How the Romance Fantasy Male Lead Avoids Flags (6)
This was from a long time ago—back before I'd reincarnated into my sister's romance fantasy novel. I loved soccer, and there was this one notoriously wild team. They were called the "men's team", the kind that planted 2-meter-tall utility poles up front as strikers. Ten guys lobbing hopeless crosses over the pole's head, while laying into opponents with brutal tackles and dirty plays—that was their signature style, the stuff of legend.
Jokingly, people said their coach picked players by groping them and muttering, "Solid build? You're in."
So why dredge that up now?
"Alright, everyone—strip down quick. I'm gonna feel you up myself to see if you're all show or if you've got real muscle."
"Sir!"
Right before my eyes, the northern-bound hopefuls were shedding their clothes like it was nothing. Luckily, they stopped at the upper body, sparing me the full monty of sweaty male torsos...
"Hmm, nice and solid muscle all the way through. Looks like the capital's noble upbringing fed you well."
"Yes, sir!"
"Thighs like iron—did you train riding systematically?"
"Since I was five! I can hold my center with my lower body—take me on!"
My knights, led by Maximilian, were groping the applicants. Knights know knights best, and I could see them kneading forearms to gauge training.
Even now, Maximilian was fiddling with a candidate's forearm, frowning in confusion. His hand slid down to the quads and inner thighs, then poked the abs and back, checking the core thoroughly.
"Fail! How're you gonna control a horse with legs this weak?"
"No, sir! Give me a shot, and I'll lay down my life for Grand Duke Estiang!"
"Go relearn riding first! Rejected—out!"
Maximilian issued the rejection without mercy, and the applicant crumpled like the sky had fallen.
What the hell. Well, sure, the simplest way to check muscle development was hands-on. Expert knights could tell: knead the forearm—diligent with no-weapon drills? Feel the legs—seasoned rider, knight hopeful from childhood? Stuff like that.
It was just... way, way more direct than I'd imagined.
"Kinda iffy. How long you been wielding a sword?"
"Th-three years, sir..."
"How long?"
"Three—three years, I just—"
"Louder! Can't hear you! You think that whimper gets you under Grand Duke Estiang's banner?"
"Sir! Three years!"
"Good! Full of spirit—potential there. Provisional pass! Give that one a first-round marker!"
"Thank you, sir!"
Those were my knights? I was briefly awed by this unknown side of them.
"Your Grace. What about the non-military applicants?"
"Right. I'll handle those personally. Lady Roena, send them in one by one."
"Understood."
I left the sweaty muscle fest behind and turned elsewhere. Boosting combat strength was key, but importing skilled specialists was crucial too.
Just look at Prussia—they rolled out universal education to dragoon kids into the army and make 'em useful. Impure motives, sure. Even they got called an army that owned a nation, not the other way around.
Leave the north's backward infrastructure as-is and hypertroph the military? No telling what side effects would blow up. Would I end up printing Mefo bills too? We weren't broke enough for nation-scale Ponzi yet.
Anyway, infrastructure and civilian life had to improve for the military to strengthen naturally. The north had cash to burn but starved for people. Scooping up these desperate restart types would beat the status quo by miles.
With that in mind, I sat for interviews. Applicants trickled in from outside.
First up: a scrawny middle-aged man in baggy clothes.
"Name?"
"Peter, Your Grace. An honor to meet you."
Built like he never lifted a finger. As he bowed, I waved him off.
"Peter. What'd you do before?"
"I assisted with accounting at a small merchant house."
"Perfect for admin. Why head north?"
Peter hesitated, then pulled out a worn abacus and battered ledger from his robes.
"Truth is... I lost my house gambling. Too many loans ruined my reputation so no more credit, an no jobs. But Your Grace, I'm a wizard with bookkeeping! Please just give me one chance!"
Gambler, huh. Blew his wad betting, torched his name—naked wild-goose chase unless it's the north. Jackpot.
Math wasn't my forte, but I snatched the ledger and scanned it. Personal use, probably—meticulous near-OCD, numbers pristine. Hand intact, too.
"Alright. Pay at your old gig?"
"Room and board instead of salary—a pittance commission. Real take-home: ten ducats a year..."
Ten gold coins yearly, plus keep. Fair middle ground—not exploitative, not lavish. Factoring board.
How much to offer? "Family to support?"
"No, Your Grace."
"Then room and board on you—seventy ducats a year."
"S-seventy?"
"Too low?"
"No! Please, let me serve!"
"One condition: gamble again up north, and your fingers feed orcs, not dice. Objections?"
"None!"
"Hired. Wait outside."
Peter bounced out grinning ear-to-ear.
And so it went—more specialists than expected. Gamblers chasing redemption, thrill-seekers, gold-diggers eyeing opportunity. Accountants, blacksmiths, weavers, bakers, lawyers—you name it.
Merchants even sniffed profit and slunk in.
"Heh, Your Grace, I'm not applying to migrate."
"Meaning?"
"My lord sent me to gauge Your Grace's interest in a discreet meeting."
A sleazy-looking trader slid a gleaming gold coin my way. Bribe? For one coin?
But the crest—a lily in a shield.
"Geltner family?"
"Surely managing Berg Grand Duchy needs merchants like us, no?"
He groveled, chuckling oily.
"My lord seeks exclusive contract rights—and discounts thereof. Geltner deals win-win, always fair. Your thoughts?"
"Exclusivity... and perks for me."
People and goods to develop the territory. Merchants supplied goods this era—think Hanseatic League vs. Denmark, Fuggers bankrolling Habsburg bribes.
Geltner weren't that big, but top-three imperial merchant nobles. No harm cooperating.
I pocketed the coin. "Tell your lord: slip away quietly during the Founding Festival banquet."
"Of course."
He bowed deep, smirking, and left.
Merchants. Vital. How low could I haggle that exclusivity?
My lips curled. The north? A goldmine market exploding with demand—as population swelled and development boomed.
Playing value investor like some Warren Buffett? Dream on. Try gouging me, and I'd flip to rivals for better rates.
"Let's see how sharp old Geltner really is."
Founding Festival couldn't come soon enough. I'd seen the villainess; now the main cast would show. Plenty to do there.