard he was a noble from a kingdom at the far northern edge of the continent."
"And not just any noble, either. Supposedly he was so gifted the king grew jealous and ruined his house, so he drifted all the way down here."
"What a fool of a king. If someone that talented turned up in my court, I'd have showered him in rewards."
"That place is freezing year-round. Probably froze the man's brains solid. Hahaha."
The man at the center of all the talk was none other than Geren.
The rumors had ballooned far past the truth, painting him as an extraordinary mage with talent enough to make a king jealous.
"Any chance of buying one of those weapons?"
"Word is a shop selling the ones he made is opening soon."
"Is that true?"
"Who knows? That's for the lord to decide."
People were already sick of hearing about the weapons.
"Is he really that good with children? I'd love for him to teach mine as well."
"Hah. Nobles from all around are lining up to snatch him away. Common folk like us don't stand a chance… Though there is one odd rumor. Some of the merchants who come and go from the manor claim they've seen other children studying right alongside the lord's kids. Probably nonsense, of course."
"I have more than a little coin myself, you know."
"Don't waste your spit. If you've got that much money, buy the rest of this stock instead."
"Even if we had a fortune, we wouldn't spend it where it isn't needed. Sorry."
Rumors about Geren's teaching methods had the whole city buzzing as well. Wealthy merchants with children born with even a spark of mana talent were bending over backwards for a chance to show their sons and daughters to him.
With the city in such a state, word was bound to reach the surrounding territories before long.
Lords of small and mid-sized holdings were one thing—even a count of considerable rank from farther away sent word that he wished to meet Geren. Margrave Bisvalt was no exception. A letter arrived for the Baron urging—or rather, all but ordering—him not to let Geren leave for any other noble house until the child Sissel had borne was old enough to be taught.
As the frenzy mounted, the minstrels who happened to be visiting the city began composing songs in Geren's praise.
"Ah! Man of sorrowful fate.
Pass through the cruel winter and journey to the warm south.
There the withered flower puts forth new buds once more,
and none in all the world shall fail to know your name."
When Geren heard of it, he retreated to the manor's cellar with Roy—still under house confinement—and refused to set foot outside.
Unfamiliar visitors began calling at the Baron's manor with increasing frequency. The greatest cause was the uproar of rumors currently sweeping the region; the other was that Roy's birthday was drawing near.
"They're starting to arrive."
"They are. This year is going to be especially chaotic."
So the Baron and his wife murmured, standing in the entrance hall and eyeing the growing pile of packages on the floor with some concern.
"Of all times to take down an ogre, right before his birthday…"
"Well, more people wishing him well can't be a bad thing."
"If the well-wishes were pure, that would be true. But…"
What had begun trickling in one by one were birthday gifts sent in Roy's honor. From nearby, the lesser lords and village headmen within the territory—along with officials more interested in currying the Baron's favor than Roy's. From farther afield, nobles close to the Greenhilt house. Lords whose lands produced nowhere near enough food had, generation after generation, carefully maintained their ties to the Greenhilts by never failing to send something even for such minor occasions. Anna's birthday that spring had been no different. Add the families linked by marriage, and one could more or less predict who would send gifts.
This year was different. Presents were pouring in from entirely unexpected quarters.
"A gift from Baron Ekas."
"This one is from Viscount Lorans."
"From Count Paladian. His eldest, second, and third sons each sent separate gifts as well."
"I heard Count Paladian was tearing his hair out over the succession—seems the rumor was true. But why send gifts all the way from such a distant place?"
The Baron could not make sense of it. He had his suspicions, of course, but he found it hard to believe the stories had already reached the opposite side of the kingdom.
"M-my lord…"
One of the apprentice butlers checking the gifts spoke up carefully.
"This is the list of those who intend to visit the manor in person this time. And among them…"
"What? Who is it that's got you so flustered?"
"Th-the third son of Margrave Bisvalt is on the list."
"What?"
What sort of bolt from the blue was this?
The Margrave's letter had arrived days ago. The Baron had disliked the high-handed tone, but the complete absence of any mention of the magic weapons had put his mind at ease.
