Tycoon Marygold (6)

13. Rumble, rumble! Hooves kicked up dirt from the ground in a frenzy. Dozens of torch-bearing cavalrymen charged across the field. At the far end of their pursuit, a single knight in a billowing black cloak came into view. Despite the overwhelming odds, he showed not a hint of hesitation. Instead, he accelerated straight toward them.

"B-block him! Hurry!"

A man draped in a red cloak screamed obsessively.

Bam! The dozens of riders collided head-on with the lone horseman. Crack, crunch—a chain of shattering sounds erupted.

"Gaaah!"

"M-my, ar-arm...!"

The screams came from the side with the numbers. In the black-cloaked knight's wake, flesh sprayed and blood swirled.

"Aaaagh!"

"B-block him, nooo!"

"He's coming this way!"

Each flash of his blade sent another cavalryman tumbling. It sliced through armor and severed muscle and bone at the root. The black cloak passed unscathed through the dozens of riders—spurring his horse toward the red-cloaked commander who had fallen back at a distance.

"Th-this crazy bastard...!"

Terror soaked the red-cloaked man's face.

"D-do you know who I am? This is treason! Treason!"

14. Finding a single person named Marygold would have been impossible no matter how much time was given. But tracking the massive caravan of the Mary Merchant Company was another matter entirely.

"The Salt Guild? They were something else."

In the first village, they gossiped about the grandeur of the Mary Merchant Company.

"They stopped here briefly, but there wasn't enough lodging in the whole village, so they pitched tents across the entire field. What a sight! Those moneybags paid four times the price for a single bottle of booze...!"

"Which way did they go?"

"Huh? Straight down this road to the plains, they said."

In the second village, tales emerged of the Mary Merchant Company's overwhelming mercenary band.

"That forest over there. Remnants from the Bellog Kingdom had gathered, turning it into a bandit haven, and those fools actually dared to mess with the Salt Guild?"

"What happened?"

"Just bones left, strung out in front of the village. Want to take a look? The wild dogs have picked most of 'em clean already."

By the third village, stories of Marygold herself surfaced.

"She stood out. A young woman leading such a huge company? I thought she was nobility."

"Anything else you remember?"

"The biggest rumor was her showdown at the castle warden's fortress over there."

"Castle warden? You mean the lord?"

"Who else?"

"A noble and a merchant guildmaster clashed?"

"Yup. And this guy's no ordinary noble—demanded twenty gold coins in tolls."

"No better than a bandit."

"She fleeced him in one round of poker, then walked off with ten gold from him instead. Felt good watching that pompous ass get his."

"......"

Fearless or brainless? Marygold had nerves of steel.

Lancel felt some of the fatigue from the long journey lift at the news. It was just like her—for better or worse.

Passing the fourth and fifth regions, they finally reached a village near the war front.

"Don't even mention the Salt Guild here."

Lancel sensed the shift in atmosphere.

"Those folks were called traitors not long ago."

"Traitors?"

"Yeah. Traitors."

A roadside peddler had recoiled and lowered his voice at the name Mary Merchant Company.

"They raked in cash like it was nothing while they were here. I was gutted thinking how much silver I'd have made if I'd been there."

"How well did they do?"

"Practically every supply heading to the war front went through the Salt Guild. And that guildmaster woman? A real pro at selling."

"What's this about traitors?"

"Sold too well—ended up supplying the rebels too."

Ah. Lancel rubbed his forehead.

"Not like she did it on purpose."

"Probably not. She knew enough to value her life."

No matter how bold Marygold was, she'd know selling to rebels meant her head on a pike.

"But if His Highness the Prince says you sold, then you sold."

"......A prince?"

"You know the one. Temperamental. Infamously cranky."

No need to say more. Only one royal fit that description, infamous enough for a mere peddler to badmouth.

6th Prince Kariel Craig Phrigia.

"They stripped her bare in the end. Refuse to hand it all over? Traitor."

The Mary Merchant Company had backing. Viscount Dante held half the shares. But confiscating it all? Only the 6th Prince could pull that off. Nobles might whisper behind his back, but he didn't care. He did whatever the hell he wanted.

"If you're hunting Salt Guild folks, give it up. They've all slunk back home by now. What can merchants do without money? At least they kept their necks."

"......Even the guildmaster?"

"Guildmaster? Oh, that woman?"

The peddler, packing up his wares, replied indifferently.

"Her? I heard she died."

......

"D-do you know who I am? This is treason! Treason!"

To the 6th Prince's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rasping scream, Lancel raised his sword hilt.

"And if it is treason, then what?"

"......!"

The blade pierced the 6th Prince's heart to the hilt. A strangely nostalgic sensation. This bastard gave good resistance, even if he was a prick. Bad habit forming.

"How many more times do you need to die before you learn, Kariel?"

Blood spurted as he yanked the sword free. Leaving the prince to convulse and fall from his horse, Lancel swiftly withdrew.

A single ambush had routed dozens of imperial guards and claimed the 6th Prince's life. But rumors twisted it nicely: "The 6th Prince fell to rebels!"

15. Months after sending the hated bastard to his grave, Lancel arrived at a quiet rural fief.

He wouldn't claim there was no regret. He hadn't achieved his goal in racing here.

But brushing off such regrets without a stir was Lancel's only option.

'Leaves a bad taste.'

Gazing at the setting sun, Lancel reflected on the past decade. Saving Marygold from a beating, rescuing her from the noose, tracking her as a bandit, chasing her trail to the war front when her news cut off...

Looking back, it clicked.

'My vacation got royally fucked.'

