Episode 66

Ian and the household staff moved all the Gula seeds they had collected over time to the town square. What had started as just four sacks had now ballooned to well over a hundred.

They carefully wrapped the seedlings they had been nurturing for research in paper and loaded them onto carts, making several trips back and forth—five or six times in total.

“My goodness. How did it get this much?”

“We searched every nearby mountain and field to gather them.”

“Are you really giving all of this away for free?”

Ian gestured for everyone to line up, and the crowd awkwardly tried to maintain some order. Standing beside him, one of Romandro’s men was busy shuffling through paperwork. Distributing the Gula was no small task, so it was going to take some time.

“Listen carefully. The Gula seeds will be allocated based on the size of the land you’re farming. Families with more members will receive additional seedlings. I expect everyone to actively share cultivation and cooking methods to ease the workload at the manor.”

“They’re giving out seedlings too?”

“Shh! Quiet down, please. I can’t hear.”

“It’s hard to hear from the back!”

Ian raised a finger and called out loudly.

“Right now, the Gula is being distributed free of charge, but starting next year’s harvest, a tax of ten percent will be imposed. Also, any trade of Gula with outsiders must go through the manor. Violators will be fined fifty gold coins.”

“Fifty gold coins? That’s steep.”

“Goodness, that’s terrifying.”

For an average tenant farmer, earning one gold coin a month was typical. The harsh penalty startled them at first, but after thinking it over, it didn’t seem so unreasonable.

“What about trading among ourselves?”

“That’s fine. The important thing is outsiders. No one may sell seeds or even a single root to outsiders.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Exactly. Besides, who are the outsiders? The desert tribes and… where else? Other than Merelrof, there’s hardly anyone.”

“Right. No problem! No problem at all!”

“You owe me, don’t you? Pay me back a little with Gula.”

Ian raised his voice even more as he continued the instructions.

“Also, anyone who reports violators will receive a reward. If you’re unhappy with the additional tax, you don’t have to receive the Gula distribution.”

“How much is ten percent?”

“For every ten sacks of wheat, it’s one extra sack.”

“And for fifty sacks?”

“…That’s five sacks. If you can’t calculate it, ask the staff.”

Everyone worried about the increased taxes they’d have to pay next year, counting on their fingers. But survival came first—only by making it through this year could they face the next. As the distribution began, the man at the front stepped forward to apply.

“Aolden Parma.”

“Ah, the one responsible for the farmland by the riverbank.”

“How much will you get?”

“Five buckets.”

Only five buckets, but considering how quickly Gula multiplies, it was more than enough. Those who arrived late stamped their feet impatiently, edging forward, but Ian held them back.

“Don’t worry if you don’t get any this time. There will be a second distribution.”

Since trading with outsiders was forbidden, whatever was farmed would eventually return to the manor. It was only a matter of time before every subject in Bratz’s territory was cultivating Gula.

“Next!”

While helping with the distribution, Beric whispered from behind.

“Ian, you need to get back to the manor. One of the conspirators has woken up.”

“…I’ll be there soon.”

Ian gave a meaningful glance to Romandro’s men and slipped out of the square. The manor, emptied of both Gula and people, felt eerily quiet and hollow compared to usual.

Tap, tap, tap.

“You’re here.”

“One of the survivors woke up? What about Petreio?”

The doctor, drenched in sweat, wiped his face with the back of his hand and sighed. He had never seen a patient in such a terrible state before—this was grim.

“There’s no hope. At best, he’ll last until the end of today.”

“…That bastard.”

Beric glanced at Petreio through the crack in the door. The man was barely breathing, covered in dried blood. Even at that state, he refused to speak—he wasn’t the type to spill secrets, even in death.

“Any of the others conscious?”

“Fully alert. As soon as he opened his eyes, he started crying and begging…”

He begged desperately to be saved, clasping his hands. It was Ian and Beric who had nearly died, but to an outsider, it might have looked like they had kidnapped the wrong person.

When Ian entered, the man who had been eating barley porridge stopped and looked up.

“Ah…”

“Ian. Glad to see you this afternoon?”

“Please save me! Please save me!”

Crash!

The porridge flew everywhere as the man dropped to the floor, bowing his head and begging frantically. He was sobbing uncontrollably, almost having a breakdown. Ian sighed and asked,

“What’s your name?”

“Co-Colin.”

“Keep talking.”

Ian sat down, nodding encouragingly. Colin wiped the porridge from his mouth and cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m Colin. I’m twenty years old. I have two older siblings and three younger ones.”

“…That’s enough. I don’t care about that.”

“Hey, do you want your head bashed in with a bowl of porridge?”

“Eek!”

Beric shouted threateningly, and the man quickly rubbed his hands together nervously.

“So, I’m a gambling runner, and I overheard the guards talking. They said someone was offering a large sum of money to hire mercenaries.”

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from Merelrof…”

I thought so. If you want to find people nearby, that’s the only place. Ian smiled, and Beric kicked the man hard in the shin.

Smack!

“Ugh!”

