Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Lien Blows the Wind
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“Ha! You!”
Was this something to drag even His Majesty the Emperor into?
But with the Count striking first like that, there was no good comeback. The Merelrof Count could only tug at his beard and groan in frustration.
‘By the way, it dies on sight of snow? I could’ve sworn I saw gula growing in winter, but what a worthless crop. It grows in water and sand, but snow is pure poison to it.’
Merelrof territory had no such thing as greenhouses. They’d never focused on farming to begin with, so they had zero preparations for winter crops. If Ian was right, they needed to buy gula immediately and start cultivation alongside building greenhouses.
“…Thirty pieces.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thirty-one!”
“Count.”
“You, think of the days ahead. How much time does a family head have left to live? Let’s call it here. Forgetting each other’s faults is the true way of nobles. Thirty-two.”
He even threw in baseless threats with elegant flair. That was exactly why Ian had set the price at a somewhat high fifty pieces. He knew they’d haggle it down to nearly half.
As if he’d been waiting for this moment, Romandro cleared his throat, and one of his men outside timed it perfectly to interrupt.
Knock knock.
“Sir Ian, Sir Romandro. I have a brief report.”
“Oh? Is it urgent? We have guests.”
“I apologize. It should only take a moment.”
“Oh dear, please excuse me.”
It was a ploy to cool the heated atmosphere a bit and give the Merelrof lady time to persuade the Count. She kept furrowing her brow in deep thought, whispering something to him.
Creak.
As Ian and Romandro stepped out of the drawing room, the lady raised her voice slightly, her face twisted in a scowl.
“Fifty pieces makes a total of 5,000 gold coins.”
“Insane. 5,000 gold coins for weeds?”
“But this year’s situation is special. We have to keep the territory afloat for now, at least. I heard Bratz handled it with emergency rations and then hiked next year’s tax rate.”
You couldn’t revive the dead. That much was certain, if nothing else. The lady subtly tested the waters with the Count.
“How much per sack were you thinking, maximum?”
“If it were up to me, not a single gold coin would be too much.”
“No, I mean realistically.”
Realistically, she was asking what compromise point she figured between Ian and the Count. The Count twisted his beard, his face showing utter distaste for the situation.
“Around thirty-five pieces.”
“Hmm. Thirty-five pieces.”
The lady parroted his words, pretending to mull it over. That set what she had to say next.
“Would Sir Ian really go for that? He seems dead set on digging in his heels.”
“Exactly. The young pup’s gotten too greedy. He won’t last long living like that.”
“I think settling around forty pieces would be best. As you said, if more snow falls, prices could rise even higher. Then it won’t be about price—it’ll be supply itself….”
The lady’s concern had merit. Things had spiraled precisely because they kept snagging. They thought there was no bottom, but there always was.
“From forty down to thirty-five. If it bounces between there, stamp the deal right away.”
“Hmm.”
“Instead, ask for half in small-seeded gula sacks and half in large ones.”
Half for planting—pack them tight with the tiniest seeds possible. Half for eating—better if they’re plump. The Count sipped his now-cold tea, letting out thoughtful groans.
“Hmm.”
Her persuasion continued. The key wasn’t buying gula as cheaply as possible, but closing the deal at a reasonable line somehow.
Soon enough, Ian and Romandro returned to the drawing room.
“Sorry. The matter took longer than expected.”
“Ahem. The tea’s gone cold.”
“Oh, my apologies. Hanna!”
“Yes, Master.”
The Merelrof Count cleared his throat dramatically to seize the initiative. Beside him, the lady fiddled with her earlobe, looking troubled.
Clink.
The sparkle of ornate earrings clashing with her nails caught Ian’s eye. Three fingers spread once, then all five caressed gently. Ian caught the signal and sat on the sofa.
‘Called fifty, but thirty-five is their max.’
Formidable, or perhaps that was the best Merelrof could muster. Still, Ian decided to trust the lady’s cooperation.
‘Better than not selling at all. And beyond the Count, we have deals with Merelrof’s people to make.’
100 sacks would net 3,500 gold coins—about a third of the central taxes due. Ian exchanged a glance with Romandro and broached the topic.
“So, have you gentlemen discussed the amount?”
“Sir Ian, fifty is just too much. We’re holding market right here at the estate, and that price sounds like a blatant refusal to deal with us openly.”
The lady lifted her chin sharply and fired back. The Count nodded solemnly, furrowing his brow in mock contemplation.
“Very well. Then let’s add a condition.”
“A condition? What kind?”
