Preparation (3)
“But do we really have to go all the way to Petergelsk to hand over the money?”
Fresh snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the road in a silent white hush. On the way to Petergelsk, Seolhwa said to Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek.
“Show, don't tell.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s something I learned in a lecture on mass propaganda at the Academy.”
Don’t explain—show them. A picture is worth a thousand words. An adage passed down through leaders across East and West, ancient and modern alike.
The masses get fired up over a single gold coin right in front of them far more than a hundred words. They’ll bow to the logic of a nearby blade or fist before any law meant for the high and mighty.
“We’re not saying they’re gonna stiff us or anything, so let’s just chill a bit. Aigoo, tsk.”
Jepeto, riding behind them, muttered under his breath.
“From the position of someone who’s owed money, that’s not how it looks. Why do outsiders keep butting in, Duke Cervantes?”
“I told you not to slap that embarrassing title on me, and you still do it. Border Count! Hah!Ptooey!”
Gustav, for whom such scenes were nothing new, simply kept silent.
Watching their bickering was entertaining enough, but with Petergelsk drawing near, Seolhwa stepped in.
“Anyway, it’s all for show—to let the mercenaries know exactly who’s holding their pay. So please bear with it just a little, Your Excellency.”
“Propaganda this, that—I don’t get it, so handle it your way. Long as you’re not planning to stiff ‘em.”
“Your Excellency, Petergelsk is just ahead.”
The port village came into view in the distance. Hooves churned the snow chaotically as they closed in on their destination.
In front of the temporary port office in Petergelsk, mercenaries clutching hammers and pickaxes swarmed like clouds.
“What the hell is this, Your Excellency the Border Count?!”
“Firing us after we came all this way! Fuck, this is bullshit.”
“Get the guy in charge out here!”
“I’m right here?”
Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek appeared alongside Seolhwa, a coffee mug in one hand, his face asking what all the fuss was about.
“Your Excellency! Is it true you’re terminating our mercenary contract?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Petergelsk’s all rebuilt now.”
“Where’s there ever been a law like this?! What are we supposed to do now?”
“Why ask me? Did I tell you to come here? It was the Emperor and Sachsen who sent you.”
Despair, loss, injustice, and rage mingled on the mercenaries’ faces.
“And why are you all yapping based on half the story?”
“What’s that mean?”
“One-day mercenaries, right? Contract with me’s done—go find the next client.”
“Who the hell around here besides Your Excellency could hire us?”
“Ahem.”
““......?””
Six thousand eyes turned to Seolhwa.
“Who’s this guy?”
“Where’ve I seen him lately?”
“Ah! The one who dropped 1.7 million gold!”
“Right! The guy who paid cash for those horses and griffons... no, sir!”
Seolhwa’s image paying Francis Fraia in a lump sum. To mercenaries earning 100-150 gold a week, it was an unimaginable fortune even in their wildest dreams.
“Following in His Excellency Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek’s footsteps, I will hire all of you!”
“All of us?”
“We see you’ve got money. But we’re 3,000 strong. Paying us 75 gold a week each... hey, how much is that for 3,000?”
“What kinda dumb math question is that between mercenaries?”
75 gold? Couldn’t hold out and lowballed ‘em already?
Seolhwa shot Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek a meaningful glance, and he naturally looked away.
“225,000 gold a week.”
“Damn, rich folks calculate money fast as crossbow bolts. Anyway, how many weeks you gonna keep us on dropping 225,000 gold a week?”
Trust isn’t something you can just grab. It’s forged over long years of tempering.
It doesn’t hold if only one side tries hard.
These men, driven from their lands like cattle after the war and drifted to Petergelsk, craved above all the assurance of employment.
But Seolhwa, whom they’d met only twice, couldn’t hand them trust on a platter.
So what to give them instead?
“100 gold.”
“What?”
“I’ll hire all of you at 100 gold a week and guarantee the contract for one year!”
Gold coins. Unable to give them the medicine of trust, Seolhwa chose to feed them the poison of gold.
A roar of cheers so hot it seemed it might melt the snow piled everywhere and send it skyward again.
The fury at Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek’s contract cancellation was matched by the ecstasy of this bold new employer’s arrival, plunging them into a frenzy.
“So when do we get paid?”
The mood plummeted like a blizzard had hit.
The pebble tossed by an anonymous mercenary rippled through Petergelsk with a deep echo.
“Cash, obviously? Uh... come to think of it, we didn’t catch your name, sir.”
“Seolhwa Romanov, baron.”
“Right, Lord Seolhwa. Us mercenaries, when you hand us paper to sign, that’s what?”
“You illiterate bastard, it’s a check, check.”
“Shut it! Anyway, checks don’t mean shit to us. Pay like when you buy a horse from a bearded trader—cash gold coins.”
