Chapter 177
Chapter 177
The MacLaine harvest season had passed, and the budget allocation from the collected taxes was finalized.
The MacLaine and Bifrost plains, along with the other territories expanded after the civil war—when calculated purely in terms of currency, the budget exceeded a staggering 80 million gold.
Yet, despite this, Logan's expression remained unsatisfied.
"It still falls short of what the gold mine produces on its own."
"...Young Master. You do realize how ridiculously privileged that sounds, right? If you remember how things were just a few years ago, you really shouldn't be saying that."
Logan chuckled at Dwain's exasperated look before quickly changing the subject.
"Well, at least the post-war internal reorganization is nearly complete. First, we'll reallocate funds to the Magic Towers. Ah, the grains, wagons, and sorting of volunteers—everything's been prepared, right?"
"Yes. All preparations are complete."
"Good. Then call Philip."
"But... are you really going through with this? Philip is one thing, but that person..."
"Dwain. Don't make me repeat myself. We've already decided."
"...Understood."
Though Dwain's expression remained uneasy, he couldn't disobey the order.
Soon, Philip was summoned to the office.
Clink.
The sound of tea being poured filled the air as Philip's gray eyes darted back and forth.
Why did he call me?
It was only natural for him to feel anxious.
With the increase in administrative staff, Philip—who had essentially been a temporary worker—had recently been slacking off frequently.
He'd been half-heartedly finishing tedious paperwork before slipping away to survey the bustling markets of the town, gathering rumors and pondering which goods would sell well where.
And now, the man in power had summoned him to this formal meeting...
Not to mention the murderous glare from Dwain Pilsner, the head of the administrative staff watching from behind.
So—
"Has work been manageable lately? Not too dull?"
"I'm sorry!"
The moment the question left Logan's lips, Philip immediately bowed his head.
Meanwhile—
What's wrong with this guy?
Logan couldn't help but find the reaction absurd.
"...For what?"
"I've been distracted lately and haven't been focusing on my duties. My apologies."
"What kind of distraction?"
"I've been gathering rumors about which goods are trending in which regions. Things like where to set up what kind of business for the best profits. I suppose I've been here so long that my wanderlust has started acting up... My apologies!"
"Hmm... And your conclusion?"
"Pardon?"
"The conclusion of your distraction. What do you think would sell well in MacLaine, and what should we take elsewhere to sell?"
Philip's eyes rolled again before—
"The most valuable commodity in MacLaine territory is, of course, weapons... though I assume you won't be selling those. Ahem. Then it would naturally be the grains produced in the two plains. As for what this place needs, daily necessities are still in high demand."
Like a dam bursting, Philip's words poured out without hesitation.
"Looking at the territory as a whole, the number of refugees is still increasing. Even if they're given land to farm, most still have to make their own basic living tools. While they may not be master craftsmen's works, mass-produced handicrafts from Rustphelheim—a major city in the eastern Empire—should suffice. Ideally, we could trade our grains for..."
"Ah, enough, enough. I get it. What you're saying is that you'd rather run a merchant guild than handle administrative work. Right?"
"Yes, exactly!"
The anxiety in his eyes faded, replaced by a spark of excitement.
Could it be...?
From Logan's positive tone, Philip sensed a glimmer of hope.
After signing a contract that was practically slavery and striking gold with Imporic, he'd been stuck doing mind-numbingly dull work ever since.
But now, it seemed his monotonous life was about to change drastically.
And Philip's expectations were soon rewarded.
"People should work in fields that suit their talents. So I'm thinking of entrusting you with the MacLaine Merchant Guild—as the representative guild officially backed by our family."
"Y-You're serious?"
Philip shot up from his seat without realizing it.
A noble-backed guild openly flying the family's banner had the advantage of solid capital and political backing, allowing credit transactions incomparable to those of small or mid-sized guilds.
And given MacLaine's current influence, they were practically untouchable within the kingdom.
Even at the most basic level, the guild would hold an unrivaled position in the kingdom's trade hierarchy.
No matter what they traded—no matter what they did.
Most merchants would willingly take a loss just to maintain ties with MacLaine.
And he's entrusting that guild to me? What's he thinking? Ah, right. The contract...
His excitement cooled instantly as he remembered the near-slave contract he'd signed.
Whoever ran it, the guild was guaranteed to turn a profit for the kingdom.
And as far as trustworthy candidates went, a bound "slave" like him was as reliable as they came.
Still, it's better than pushing papers. If I bring in profits beyond expectations, my standing might improve.
Clenching his fists, Philip steeled himself—
"The preliminary paperwork with the royal court and merchant guilds is done. As you suggested, grains worth ten million gold are ready. A thousand laborers, thirty knights for escort, and ten administrators to assist your trade operations will be assigned to you."
"...Pardon?"
The offer exceeded his expectations.
"What, not enough?"
"N-No! Absolutely not! That's more than enough to start!"
"Good. A reserve fund of ten million gold has also been set up in a Cooper's Bank account, so you'll have liquidity in the major cities of the eastern continent."
"Another ten million..."
Philip's eyes glazed over at the staggering sum—
"And you'll receive 0.5% of the guild's profits as a performance bonus."
His eyes bulged.
"Wh-What did you just...?"
"Performance bonus. 0.5%."
