Thanks for the Free Giveaway
The heart of the empire, the imperial palace's audience chamber, was shrouded in heavy silence. The ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling poured out dazzling light, but the faces of the gathered imperial heavyweights were grim as could be.
"The traitor Volf... has already been executed?"
A crumpled report from a courier in the eastern empire lay at his feet. His voice carried more intrigue than surprise.
"Yes, Your Highness. The situation was resolved before the main imperial knight order even arrived."
The chamberlain swallowed dryly as he continued his report. "The criminal Volf, stripped of his title for dabbling in forbidden black magic. He turned into a monster and rampaged... but in the end, his head was severed."
"They took down that monster without the knight order."
Louis stroked his chin, a sly smile curling his lips. The empire had detected Volf's corruption and issued an extermination order. But their scenario had been elite knights storming in for a siege that lasted days before subduing him. And now, some ragtag frontier militia had pulled it off?
"Who lopped off his head? Was there a decent mercenary band nearby?"
"Well..."
The chamberlain glanced toward a middle-aged noble standing off to one side of the audience chamber.
"The one who commanded and carried out the extermination... was young Lord Kyle von Airhart."
Silence blanketed the chamber in an instant. Louis's gaze slowly shifted to the middle-aged noble: Duke Theodor von Airhart.
"Duke Airhart."
The scion of an imperial noble house and Kyle's own father.
"...Yes, Your Highness."
"Your third son, wasn't it? The mana-blind reject you shipped off to the boonies."
The crown prince's lip twisted in clear mockery.
"The family disgrace pulls off something impressive, huh? Taking down a black mage even the imperial knights shy away from."
The duke's face flushed with shame. To him, Kyle was as good as nonexistent. A defective product who couldn't sense mana. His very existence was a stain on the ducal house.
"You're too kind. It was luck... or some despicable trick we don't know about."
The duke forced calm as he bowed his head.
"No way a mana-less wretch beat that monster fair and square. Probably poison or a trap—some cheap victory."
"Yeah, probably just luck."
Crown Prince Louis nodded as if agreeing. He had no desire to see a mana-less nobody become a hero. But the matter had to be handled. The traitor was dead, but the land he'd left behind—Volf County—was still a headache.
"The traitor's dead, but that land's already a wasteland choked with poison mist and beasts. Leave it be, and monsters will flood into the empire's heartland."
Louis's eyes gleamed with cunning. He tapped the report with a finger.
"But dumping imperial funds into rebuilding? The treasury's not flush enough. Who'd take on that cursed dump?"
Then, a brilliant idea flashed through Louis's mind. The thorn in his side claiming credit for the extermination. And an ownerless headache of a territory.
"Right... Count Volf has no heirs. I'll grant that unclaimed land to Kyle."
The room stirred.
"He earned a reward for his 'deeds.' Appoint Kyle von Airhart as the new Margrave of Volfsberg."
"...!"
"But no imperial financial support. Tell him to rebuild the territory on his own and defend the empire's east."
A chill malice laced the crown prince's words. Formally a grant, but in truth, a disposal. Shoving a ruined wasteland on him with zero aid.
"Slap that arrogant punk with the chains of reconstruction. Once he's bled dry fixing the ruins, he won't dare lift his head."
A poisoned chalice. Bankrupt him with restoration costs, then let him shoulder the resentment of the swarming refugees.
The duke grasped the prince's intent perfectly and bowed deeply. A sly smile crept onto his lips too.
"A wise judgment, Your Highness. Giving my son a burden befitting his station."
Louis raised his wine glass in satisfaction. Through the rippling red liquid, his arrogant eyes glinted.
"Let's watch. See how long he lasts in that backwater."
A few days later, in Eisengrad.
"Appointment as Margrave of Eisengrad and cession of Volf County..."
Kyle toyed with the writ the imperial envoy had tossed on the table before leaving with a blatant sneer. A burned-out fortress, poisoned soil, starving refugees. The empire was convinced they'd dumped a landfill on him.
The moment he left, Ella exploded.
"Milord! How could you just take that? It's a total ruin!"
Ella stomped around, face scrunched in distress.
"You heard the rumors! Poison mist so thick no grass grows, refugees dying off! How're we gonna feed 'em all with our territory's coin? We're done for!"
Despite Ella's hysterics, Roselin sat across from Kyle, coldly flipping through ledgers.
"Ella, pipe down? You're messing up my math."