Seolhwa understood the mercenaries’ mindset. Offer a check to a man who might die on the battlefield tomorrow, and he’d snort in disdain.
But.
“I’ll give you paper too.”
“What?”
A picture is worth a thousand words. Instead of explaining what was on the paper, Seolhwa pulled a promissory note from his bosom and waved it.
It bore the crisp seal of Gold Mountain.
“G-Gold Mountain!”
“Even decent nobles can’t get those.”
“A merchant I guarded once said you need at least tens of millions in deposits.”
Even to mercenaries who bought today with coin and might die tomorrow by the blade, Gold Mountain’s reputation held weight.
“At any Gold Mountain branch across the nation, this note alone gets you your weekly pay. In simple terms, it’s a gold coin that’s light and thin like paper.”
Thick, sticky greed welled up.
They hadn’t even signed a contract with Seolhwa yet, but their faces already screamed they were queuing at a Gold Mountain teller.
Still, some veteran mercenaries held firm and asked Seolhwa.
“You said one year?”
“Yes, correct.”
“You’re not gonna have us guard this port for a whole year, right? What exactly are we doing for that year?”
A mercenary sells his force. Escort gigs lasted a month at most. Noble domain wars, now rare, wrapped up in three.
So what was left?
What was this man planning, keeping a force of mercenaries and war mages for a full year?
“You’ll do what you do best.”
Seolhwa answered with a dry smile.
“War.”
“Your Excellency.”
While mercenaries were busy signing contracts in the Petergelsk port office, Seolhwa called out to Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek.
“Mm? What?”
“Nothing you want to say to me?”
“Seems like I’m just here to collect money from you.”
“That’s the money I mean.”
In Manrmursk, where snow didn’t melt even in May, the Border Count was breaking a cold sweat.
“Ahem. Well, I dunno.”
“Then I’ll say it. From what the mercenaries told me, you hired them at 75 gold a week.”
“100 gold’s the going rate for war mercenaries like you, but who in their right mind pays 100 for port rebuild labor?”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Ahem, hem.”
He’d breached the duty to disclose. A hotshot lawyer could spin it as fraud, but it’d take time, and what Seolhwa wanted wasn’t gold savings or an apology.
“Still, you brought the mercenaries here to Petergelsk and oversaw the rebuild, so I’ll let it slide.”
“R-Right! Good’s good, yeah? Emperor’s touring, and I had to save some coin too.”
“Then really, you’ve got nothing else to say?”
“Nope, nope.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Hey now, I’m the Border Count. I’m king here—who you gonna trust if not me? We’ll get big things done.”
Seolhwa smiled at the confidently thumping chest. Then he pulled a parchment stained with pigeon feathers from his bosom and set it on the desk.
“What’s this?”
“I’ll let you open it yourself.”
Eyeing it suspiciously, Byeon Gyeongbaek unfolded the parchment.
Party A, Rudolf von Romanov II (hereinafter referred to as “Party A”), and Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek (hereinafter referred to as “Party B”), recognizing each other's responsibilities based on mutual trust in business exchanges and partnerships, agree on the following with regard to the treatment of mercenaries and war mages.
Article 1 [Purpose]
The purpose of this Memorandum of Understanding is, in accommodating 3,000 mercenaries and war mages by Party B, for Party A to provide 30% of the costs, thereby promoting mutual common interests.
...Omitted below
Riiip!
As if he’d seen something he shouldn’t, Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek neatly tore the parchment in half, then in half again.
“......”
The silence of this moment—awkwardness and fury that weren’t Seolhwa’s to bear—he savored it.
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Come on! The Emperor? Plays along in front of me, but hanging out back peeling pumpkin seeds with him, huh? This insolent bastard.”
“Your Excellency.”
“What!”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m not fine!”
“Whether the Emperor promised you 30% or three times that, it’s not my concern.”
What’s with this guy, suddenly going soft?
He’d backed him into a corner, then cracked open an escape.
From the one-sided beating position, it felt off, but what choice was there? Couldn’t keep taking punches.
“But!”
“But you did deceive me, Your Excellency.”
“Deceive is a strong word. Let’s say I omitted unnecessary details.”
“Still, I’m just a powerless baron, so I’ll calculate the employment costs you bore for the mercenaries at 100 gold and reimburse you.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
Having run the numbers in his head, a golden smile spread across Byeon Gyeongbaek’s face.
Seolhwa let him bask in it a moment before continuing.
“In exchange—for the 75-gold once, the Emperor’s 30% twice. You stabbed me in the back, so grant me two requests.”
“What?”
“Lease Petergelsk here semi-permanently, and give me exclusive rights to Manrmursk purified water distribution.”
Petergelsk, to serve as a mercenary garrison.
Manrmursk purified water, essential for mithril refining.
Before Manrmursk Byeon Gyeongbaek’s eyes stood a grinning bandit, swordless but no less a threat.