A Quiet Day
A Quiet Day.
Proosia Week. On this blessed day when divinity dwelled in the world, Kaoyan Investigations was quieter than ever. Armida Sister, who was always chattering away, was gone, and even Shura, who trained daily in the outdoor practice yard, was absent.
Both had gone to the Divinum Cathedral.
I'd spent the whole day napping alone on the office sofa, and now I was just staring blankly at the ceiling with wide-open eyes. Right now, I was meticulously counting the growth rings etched into the wooden ceiling panels.
Those intricate curves, densely packed together, presented a new challenge. Even if I counted carefully, the slightest lapse in concentration plunged me into chaos, undoing all my previous efforts.
That's right. This growth ring counting was my mental training exercise. Definitely not just killing time out of boredom.
"Alright. This panel has a total of 47."
I sat up and moved to the opposite sofa, starting on a new panel. This one was even more complex and intricate. It demanded utmost attention.
About twenty rings in, the office door burst open roughly. I jumped up to greet the guest.
"Welcome..."
The man who strode in was Kasim. He stroked his bushy beard and bowed to me.
"My lord. Long time no see."
"Oh, Kasim."
Kasim glanced around as he approached me.
"The office is quite cozy."
"Eh, whatever. Sit here."
"Yes. Thank you."
Kasim settled comfortably on the sofa across from me. I eyed him steadily.
"So, what's up? Got a commission for me or something?"
"No. I was in Kara and stopped by to say hello."
I looked a bit disappointed.
"Really? Then what's bringing you to Kara? It's Holy Proosia Week—no court sessions, right?"
He chuckled. "If there were sessions, I'd be faking illness and bedridden by now."
"Why?"
"Ugh, don't ask. It's driving me nuts. I can tell black from white on the documents—black's the ink, white's the paper—but whether it's right-side up or upside down? No clue. If the guy next to me laughs, it feels upside down; otherwise, maybe right-side up. Anyway, I steer clear of court business."
I snickered.
"Near-sighted, huh?"
Kasim pressed a finger to his lips.
"Shh. Secret. Only my subordinates know for now."
"Subordinates? You're a lord with vassals now."
He waved it off. "Nah, why complicate things? Live easy."
"Still, managing territory needs some basic decorum, no?"
"That's what I'm teaching my kids—literacy. They'll handle it."
"Doubt it. Knowing letters isn't enough."
"Better than their illiterate old man."
"Nah. Better off not knowing than half-assed."
Kasim leaned back on the sofa.
"Doesn't bother me."
"So what'll you do?"
He leaned in close. "That's why I'm here. Word is, factories for spinning and weaving machines are going up on Jores Island."
Anyway, the guy had a nose for money like no other. Among Kara's recent ventures, textiles and fabrics would rake in the biggest profits. Kara would swallow the world's cotton and wool markets whole.
I waved him off. "No way. That's prime royal business—you can't touch it."
"I know."
"Then?"
"The initial batch of machines, right? Sell enough for one or two factories. Make it our family's legacy."
I glared at Kasim rubbing his hands greedily with a smirk. He was eyeing dominance in the global textile market.
But someone would claim it anyway. Better a known face than a stranger. Plus, I had jobs for him.
"Fine, I can swing that."
"Whoa, thanks!"
"And I'll lease you land on Jores Island. Build there."
"Jores Island?"
"Yeah. All cotton and wool heads there. Cheaper logistics if you're close."
Kasim got it instantly and laughed heartily. "Thanks! Haha!"
"But conditions."
"What?"
"Build massive warehouses. Stock 3 million tons of sugar."
Sugar was a mass-produced condiment from the Agenka Continent. Super sweet for candies and sweets, high-calorie for rations, never spoils—practically eternal—and great for preserving food.
Kasim freaked. "Th-three million tons? Not thousand?"
"Yeah."
"What for? Sugar's everywhere on Agenka—no hoarding possible."
"That's why it works. Can or can't?"
No issue. Wholesale sugar on Jores was 2 leaves per 10kg. 3 million tons? 30,000 gold leaves—peanuts. Recoup it dominating textiles.
Buy direct from Agenka source? Even cheaper.
"Possible, but 3 million tons means direct trade with Agenka."
"Figured. And?"
"Need a full trade fleet. More ships."
I nodded. Easy fix.
"Big shipyard building on Jores now. Yosrahim tech—tough, top-notch. I'll sell you 10 large galleons from this year's batch. Deal?"
Sweet offer. Kasim did relay trade, privateering, whaling. Fill sugar holds, then redeploy for profit.
He eyed me warily. "For real?"
"Would I lie?"
He scratched his head. "Sure, but too good. Feels like a scam."
"Fine, add 6 million tons of salt."
"Whoa, 6 million salt? Why?!"
"Just do it."
He glanced around, whispered: "Prepping for war?"
"Nope."
"Then why this much sugar and salt? No other reason but war."
I snapped irritably. "Will you or won't you?"
"Can't say no. Yes. But keep your promise."
"Got it. Relax."
"Hahaha. Thanks."
"Done?"
"Yeah."
"Then go."
"Yes. Enjoy Holy Proosia Week."
Kasim bowed and bolted.
Money drew him here. Despite my no-visitors order, if just hello, he'd sip tea. Nah—business done, gone.
