Feeding the Machine Monsters
"Did you take a look around on your way here? It's changing faster than you thought, right?"
Roselin's gaze was fixed on the endless piles of white fabric pouring out without pause.
"...This is impossible."
"Impossible? It's a full-blown technological revolution."
I shrugged at her intense reaction.
"Too early to be surprised. The real showstopper's over there."
This time, I led Roselin to the temporary stockyard across the factory.
The moment we arrived, she was hit even harder than before.
"This is..."
The stockyard was dominated by massive mounds of red hematite ore and black coal, piled like small mountain ranges. Waiting to be transported into the blast furnaces, the resources gleamed under the sunlight, exuding an overwhelming presence.
"All that... is money?"
"Nah, it's food for our machine monsters to devour."
I approached one of the coal piles and picked up a small chunk.
"These vast resources melt down into steel, machines, and rails. And just like that fabric you saw, they keep spitting out goods nonstop."
I tossed the coal back and turned around.
"The problem is, they eat too much and produce way too much. In this cramped territory, it's more than we can digest."
Roselin swallowed hard at my words.
A treasure trove right in front of her eyes, but no roads to haul it away—letting it rot. For a merchant, there could be no greater agony.
"...Let's talk business, my lord."
Roselin's eyes sharpened.
Volfsberg temporary office.
Roselin finally calmed down after sipping her warm tea. But her hands were still trembling faintly.
"Straight to the point."
She adjusted her glasses and stared me down.
"Those fabrics—and all the steel products to come. Hand them all to my caravan. I'll buy every last bit the moment it's produced."
The quality was uniform, the production speed unmatched. No other caravan could compete on price.
"Perfect. I was just looking for an outlet."
I nodded crisply.
"For the next five years, we'll prioritize supplying your caravan with all territory-produced fabrics and steel goods. You handle sales across the Empire."
"...!"
Roselin's eyes widened. She'd braced for a brutal negotiation, but I'd thrown out a bombshell concession first.
Five years—long enough to skyrocket her caravan into the Empire's top five if she could handle the exclusive volume. But she was a seasoned merchant. She swallowed and forced composure.
"That's too generous. What's the catch? Nothing's free in this world."
"Of course."
I pointed toward the stockyard resources.
"First: Cash on delivery. No credit."
"...Securing cash flow. Fine, doable."
"Second: You invest in logistics from Eisengrad to the capital. Midpoint warehouses, road maintenance— that sort of thing."
This was the real reason I'd summoned her. I could pour money into internal production and rails, but external logistics were beyond my reach. Time to offload it onto her caravan.
Roselin frowned.
"That might cost more than the deal's worth. Road maintenance? It's an Imperial road—why should one caravan...?"
"Think about it."
I cut her off calmly.
"I've given you priority, right? Nine out of ten wagons on that road will be yours from now on."
"...Ours, yeah."
"Exactly. If the roads are rough—wheels break, delays pile up, goods spoil, and you can't move volume—who eats the loss? Me?"
I met her eyes and flashed a grin.
"No. You."
"......"
"It's your road anyway. Practically your private highway. An investment to haul your goods with your wagons, fastest possible."
Roselin fell silent. No counterargument.
To handle the overwhelming volume, the crumbling old roads wouldn't cut it. Paving them wasn't doing anyone a favor—it was building her dedicated expressway.
As she started to nod, I played one more card.
"In return, discounted rail freight."
"...Freight?"
"Trains heading back to Volfsberg after unloading are mostly empty. Load your goods, get a discount."
"...Empty trains?"
As Roselin blinked in confusion, I pointed beyond the stockyard to the village.
"Look there. Miners with fat paychecks in their pockets. But nowhere to spend it."
"...Ah!"
Her eyes lit up.
"Now they're hunting for meat, fine clothes, booze. Who supplies that?"
"If you can load bulk goods cheap on the return trips..."
"Bingo. You're monopolizing the massive Volfsberg market. Competitors struggle over the hills while you flood it by rail."
Roselin's mental abacus clicked furiously.
Not just selling fabrics and steel—turning the booming mining town into her consumer base. Plus logistics discounts?
"Compare the time and cost of wagons vs. rail. Road investment pays for itself in no time."
Her abacus clicked again. The bait was too sweet to refuse.
All she could see was mountains of cash—and five years of exclusivity.
"Fertilizer profits? Pocket change. So, wanna jump into this mudfight?"
A perfectly calculated win-win.
"Ha... My lord, you'd have devoured the Empire as a merchant."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Roselin shook her head in awe, but a satisfied smile played on her lips.
"Deal. Cash payments and external infrastructure. Accepted."
She extended her hand decisively.
But before gripping it, I raised a finger.
"One last condition."
"...What now? Tolls too?"
She grimaced.
I chuckled and shook my head.
"No. About construction labor."
I pointed out the window at the territory folk at work.
"For roads and warehouses—hire locals first. No outsiders if possible. Even just for nearby maintenance."
"Huh?"
"Sure, locals are great, but... why make it a condition?"
I gave her a mock scolding look.
"Your road construction cash becomes their wages. Where does that money go next?"
"...Ah."
"They buy the meat and clothes you haul in. Your construction spend circles back to your pocket."
Roselin's jaw dropped.
Fund infrastructure with her capital, give locals jobs, let their spending boost consumption.
She shook her head.
"Saves on lodging and food, sources locally, fattens your customer wallets... No reason to say no."
Now she looked at me like a monster beyond respect.
"Terrifying. Squeezing every coin back into the territory."
"My people thrive, your caravan lasts."
"Can't argue there."
Roselin laughed dryly and added the clause to the contract.
"Good?"
"Perfect."
We finally shook on it.
Roselin's eyes burned with fervor as our hands met.
"But in five years, for renewal—I'm your first pick. No side deals."
"Promise."
She signed with a captivating smile, pen steady.
With the deal sealed, Roselin finally glanced around.
Her eyes lingered on the new village forming below the mines beyond the stockyard.
"...Come to think of it, the refugee camp outside Eisengrad is empty now."
"Obviously. Why squat on foreign land when jobs are here?"
Just a month ago, chased by the count, they'd huddled at Eisengrad's border under thin blankets.
But with the war over and rails laid, as restoration ramped up, they trickled home.
Thud! Crash!
The returnees first bulldozed ruined foundations, erecting sturdy log cabins with rough but solid craftsmanship.
Not a perfect city yet, but no more wind-whipped tents.
Smoke rose from fresh chimneys, signaling dinner prep.
"Hey, Thomas! Got your pay?"
"Damn right! Overtime bonus too—grabbed some meat. Come over later, fill the kids up!"
Men off shift from mines and sites clutched silver coins and brown bread. Dirt-caked clothes, soot-smeared faces—but bright expressions.
No more begging. Earning for their families with their own hands.
That simple truth breathed life into the dying.
"The refugee camp's gone."
I gazed warmly at the scene.
"They're not refugees anymore. Volfsberg citizens—building homes, earning wages."
Roselin stared blankly.
A month ago, near-death faces. Now, ordinary folk consuming, dreaming, cycling the economy.