Episode 85

“Hah! You there!”

Was it really necessary to bring up His Majesty the Emperor?

But since he’d jumped the gun first, there was no proper retort to make. Count Mereloff kept tugging at his beard anxiously, groaning in frustration.

‘So it dies if it touches snow? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen gulla even in winter. What a miserable crop. It grows in water and sand, but snow is like poison to it.’

There were no greenhouses in the Mereloff estate. They hadn’t put much effort into farming from the start, so they were completely unprepared for winter crops. If Ian’s words were true, they needed to buy gulla immediately and start cultivation along with greenhouse construction.

“…Thirty coins.”

“Apologies.”

“Thirty-one coins!”

“My lord Count.”

“Look forward to the days ahead. How much time do you have left as the estate head? Let’s call it quits here. True nobility lies in burying each other’s faults. Thirty-two coins.”

He delivered even his weak threats with elegance. Ian had set the price at fifty coins, which was quite steep, precisely because he expected them to haggle it down by nearly half.

Just then, Romandro cleared his throat as if on cue, and one of his men outside stepped in at the perfect moment.

Knock knock.

“Ian, Romandro. I have a brief report.”

“Is it urgent? We have guests here.”

“Sorry, it should only take a moment.”

“Oh, pardon us.”

The tense atmosphere eased slightly, a strategic move to give Countess Mereloff a chance to persuade the Count. She furrowed her brow deeply, whispering something to him with a worried expression.

Creak.

As Ian and Romandro left the parlor, the Countess raised her voice a little, scowling.

“Fifty coins per sack means a total of 5,000 gold coins.”

“Insane. Five thousand gold coins for some weed.”

“But this year’s situation is unusual. We have to keep the estate alive for now. In Bratz, they did temporary rationing and plan to collect more taxes next year.”

Once dead, there’s no bringing it back. That much was certain. The Countess subtly probed the Count.

“What’s the maximum you’re realistically thinking per sack?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if it cost not a single gold coin.”

“No, no. Realistically.”

She wanted to know where the compromise between Ian and the Count might land. The Count twisted his beard, clearly displeased with the situation.

“About thirty-five coins.”

“Hmm. Thirty-five coins, huh.”

The Countess repeated his words thoughtfully. Then, she knew exactly what to say next.

“Do you think Sir Ian will agree to that? He seems determined to hold firm.”

“Exactly. That young man’s only interested in money. He won’t last long living like that.”

“I think settling around forty coins would be best. As you said, if it snows, the price could rise even more. Then it won’t be about price, but supply itself…”

Her concern was valid. Things had gotten tangled enough to reach this point. They thought there was no way back, but there was always a bottom line.

“Between forty and thirty-five coins. If the talks hover there, we should seal the deal immediately.”

“Hmm.”

“Also, maybe ask to split the sacks—half with smaller gulla seeds for cultivation, and half with larger ones for eating?”

Half would be for farming, so they could pack the sacks tightly with the smallest seeds. The other half, for consumption, should have the plumpest seeds. The Count sipped his now lukewarm tea, groaning in thought.

“Hmm.”

The Countess kept persuading him. The key was not just to buy gulla as cheaply as possible, but to make sure the deal went through at a reasonable price.

After some time, Ian and Romandro returned to the parlor.

“Sorry for the delay.”

“Ahem. The tea’s gone cold.”

“Oh dear, my apologies. Hana!”

“Yes, my lord?”

Count Mereloff cleared his throat repeatedly, trying to regain control of the situation. Beside him, the Countess looked helpless, fiddling with her earlobe.

Clink.

The sound of her ornate earrings and nails caught Ian’s attention. She made a subtle hand gesture—first three fingers, then all five gently stroking. Ian recognized the signal and sat down on the sofa.

‘He asked for fifty, but thirty-five is the max.’

It was hard to say if that was a tough stance or simply the best the Mereloffs could offer. But Ian decided to trust the Countess’s cooperation.

‘Better than no sale at all. Besides, I have other dealings with the Mereloff estate and its people.’

A hundred sacks at thirty-five coins each would total 3,500 gold coins—about a third of the taxes owed to the central government. Ian exchanged a glance with Romandro and began.

