Chapter 66
Chapter 66
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 66
Chapter Title: The Ruffians
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Ian and the mansion's servants moved all the Gula seeds they had gathered so far to the square. What had been just four sacks had now exceeded a hundred.
The seedlings grown for research were also carefully wrapped in paper and loaded onto carts, requiring five or six trips in a long line.
"Good heavens. How is there so much?"
"We scoured every mountain and field nearby, so of course."
"You're giving all this away for free?"
Ian gestured for them to form a line, and they moved to maintain some semblance of order. Beside him, one of Romandro's subordinates was rifling through documents. Distributing the Gula would take quite some time.
"Listen well. The Gula seeds will be distributed according to the size of the fields you tenant. Families with many members will receive extra seedlings, and I hope you will actively share cultivation and cooking methods with each other to reduce the workload on the mansion."
"They're giving out seedlings too!"
"Shh. Be quiet. I can't hear."
"It's hard to hear from the back!"
Ian raised a single finger and shouted.
"We are distributing Gula free of charge now, but come next year's harvest after the season passes, we will collect an additional tenth in taxes. Also, all Gula trade with outsiders must go through the mansion. Violators will be fined fifty gold coins."
"Five, fifty coins."
"Oh man, that's scary. For real."
A typical tenant farmer earned about one gold coin a month on average. They were startled by the seemingly harsh penalty for only a moment, but upon reflection, it didn't seem like much of an issue.
"Uh, what about trading among ourselves?"
"That doesn't matter. The key is outsiders. No seeds or even a single root can be sold to outsiders privately."
"That seems fine, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. Outsiders would be Great Desert tribes or who else? It's hard to find anywhere but Merelrof."
"Right. N-no problem! No problem at all!"
"You owe me, don't you? Pay some back with Gula."
Ian shouted even louder to continue the instructions.
"And anyone who reports violators will receive a reward. If you have complaints about the additional tax, you don't have to take the Gula."
"How much is a tenth?"
"It's adding one sack for every ten sacks of wheat."
"What about fifty sacks?"
"...Five sacks. Those who can't calculate should ask the staff."
They worried about the increased taxes they'd owe next year, fiddling with their fingers in calculation. But they had to survive the present to see next year. As the Gula distribution began, the man at the front applied first.
"Alden Parma."
"Ah. You're in charge of the fields by the riverbank."
"How much do I get?"
"Here. Five scoops."
Just five scoops, but considering the propagation power, it was plenty. Those who arrived late stomped their feet and pushed forward, but Ian pushed them back.
"Don't worry too much if you don't get any this time. A second distribution is planned."
External trade was banned anyway, so the tenant crops would return to the mansion eventually. It was only a matter of time before all of Bratz territory's residents cultivated Gula.
"Next!"
While helping with the distribution, Berik whispered from behind.
"Ian. We need to head back to the mansion for a bit. One of the conspirators has opened his eyes."
"...I'll be right there."
Ian signaled to Romandro's subordinates to take care of things and left the square. The mansion, emptied of both Gula and people, felt much quieter and more desolate than usual.
Clack clack!
"You've come?"
"The surviving one opened his eyes? What about Petreio?"
The sweat-drenched doctor wiped his face with the back of his hand and sighed. It was his first time seeing such a horrific patient, and it didn't look good....
"No chance. At best, today."
"That bastard."
Berik peeked through the door crack at Petreio. The man was a bloody mess, barely gasping for breath. For him not to confess even in that state meant he was the type to keep his mouth shut even in death.
Swish.
"What about the other one's consciousness?"
"He's babbling incoherently. The moment he woke up, he was bawling and begging...."
He had rubbed his palms so desperately pleading to be spared. Ian and Berik had nearly died, yet to an outsider, it might look like they had kidnapped an innocent man.
As Ian opened the door and entered, the man scraping at barley porridge froze.
"Ah...."
"I'm Ian. Nice to see you again from earlier."
"Please spare me! Please spare me!"
Crash!
The barley porridge flew, and he slammed his head to the floor again, begging. Sobbing hysterically at seizure level. Ian sighed and asked.
"Your name?"
"C-Collin."
"Continue."
Ian sat in a chair and nodded. He wiped the porridge from his mouth and cleared his throat.
"Uh, so I'm Collin, twenty years old, with two older siblings and three younger ones."
"...I'll go mad. I'm not curious about that."
"Hey, want your head smashed with that barley bowl?"
"Eek!"
At Berik's menacing shout, the man rubbed his hands together again.
"So, I'm a gambling den errand boy, and I overheard the guards talking. Some guy was offering bundles of money to hire muscle."
"Where are you from?"
"I-I'm from Merelrof...."
