Chapter 115
Chapter 115
Logan's plan wasn't solely focused on poaching talented individuals from families ruined by the civil war.
Though he couldn't openly recruit, he discreetly spread rumors through merchants and neighboring villages that MacLaine was offering favorable treatment to refugees.
By the time two months had passed since the outbreak of the civil war, displaced people—no, war refugees—began trickling into MacLaine territory.
And that trickle was steadily gaining momentum.
Eventually, reports came in that MacLaine Town's population capacity would be reached much sooner than anticipated.
"We'll need to accelerate the Second Town project ahead of schedule," Dwain reported with a grave expression.
"Second Town... So between Tomodoa and Silvan?"
"Yes. Consolidating the scattered villages in the Vifros Plains—formerly the MacLaine Plains—and absorbing refugees will allow for more efficient production management. Just as MacLaine Town has already proven."
"But with our growing military and rapid resource consumption, won't the financial burden be heavy?"
"It's manageable for now. That's precisely why we need to establish the town before farming season begins—to maximize this year's harvest projections."
"And the budget is secure?"
"We'll have to tighten our belts for a while. So, Young Master, please, for the time being—"
"Ah. Understood. Proceed."
Thus began the construction of MacLaine's Second Town.
However, the project faced complications right from the planning stage.
"A potential shortage of funds?"
"Timber consumption has skyrocketed due to the war. Importing from Tritan Territory is now out of the question, so we'll have to rely on the Empire or lumber from the southern mountain range—though the latter will have significant repercussions."
Logan exhaled a bitter sigh, but as the one who had ordered the military expansion—the primary cause of the timber shortage—he had no right to complain.
Nor could he halt crossbow production.
"...We'll have to import from the Empire. And conduct some logging ourselves. How much more will that cost?"
"For now, it's manageable. But after the town's construction and until this year's harvest comes in, we'll need to tighten our belts considerably. Given the military expenses, even the gold mine's funds will be stretched thin."
As their expressions darkened, Philip, who had been listening, tilted his head in confusion.
"Why the shortage? The territory is overflowing with goods to sell."
"Goods?"
"Like what?"
"Food."
At Philip's casual reply, the two men's expressions shifted dramatically.
"Sell food?! In times like these?! We need to prepare for emergencies!"
Dwain's face flushed red as he shouted, but Logan's eyes gleamed.
"Oh? Food? Do we really have that much surplus?"
"Yes. I heard you ordered excess food production in preparation for war but refrained from selling it. Now that our war ended quickly and the civil war has driven food prices sky-high, selling just half would eliminate any financial concerns. It would also accelerate the ranch construction you envisioned."
Ranch construction.
It was an essential step in the long-term plan to mass-produce thousands of crossbow cavalry.
Currently, all warhorses for cavalry were imported, but sustaining such a force would eventually require not just maintenance but domestic breeding.
Hence, they had been stockpiling food reserves for this purpose...
"So, by selling the food originally earmarked for the ranch, we can actually build the ranch sooner?"
"Exactly. No matter how you look at it, food prices won't get higher than this. It's the perfect time to sell surplus."
Well, prices will spike even more in about two years.
But still...
"That's a sound idea."
"Young Master!"
"I knew you'd agree!"
"B-But, Young Master! What if something goes wrong and we're left without—"
"Think of it as an investment. We're loosening the purse strings now to produce even more food later."
"That's not what I— What if—"
"Don't worry. That won't happen."
"Young Master!"
Logan understood Dwain's concerns perfectly.
But he was certain.
War is the madness born of reason.
And sometimes, that madness devours reason itself.
The greater the damage, the more inevitable the escalation.
A war of skirmishes like this won't last long.
The civil war will only grow fiercer with time.
And when that happens—
'No one will care about those staying neutral. They'll be too busy trying to kill each other.'
The corner of Logan's lips curled faintly.
"Sell half of our surplus food to each faction. Philip, handle the sales—squeeze out every bit of profit you can. Use some of that money to procure timber as well."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Dwain, proceed with preparations for the Second Town."
"...Understood."
Dwain sighed in resignation.
While frustrating for some, MacLaine was undeniably progressing.
And as Logan smiled with that certainty—
A report from Nox, who had been diligently fulfilling a long-forgotten request, arrived before him.
To Logan MacLaine,
Regarding the target search request from two years prior, we have located a suitable candidate: the mage Cheren Crow. Currently confirmed to be in Ruspell Territory, near the Empire's eastern border with the Grandia Kingdom. Physical description roughly matches, and estimated skill level aligns. Though not under the name Croune, the probability is high...
It was the result of the tracking request for a rogue Transcendent who had been active during the Empire's war.
"The Archmage of Slaughter, Croune. Tch... Of all times... And of all people."
The news unsettled Logan.
During the Empire's war in his past life,
There was a mage who fought as a mercenary for the Empire.
A mage who clad his entire body in self-crafted artifacts and slaughtered kingdom soldiers on the frontlines—utterly uncharacteristic of a mage.
Alongside "The Evil Sword" Banjoni, he was one of the most infamous Transcendents, yet their treatment couldn't have been more different.
While the Empire refused to acknowledge Banjoni's affiliation due to his atrocities, they actively courted Croune.
Yet the Archmage of Slaughter repeatedly refused, operating solely as a mercenary.
Of course, the number of Grandian soldiers he killed as a mercenary was staggering, but his greater significance lay elsewhere.
