Chapter 74. Knife-Ears (2)
Chloe and Omar entered the carriage together.
Marcel knights rode warhorses around them as an escort.
The two guards who had angered Chloe were forced to run behind the carriage.
Omar watched them through the window for a moment.
Then he asked Chloe,
“Is Viscount Marcel frightening? Everything seems extremely disciplined. The knights, and you as well.”
Was Eric frightening?
Chloe reached an answer within one second.
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
Since she liked the boy in front of her, Chloe decided to tell him an old story.
“I remember something from when His Lordship was even younger than you.”
“Younger than me?”
“Yes. Back then, the Westfalen market was filled with gangsters who disturbed public order. They demanded protection fees, threatened merchants, and beat people. The residents complained constantly, but the guards had accepted bribes and refused to act. Then His Lordship...”
“Drove them away?”
Chloe swallowed.
Then she repeatedly moved the edge of her hand across her neck.
“No. He killed every single one of them. He handled it so cleanly that many people still believe the gangsters simply left Westfalen.”
“......”
Chloe shuddered as she remembered Eric dancing with a sword and cutting through gangsters.
“I watched while hiding nearby. Sometimes, I still dream about His Lordship from that night.”
“...That really is frightening.”
“I generally avoid defying him.”
“What does ‘defying him’ mean? Forgive me. I’m still not completely fluent in the Common Language.”
“It means if he steps on you, stay stepped on. If he hits you, accept being hit.”
Omar’s face turned pale.
His shoulders shrank.
I didn’t mean His Lordship would hit the prince.
Chloe considered correcting the misunderstanding.
Then decided not to.
* * *
Chloe returned to the lord’s residence with Omar.
They entered my office.
I pointed through the window at two huge men panting outside.
“What are those guys? Why are they gasping like that?”
“His guards. They were rude, so I made them run. They barely ran at all and are already pretending to die.”
“I see. Anyway, are you Omar?”
Omar had been about to sit.
The moment he heard my casual tone, he jumped back to his feet.
“Yes! Viscount!”
“Why are you so stiff? Sit comfortably.”
“Yes!”
I liked the polite boy immediately.
Chloe also watched him with a pleased expression.
Appraisal.
[Omar, 17]
[Son of the King of Berber. Unemployed. Worships the God of Abundance.]
Simple.
I called another equally simple elf.
No, ghoul.
Family had arrived.
They should greet each other.
Soon, Ramita entered the office while completely covered by a robe.
For the introduction, I removed her hood.
“Here. Say hello. This is your older sister.”
“Guuurk...”
Omar foamed at the mouth and collapsed onto the sofa.
Seriously?
A man faints just from seeing a ghoul?
Smack, smack.
“Hey. Wake up!”
I slapped Omar’s cheeks until he regained consciousness.
He slowly sat up while mumbling.
“Ugh... If he hits me, I should accept being hit...”
“What are you talking about? Stop fainting. I said she’s your sister.”
“Ugh! Forgive me.”
I made Omar sit properly.
Then Ramita and I sat across from him.
“Ramita will participate in your protection. Reassuring, isn’t it? She can fight an Upper-rank Sword Expert directly.”
“...Very reassuring.”
“Good. Call Ramita ‘older sister.’ Don’t fight with each other. You are siblings.”
“Yes, Viscount.”
Ramita was unusually quiet.
I lightly nudged her side with my elbow.
“Ramita, greet your younger brother.”
She licked her lips slightly before speaking to Omar.
“He looks like a delicious boy.”
What the hell, ghoul?
Omar’s face turned completely white.
“Not that kind of greeting. He is your younger brother. You’re supposed to protect him.”
“If my lord commands it, I will protect him with my life.”
You are already dead.
What life?
The frozen Omar forced himself to speak.
“Th, thank you, Princess Ramita.”
“Call me older sister. My lord commanded it.”
“Yes, Older Sister!”
Anyway, now that I had a hostage, I mean, a protected guest, I needed to send a threatening letter.
No.
A letter informing his family that he arrived safely.
I brought paper and a feather pen and handed them to Omar.
“Write to your maternal grandfather. Tell him you arrived safely and that you are eating well.”
“I haven’t eaten yet.”
“You will soon, so just write it. And write in the Common Language. I need to be able to read it too.”
“Yes.”
I wanted to check the content.
If he wrote in his native language, he might hide insults or secret codes.
Omar quickly wrote the letter.
His handwriting was excellent.
It was surprisingly bold and powerful compared with his delicate appearance.
Judging only by the handwriting, he looks like someone destined to become king.
After checking that there were no hidden vertical messages, I placed the finished letter in an envelope.
I sealed it with wax and stamped my own insignia.
Omar was not officially a noble or head of a family.
He possessed no official seal.
But that was not the only reason I used mine.
It was also a silent declaration.
From now on, I was Omar’s protector.
“I’ll introduce you to the people in my household. We can eat together too.”
“Your household?”
“Mother and the people who work here.”
“Ah. I look forward to it.”
He had probably grown up lonely.
That made sense.
He had likely spent his life hidden away, interacting only with servants assigned to take care of him.
We moved to the dining room.
There, we met Mother and the orphan girl Martha.
The moment Omar saw Martha, his expression changed.
His ears turned bright red.
He looked embarrassed.
I almost laughed.
Then a bad idea appeared.
Would people criticize me if I used this?
I looked toward Mother.
The moment our eyes met, she gave a tiny nod.
Apparently, years of reading people had allowed her to understand the situation immediately.
And she approved without hesitation.
