New Deals Are Always Welcome!
"New deals are always welcome!"
"This is getting tiresome."
The Crown Prince's rampage continued at the marquess conference. Whose was the Bart family's gold vein? Wasn't it principally the imperial family's possession? Or why was the Northern army—which had essentially received the Emperor's permission—trying to move on its own whims? He kept spouting such nonsense.
The marquesses seemed accustomed to the Crown Prince's words, offering no real retort.
The Colum family marquess couldn't hide his disappointment. He'd thought the tyranny might change, but nothing had.
"We can ignore the Crown Prince's words. I'd like to get back to business."
"Very well."
I brushed off the Crown Prince with a single phrase. No matter how much he flailed, what he could offer was limited. If the Emperor himself had come, it might have been different—but what profit could there be from a powerless Crown Prince?
"House Cadla is currently in dire shortage of magic stones."
House Cadla, rulers of the western desert. But due to the desert terrain, they often lacked basic resources—especially anything mined from mountains. They relied heavily on the unending oases within the desert for food, too. Unlike the North, their structure was extremely vulnerable to environmental changes. They couldn't cool the desert or enrich the soil.
"Doesn't passing through Bart territory get you to Cadla quickly?"
"Yes, but distance-wise, it's not that close."
"A day or two?"
"At least three days, plus the terrain issue of crossing the desert."
I pondered. Then it hit me: set up a magic stone storage facility in Bart territory, or a processing plant, and use it as a midpoint. Cadla wasn't the most appealing trade partner, but linking them like blocks could work. A Bart-Cadla-North triangle formation. Economically, it seemed solid.
"I, this body, do not permit such trade or deals in principle..."
"We'll overlook the magic stones for now—what does House Cadla have to offer?"
"Hear this, House Cadla! By imperial law, inter-house trades..."
House Cadla mulled it over. They didn't have gold like Bart, and food heading north would rot en route. Besides, the North wasn't starving enough to buy from Cadla—we were fuller-bellied than they were, if anything.
"What about salt, carpets, dyes?"
"Hmm, that's still a bit short."
"If Bart permits, how about setting up a processing facility there to establish a direction?"
"If you pay the right price, the gap could narrow."
From some point, House Cadla ignored the Crown Prince entirely. The North and Cadla had similarities: isolated by desert or harsh access, they enjoyed de facto autonomy. They had their own food supplies and little reliance on the Empire.
"Salt and dyes are tempting, but how long do you think our magic stones will last?"
"Do you have a maximum quantity in mind?"
"At least fifty wagonloads."
"Fifty wagons! Hmm..."
Among these traders, the one most on edge was Marquess Roland von Bart of House Bart. Ah, such a sweet deal—and it mustn't leak out. Why did it feel that way?
Even if the south produced magic stones or iron, it wouldn't hit thirty percent of the North's output. And demand kept surging.
"Plus loans first, and some gold coins."
"Fifty wagons' worth..."
"Don't forget—we're ready to trade immediately if the roads and terms suit."
House Cadla hesitated. Offering this much magic stone was a huge gain, though they'd need a middleman.
"For now, may we send delegates north to refine the proposal?"
"Do so. Marquess Cadla, you're always welcome."
"We'll send delegates to Bart as well."
Marquess Roland nodded. For Bart, anything was profit. No gold mines? Fine—middleman for Cadla worked. Best of all, the Crown Prince squirming helplessly.
"Let's take it slow and align, shall we?"
The other houses stayed silent. Many marquesses still eyed the Crown Prince warily. But they'd get it. Pouring out magic stones like that? Everyone would salivate.
The meeting ended that way. The Crown Prince said nothing till the end—he couldn't. A figurehead had no power here.
Only Baron Remi de Bosch stomped in frustration.
"Have you confirmed arrival at Bart territory?"
"Not yet, sir."
"They should've arrived by today."
The North's first export—the moment our strength reached outward.
After the meeting, I returned to my lodgings without a word.
"O-oh, you're back?"
Daniela, flustered, hurriedly hid something. What was it?
"Hiding something?"
The duke couldn't contain his curiosity. I trailed her doggedly. She clutched what looked like a book—but a cover I'd never seen, unfamiliar in the North.
"What is it? Hand it over!"
"N-no! My lord!"
I chased her around the room like laps in a race. Crashes and bangs echoed wildly.
Finally, I grabbed her shoulder and scooped her up like a princess. She was a princess.
"What were you reading?"
"N-nothing!"
"Snapping at me now?"
"W-when did I..."
I laid Daniela on the bed—thunk—and a book popped out like an item drop. Red cover. Glimpsing the pages inside... oh,
"You've been reading this?"
"Th-that!"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Heh heh heh—I couldn't wipe the grin off my face. The duke blushing crimson. What to do with this woman? The North could wait a bit...
Clatter-clatter-clatter—an endless train of wagons rolled into Bart castle.
Flanked by soldiers in leather armor on oddly small horses.
Northern merchants. Merchants, sure—but packed five to a wagon.
"Wh-what is all this?"
Bart officials panicked. Nearly all staff were out, handling resources and merchants.
The Northern merchants were shockingly tough—physically, mentally, devouring the officials.
"No way! No way! For this volume, we deserve a whole gold vein!"
"F-first, let's verify."
"You settle the deal clean before accepting goods!"
One merchant pinned an official, demanding a contract. Others too. Empty-handed ones declared,
"We're here to scout money-making spots in Bart territory."
Boldly. Vacant land here? They'd buy if tradable.
"F-first! We'll seat the merchants separately. Goods first!"
"No! Verify goods first!"
Some friction, but officials checked the goods.
Magic stones: fifteen wagons. Iron ore: ten. Not huge on iron, but top quality—straight to forges.
"Whoa, the magic stones..."
Piled black, fifteen wagons full could build a small fortress. But storing it here? No facilities.
"How will you pay?"
"Pr-promissory notes?"
"Nah, we're not buddies. No guarantor?"
Officials flustered by Northern attitudes.
Then stepped up the Northern central bank head. No need usually, but tough merchants needed a Northerner. Someone to sort payments.
"Mr. Jackson, how..."
"One at a time, to me!"
At Jackson's word, merchants surged. Massive volume. Massive goods. No one expected it all at once.