I Want to Make a Deal
The carriage had just left Bernsi behind, heading toward Goethe Manor. The Count gazed out the window, lost in thought. How many years had it been since he'd come south of Goethe Manor—especially to Bernsi itself?
In his childhood, this place had been nothing but vast plains dotted with a few scattered farmsteads. There were no proper roads like the ones now. Tenant farmers tilled the fields, and shepherds tended sheep and goats. So much had changed, the Count thought. Whether those changes were for better or worse, he couldn't say.
Was Goethe's territory moving in a better direction? Or a worse one? The Count's musings deepened. Yet somehow, he felt a conviction that it wasn't all bad.
"Still, it's been so long since Your Excellency last visited. Couldn't you stay a bit longer?"
"No need."
"In Your Excellency's youth, you fancied a girl who tended sheep here."
"Ancient history."
"Do you remember? You were caught sneaking out of the manor at night to meet her. The previous lord gave you a severe whipping. Those were tough times—we were at war with the tribes, not on friendly terms."
"Yes, there were such days." The Count nodded faintly. It wasn't a fond memory. That shepherd girl had lost her life amid the chaos of war. The Count hadn't been able to save her, blocked by his father. If he'd gone—if he'd warned of the tribes' flanking attack in advance—maybe he could have saved her and her family. Of course, he might have died himself.
"After taking ten lashes and fainting, Your Excellency lay bedridden for three days. Watching you sleep, the previous lord said you would grow into a fine father, unlike himself."
"...Did he?"
"Do you know? The expression on the previous lord's face then... it resembles the one on Your Excellency's now."
"I see. Back then, I couldn't understand my father. Now, I think I do—a little."
The Count's fingers had begun tapping the edge of the carriage seat at some point.
"If I may be so bold, you don't seem entirely pleased with young master Isaac's defiance."
"It's not welcome." The Count hardened his expression needlessly. But he couldn't fully hide his feelings from the old steward who'd served at his side for decades. A faint smile, barely perceptible, ghosted across his lips.
Why did a child's rebellion bring him joy? Even as Count, he couldn't fully explain it. Still, he felt something swelling tightly within him. For the first time, Isaac had stood firm against his raging father to assert his own will. It wasn't petulance over trivial reasons or a problem with a clear right answer. Isaac had clashed with his father out of conviction. That was growth.
What parent wouldn't welcome their child's growth?
"Adel will be surprised," the Count murmured.
A few days later, under gloomy skies heavy with dark clouds, Bernsi erupted in chaos.
"What the hell is going on?"
"A great family getting purged?"
"That's Elder Rikel, isn't it!?"
A platform had been erected in the square, and three elderly men ascended to stand before the execution block. Their fine tunics were torn and ragged, their hair disheveled, faces bruised and battered. The crowd—especially those who'd worked under them—received a massive shock. These were the masters they'd served.
The man who followed wore a crimson robe: a long-haired noble, his glossy locks adorned with a badge signifying royal office at the robe's center. Yet his demeanor looked as wretched as those awaiting execution.
"I am the inspector dispatched by His Majesty. With the market leader absent, by the authority granted to me, today—right here—I shall mete out severe punishment to those who committed treason against the kingdom!"
The marquis's voice rang sharply across the square.
"These men betrayed the kingdom and abused the Count's mercy! They traded slaves and weapons in the black market, peddled narcotics!"
The great families' heads wore resigned expressions. Some squeezed their eyes shut; others let out trembling sighs. Not one dared defy the marquis.
"By royal and manorial law, I shall establish justice and righteousness here and now!"
City guards hauled them up one by one, forcing them to kneel at the block. The hulking executioner raised his axe. The eyes of the great family head, facing death, brimmed with terror. But he knew he couldn't escape his fate.
"Traitors to the kingdom shall die like this!"
With the marquis's words, the axe blade plummeted. Fortunately, the skilled executioner—with ample strength—severed the head cleanly.
Thud—the head rolled, blood spilling from the platform to the ground.
The second and third heads followed in turn. It was all decided long ago. Silence soon hung over the once-murmuring crowd. A few slow to read the mood or outcasts from the great families cheered, but they quickly fell silent amid the majority's cold reaction.
Fallen heads, flowing blood. Normally, such a spectacle would thrill the crowd—but anyone not a fool could see it. Bernsi's council of five great families had ruled the executions here. Their market leader had been assassinated, and now three more were beheaded.
Drugs, slaves, weapons in the black market—it was common knowledge. Without such trade, Bernsi—lacking special produce or strategic location—couldn't have grown this far.
Using that as pretext for a purge meant something was deeply wrong. If such crimes warranted judgment, half the crowd would face the axe's edge.
Terror and bewilderment etched the faces of the dispersing people. They couldn't help but sense it: Bernsi was undergoing a massive upheaval.