“Forty gold coins per sack. In exchange, draft a pledge that you won’t interfere in any economic activities in this territory going forward.”
“…No interference in economic activities?”
The unexpected condition furrowed the Merelrof Count’s brows suspiciously. The lady too. They’d gained some ground, but couldn’t fathom the intent.
“Is that unreasonable?”
“No, not unreasonable, but…”
It was quite loaded, wasn’t it?
The Count glanced at Cheonryeo warriors passing in the hall and guessed they were scheming with the border tribes. Smuggling something that way?
‘What a foolish condition. Even if we promise not to interfere, a report to the center would bring a crackdown. Tsk tsk.’
But Ian saw through even that thought. The stingy Count was good at hoarding coin but not at seeing deep.
‘He suspects the Cheonryeo Tribe. Wrong track.’
Pretended deliberation stretched into long silence. Romandro just watched their faces, while the lady broke the quiet by lifting her teacup.
“Aren’t you the family head appointed by His Majesty, Sir Ian? A territory’s economic rights are practically the head’s autonomy, so it’s a natural condition. No need to adjust the price then, I suppose.”
The Count shot her a wild glare at those words. A silent warning to shut up if she didn’t know better. The lady meekly lowered her eyes in feigned embarrassment, but Ian saw it was deliberate.
“Fine. I don’t know how you see Merelrof, but guaranteeing each other’s rights is only natural. In exchange, you pledge no objections to Merelrof’s economic activities, and we close at thirty gold coins.”
“Count, I said forty.”
“Fine, fine. Thirty-one.”
“Isn’t flipping the tens digit twice going too far, Count?”
The upper side conceding down, the lower pushing up—the midpoint between forty and thirty was set. After a few thrusts and parries, the Merelrof Count hit his limit first.
“Thirty-five! That’s my absolute final.”
Thirty-five pieces. The price the lady had secretly signaled. Ian crossed his arms and glanced at Romandro. A show to confirm mutual satisfaction.
“Haa. Very well.”
There it was. A sigh, conceding as if with no choice. Ian laughed lightly, as if throwing up all four limbs.
“Thirty-five gold coins per sack, 100 sacks. Totaling 3,500 gold coins.”
“Good. Wise choice. Draft the contract.”
As Ian and the Count shook hands, Romandro pulled out a pre-prepared standard contract. Ten pages long, but all boilerplate nobles used—only the first and last pages mattered.
Rustle.
The Count began scrutinizing every word like he’d devour them. With his jacket unbuttoned, it was clear this would take time.
“Change ‘fresh’ here to ‘harvested within a week.’ Fine?”
“Hm. In exchange, add that it may vary by harvest schedule.”
“Got it. Fresh paper.”
“Here you are, Count.”
Rip!
They tweaked and re-tweaked like this.
Torn contract scraps littered his feet from failed clauses. As Ian and Romandro took turns dealing with him, the lady couldn’t hold back and patted her waist.
“Are you tired, Madam?”
“Oh. Sorry. How rude of me.”
“Not at all. It’ll take more time, so why not rest comfortably in another room?”
Ian glanced at the Count, but his eyes stayed glued to the contract.
“Dear? Did you hear?”
“Handle it yourself. Don’t bother me.”
“……”
The lady didn’t seem hurt at all. If anything, she smiled as if relieved by his disinterest. Ian left the Count to Romandro and stood.
“Madam, allow me to show you. I could use some fresh air myself.”
At those words, the Count’s eyes chased Ian’s back. Personally escorting her, leaving the servants? Why? Jealousy surged like blood to his head, nearly bursting out his throat. But he was a noble. He couldn’t make a scene before an imperial advisor.
“Count?”
“Ah, sorry. Say that again?”
“If we amend Article 3 Clause 3, we must adjust Article 5 Clause 1 for fairness. Shall we?”
“Hm. Yes. Do that.”
Creak.
Once in the hall, the lady leaned against the wall and sighed.
“Well done, Madam.”
“…And Clark?”
“He’s got the best luck in the estate. Just eating in his room.”
She’d denied being lovers, yet the moment she escaped the Count’s radar, Clark was first on her lips. Ian nodded for her to follow.
“If you wish, I can offer my arm.”
“No need. Just a bit of waist pain from the corset—my legs are fine.”
She gathered her dress skirts and walked with utmost poise and grace. Ian wondered if more bruises had bloomed that late night he entered, but he didn’t ask. Wounds hurt just from the mere recollection, no matter the form.
Instead, he tossed out a different topic casually.
“Have you ever met the Merelrof Count’s younger brother?”