Just as expected. There were no other places nearby to recruit from. At Ian's smile, Berik kicked the man's shin hard.
Crack!
"Argh!"
"So? Who was the guy?"
"I d-don't know! Why would we know each other? Just take the money and use the muscle. I didn't even meet him. I got the money from the guards."
Berik glanced at Ian.
"What do we do? Kill him?"
"Please spare me! Please spare me! I'll do anything you say! Waaah!"
"Whoa. Haven't even touched him, and the scream is spectacular."
Berik kicked away the man clinging to Ian's leg. He didn't seem the type to kill himself to stay silent. Ian tapped his fingers, pondering.
'Merelrof....'
"Ian?"
"Keep this one confined. And is no one else outside?"
"Yes? Young Master Ian. There is. Speak."
"I'll send a letter to Merelrof. Prepare a horse."
Ian gave instructions to a servant as he went upstairs. He knocked on the drawing room door. Romandro, who had been writing a report inside, jumped in surprise and greeted him.
"What is it? Did Petreio die?"
"No. He's still breathing. One conspirator woke up and confessed—he's from Merelrof. Most of them probably are. He said they were gambling den guards. I want to write a letter. Will you help?"
Romandro set down his pen and tried to read Ian's intent. Why ask him to write a letter that could be sent directly? Guessing, he raised an eyebrow.
"Trying to create a pretext?"
"You could see it that way."
"Heh. Indeed."
Ian sat across from him, and Romandro turned over the report he had been writing. It was a lord appointment recommendation letter, densely filled with praise for the Gula discovery, Great Desert alliances, and territory reconstruction.
"Like it?"
"I hope it pleases Prince Marib and His Majesty the Emperor. Just in case, include one of Molin's possessions when sending it. Got a ring?"
"Yes. Then what shall we write to Merelrof?"
He pulled out fresh paper and dipped his pen in ink.
"'Ian, recommended as next lord, was attacked' would be a good start."
That was precisely why Romandro, the imperial advisor, was writing instead of Ian. As a low-status person now, any claims Ian made would likely be dismissed.
But if the 'next lord' was mentioned, and the advisor wrote it due to his injury, Merelrof couldn't easily ignore it.
"'The attack on the lord's successor was by Merelrof ruffians. One conspirator survived and confessed this fact. I believe this is an issue that could cause mutual misunderstanding.'"
Scribble scribble.
If Ian were already lord?
It would be no problem to raise troops immediately, but reality being what it was, he had to borrow Romandro's authority. Merelrof might brazenly accuse them of killing their own citizens.
The Merelrof Count seemed capable of that.
"'Thus, I request sending someone to confirm and take custody of the body, and active cooperation in the investigation.'"
"Good. The ink flows well. Excellent."
"And add condolences money."
At Ian's words, Romandro scratched his nose with the quill.
"How much? One hundred gold coins appropriate?"
"It's fine, but since we're doing it, better to raise it. We don't plan to accept anyway."
The man who dirtily refused even the humanitarian food trade request. They'd have to demand two hundred to haggle down to twenty.
"Let's see, hmm...."
Romandro pondered briefly, then finished the letter with elegant prose. He stamped the signet ring, sealed it, and handed it to Ian.
"Is it ready outside?"
"Yes, Young Master Ian. The horse is saddled."
"Deliver it to Count Merelrof. Be careful."
The servant tucked the letter securely into his bosom and left the drawing room. It would probably take time to get a proper reply.
"Since it's for pretext, I hope they don't reply at all."
Ian smiled brightly at Romandro's words.
That was exactly what Ian wanted.
"We probably won't get a reply until winter? Their Gula seeds must be depleted, and farming now would be hard, so they'll want Gula itself soon enough."
By then, bringing up this incident would give grounds for primary refusal and secondary justification to raise Gula prices.
Just like the Merelrof Count had done, they'd have to pay back.
"If that guy's going to buy weed at high prices, it's already hilarious. His face will be a sight."
But Ian's position differed from theirs. He didn't need their food, but they had no alternative and couldn't back down.
Romandro then finished the report for the capital.
"By the way. Getting appointed lord is one thing, but since you're reported as a Mana User, won't you have to stay in the capital long-term?"
Getting appointed was key, but issues remained afterward. They wouldn't send a Mana User like Ian to the border.
"Who will watch this place then?"
"Lords staying long in the capital isn't rare."
"True, but that's with a steward."
Ian just smiled instead of replying.
For now, he'd think after returning to the palace. He could verify if this unbelievable regression related to Naum's magic and replan.
"I don't know. I'll think after becoming lord. The title ceremony is with the New Year's banquet anyway. I hope Prince Marib helps well."
At mention of Marib's help, Romandro made an ambiguous expression. Neither affirming nor denying.