"Ah, yes. I thought I misheard... Hah. A 0.5% cut from a guild starting with twenty million in capital..."
Muttering to himself, Philip shakily sat back down and reached for his teacup with trembling hands.
"Ah, hot!"
Pfft.
"Take your time. And think carefully—about what needs to be done and how. You can leave immediately or take more time to prepare."
"Wh-What exactly do you want from me? Why such a grand...?"
"There are only two things I expect from you and this guild. First, the basic goal of any guild: profit. Second, establish independent connections and trade routes within the Empire, focusing your operations there."
"The... Empire?"
Among the kingdom's major guilds, none failed to trade with the Empire.
Any guild that didn't tap into that massive market could hardly be called a merchant powerhouse.
But Logan's second condition didn't seem to refer to ordinary trade routes.
"No need to overthink it. Just do what you do best—trade well and build reliable connections. Within the Empire."
Despite Logan's reassurance, Philip's gaze grew heavier.
He's sharp, I'll give him that...
In his past life, the "Golden Bug" had risen from refugee origins to become one of the Empire's top ten merchants.
Of course, even with MacLaine's banner and an international guild, no amount of time or capital could replicate the influence the Golden Bug had wielded in his past life.
The Empire might value ability, but it didn't treat foreigners the same as its own citizens.
If anything, they discriminate ruthlessly.
Renouncing one's nationality to naturalize in the Empire was only possible for those who'd proven exceptional ability.
At the very least, one had to be knight-level, a mage, or a merchant of self-made success to even qualify.
Even then, under the pretext of "proving loyalty," naturalized citizens were prioritized for conscription in state affairs for ten years.
So, until the Empire's war, the most Logan could expect from Philip was establishing significant influence in the eastern Empire.
The extent of that influence—how far the talent that had once been the Golden Bug could bloom—remained to be seen.
"What level of connections are you expecting? It doesn't sound like you mean simple trade partners. Are we talking about information exchange? Or... connections that would never betray us?"
"...The latter would be ideal."
Difficult, but Logan had set the bar high to gauge Philip's reaction.
"That would require people and time."
"What?"
"I'd need established merchants with firm trade networks in the Empire's major cities and at least five years. Starting from scratch, that condition is too demanding."
Philip's unexpected reply was, fortunately, within acceptable limits.
"That's manageable."
"Pardon?"
"Then I'll assign you the people—go ahead and try."
"Uh, Young Master... You did hear me correctly, right?"
"Yep. In fact, I've already called the exact person you'd want. Dwain, send him in."
"Understood."
Dwain, who had been watching uneasily, moved with slow steps.
Philip stared back and forth between Logan and Dwain in disbelief.
"...Huh? That's not something you can just pull off so easily...?"
An established merchant with firm trade networks in the Empire's major cities? Simple in theory, but there were barely any such people in the kingdom.
One had died in the recent civil war.
Another's family had fallen into ruin.
And the last one was—
Creak.
"...Huh?"
"You called for me, Young Master Logan?"
"Ah, come now, Uncle. No need to be so formal. I told you to speak comfortably."
Despite Logan's rare hospitality, the man's expression remained as if he'd bitten into something foul.
The current head of the Cairos Merchant Guild—one of the kingdom's top three guilds, renowned for grain trade—and heir to the Cairos family: Beron Cairos.
"The head of the Cairos Guild will assist you in managing the guild. His connections alone are immense, wouldn't you say?"
"Whoa..."
Philip let out an involuntary gasp.
"Now, Uncle, greet him properly. This is Philip Claude, who'll be leading the MacLaine Merchant Guild."
Sigh... "At least he has a family name. Is he nobility?"
"No. I don't know about distant ancestors, but right now, I'm just a commoner with a surname."
"And now you expect me to work under a commoner...?"
"Got a problem? Hmm. Seems the Cairos family's grown complacent already."
"...Fine. I'll do my best to assist."
"Pleasure to work with you, Lord Beron Cairos."
"Y-Yes. Likewise."
"Just to be clear—all final decisions in trade matters lie with Philip. Your role, Uncle, is to introduce connections and provide support. Understood?"
"O-Of course."
The forced smile replacing his grimace was almost painful to watch, but Philip could genuinely grin.
Two months ago.
When Juan Douglas's head had rolled during the MacLaine battle.
The Cairos family had been among the first to surrender.
Their knight order had already been crushed, and their remaining forces were negligible—they'd had no choice.
But even afterward, the Cairos family's future remained bleak.
One of the families now ruling the post-civil war kingdom was MacLaine—whom Cairos had once coldly abandoned.
Their fate seemed destined to be miserable.
In the end, Simon Cairos, the aging patriarch, had no choice but to swallow his pride and plead with his daughter.
- Please, save us. Aren't we still your birth family?
When Marian received that letter, she relayed it to Logan with a deeply apologetic expression.
"You can ignore it, Logan. I'm just passing it on as a daughter's duty. After all, I was the daughter they cast out."
"No, Mother. It's perfect timing—I needed this."
Logan accepted the proposal with a laugh.
Thanks to that, Beron Cairos had come to MacLaine, and the MacLaine Merchant Guild's launch could proceed smoothly.
And now.
A massive merchant procession, bearing the flame-crest banner, stood ready to depart from the heart of MacLaine Town.