Chapter 461: The Price of Bread
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 461: The Price of Bread
Spring in Belland arrived later than in the Holy City.
The final flurry of snow had only just settled. On the bustling streets, unthawed white powder still blanketed most of the vacant ground.
Carriages hurried to and fro, leaving deep ruts in the pristine white surface.
Among them was a pitch-black carriage, devoid of any family crests or emblems. Even the horse pulling it was a dull, unsightly charcoal-grey, making the entire ensemble utterly inconspicuous.
Only those with the keenest eyes could discern the carriage’s hidden quality from its preternatural stability and the powerful, rhythmic gait of the grey horse.
The carriage soon swept through the busy streets of the Upper District, passing the famous Queen’s Avenue, before crossing the Diswinter Bridge—the link between the two halves of the city—and entering the Lower District.
The mounted police guarding the bridge did not stop the carriage for questioning. Every carriage coming from the Upper District might contain a noble lord they could never afford to offend.
Their duty was to interrogate those coming from the opposite direction.
The carriage pressed on.
As it delved deeper into the Lower District, the streets grew narrower, and the buildings on either side became increasingly low-slung and dilapidated. Sewage from the melting snow turned the ground into a muddy mire, and a faint, lingering stench permeated the air.
Children clad in thin, tattered rags ran through the streets, using the heat of their movement to ward off the chill. They waved newspapers in their hands, shouting today’s headlines to every passerby.
"Give me one."
A cold, clear voice suddenly rang out from within the carriage, causing a passing newsboy to jump in surprise and freeze in his tracks.
He had never heard a voice so beautiful. It sounded like snowmelt from an ice field flowing over smooth pebbles; every word was like a crisp, melodic note.
Though the tone was cold—cold enough to rival the ice field itself.
"That will be two Emiels, thank you."
Trembling, the newsboy pulled the freshest, cleanest newspaper from his coat and tucked it through the slit in the carriage curtains. Then, with a look of overwhelmed shock, he accepted a brand-new coin from a slender, porcelain-white hand.
It wasn't until the carriage vanished at the end of the road that the newsboy snapped out of his daze, still shivering from the sight of that perfect hand. He ran off excitedly to brag to his companions about the noble personage he had just encountered.
The carriage continued for two more blocks before finally coming to a halt in front of a building that, by Lower District standards, was quite grand.
Soon, a middle-aged man who had received word of the arrival came trotting out of the building. He pushed aside a confused attendant who had intended to question the visitors and stood respectfully beside the carriage, inquiring cautiously:
"Your Highness?"
"Come in."
It was that same cold voice.
Baron Sean did not dare delay. He glanced left and right, dismissed his attendants, and bent down to climb into the carriage.
In an instant, the sight of the exquisite figure inside caused even the middle-aged man to lose himself for a moment.
It was a silver-haired girl.
Her hair cascaded down like a starlit river. Her slender, willow-leaf brows possessed the sharp edge of a fine blade, and even her upturned eyelashes were silver-white, looking as though they were dusted with beautiful frost.
Her perfect features were breathtaking, as if carved by the hand of the Ice-Snow Goddess herself. Unfortunately, between the brows currently focused on the newspaper, there was a frozen, impenetrable indifference that made one fear to look at her for too long.
"Princess Celicia."
The middle-aged man bowed again in greeting. "It has been a long time. I did not expect you to come in person."
"Baron Sean, sit."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
Sean sat across from Celicia, his heart pounding. His gaze inadvertently brushed over the newspaper she was reading. When he saw the headline written in bold, black font—“Son of the Duke Becomes Honorary Holy Knight: True Strength or a Secret Affair?”—he was instantly seized by even greater trepidation and quickly looked away.
"Do you know why I sought you out, Baron Sean?"
Celicia finally looked up from the newspaper, her gaze falling upon the Baron who had stirred up so much trouble in the month since he had been appointed the Lower District Magistrate.
"This... I truly do not know."
Under Celicia’s scrutinizing gaze, Sean managed to squeeze out a strained smile. "To be honest, given my lowly status, I never imagined I would have the chance to cross paths with Your Highness. Your personal visit has left me quite overwhelmed."
"You are now the Magistrate of the Lower District; your every word and action affects hundreds of thousands of people. Do not speak nonsense about having a 'lowly status,'" Celicia said expressionlessly.
"I have come because several nobles have jointly filed a complaint with my father. They claim that as the Lower District Magistrate, you have embezzled grain intended for free distribution to the poor and are openly selling it for profit."
"This has caused quite a stir. Even though my father broke protocol to appoint you as Magistrate himself, he still requires an explanation. So..."
Celicia paused and asked, "Is it true?"
"...Does His Majesty also believe I stole grain from the poor?"
"He does not. That is why I am the one who came."
Under normal circumstances, Celicia, as a princess, should not have been involved in such "minor" matters. Her presence meant that no one else was deemed suitable for the task.
Given the faction Baron Sean belonged to, and Celicia’s other identity beyond being a princess, the Emperor’s arrangement was itself a sign of favoritism. But precisely because of that, Celicia had to obtain a reasonable explanation.
