Tycoon Marygold (4)
Thinking about it, the trading companies in this world were quite different from 21st-century corporations. In a civilization where even the concept of division of labor barely existed, a trading company was just a group formed by people who basically said, "We'll do anything for money!"
In that sense, the Mary Trading Company had been a bit unusual from the start.
"We're dealing in salt! Only salt! We'll gather up every last grain of salt across the entire continent, stockpile it here, and sell it when the price skyrockets!"
"What about leather, oil, spices?"
"We're only buying salt!"
"Beeswax or honey...?"
"Only salt!"
"Fabrics...?"
"Salt!"
For years, something must have happened, because Marygold fixated on salt like it was her lifeline, stubbornly dealing in nothing else. When Lancel later asked why, she explained:
"While traveling for business, I once crossed the plains without any salt... ugh..."
"..."
Marygold shuddered as if reliving the trauma. Yeah, figures it'd be something like that, Lancel thought. Right on the mark, as expected.
Of course, he never tried to talk her out of it. This loop was meant for vacation, so he didn't want to meddle too much. And conveniently, salt prices were about to skyrocket right around this time—thanks to the escalating wars on the horizon.
In war, salt is the most essential commodity.
Wherever large groups of people gathered, massive amounts of salt were needed. Armies ran out of salted provisions would hit rock bottom morale, too demoralized to fight. Lancel knew firsthand just how devastating it could be for soldiers to go without that simple salty taste. The dizzying rush when even a pinch of salt finally hit his tongue—the blood surging to his scalp, the overwhelming surge of life—it was ecstasy. He'd never felt anything like it in the blessed 21st century.
His obsession with seafood back then might have stemmed from spending most of those early loops on the battlefield.
The kid's just salt-starved, that's all.
Salt. In just three more years, a special tax would be slapped on it. The imperial family wouldn't sit idly by while commoners like them traded such a precious resource.
Purchase price of salt has risen 7.5x!
Rumors spread that the Mary Trading Company's warehouses are piled mountain-high with salt!
※ Shady buyers offering up to 10x—sell on the sly for a quick profit?
And sure enough, salt prices soared as predicted. Lancel didn't even need to go sell it himself—merchants flocked to Dante Viscountcy with their wagons after hearing the rumors.
"Kahahaha! Tell all our territory's folk to drop farming starting today! Get 'em hammering rock salt quick!"
"Eek!"
Lancel could only let out a hollow chuckle as Viscount Dante, decorum forgotten in the face of gold, hoisted Marygold onto his shoulder and danced about.
Trading Company Head Marygold. She'd struck it big.
"I'll revive House Dante to its former glory!"
Her nose was in the clouds by then. And that's when her eccentric antics truly began.
"Hey."
Lancel spotted the 21-year-old Marygold hiding under the blankets.
Something felt off as he lay down in bed. Sensing the clingy presence, he lifted the covers. Marygold lay there, eyes closed, pretending to sleep—breathing steadily as she sneaked closer to him.
Lancel narrowed his eyes at the heat radiating from her body.
"You asleep?"
"..."
Ah, playing that concept, huh?
Lancel reached for the table, grabbed a quill, and lightly tickled her ear with the feather.
"Eek! H-hee!"
She jolted and curled up—but only for a moment. She resumed her sleeping act right away.
"...Asleep?"
"..."
Once more.
"G-gah!"
Exasperating reaction, but she stubbornly stuck to the pretense. Lancel set the quill down and pinched her nose shut. As her mouth gaped desperately, he clamped it too with his hand.
"..."
She's holding out? Thirty seconds, fifty, sixty... Her face flushed beet red, body starting to tremble with effort.
"Puhah!"
She bolted upright, gasping raggedly.
"Ah, um, Benefactor, why are you here...?"
"It's my room, so I came."
"Ah, aaa! I must've mixed up the rooms!"
Awkward performance.
"Too lazy to walk back—mind if I crash here? Night, Benefactor."
"It's a quick stroll. What's lazy about that?"
Marygold brazenly flopped down beside him. This weird behavior had been ramping up lately. Lancel already had his suspicions.
What the hell? Not some other route, but why had that stat spiked so high in the merchant path? Even Lancel couldn't figure it out. One thing was clear: she was a beast right now. A predator eyeing his every vulnerability.
"You must be tired, Benefactor. Sleep well. I'll crash too."