Anyway, Kasim saw nothing but cash.
That heartless bastard...
I shut the office door and hit the streets. Bored of the empty office, even if I used kids as excuse to work.
Festival time—wander till dinner. If too dull, hit the casino.
Man, no incidents anywhere?
I strolled Kara's streets. Festival crowds filled the roads, but thugs lurked. Rare before, but eastern desert migrants surged lately.
I glanced; they met eyes, slunk into alleys.
All bark, no bite.
If living wild, strut openly. These hid from people.
Not me. I bullied strong or weak, bold as brass.
Those punks needed life lessons. I tailed them into alleys via shortcut.
But stopped. Spotted a pathetic sight on a boulevard. A giant froze mid-swing with kitchen knife, then waved wildly.
"Human. Just go."
I dashed to his street stall bench.
"Why hassle a customer? Bad for business. I never mistreat guests—always friendly service."
"Customers vary. No-pay ain't customers."
"Huh? How much cash I've funneled you? Profited big on improved Magic Bullet Launcher relays, right? Name a better patron."
"Strictly, those were leads I chased."
"You profited anyway."
Zenbe scowled.
"Fine. What now?"
"Passing by, saw thugs. Gonna teach 'em life's not that way, spotted you."
"Sigh. Keep chasing then. Why here? Past mealtime."
I scratched sheepishly, eyes gleaming.
"Hoping for business leads."
"None."
"Bull. Plenty if you look. Got one—wanna try?"
"Pass. Probably vampire bait."
I feigned shock. "What do you take me for? I'm noble. My deals uplift humanity's quality of life, promote peace—grand, humanitarian business."
"Shut it. Eat, go."
"C'mon, real opportunity. Great for you."
Zenbe wiped hands on rag, disinterested. "Supply meat to my cart?"
"Nah."
"Then?"
"We take the Blue Earth Tribe. You reclaim chieftain, I trade Chaos Pieces through you."
Zenbe slammed the table. "Talk sense, human!"
"Win-win. You chief, happy; me, cash, happy; humans get Chaos Pieces, happy; orcs import surplus human food, feast, happy. All win."
He snorted. "Wordplay. Blue Earth has a chief. Me reclaiming means war."
"Some sacrifices, sure. But growing pains for human progress. This trade cuts war motives."
"How?"
I shrugged. "Why take Orc Plains? Can't farm it. Humans fight orcs 'cause they invade. Orcs invade 'cause barren lands starve 'em. Humans overflow with food orcs crave; orcs hoard Chaos Pieces we need. Trade 'em—no war."
"Wars still happen."
"Sure. No perfect world. But effort makes happier era. Our duty now."
Zenbe narrowed eyes. "Believe that from you?"
"Logically sound."
"Logic yes. But from you?"
"What?"
"You're no humanitarian preaching peace. Got ulterior motives."
I looked wronged. "Hey, who cares for humanity like me? All I've done..."
"War merchant?"
I barked. "Damn, you say it all. You brokered war weapon trades too. I do it 'cause you begged—loyalty."
(Sure, sold launcher blueprints to nations for cash/perks after, but he started it.)
Zenbe coughed. "Fair. Sorry."
I leaned close. "So let's do it. Profitable, helps humanity?"
"But war on my home tribe? No."
"Hit an easy one then. Your orc mercs miss plains too. Blink for world peace. I'll fight with you."
He swatted me. "Why push? Bored?"
Nailed it. I rolled eyes, speechless.
"Not just..."
He sharpened gaze. "You...!"
"No! Who wars from boredom? Just live better together."
"True, even you wouldn't be that insane."
"Duh. And soon big war—Yosrahim Empire vs. Grollmog."
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Many die."
"Unavoidable. If Yosrahim invades first, orcs fight. We never back down."
I waved. "Nah. Prevent it. You seize tribes, stab in back—Grollmog freezes."
"Help humans?"
"Keep peace."
"But Yosrahim attacks? Orc peace alone stops nothing."
"Not for a bit."
"Why?"
"Yosrahim head got smashed recently. They're scrambling. Prepping war, but leader gone? Awkward limbo."
Zenbe perked. "Cloud Duke vanish?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Dunno. I chewed him out; he laughed maniacally, dipped. I know him—he's distracted, no war mood."
"Really?"
"Yes. You step up, might avert it. Pin Grollmog—no war."
Zenbe conflicted. "Small war to stop big one..."
"Yeah. Necessary sacrifice for greater good."
Then a man ran up yelling. Abdul, palace guard chief.
"My lord! Here you are."
I eyed panting Abdul. "What?"
"Urgent summons from Divinum Cathedral. They seek you."
"Huh? Why?"
"Big incident there. Lord Izenberg needs your help."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Dunno what, but perfect—boredom cured. I stood quick.
"Let's go."
As I turned, Zenbe called. "Human. War to stop Yosrahim-Grollmog?"
I sneered contemptuously. "You orc jerk. War's fine if orcs die nobly vs. Empire, but weak tribe orcs you stab are disposable? Twisted."
"You...!"
"Sell meat, not talk war. Even orcs aren't that cruel. Misjudged you."
Zenbe trembled, roared. "Hey, human!"
"Later."
"Hey!"
His furious yell echoed as I bolted. Another mess at Divinum—perfect diversion.
A Quiet Day. End