"Yes, Your Highness. I did indeed sell that grain."
Having thought it through, Sean did not hesitate. "Everything those great nobles have accused me of is true."
Celicia’s cold eyes narrowed. "Watch your words, Baron Sean. That is a capital offense."
"No, I admit I did those things, but I do not believe I am guilty."
Sean loosened his cravat and said in a low voice, "I did it for the people."
"For the people?"
Celicia tapped her finger on the small table in front of her, waiting for him to continue.
"Your Highness should know that every winter, the price of grain rises."
"Grain is scarce in winter. That is normal."
"It seems normal, yes. But because of that, many poor people in the Lower District starve to death every winter."
Sean paused, looking into Celicia’s eyes, and said softly, "This is Belland, Your Highness. Not anywhere else. This is Belland."
The most prosperous city on the continent: Belland.
It had a massive population of a million people, but not a single person in this city farmed the land. Therefore, the fundamental livelihood of countless people at the bottom... depended on the price of a small loaf of black bread.
"The price of grain should rise in winter, but it shouldn't rise that much. I believe Your Highness is well aware of the filth and corruption involved in that."
"Artificial... malicious price-gouging?" Celicia murmured.
"Exactly. That is why I did what I did. The grain His Majesty squeezed out of the nobles wouldn't have lasted long if it were just given away for free. In fact, it would have created a mirage of shortage, causing prices to climb even higher. So, rather than giving it away, it was better to inject that grain into the market..."
"To suppress the grain prices."
Celicia’s cold eyes flickered as she finished his sentence.
"Yes."
Sean praised her, "As expected of Your Highness. Truly brilliant."
"Spare me the flattery."
Celicia lowered her head and looked at the newspaper again.
As the most widely circulated civilian newspaper in Belland, the last page thoughtfully listed the current prices of basic commodities.
Celicia’s eyes swept over it and quickly found the information she was looking for.
Black bread: 5 Emiels per pound.
And what was the price last year?
With her exceptional memory, Celicia quickly recalled.
10 Emiels.
It was half the price.
It might not seem like much, but for the people at the bottom of the Lower District, that small difference of five Emiels was the distance between life and death.
"When the carriage drove through the district just now, I saw many famous family crests," Celicia said, looking out the window. "Some 'charitable' nobles come to the Lower District specifically to hand out free bread to the poor."
"Ah, yes. How merciful of them," Sean sneered.
"The high and mighty lords, coming out in this cold specifically to give free food to us lowly commoners. If it were me, I’m sure I’d be moved to tears of gratitude! Provided, of course, I didn't know that they are the biggest grain traffickers in Belland!"
"You have done well, Baron Sean."
Celicia withdrew her gaze and nodded in approval. "I will report everything you have done truthfully to my father. You will receive the reward you deserve."
"Your Highness overpraises me."
Sean calmed his emotions and said respectfully, "However, I am truly unworthy of a reward. If anyone deserves credit, it shouldn't be me—it should be Young Master Muen Campbell!"
"Hmm?"
Celicia’s brow arched slightly. She hadn't expected to hear that man's name here. "Why?"
"Because the reason I acted this way was entirely based on Young Master Muen’s suggestion! Even my success in suppressing the grain prices was only possible with the support of the Duke’s Estate!"
Sean puffed out his chest, a spark of fervor in his eyes. "Young Master Muen is truly the Son of the Lion King—brilliant, restrained, low-profile, handsome, and sophisticated. He possesses both courage and wisdom. Every move he makes is filled with a nobility that is worlds apart from those filthy wretches. Although their malicious slanders have slightly tarnished his image, it is clear that his deeds deserve to be remembered by more people!"
"..."
Celicia watched the man prattle on in silence. She suddenly wondered if the Muen Campbell he knew and the one she knew were actually the same person.
"But speaking of Young Master Muen... he seems to have been away for quite some time."
Sean then remembered that the Princess was Muen’s fiancée—his future wife—so he said somewhat casually, "Having been gone so long, I imagine Your Highness must be worried."
"Worried?"
Sean suddenly shuddered.
Although the Princess’s expression hadn't changed at all, for some reason, he felt the temperature inside the carriage plummet.
"Why would I be worried about that useless man who is good for nothing except charming women? What is he to me? Even if he died out there, what impact would it have on me?"
Celicia’s tone didn't change in the slightest, sounding like ice that hadn't melted in a thousand years.
"No... I meant..."
Sean broke into a cold sweat, frantically pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his brow.
The rumors said the Princess didn't like her fiancé much—could they be true?
If it weren't so rude, Sean would have bolted for the door right then and there.
Fortunately, he didn't have to endure the terrifying atmosphere for long. A white pigeon descended from the sky, disrupting the frigid air inside the carriage.
"A letter from the palace? At this hour?"
Doubt filled Celicia’s eyes as she took the scroll from the pigeon’s tube—a message intended only for her eyes.
And then... for the first time, Sean saw a clear, unmistakable change in the Ice Princess’s expression.
"Father... is gravely ill?"