—The developer who successfully mass-produced low-grade artifacts, and one of the Empire's top ten merchants.
Historians widely agree that the artifacts he supplied to the Empire's knights hastened Grandia's downfall by half.
Thus—
'The best outcome is recruitment. Failing that, he must be eliminated.'
Logan's gaze naturally sharpened with killing intent.
Even disregarding the Grandian soldiers who fell to his artifacts, the damage his future independent forces suffered was immense.
Emotionally, he was someone Logan wanted to kill on sight.
But—
'Still, recruitment is preferable.'
The Archmage of Slaughter was that valuable.
So he couldn't ignore this lead.
Even if Nox's report was false, verification was necessary.
And since Logan was the only one who could recognize him, delegating the task was impossible.
Ultimately, Logan informed his retainers of a brief trip to the Empire.
The reaction was predictably negative.
"You're leaving at a time like this?"
"Just a quick trip beyond the border."
"So you're going to the Empire?"
"Not the Empire proper—just a nearby territory right across the border."
"That is the Empire!"
"Well, technically, yes. But it's not far from our border."
"Why?!"
His father wore an incredulous expression, forcing Logan to be partially honest.
"I've had a standing request for something. The location of an item I must retrieve has been found, and the risk is worth taking."
"An item?"
"Yes."
Calling Croune a "person" would raise questions if Logan returned having killed him, so he stuck to the truth—sort of.
Besides, there was something tangible to bring back.
'If it's the Archmage of Slaughter, he's likely already crafted a few artifacts by now. Maybe even more than expected.'
So he could answer confidently.
"What kind of item—?"
"An artifact."
"...Hah."
Patrick fell silent, staring at his son.
Time and again, Logan pulled off incomprehensible feats based on unknown sources of information—and most succeeded.
It was unsettling not knowing the reasoning, but—
"Is it dangerous?"
"Not for me."
"Then?"
"Keep watch over the civil war's developments. Though it's currently simmering, we've provoked both Vifros and Duke Jordan, so certainty is impossible. New troops are still in training, and our existing forces haven't fully recovered."
"You provoked—no, we did. Sigh. So you're saying you recognize the risks but still need to go?"
"Yes!"
Patrick silently raised his head, meeting his son's crimson eyes—so like his own.
However baseless, however absurd, Logan's actions always ultimately benefited the family.
Trusting him once more wouldn't be unreasonable.
"Fine. Go. But disguise yourself thoroughly. Our family's traits are too distinctive—word will spread quickly."
"Of course."
Though unease lingered, permission was granted.
With a lightened heart, Logan left his father's study.
"Return safely."
"Thank you, soldiers."
As always, the border outpost guards accepted a modest bribe and let the merchant pass.
Men with nothing but a pack on their backs, chasing fortune—most would die without ever reaching the Empire's major cities.
So minor violations like this were just pocket money to them.
And the Empire's outpost guards, stationed just a few hundred meters away, were no different.
In fact, they were worse.
One soldier, Largo, had direct ties to a local bandit group.
Depending on the pack's contents, he'd receive a tidy sum as compensation.
'You ought to know better than to wander alone, merchant. The world's a dangerous place.'
Largo smirked, recalling the red-haired, "blue"-eyed merchant who had slipped him a gold coin earlier.
"The Empire..."
Even after passing the border outpost, Logan walked for a long while before the blue plains came into view.
He rubbed his stiff eyes—likely from the magic.
The distant scenery evoked an odd sense of déjà vu.
A merchant's disguise. Altered eye color alone for transformation.
Having done this countless times in his past life, memories surfaced unbidden.
His striking features meant changing just one element completely altered his appearance—ironically making disguise easier.
It was why he had been the one most frequently sent on such missions among his comrades.
Following the western highway would lead to Ruspellheim, the Empire's eastern metropolis—three days on foot.
A spearhead for invasion, a supply depot, a city of love and hate—no, pure hatred during the independence war.
A place he'd burn to the ground if he could.
But his destination lay elsewhere.
'Further south. Close to the border...'
Why the future Transcendent was holed up in such a remote territory was unclear, making this an opportunity he couldn't miss.
'Surely he's not a Transcendent yet.'
A Transcendent hiding his power in a backwater territory made no sense.
Given Croune's later deeds, his ambition was anything but small.
'If he's quietly researching to advance his skills, that fits.'
Likely a 5th-Circle mage—or given his nature, Class 5.
Equivalent to a top-tier aura user in combat terms.
But Class mages cast slower than Circle mages, making them easier to kill—
Slap!
"Tch. Why do I keep thinking like this? Recruitment first. Past grudges can wait."
Logan chastised himself with a slap to the cheek and trudged onward.
After hours of walking, as dusk fell,
He had no choice but to wait for the stars in the middle of a forest path.
Having strayed from the familiar highway into an untraveled wood, he'd likely lost his way.
'Guess I'll navigate by the stars and walk all night. Tch.'
Just as he sighed and unfurled his bedding—
"Hey! Stop right there, redhead!"
"This bastard was supposed to be heading to Ruspellheim—why'd he veer off?"
"Sketchy little shit. Feels like we're doing the country a favor here."
"Stop right there! Fast walker, huh? We'll make you bleed as red as that hair. Ah, fuck, this is exhausting."
A dozen rough-looking men in decent leather armor and wielding iron weapons swiftly surrounded him.
Logan smiled.
He'd found his guides.