Buying Low

In a corner of the gardens on the western side of the royal castle of Drail, inside a pavilion where a fountain leapt, First Prince Alonso Drail and the Chancellor sat across from each other at a table of stone.

"It seems the body still hasn't been found?"

"That is correct, Your Highness. We discovered the viscount's corpse, but we could not find His Highness the Third Prince's."

"The boy. Do you suppose he learned of our plan?"

"It is uncertain. But if he lives, the likelihood is high."

"If he lives. And yet—why hasn't he shown himself?"

"He has most likely learned of our plan and gone to ground. And in the shadows, he will seek to grow his strength."

"In the shadows, is it. That boy. Heh. I can scarcely picture it."

His younger brother was a man as far from lies and conspiracies as one could be. A brother with little greed in him, always the first to yield. A fellow who cared for nothing but the swing of a sword, gathering power in secret and spinning plots—it would not come into focus. Judged only by his usual character and conduct, Alonso would not have thought him much of a threat even if he himself took the throne. If only for one thing. If only he had not possessed that genius for the sword, a talent to be set beside the Founder King.

"Through all of history, before power there is neither blood, nor intention, nor mercy. And the moment he learned that we sought his life, vengeance will have been added to the rest. You must not think of him as the Third Prince of old."

He did not agree. Even so, the First Prince made himself nod. Larger in his mind than his own measure of his brother was the sight of that boy drawing an Aura Blade before every watching eye and showing it off with perfect confidence.

"It may be so. Then what are we to do?"

"We find the prince who has hidden himself."

"If he is resolved to stay hidden, by what means?"

"I mean to leave that to specialists. We cannot sit idle until they succeed, so in the meantime we must hasten our own work."

"Our work."

"So that even if His Highness the Third Prince gathers power and returns, he will be unable to overturn the board. To that end, we would do well to first fix the common people's opinion of him in place. That his incompetent handling of the troops invited the defeat, for instance."

"See to it."

"I will act at once."

"What? You want to join the mercenary corps?"

The question slipped out of me before I knew it, a check that I had heard him right. The man seated across the table was none other than the Third Prince, Argon Drail.

"That's right. I am asking whether I might enter your mercenary company."

"Uh. Heh. Heheh. Th-that's..."

Even after we had come out of the valley together, Argon had neither returned to the royal castle nor sent any word. He had shut himself inside the tent I prepared for him and would not come out, like a man with a screw missing. Well. Betrayed, and knowing who stood behind the betrayal, he might have no wish to walk back into that castle. But sharing a roof and a pot with a prince was an discomfort all its own. I endured it for several days, and was just about to ask the Third Prince what he meant to do from here, when strange rumors began to travel the market streets.

And so on, in that vein. The Third Prince, whose head already looked too full, answered the rumors drifting through the market with a self-mocking smile. A few more days passed. Then he appeared at the meal and made a proposal I had not expected. I was ready to be glad he had recovered a little from the blow to his spirit, and instead he wanted, out of nowhere, to join the mercenary corps.

Absolutely not. How miserable it is, going about in attendance on a master.

"I'm grateful you would say so, but a small company like ours would be hard-pressed to attend a person of Your Highness's station."

"It is quite all right. In the days I have stayed here, I have felt not the slightest discomfort. The tent is warmer than an inn, if anything. And the washing, the latrine—they seem far cleaner as well."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Of course they did. Everything the prince used had been fitted out for my own exclusive use.

"Even so. As you can see, neither my mercenary corps nor my company can pay a man such as Your Highness. You would do better to look for a larger place."

"If it is money, there is no need. I will substitute this. For my board, it should be more than enough."

The prince drew a wooden case from his robes and held it out. That case. I took it and lifted the lid. Nestled between cotton and cloth lay a single small glass bottle. A highest-grade potion. One of them was worth five hundred gold. Reckon it as healing sick slaves and selling them on, and you would have to move a hundred bodies to match it—a precious thing. Of course my mouth watered. I had seen the effect once before, and it had looked certain enough. A wound deep enough to split a man's flank had closed and healed on the spot from a single bottle.

Even so, I had no intention of going about with a master perched on my head.

"Honestly, even if you give me this, it's difficult. You say you'll join the corps, but from where I stand I would have to attend Your Highness. Escorting a man of high rank is hardly a simple thing..."

"Do not trouble yourself over that. If I enter the corps, I will be one of its number and obey your orders."

"What? Ah—no. How could I give orders to Your Highness?"

"I mean it. Should I ever disobey you, you may drive me out of the corps whenever ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you please."

He was only saying it because he was cornered. A man going into the privy and a man coming out of it are two different creatures—I swallowed the words, and the Third Prince went on.

"You don't need to go that far."

This other world weighed credit differently—words, above all. It was a world where mana existed. The force held in a spoken word moved mana, and the mana that moved worked miracles. Sometimes as magic. Sometimes in the shape of aura. And so, for those of high station, and especially for those who trained in mana, a word was something that had to be kept. Hearing the prince go that far eased my worry a little. Something still remained, though. The faction behind the attempt on his life. If it became known that I was keeping company with the prince, those bastards would not leave me be. Taking on a risk I didn't need was a burden. And yet, to refuse him again to his face after he had gone so far as to swear...