Roselin adjusted her glasses irritably and slapped the densely packed ledger in front of Kyle.
"Milord. Let me say it again: I'm a merchant, not a charity case."
Her voice was businesslike and dry.
"Straight talk: that white powder you made? Our caravan's sales hit record highs—best in the nation's history."
Roselin pointed to a page in the ledger.
"The big landowners in the southern breadbasket went nuts buying it up. Name your price, and our warehouses are bursting with gold. So the settlement payout to you is hefty too."
The fertilizer business was a smashing success. A miracle of science, the thread binding Roselin and me.
But her expression stayed grim.
"But! Even pouring every last coin from fertilizer profits into it, feeding Volfsberg's refugees is impossible."
Roselin was ice-cold. Her worry was her supply chain collapsing.
"This ain't business. It's pouring water into a bottomless barrel. We just started turning a profit, and now you're buying that shitheap and going bankrupt? If you go under, fertilizer production stops. Can't just watch my best client commit suicide."
"Suicide, huh."
Roselin's ruthless cost-benefit calculus. Purely monetary value, no emotions involved.
Then the office door opened, and another figure entered: the imperial investigator, Serina.
She held a glass vial of purple-tinted soil in one hand.
"Pardon the intrusion. Milord—or should I say, Margrave now."
Serina's face was quite dark.
"As investigator, my report: the situation's hopeless. This is Volfsberg's soil."
She shook the vial, and purple dust billowed from the dirt.
"The poison's seeped deep into the ground. Even with magical purification rites, restoring it would take at least ten years. I'll report to the empire: best to abandon that land."
First Roselin's verdict of zero economic value, now mage Serina's biological no-revival ruling. Anyone would say he'd drunk the poisoned chalice.
But.
"Poison? Eh, tastes plenty sweet to me."
Kyle fluttered the writ with a grin.
"Guess it looks like a dump to you all."
"It is a dump! What do you do with land where nothing grows for ten years?"
Serina shot back, baffled.
"We don't need farmland."
He tossed the writ on the desk and strode to the large wall map.
"Grody! Quit eavesdropping outside and get in here!"
"Tch, spooky bastard."
"Volfsberg fortress, rear mountains—geological survey results. Hand 'em over."
"Oh, that?"
Grody pulled a crumpled memo from his pocket and tossed it.
"What a sight. Dug it up—no farming there, just rocks everywhere. But... those rocks are all top-grade hematite. Whole mountain's a solid iron blob. Oh, and open-pit coal vein to boot."
"Hear that?"
Kyle turned to the stunned Serina and Roselin. Their blank stares were priceless.
"We'll carve those mountains for iron, burn the coal. Soil poisoned? Who cares. Factories and rail lines mean no grass anyway."
Serina blinked rapidly at the paradigm shift.
"Rail... lines?"
"Roads made of iron, literally."
He pulled prepped blueprints from a desk drawer and slid them to Serina.
"And Investigator Serina. Magic purification takes ten years, right?"
"Yes, even high mages couldn't..."
"Chemistry does it in a month, tops."
"...Pardon?"
Seeing Serina's eyes widen, Kyle smiled leisurely.
"Hold off on that empire report. Work under me awhile instead. Wanna learn knowledge that cuts ten years to thirty days?"
Serina glanced between the blueprints and Kyle's eyes. Her mage's curiosity churned fiercely.
"...If that's real, I'll shred the report."
Like enchanted, she grabbed his hand.
"Grody, head to the Eisengrad workshop."
"Huh? Leave this mess? Who's paving the roads?"
"I'll handle roads. You make something more important."
Kyle stared as Grody's face shifted to 'what now?'
"The heart. Finish the thing that runs on rails."
"Ha! Laying iron roads is crazy enough—now build the iron beast for it on top?"
Grody barked a disbelieving laugh. But crafting the ultimate machine beat grunt digging any day; it showed in his eyes.
"...Fine. Just stock me heavy on materials. I'll forge you a real fire-breather."
Grody grinned, adjusting his monkey spanner.
The empire thinks they dumped trash on me. Sneering I'll crumble under restoration costs.
But to me, it was all a free giveaway.
'Iron ore mountains, vast plains, and autonomy free from imperial meddling? Coolest deal ever.'
Poisoned chalice? Nah—this was the sacrifice to awaken a sleeping giant.
"Alright, everyone—move! Today, we redraw the empire's map. Make those palace pricks double over in pain!"