Chapter 113

Chapter 113. Maxim

Amar Mustafa Hussein.

The fifth son of Chief Hader Hussein, a high-ranking noble of the Muhammad Dynasty.

Chief researcher of the prestigious Basra Mage Tower.

And the man who taught mathematics, astronomy, and geography to Young Lord Vincent Veneto.

He had an impressive résumé.

He had also once been humiliated by me during the Veneto succession contest.

I'd assumed he'd been grinding his teeth whenever he thought of me ever since.

"Ha ha ha! Count Marcel, it is an honor to my family that you personally invited and received me like this."

Why is this guy wagging his tail at me?

No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't figure out why.

"Calling it an honor is too much. I didn't summon you for anything particularly important. As I wrote in the letter, I wanted to ask about the history of this region and about evil energy."

"I'll answer anything I know. Ha ha ha!"

He was trying way too hard.

But it wasn't hurting me, so I ignored it.

"We found an altar hidden underground near the Great Forest. Come with me and help identify it."

"How exciting. I hope my humble knowledge can be of assistance."

I brought Amar to the hidden altar in Provence.

A fence had been erected around the ground above it, and two soldiers were stationed nearby.

They weren't there because we believed the place absolutely had to be protected.

I simply didn't want curious residents wandering around and falling into the hole.

I pointed at the opening in the ground.

"The altar is down there."

Amar looked into it.

"Forgive me, but is there another entrance?"

"No."

"It's rather high to jump."

He's unathletic.

We lowered him down with a rope.

Once inside, Amar immediately became serious.

He examined the altar.

The letters.

The stone.

Then the mummified hand.

"This is not Calipha."

"I know."

"It may not belong to any human dynasty at all."

He approached the hand carefully.

Then his eyes narrowed.

"Evil energy."

"You can feel it?"

"No."

"What?"

"I can detect traces through instruments and reactions. Living beings cannot normally sense evil energy directly."

I frowned.

"I can sense mana, but not evil energy. I thought that was strange."

"That is completely normal."

Amar pointed toward the mummified hand.

"Evil energy primarily affects things without life. Corpses. Objects."

"So not living creatures."

"Correct."

He continued inspecting the altar.

"Most locations where undead naturally appear are underground."

"Why?"

"The dominant theory in the east is that evil energy leaks into our world from another dimension through the depths of the earth."

Interesting.

This was information I might never have heard if I hadn't called Amar.

Research into evil energy was rare in the western continent.

The Muhammad Dynasty, nearly four thousand kilometers from Marcel, was one of the few places where it was seriously studied.

I asked,

"Then why is Hela blamed for undead?"

Amar paused.

"That is controversial."

"Explain."

"Many churches teach that Hela, God of the Dead, causes corpses to rise."

"I don't believe that."

Amar looked surprised.

"Why?"

"Hela blessed me."

His eyes widened.

"If Hela personally created undead everywhere, she wouldn't have blessed someone like me."

I also knew something else.

Fabio.

A reincarnated Hunter.

A member of Three Eyes.

A follower of Hela.

When Fabio raised corpses, he did it through the System.

Not through Hela's divine power.

Amar stared at me.

"Are you saying you support our position?"

"Not yet."

I shook my head.

"I need more evidence."

But the theory was becoming plausible.

If Hela truly caused every undead outbreak, why did so many dark elves of the Southern Continent worship her?

Perhaps the reputation had been deliberately created.

A rival religion could have spread rumors.

Or the Germania Empire, while expanding its colonies, might have demonized Hela to prevent dark elves from uniting around a common faith.

In reaction to that persecution, terrorist groups like Three Eyes might have emerged.

History was rarely simple.

I looked again at the altar.

"This was useful."

Then I looked at Amar.

"You're more competent than you look."

Amar smiled awkwardly.

"Well... if I was helpful..."

"What?"

"Could I perhaps receive some coffee?"

"..."

So that's why he'd come all the way to Marcel.

Coffee's popularity was spreading across the continent aboard merchant ships.

The aristocratic tea culture already existed everywhere, so coffee had entered that market very easily.

Demand was rising so rapidly that Fatima's coffee plantations were using mages to accelerate the growth of coffee trees.

Apparently, even that wasn't enough.

The Provence Mage Tower, which specialized in plants, had been invited to Fatima.

More than half its mages were currently there.

And my coffee company, Maxim, held the exclusive distribution rights.

Dozens of letters arrived every day begging me to sell more coffee.

Amar had probably rushed over the moment he received my letter because he wanted faster access to larger quantities.

"As thanks, I'll give you some of the coffee reserved for my personal use."

"Oh, you really don't have to go that far! Ha ha ha!"

His face bloomed into a huge smile.

Any lingering grudge toward me seemed to have vanished.

Gifts really are the best way to reconcile.