"Hands off."
"...Nowhere else to put 'em..."
Her hand slithered snake-like toward his leg. In the end, Lancel scooped her up and carried her back to her room.
* * *
What was the biggest change when that stat rose? From a gamer's perspective, it meant Marygold could pull off a wider variety of outfits.
Seizing the warmer weather after spring, her indoor attire grew bolder by the day.
"Benefactor."
It started with shoulders bared, then midriffs flashing, even sheer fabrics that teased transparency.
"I'm so tired, Benefactor. Pushed too hard today, I guess. Sigh, weird."
"You left the trading company on auto-hunt all day and say that with a straight face."
"Auto...?"
"It's a thing."
Clinging to him casually was routine now. Overstatement? Only when Lady Dante was watching—unlike her laid-back husband with zero interest in bloodlines, Lancel's mother firmly believed nobles should marry nobles.
The next day.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
Lancel grabbed a trading company member visiting the estate. The man clutched something wrapped in silk, glancing around suspiciously.
"Lemme see what you're carrying."
"Ah, th-this? N-nothing, young master. Just, uh, y'know..."
"If it's nothing, no harm in showing. Hand it over."
"It's r-really nothing..."
Lancel seized the collar of the guy trying to slink away and yanked the package free.
"N-no, don't!"
"What's this?"
A small wooden box inside the silk. Opening the lid released a sweet fragrance—round, compact balls.
Medicine? Poison? Lancel's glare sharpened, and the man prostrated himself.
"Th-the head sent me for this! She begged—please keep it secret! I was just sneaking it in, I swear...!"
"So what is it?"
"Y'know... that stuff noble ladies crave. Expensive medicine."
Noble ladies?
The man gestured vaguely. Lancel got it instantly and closed his eyes.
"...Give it here."
"Y-yes... Young master, please don't tell her I got caught..."
Lancel waved him off. Even he didn't want to meddle in Marygold's private life that much.
That stat's influence too, huh.
The next day, Marygold puffed out her chest around Lancel, flaunting something.
"My shoulders are so stiff lately. Why's that, Benefactor? Overdid work? Hmm, weird. Any guesses?"
"..."
"Ugh, so tight. Odd."
Lancel, knowing the full story, stonewalled her. Stimulate her, and she'd just order more periodically. That stuff was pricey.
"Feels like I got scammed."
"What?"
"It's a thing."
Soon after, a dejected Marygold moped around the estate, shoulders slumped.
"...It was expensive."
Plenty more incidents like that cropped up. But time marched on in Dante Viscountcy—one year, two. When Marygold finally hit twenty-three...
She'd finally earned the title of tycoon. Mind-blowing for a girl who'd once hustled three-card monte in the village streets. Still a long way from continent's richest, though.
Soon after, ominous news trickled in from across the empire.
"Looks like war's breaking out."
That evening, Viscount Dante dropped the bombshell during dinner. Everyone's eyes turned to him.
"War's always happening somewhere."
Lancel's question drew a headshake.
"If it were with enemy states, sure. But this is different. Civil war—inside the empire."
Ah. That. Memories from old loops flashed by like a montage.
Civil war within the empire. The very conflict he'd poured years into before.
"His Majesty seems to be... gone from this world."
"Husband! Watch your mouth—walls have ears!"
Lancel's mother startled, but the viscount merely stroked his chin.
"Everyone'll know soon enough. Supply issues sparked a mutiny on the eastern front—salt shortage, they say."
"What?"
Marygold blinked blankly. The viscount waved it off.
"Don't worry—not your fault, Mary Trading Head. Our stockpile's a drop in the continent's bucket. Real issue's the other companies copying us, hoarding like idiots."
So she'd kicked it off, even if indirectly. Lancel got the picture.
"The Fifth Prince on the front learned of His Majesty's absence and rallied troops. If true... this war will decide the empire's next master."
Civil war. War of the brothers. The opening shot of a massive conflict—not just for the throne, but engulfing the continent.
This spark's the Fifth Prince, huh.
Timing and triggers varied across loops, but one certainty: the empire would fracture. Slowly or swiftly, splintered into factions, ushering in a new Warring States era.
Back to pre-empire days. A familiar voice echoed in his mind.
"Then..."
In the heavy silence, Marygold spoke up tensely.
"Should we raise salt prices more starting tomorrow?"
"..."