Like mother, like son.
Mother would now educate Martha.
Martha had suddenly gained an opportunity to rise in status.
She would probably act very enthusiastically.
Poor Prince Omar.
He was never going to escape Marcel’s grasp.
* * *
Construction of the sugar factory began.
Large numbers of elven workers started building the structure.
Marcel craftsmen had already completed the foundation work, so construction progressed quickly.
Meanwhile, transport ships carrying building materials continuously arrived from Berber.
One of those ships carried the official I had requested.
“Viscount Marcel, I am a clerk from the Royal Ministry of Finance. I came to explain the dividend payments.”
“Sugar sales have already started. Why haven’t I received a dividend?”
“The calculations are complicated, so you will need to wait a little.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. There are too many numbers. Huge amounts of money enter and leave constantly, making calculation difficult.”
Damn it.
This is why I told them they needed a separate company.
The knife-ears apparently realized that problem too.
They had created a separate company for the actual sales.
“Fine. I’ll be patient.”
“I apologize. If possible, we intend to distribute dividends quarterly. And...”
His attendants carried in another chest.
Do knife-ears have some kind of chest fetish?
“This is the advance payment for Royal Marcel.”
“Don’t tell me those are gold bars.”
“As expected from the Viscount. Yes, gold bars.”
What was I supposed to do with these generous kings?
Ironically, gold bars had poor liquidity in this world.
Once again, I would need Rosso Bank to convert them in another country.
“From now on, pay in silver coins.”
“Which country’s silver coins do you prefer?”
“Iberian.”
Payments for Canada exported to Berber and Catalonian goods were already being handled using Iberian silver coins.
Of course, silver coins had a floating market value, so the exact amount always changed slightly.
Still, Iberian silver was accepted everywhere alongside the coins of other major human kingdoms.
The Franche Kingdom was also attempting to unify its currency.
But because so many local currencies had been used for centuries, the new Franche silver coins were still mostly used domestically.
That was why Franche silver lacked popularity abroad.
It was also why I did not request it.
“Forgive me, but if we keep paying with Iberian silver, the value of Iberian coins inside Berber keeps increasing. Could you allow us to mix in other silver currencies?”
“From where?”
“Berber silver...”
“Rejected.”
Knife-ear silver was trash.
The silver content was ridiculously low.
Even worse, Berber frequently changed its currency.
Nobody trusted it.
Most foreign countries refused to accept it entirely.
“Listen, Finance Clerk. Business has been good lately, hasn’t it? You sell plenty of products.”
“...The kingdom’s finances have been difficult.”
“Don’t make me laugh. Lisboa is organizing colonial fleets and spreading enormous amounts of Iberian silver. You should be receiving plenty.”
In trade between Marcel and Berber, Iberian silver flowed toward Marcel.
In trade between Lisboa and Berber, Iberian silver flowed toward Berber.
Lisboa was currently acting like a black hole.
It was consuming ships, sailors, alcohol, preserved foods, and every other resource needed to organize colonial fleets.
“That is true, but please consider our circumstances...”
“You also earn a lot by supplying slaves to Catalonia.”
“Oh, Viscount, please have mercy. Berber silver keeps losing value. We’re suffering terribly.”
Eventually, the Finance Clerk and I reached an agreement.
They would pay as much as possible using silver coins from Northern Continent ‘human’ countries.
If they could not obtain enough, they would pay using pure gold and silver, valued at slightly below market price.
The Finance Clerk looked miserable.
“Ugh. I’m worried the royal family will refuse this.”
“Don’t worry. The King will agree.”
“Did you coordinate this in advance?”
“No. We’ll coordinate now. I sent a letter to Algiers.”
Your son is currently in my hands.
I mean, under my protection.
His daughter is also in my hands.
I mean, being raised by me.
Anyway.
* * *
Because Fatima envoy Yasmin was staying at the lord’s residence, Prince Omar was temporarily moved to the official residence of Sir Pierre, Martin’s father.
This made things extremely inconvenient.
Servants, including the orphan Martha, had to constantly travel back and forth.
“This won’t work. We need to send Yasmin home quickly. Diego, give Yasmin first priority for the new Royal Marcel products.”
“I’ll begin packing immediately.”
“Chloe, keep Yasmin from wandering around. If she meets Omar by accident, it will be troublesome.”
I could not be certain Fatima lacked a description of Omar’s appearance.
Better to be careful.
“Martha stopped entertaining her, so she keeps going outside.”
“Martha was entertaining her?”
“Yes. Apparently, Martha told her many interesting old stories.”
“Probably stories she heard at church. Anyway, keep Yasmin occupied as much as possible.”
Before even one full day passed after I gave that order, Yasmin came directly to me.
“Viscount Marcel, I have a request.”
“No.”
“Please send Martha to me.”
She really did not listen.
Should I hit her?
“Why Martha?”
“I need to hear the rest of her story.”
“Isn’t it just a children’s tale? Why are you obsessed?”
“It isn’t just a children’s tale. And she stopped in the middle.”
How interesting could it possibly be for this woman to act like this just because the story ended halfway?
“Unfortunately, the Royal Marcel packing is already complete.”
“One day. Just give me one more day. I’ll load everything tomorrow and leave.”
She looked desperate.
Fine.
I could tolerate it once.
“All right. I’ll send her.”
“Thank you! I’m going to turn Martha’s stories into a book. Once it is published, I’ll send you a copy!”
“Do whatever you want.”
Martha apparently possessed more talent than I expected.
When the published book arrived, maybe I should read it.