* * *

Coffee had also reached Aachen, city of the Sun God Church.

Cardinal Maximilian accepted a cup from his aide.

He slowly rotated it beneath his nose, enjoying the aroma.

Then he asked,

"Tell me, at what temperature does coffee boil pal-pal?"

The aide frowned.

"Well, since it contains impurities, perhaps slightly above or below the normal boiling point of water..."

"Sixty-four degrees."

"Why?"

"Because pal-pal is eight-eight, and eight times eight is sixty-four."

The aide's face went pale.

Not the old-man jokes again.

Fortunately, the Cardinal stopped after one.

Then he began another ridiculous conversation.

"Count Marcel's coffee company."

"Yes?"

"It's called Maxim, correct?"

"Yes. I heard Count Marcel personally chose the name."

"That's my name."

"..."

The Cardinal's name was Maximilian.

"He obviously named the coffee brand after me."

"Ah. Yes. Naturally."

The aide's voice was completely flat.

"He must respect you deeply."

"Why are you being sarcastic? I'm serious."

"Yes, yes."

Cardinal Maximilian chuckled and drank his coffee.

"Order more Royal Marcel coffee cups."

"Again?"

"I heard there's a new product."

"How many new products is Count Marcel going to release?"

"He's good at business."

Maximilian looked at the increasingly ornate cup in his hand.

"The cups keep getting more elaborate. There are nobles everywhere who want something even more elaborate."

The aide stared at the Royal Marcel cup.

Then another thought occurred to him.

"Your Eminence."

"What?"

"Rumors from La Spezia are spreading quickly."

"So?"

"Count Marcel's fame is increasing."

"Good for him."

The aide leaned closer.

"This is exactly when we should strengthen Your Eminence's political base too."

"How?"

"We need a burning."

Maximilian raised an eyebrow.

"A burning?"

"When the atmosphere is unstable, creating a common enemy and publicly wiping them out is useful."

Normally they burned black mages.

If none were available, followers of Hela, Mephistopheles, or Ahriman could serve.

The aide intended to prepare everything before the rumors fully spread.

Then, at exactly the right moment, they would hold a public execution.

"The prison is empty right now."

"Then fill it."

"Any religion you prefer?"

"Hmm."

Maximilian thought.

"We've arrested so many lately that there aren't many people left to burn."

"Then we'll burn anyone."

The aide took out a note.

"I'll tell them to buy a few dark elf slaves who worship Hela."

Maximilian did not particularly object.

Eric wasn't the only person who understood the importance of rowing while the tide was favorable.

As a leading candidate for the next papal election, Cardinal Maximilian had plenty of rowing to do himself.

For now, they would burn someone first and think later.

* * *

Thanks to coffee becoming a global hit, the profits of my coffee company, Maxim, rose rapidly.

We had passed the break-even point long ago.

Every shipment sold out without ever entering inventory.

Merchant ships were now waiting directly in Fatima for coffee to be loaded.

Supply was so short that we couldn't even attempt to diversify into multiple coffee brands.

With those profits, I finally began preparations for the canal connecting the Rhône River to Perrier's lord's castle.

I had contacted the Roches Mage Tower in advance.

Tower Master Gaston visited Marcel.

I brought him to the proposed construction area.

"The soil survey is finished. Everything is marked on this map."

Orian, formerly a knight, had personally traveled through the region to gather the data.

He handed the map to Gaston.

The old mage studied it slowly.

"The construction itself won't be too difficult."

Then he frowned.

"But if you divert this much of the Rhône, the surrounding terrain will change dramatically."

"I intend to leave only enough flow to help fill the marsh."

Gaston rubbed his temples.

"Ugh. The calculations will be difficult."

He sighed.

"I'll have to call a mage who's good at mathematics. Anyway, we'll begin soon."

"You aren't going to calculate it yourself?"

"I'm a math-dropout mage."

"Does that mean a mage who gave up on mathematics?"

Gaston looked surprised.

"How did you know?"

"Just a guess."

I folded the map.

"Anyway, whenever the coffee company makes money, I'll send payment for the construction."

Gaston smirked.

"You're not sending it to Chatillon?"

"He'll get a gift."

"That bastard will sulk."

"I'll send him something nice."

Gaston shook his head.

"For this project, send him a proper share too."

"Why?"

"No matter how high you fly, Chatillon is still one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. Don't make him feel slighted unnecessarily."

I nodded.

"Understood. I'll send enough for Chatillon too."

Gaston was extremely close to Chatillon.

But he still viewed his former student objectively.

He hadn't wasted all those years getting old after all.

Then Gaston kept opening and closing his mouth as though he wanted to say something.

"Want me to send you some coffee?"

"Yes! Thank you!"

Our friendship continued to bloom through the exchange of favors.