Chapter 110
Chapter 110
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 110
Chapter Title: Monster Profits and Rival Delegations
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“On the last day of every month, Big Tusk will drive monsters into the designated hunting ground. For now, we’ll send veterans out by company to hunt them down, and starting three months from now, we’ll fill about two-tenths of the expeditionary force with trainees. They need to get some real combat experience gradually too.”
“Yes, yes.”
“And areas outside the designated hunting grounds will be patrolled by a search party made up of the most elite veterans even among the Falcon Corps members.”
“With the cooperation of the North Mountain, High Mountain, and South Mountain Elf Rangers, we should be able to handle any unexpected situations just fine.”
“I-is that so.”
“That’s right. Anyway, the regular monthly hunts at the end of each month will give us a massive haul of monster byproducts, and the search parties will bring in more irregularly.”
“It won’t be as much as what we got from the Rozin incident last time, but at minimum, we’ll be supplying at least half that amount every month. Vodka, what kind of monthly revenue do you think that’ll bring in?”
“P-please wait just a moment.”
Smirnov swiftly pulled out the portable abacus he always carried and flicked the beads. He looked utterly incredulous as he lifted his eyes and spoke in a trembling voice.
“E-even if we just process and sell them raw, it’s over a million dien a month… And if we turn them into weapons or goods… w-we’re looking at five or six million dien in revenue every month.”
“Th-then in a year… at least sixty million… Eek!”
Yonas yelped in shock.
It was clearly good news, but the staggering sum far beyond his expectations had short-circuited his brain for a moment.
The sly old fox, who prided himself on his wealth ranking in the world’s top ten even if his martial prowess fell short, simply chuckled.
“What’s with the fuss over that much? We’re sucking Pamell County dry, and Yajan too. If Blaho handles things well, we might even suck Sauden dry.”
“Then we could see annual revenue topping a hundred million dien?”
“Guh!”
The reverence for the Ancestor that had dipped just a bit amid his recent deep sense of betrayal shattered all limits, finally knocking the descendant unconscious.
Just like that, another fortnight passed, and two foreign delegations—兼 merchants—arrived in Shionia, the capital of the Sion Dukedom, one day apart.
They hailed from Yajan and Sauden, the Inner Sea’s most famous rivals.
* * *
“Sion Dukedom? Where’s that again?”
“Oh, you know, the territory founded by Duke Jang Sion, one of the Demon Dragon War heroes. The place where elves and dwarves all flocked to.”
“Oh yeah, that backwater. But what about it?”
“Apparently, that Spio Trading Company kid named Bellin had some big score there, took a bunch of guys, got totally wrecked, and came crawling back.”
“Tsk tsk! Rookies, am I right.”
“All greenhorns are like that. So, how bad were the losses?”
“About two hundred mercenaries killed or wounded? They lost two or three ships too. Plus, some knight who’s the proxy for a guy named Handler cleaned their clocks and made them cough up over ten million dien.”
“Oh no! They’re done for.”
“Keek! Might as well snag some Spio shares while they’re down. Perfect opportunity, right?”
“Hmm. They’ll have to sell ships to cover ten million dien, so yeah, they might offer shares. Good chance.”
“Yeah. But I heard some weird rumor from Spio Trading Company?”
“Weird rumor?”
“Yeah. I have no idea what it means, but… something about a ‘hexagonal something’? Bloody Hexagram or whatever…”
“Kyaaaaah!!!”
“Carriage! Get the carriage! No! Bring horses! The fastest ones!”
Yajan’s power brokers and elites had first mocked Bellin and Miuran when they returned groveling, thanking their captors for sparing their lives despite getting their cheeks slapped by one greedy old fox, their hair yanked out, and even some organs ripped away.
They’d gleefully tallied beads on their abacuses, wondering what Spio would offer and what to snap up for bragging rights on a major shopping spree.
But the moment whispers of the “Bloody Hexagram” reached the uppermost echelons, everything flipped.
Those who’d sneered and those who’d anticipated a grand shopping binge were so shocked they toppled over, foaming at the mouth as they raced to Spio Trading Company.
The Bloody Hexagram.
Yajan’s supreme and most vicious treasure—had it truly appeared, and if so, who owned it? They had to know.
Why?
Because in Yajan, even those living high off generational wealth were mere “employees” before the Bloody Hexagram.
Who were they to strut around as power brokers or elites in front of a shareholder?
This wasn’t some minor outfit—it was the top shareholder, holding at least thirty percent and up to forty-nine percent of every trading company from Yajan’s financial number one to number six. Yajan, one of the Inner Sea’s top three mega-port cities!
The top bosses from trading companies one through five (with Spio at six) came charging into Spio like madmen, only to find the rumored Bellin.
“Beat it. The Bloody Hexagram’s owner says they’ll only deal with their contracted partner, Spio Trading Company.”
“GyaAAAAH!”
They didn’t get to meet her.
Bellin had decided to vent her grudge from getting thrashed in Sion Dukedom and signing that sucker contract right here in Yajan.