"Why spare me?"
Dwarf Benders asked. He was the sole surviving head among the five great families. His congenital deformity made his already short stature seem even smaller, his hunched back more pronounced. He always used proxies for deals, so few knew he headed a great family.
"Because of you, I survived."
Benders looked up at Violet. The girl who'd once seemed so fragile upon arrival now carried the poise of a young lady. A year after the republic's revolution, she'd fled here with her comrades—gaunt and filthy. Benders had provided shelter and introduced her to the marquis.
"You chose life, Vivi. Life in Bernsi wasn't... exactly enjoyable, was it?"
"Not enjoyable" was Benders's gentle understatement. To survive in Bernsi—domain of the marquis and great families—Violet had given everything. She'd become the marquis's mistress and formed the Baisman to eliminate rivals to the council. Insults and blood constantly surrounded her. Only someone of iron will could endure it—especially an idealist like her.
"You're the only one left who calls me Vivi. I couldn't just let you die."
"..."
Benders had no reply. The woman who'd adopted Violet as her own had been his benefactor too. She'd perished in the revolutionary flames, and Benders had tried repaying that debt to Violet. He hadn't expected it to save his life.
"Sorry to interrupt this touching moment, but mind if I join?"
A boy approached without a sound and removed his hood. The moment Benders met his blue eyes, instinct told him: This is him.This one's orchestrated it all. Decades honing his eye for people confirmed it.
"Pardon the late greeting. I'm Benders, head of the Grossbach Merchant Company. My apologies for not visiting sooner."
Benders, a dwarf barely reaching Isaac's waist, bowed—sinking almost to the boy's knees.
"Oh? And how do you know who I am?"
"Vivi told me. You're young master Isaac, yes?"
Isaac exchanged glances with Violet and nodded. Quick on his feet.
"I want to make a deal."
Lady Randolf gladly offered a spare room, though she begged Isaac not to insult her hospitality with payment.
"Bringing something like this out of nowhere..."
Benders looked troubled. The parchment Isaac proffered outlined Bernsi's future path: promoting legitimate commerce, tax reforms and fiscal strengthening, normalizing sewers, cracking down on the black market, bolstering ties with the royals, diversifying the local economy, policies for vagrants. None were easy. Wrinkles deepened on the aged dwarf's face.
"Didn't you say you wanted to save me, Vivi?"
"Is this how you want to live?"
"...You've grown cold."
Isaac's terms were simple: Benders becomes market leader and implements the parchment's directives.
"I'm not saying do it all at once. Take time, adapt to the city's situation, realize them one by one."
"I'll die of old age before finishing. Why not task the marquis? He personally oversaw the executions—looks like you've already won him over."
"The marquis has his own job. I guarantee: compared to that, this is easy. Fail, and the marquis dies."
"If I fail miserably, won't I die too?"
"That's why you won't do anything worth dying for."
"Hah."
Benders sighed deeply.
"What do I get? Spare me the 'saving your life' bit."
The dwarf spoke with weary disdain for such threats. If his role were easily replaceable, Isaac wouldn't bother talking. He knew his own value—and demanded accordingly.
Isaac grinned. The more he saw, the more he liked him. Sparing Benders, as Violet advised, was a good call. No real reason to kill him anyway. Alone among the five, he'd stuck to legitimate business. He hadn't joined when they recruited mercenaries and raised private armies.
"If the city normalizes as outlined there—or even starts to, convincingly—I'll ignore whatever else you do."
"Any guarantee you'll honor that?"
Benders swallowed hard. Isaac's words dangled tempting bait. Becoming market leader meant controlling judicial power—plus policing, taxation, administration. Former leader Baris had held the same, but marquis and families checked him. Now? With the marquis submitting to Goethe and the rest purged, the city was Benders's for the taking—as long as he didn't overreach. Isaac signaled non-interference.
"No faking it on your end, no lies from me."
"But young master, you..."
Benders trailed off. He'd gathered rumors and intel on Isaac—vital for business amid manorial politics. Conclusion: far from heir apparent. Yet Violet's tales and this boy's poise contradicted that. Heir or not, unique constitution or no, dragging events here at twelve meant he couldn't be ignored or antagonized.
"I'll keep my word."
Isaac spoke as if reading Benders's mind. The dwarf stared piercingly into the boy's eyes—a clear breach of etiquette with nobility. Yet he gazed straight into those pupils. God had denied him much, but granted an eye for people. It was part of business—and sometimes all of it.
"Very well."
Benders replied carefully. He couldn't refuse, shouldn't refuse.
"Good. Before fixing the city, handle one thing first."
"What?"
"Black stone and decent blacksmiths."
"Black stone... Arger iron ore?"
"Yeah."
"Planning a war?"
Benders blinked.
"Farming. Need big plows."
Isaac replied.