What could he do? Shit happens.

'Worst case, I loop again and play.'

Lancel decided to take it easy.

As dark night fell, people gathered before the inn: travelers, deserters, vagrants, lowlifes.

"Come on! Money down, money up!"

Shell game. Fittingly, his first meeting with Marygold this loop had that vibe. The air, the stench, the mood—all the same. Nostalgic, somehow.

He turned toward the noisy crowd.

"Too bad! Better luck next time!"

"What the hell...!"

Men encircled the shell-game hustler.

"You conning bitch, who do you think you're fooling?"

"Con? Where'll you find someone as fair as me?"

"I saw it all, don't play dumb!"

Yeah, yeah. Peaceful as ever.

"Nothing uglier than a sore loser, ptui!"

"You goddamn bitch!"

Huh?

"Keok!"

Lancel watched the woman crumple, nose bleeding. Cropped hair, hat pulled low, ragged clothes and robe. Bundled up to hide her identity.

Déjà vu hit hard. His instincts rarely missed.

'Marygold?'

He hadn't recognized her at first. But now he was sure.

"Give me my money back, you fraud...!"

"Eek!"

She curled up against the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠incoming fist.

"......?"

No impact came. She cracked open her squeezed-shut eyes.

"What're you doing?"

Their eyes met. Just like that first day.

In this war-torn region, this quiet village was the only spot left. Meeting like this wasn't odd. If he'd known she was alive and wandering, he'd have scoured the place sooner. He'd assumed her dead—figured it wouldn't be weird if Marygold had kicked it by now—so he'd overlooked her right under his nose.

"......Benefactor?"

Marygold's eyes trembled.

No reaction came. How much time passed?

"W-wrong person!"

"......!"

She bolted. Lancel stared, dumbfounded by the unexpected response, then chased and grabbed her wrist.

"Running away?"

"B-benefactor..."

Her tear-streaked face turned to him under the moonlight.

"......Heard you died. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Y-yes? I-I'm fine... alive, I sent a letter saying that..."

He hadn't gotten it. Probably left before it arrived.

"But why."

"......"

Lancel waited for her to speak.

'Why not come home and pull this shit here.'

The meaning was clear. If alive, return—that was normal.

After stifled sobs and hiccups, she finally spoke.

"No face to show..."

Ridiculous.

"One or two days' work? You owe me faces all the time."

"But I said I'd return a tycoon..."

"Sorry, no expectations. Thought you'd be fine as long as you weren't a total bum."

"That's mean!"

"You are a bum now."

"......Principal..."

"......?"

"Just recovering the principal... then I'd go back..."

"With shell games? That massive sum?"

The amount confiscated ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠by the prince was astronomical. Over half her lifetime earnings poured into that grand caravan. Recovering solo? Impossible.

"You think that'll work?"

"Auuu."

Lancel grabbed her head with both hands and squished.

"Euu, auwk, auuuuk!"

Kneading her face until it was mush finally eased his frustration.

"Come on."

He dragged her by the arm to his lodging.

* * *

That night, Lancel and Marygold swapped full stories of the interim.

"Benefactor... did you come looking for me?"

"Why else would I drag my ass to this nowhere?"

Her expression was priceless—wavering between tears and laughter.

"Want to make money? Go home first. Get proper investment, rebuild step by step. Hustling shells alone? Hundred years won't cut it—you know that."

"Y-you won't chase me out?"

"Want me to?"

If he'd only waited a year blankly, none of this. He'd raced here for one reason.

'Knew she'd pull something like this.'

Déjà vu. Leave her alone, she veers off the rails—that was Marygold.

"We leave at dawn tomorrow. Got it?"

"......Yes."

She bowed her head, then rummaged and pulled something out.

"Here."

"......?"

"Dobern region's famous tea leaves..."

"......"

Lost all her money but kept that? Lancel chuckled dryly.

In the end, he drank the tea she'd begged him to try. A pleasant aroma that brought sleepy drowsiness.

As night deepened, her body pressed close. Her feverish warmth seeped through his cool arm.

"Benefactor."

Her swollen, bruised face drew near. Pathetic state, but her eyes sparkled anew.

"I'll start over. This time, success—I'll become a tycoon for sure. No."

Yeah, yeah. Do that. Few months till regression anyway.

"I'll be the empire's richest. And I'll claim you too, Benefactor!"

"......? Why claim me?"

"'Cause I'm a tycoon."

What merchant talk.

"Then... you'll stay with me, right?"

Her voice pleaded. Lancel gave the same reply.

"I'll think positive."

* * *

Next morning, Lancel and Marygold set off on the months-long journey home—circling the continent back to the Dante family. Feeling summer's approach, occasional detours for chats. Nothing particular to do, but time slipped away when he blinked. Leisurely travel.

"Almost there, Benefactor."

On a flower-crowned hill, Marygold—wearing a floral crown—beamed. June already. Her twenty-fifth birthday.

"Gaaah! Bee! Benefactor, bee! Bumblebee! Hiiiik!"

"Take off what's on your head."

"But it's pretty...!"

And so ten years passed.

......

......

......

"What the hell is this."

Lancel couldn't hide his bafflement. Absurd ending? Par for the course. Allure off the charts? Knew it. The issue was that weird 'First Experience' achievement. No such memory for him. Swear it. If anything, Marygold's doing. She'd pulled some stunt, no doubt.

But that wasn't all nagging him.

'Memory Inheritance?'

The term felt ominous.

And then.

"Young master, this girl here is the new maid. Name's Mary."

"......?"

Marygold had come to him.