“P-please! At least tell us who it is! Sion Dukedom, right? Just the connection between the owner and Sion Dukedom…”
“Figure it out yourselves. We’re busy prepping to receive Sion Dukedom’s la-test spe-cial-ty prod-ucts.”
“Latest specialty products!? What are they? Just tell us that much!”
Their titles as Yajan’s power brokers and elites rang utterly hollow as they begged like men ready to headbutt the ground.
Why? Because they were “merchants.”
To merchants, the scariest thing wasn’t a sword-wielding lord or knight—it was someone who could shake their money, checks, and shares.
And now, the Bloody Hexagram’s owner—who could strip them down to their underwear if they wanted—was openly peddling something Spio Trading Company, with its nose for money, hyped as a “latest specialty product”?
‘We have to find out. No matter what.’
Miuran, Bellin’s lover and former pirate boss, grinned toothily at the men whose eyes burned with desire (actually groveling desperation).
“Over one ton total of mid-sized monster byproducts, plus weapons and accessories processed from them. We at Spio Trading Company have first dibs via contract.”
“Urk! Guwaaagh!”
Yajan’s top trading company owners spat blood, their greed marrow-deep.
But even wounded, they didn’t give up.
“You took some ship losses this time, right? We’ve got spares at our company.”
“Hey! Didn’t you brag to me just yesterday about focusing on the Inner Sea south?”
“Listen, Miuran. I’ll rent you three—no, five ships from our fleet at half price! No, make it one-tenth! On a whim! Just let us tag along.”
“Just slip our company name onto the manifest! Yeah?”
“I don’t need much! Even as an attendant, just put my name on it, and I’ll cover half the costs to Sion Dukedom!”
“No, me first!”
“Our company!”
“Uga! Uga!”
“Gyaa! Kyaa!”
Yajan’s financial rankings one through five (Spio at six) went feral like a monkey horde.
Only once Bellin, finally satisfied with the rare chaos, stepped out and agreed to take them all as “attendants” did things settle down.
That was the fiasco in Yajan a fortnight ago.
In contrast, Sauden—the port city in Garen County—was dead silent.
“…….”
“…….”
Unlike Bellin as one of the city elite, Miuran and Gou represented the city itself as “lord’s proxies.” Their colossal blunder left everyone speechless in shock.
And moreover.
“The Sion Dukedom’s demands are simple. In exchange for burying this disgrace, we demand five mid-sized galleys and three sailing ships. Plus, ten shipwrights with over ten years at Sauden’s primary dockyard, delivered within two months.”
“Further, for the mental trauma and physical injuries to Lady Stella Gosan and her tribe, immediate payment of ten kilograms of gold at ninety percent purity, three hundred kilograms of silver, or equivalent certified currency.”
No other than Viscount Joden Blaho of Sion Dukedom—renowned Swordmaster across Sauden and even Guslander Kingdom—had come as envoy.
Flanked by a dashing elf knight, clearly the victim’s fiancé, and a dozen knights who looked the part.
They openly radiated intent to draw swords right in Sauden Castle’s heart if crossed.
So, no matter how entrenched these stagnant old foxes ruling Sauden for generations, they had only one choice.
“W-we’ll provide them!”
Had Blaho’s group—handpicked Falcon Corps vets including Jaetz and Pedro—arrived a few days early with the survivors, the old foxes might’ve scoffed.
They might’ve even mobilized every castle knight and guard to crush them, Swordmaster or not.
But.
Days before Blaho’s party arrived with survivors like Jaetz and Pedro, “certain news” had reached distant Guslander Kingdom and the Garen Count family.
Pamell Count family had been utterly crushed by over a thousand Sion troops (actually, no fight happened).
Two Obla Kingdom territories that poked around for scraps had been razed (one headbutted the ground on their own, the other just swapped lords).
Just marching troops into a foreign dukedom without permission (even Crown Prince Fillon, whom Jaetz trusted, cut ties immediately) was enough to doom not just Sauden but Garen County itself.
And the count’s son and knights had tried to rape there and got caught.
The count’s direct heir beaten half-crippled?
The other attempted rapists, plus knights and troops who tried occupying the castle to cover it up, all slaughtered?
Compared to this scandal spreading worldwide and Sion potentially marching a thousand-strong army, their demands were truly, sincerely “nothing.”
This was about Sauden and Garen County’s survival!
Thus, Sauden’s old foxes agreed to every Sion demand.
They’d inform only the count and heir, so they’d feel the same terror and crushing stress.
For those reasons, Sauden’s old foxes too headed to Shionia with the demanded ships and shipwrights.
And right there, the two culprits (兼 suckers) who’d wronged Sion Dukedom met their respective rivals.
‘You too, huh? Yeah, me too!’
‘Huh? Not me?’
One felt fellow sufferer’s bond, the other suspicion and wariness toward a traditional rival, as they entered the Three-Headed Eagle Castle.
Waiting for them was.
“Welcome, everyone. Perfect weather for negotiations and deals.”
Unmistakably young and handsome, yet with eyes and smile eerily chilling—the deathless old fox, former duke now serving as Falcon Corps instructor.
(To be continued next time)