“So? Who is this guy?”

“I-I don’t know! What good is knowing? Just give the money and do the job. I never even met him. The guards paid me.”

Beric glanced at Ian.

“What should we do? Kill him?”

“Please don’t! I’ll do whatever you say! Aaaah!”

“Oh dear. You scream so well without even being touched.”

Beric kicked the man off Ian’s feet. Judging by his behavior, he wasn’t likely to take his own life to keep quiet. Ian tapped his fingers thoughtfully.

“Merelrof…”

“Ian?”

“Keep him locked up. Is anyone outside?”

“Yes, Ian. Someone is here. What should I tell them?”

“I’m sending a letter to Merelrof. Prepare the horse.”

Ian gave instructions to the staff as he headed outside. Then he went straight to the reception room and knocked on the door. Romandro, who was inside working on reports, jumped in surprise and greeted him.

“What’s the matter? Has Petreio died?”

“No, he’s still alive. One of the conspirators woke up and confessed he’s from Merelrof. Most of them must be from there. They were guards at gambling dens, apparently. I want to send a letter. Can you help me?”

Romandro put down his pen and tried to understand Ian’s intentions. If he was going to send a letter, why ask him to do it? The man’s eyebrows furrowed as he guessed.

“Trying to create a pretext?”

“You could say that.”

“Heh. Well then.”

Ian sat opposite him, and Romandro handed over the report he had been working on—a recommendation letter for Ian’s appointment as lord. It was filled with praise for the discovery of Gula, the alliance with the Great Desert, and the reconstruction of the territory.

“Do you like it?”

“I hope Marib and His Majesty the Emperor will. Just in case, include one of Molin’s belongings when you send it. Do you have a ring?”

“Yes. What should I write to Merelrof?”

Romandro pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his pen in ink.

“Start with ‘Ian, the recommended next lord, was attacked.’”

The reason Romandro, the imperial advisor, was writing instead of Ian was clear. Ian’s current status was too low for any complaint to be taken seriously.

But being mentioned as the ‘next lord’ and having the letter written on his behalf due to injury would be hard for Merelrof to ignore.

“The attackers were Merelrof’s men. One conspirator survived and confessed. This is a matter that could cause serious misunderstandings between us.”

Swoosh, swoosh.

If Ian were already lord, he could have raised troops immediately. But since that wasn’t the case, he had to rely on Romandro’s authority. Merelrof might even shamelessly threaten them for killing their subjects.

The Count of Merelrof was certainly capable of that.

“We demand they send people to verify and hand over the bodies, and we request full cooperation in the investigation.”

“Good. The ink flows well. Excellent.”

“And it would be wise to add a consolation payment.”

Ian’s suggestion made Romandro scratch his nose thoughtfully.

“How much would be appropriate? One hundred gold coins?”

“That’s reasonable, but since you’re at it, ask for more. They probably won’t pay anyway.”

The man had refused even humanitarian food trade deals. Asking for two hundred coins might get them to haggle down to twenty.

“Let’s see…”

Romandro pondered briefly, then finished the letter with elegant phrasing. He pressed the seal ring firmly onto the paper and handed it to Ian.

“Is the horse ready outside?”

“Yes, Ian. The horse is prepared.”

“Deliver this to the Count of Merelrof. Be careful.”

The servant tucked the letter safely into his coat and left the reception room. It would take some time before they received a proper response, but at least the first step had been taken.

“Since it’s supposed to be for appearances’ sake, it’d be better if we didn’t get any reply at all,” Romandro said.

Ian smiled faintly.

Because that was exactly what he wanted.

“We probably won’t hear anything until winter, I’d guess. By then, Ms. Gula will be withered, and farming will be tough. They’ll be desperate for Gula itself before long.”

When that time comes, they can use this incident as a reason to refuse at first, and later justify raising the price of Gula.

Just like Count Mereloff did—they’ll end up having to return it.

“The thought of that guy paying top price for weeds already makes me want to laugh. His expression will be priceless.”

But Ian’s situation was different from theirs. He didn’t have to buy their food, but they had no choice but to hold their ground since there was no substitute.

Romandro then finished the report he was preparing to send to the capital.

“By the way, being appointed lord is one thing, but since it’s been reported that you’re a magic user, won’t you have to stay in the capital for a while?”

That was the key issue. Even if he got the title, problems wouldn’t just disappear. They wouldn’t send a magic user like Ian down to the provinces.

“Then who’s going to watch over this place?”

“It’s not uncommon for lords to spend extended time in the capital.”

“That may be, but that’s when they have a steward.”

Ian just smiled in response.

For now, once he returned to the palace, he could think about it later. He could confirm whether this unbelievable reincarnation had anything to do with Naum’s magic and then revise his plans accordingly.

“I don’t know yet. Let’s think about it after I become lord. The title ceremony will be at the New Year’s gathering anyway. I just hope Lady Marib helps out.”

At the mention of Marib’s help, Romandro’s expression shifted into something ambiguous—neither confirming nor denying.