Damn it. Once more I cursed the foot that had stomped the brake in that valley. What was done was done. It wasn't a formal contract yet. If it truly wouldn't do, I could just gather up the gold I had and run for Earth. Thinking that, I felt considerably lighter. Since it had come to this, I might as well feed some other appetite.

"Very well. But I have a condition."

"Go on. Speak."

"Teach me swordsmanship."

Aren't the stories common enough—Earthlings crossing into another world and becoming sword masters? Japanese manga is full of them. Web novels too. You never know. I might discover a talent for the sword I had never shown on Earth and climb to some supreme realm...

Goddamn it!

Argon spoke.

"The foundation is what matters. The foundation. A trunk grows tall only when the roots are sound."

Under his instruction I had been swinging a wooden sword for an hour. A copper taste of blood filled my mouth, and my heart hammered as if it meant to leap out of my throat. An hour passed, and then another thirty minutes, and I sank down where I stood and set the wooden sword on the ground.

"What are you doing?"

"Aigoo. I can't do any more. I'd be a hundred times better off just practicing magic."

I had agreed to take him into the corps, and we had settled how we would address each other. If we couldn't even settle that, the nagging of it would make the days ahead unbearable. Argon stared at me as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

"Giving up already? We have only just begun."

Thinking on it, it had been foolish to imagine learning swordwork when I had guns. And past thirty, at that.

"A caterpillar ought to stick to pine needles. I suppose my thinking was too short. I'm better off devoting myself to magic and to running the company."

"No. It will not do for a noble to take back his own word."

That damned nobility. Those damned words.

"Then let's count that request as kept by teaching that fellow instead."

Maximus, standing at my back, was still swinging a wooden sword through the same motion. Sweat poured off him like rain, but the arm that held the sword never wavered, carrying the wooden blade along its set path. I had called him in when I set out to learn the sword myself. I had decided to make him my personal bodyguard, and it had seemed wise to have him learn it. Still sitting on the ground, I gestured. The blonde who caught the gesture came over with a towel and a gourd of water. I took the towel, wet it, and wiped the sweat from my face. Seeing that, Argon turned his gaze toward Maximus, as a man does when there is nothing more to be done.

"Then I will teach this one in your place."

"Let's do that, Argon."

I left Maximus to him and was getting to my feet when Marco, who had gone out, returned right on cue.

"Captain. I'm back."

"Good. Perfect timing."

Under the weight of Argon's glare, I needed to be seen doing something else.

"Yes. As you said, the market is heaped with goods worth having. The castle's own sales yard in particular was buried in things put up for sale."

I had sent Marco to look over the sick and the wounded who had come onto the slave market. A battle of thousands had been fought, and the wounded numbered in the hundreds, the thousands. Injured slaves couldn't be worked at once and would only eat coin, so I had expected them to be dumped on the market cheap.

"And the prices?"

"It depends on their condition. As you said, the ones who need more than a month of treatment and rest are generally around thirty to fifty silver."

That was a fifteenth, a twentieth, of the price of a healthy adult male.

"For now, scrape up every one you can. And buy some carts to haul them in."

"Yes, Captain."

That same day I made the rounds of the market in earnest, keeping clear of Argon's reproachful eye. What I wanted were slaves burning with fever from wounds gone to infection. In the ordinary course, if such cases didn't receive proper treatment, more than a third died of the fever. From a seller's side, it was safer to clear the stock even at a loss. The battle had left the market overflowing with injured slaves besides. Every slave I saw who could not even stand properly for the fever, I bought. Gathering them that way, I was past a hundred before I knew it.

With the numbers so large, I moved the camp outside the walls of Drail as well, and set it not far from the gate point that ran back and forth to Earth. From the market I bought tents, firewood, and provisions in bulk. I set No. 1 and No. 2, Maximus, and the IS trainer slaves—recovered enough by now—to hang a great cauldron, throw in grain and vegetables, slice in heaps of meat drawn from the magic pouch, and set it boiling. The taste ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was nothing much, but what we fed the slaves was pure nutrition, so it hardly mattered. We fed them their fill. Likewise we spread blankets over ground warmed by charcoal and laid the injured down to sleep, and before they slept I didn't forget the antibiotics, the fever reducers, and the painkillers.

I pressed a wad of several kinds of pills into Marco's hand and explained.

"This is medicine. Feed it to them three times a day, after meals."

"Yes, Captain."

"And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠buy up the slaves. As many as you can get. Whatever comes."

Fail to take a fat cut off a chance like this, and I had no business calling myself a trader. All that remained now was to wait on the recovery of the people of Gaia. Looking at the slaves asleep on the ground, I could see I would be staying here a while. Since it had come to this, I might as well make a trip to Earth in the meantime. I took No. 1 and one of the trainer slaves, and crossed the gate.