This… feels like something else is about to explode.
The Baron's thoughts grew tangled.
At last the confinement was lifted.
Roy stretched hard beneath the sunlight, looking for all the world like a prisoner finally allowed to see the sky after a long stint in a dungeon cell.
"It's been so long since I saw the sun."
"You saw it yesterday."
"Misha, please stop killing the mood."
The moment his confinement ended, Roy meant to negotiate with the Baron. He was already wearing a generous number of newly crafted amulets, with extras set aside for good measure.
Dangerous, you say? Then try stabbing me with a blade. Ah—don't use Triumph. Not if you don't want it ruined.
A meticulous plan for startling the Baron and achieving his aims was already running through his head.
The confinement may have ended, but getting a face-to-face with the Baron proved maddeningly difficult.
Why is this man so busy?
If he went late at night, Anna barred the way with a claim that the Baron had already collapsed from exhaustion. At mealtimes he was ordered to keep quiet while everyone ate, and so the chance never quite presented itself. Roy was certain it was deliberate.
Don't tell me he's already predicted my plan?
But this was something he had waited seven years for. Roy had no intention of giving up easily. After stubbornly repeating his attempts, he finally wrung a single sentence from the Baron.
"I'm run off my feet at the moment. We'll talk about that after your birthday."
Roy decided he could wait that long and agreed. After seven years, what was a little more?
His highest priority had been postponed, but plenty of other matters still demanded his attention. There was no need to sit around staring at the wall.
In the manor cellar, Roy and Geren were making their final checks before the business launched.
"Tomorrow at last. You've worked hard, Teacher."
"H-haha. Kind of you to say so. Though Marek's the one who truly suffered."
"I won't be able to go myself, so I'm counting on you."
"Haah… I don't want to go either…"
"Why not? I've heard the rumors myself—aren't they splendid? Minstrels don't just write songs about anyone."
Geren already dreaded the flood of eyes that would turn his way. How could he not? He would have to stand there and claim credit for things he had never done.
"Thanks to you, I can stay safe. I'm truly grateful."
"It's nothing… I'm being paid, after all."
For a month now Roy had watched Geren mope about and decided some reward was in order. So he had applied an enchantment to Geren's weapon of a grade equal to the one he had given the Baron. The effect had worn off sooner than expected. Left with little choice, Roy dangled a different lure.
"Think about it. The fortune created by those enchantments will be the talk of the entire realm. Nobles all across the kingdom will be desperate to meet you, Teacher."
"I know…"
The problem is that such a situation is going to happen at all, Geren thought, and heaved a deep sigh.
That fortune would belong to Roy or the Baron, not him. His own cut would be only a fraction. The enchantment technique was not his, either. Strutting about putting on airs had never been his style.
Then Roy's next words made his ears prick up.
"Among them, there are bound to be nobles with lovely unmarried daughters, don't you think?"
"……!"
"You have more than enough mana. Marrying into the nobility shouldn't pose any real problem…"
"Even so, I…"
"As for your status, Father will naturally stand as guarantor. And even without that, nobles blinded by enchantment techniques will be thick on the ground."
A sharp light returned to Geren's eyes. He was still in his prime—thirty-three this year, by his own account. He had looked older when Roy first met him, but now he seemed years younger. Coin was part of it, yet so was the long stretch of good treatment he had enjoyed under the Baron's roof. It bore no comparison to the days of wandering harsh lands and hunting monsters.
As the saying goes, no man ever disliked women.
Geren did, on occasion, leave the manor to meet women and enjoy himself. Not all of them were courtesans; he had taken up with this commoner's daughter and that one without much discrimination. But with the flood of rumors stirred up by Roy's enterprise, he could no longer roam freely and had been forced into a life of unwilling abstinence. From the start he had never intended to marry a commoner girl—and Roy had read that perfectly.
"I will give it my all, Young Master Roy."
"No need to go quite that far."
Roy watched Geren suddenly blaze with purpose and smiled with quiet satisfaction.