“Have you discussed the price?”

“Sir Ian, fifty coins is too high. Holding the market at the manor at that price feels like you don’t want to trade with us openly.”

The Countess lifted her chin sharply and shot a pointed look at the Count. He nodded solemnly, while Ian feigned a troubled frown.

“Very well. Then I’ll add one condition.”

“A condition? What is it?”

“I’ll sell the sacks at forty coins each. But you must sign a pledge not to interfere with any economic activities in this estate going forward.”

“Not interfere with economic activities?”

The Count’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the unexpected condition. The Countess shared his unease. Though she sided with Ian, she couldn’t guess his true intentions.

“Is that unacceptable?”

“No, not unacceptable, but…”

It was a rather significant condition.

The Count glanced at the passing warriors of the Chonryeo tribe in the hallway and guessed Ian was trying to scheme with the border tribes. Was he planning to smuggle something out?

‘What a foolish condition. Even if we don’t interfere, the central government would step in if they were reported. Tsk tsk.’

But Ian saw right through the Count’s thoughts. The strict Count was good at hoarding money, but not so sharp at seeing the bigger picture.

‘He suspects the Chonryeo tribe. He’s mistaken.’

A long silence followed, pretending to be deep in thought. Romandro watched their reactions, while the Countess broke the quiet by lifting her teacup.

“Sir Ian, aren’t you the estate head appointed by the Emperor? The economic rights of each estate are practically autonomous under the head’s authority. It’s strange to impose such a condition.”

“Is that so? Then I suppose there’s no need to adjust the price.”

At that, the Count’s eyes gleamed as he glared at the Countess—a silent warning to keep quiet if she didn’t understand. She lowered her gaze sheepishly but Ian knew it was intentional.

“Good. I don’t know how you view Mereloff, but protecting each other’s rights is only natural. In return, you must promise not to object to Mereloff’s economic activities, and we’ll settle at thirty coins per sack.”

“My lord Count, I said forty coins.”

“Fine, fine. Thirty-one coins.”

“Changing the leading digit twice is a bit much, don’t you think, Count?”

With the price coming down from above and up from below, the middle ground between forty and thirty was clear. After a few rounds of concessions, Count Mereloff reached his limit first.

“Thirty-five! I absolutely can’t go any lower.”

Thirty-five coins—the price the Countess had quietly suggested. Ian crossed his arms and exchanged a look with Romandro. It was a kind of performance to make the deal satisfying for both sides.

“Haah. Very well.”

That was it. A sigh, a reluctant concession. Ian smiled lightly, as if admitting defeat.

“I’ll buy 100 sacks at thirty-five coins each, totaling 3,500 gold coins.”

“Good. Wise decision. Let’s draft the contract.”

As Ian and the Count shook hands, Romandro pulled out the standard contract, rolled up neatly. It was ten pages long, but mostly standard clauses among nobles, with the key points on the first and last pages.

Rustle.

The Count began scrutinizing every word as if devouring them. He even loosened his jacket, signaling this would take some time.

“Let’s change ‘fresh’ to ‘within one week of harvest.’ Is that acceptable?”

“Hmm. As long as you add that it may vary depending on the harvest schedule.”

“Understood. Bring me a new sheet.”

“Here you are, my lord.”

Scratch!

They revised and revised again.

At his feet lay torn contract pages scattered about. Ian and Romandro took turns dealing with him. The Countess finally tapped his waist gently.

“Tired, my lord Countess?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Not at all. It looks like this will take a while. Why don’t you rest comfortably in another room?”

Ian glanced at the Count, but he remained focused on the contract.

“Honey, are you listening?”

“Handle it yourself. Don’t bother me.”

“…”

The Countess didn’t seem hurt; rather, she smiled gratefully at the lack of attention. Ian left the Count in Romandro’s care and stood up with him.

“Madam, allow me to escort you. I could use some fresh air myself.”

At those words, the count’s gaze flicked toward Ian’s retreating back. He was leaving his servant behind to go himself? Why? A surge of jealousy and suspicion rose like a wildfire in his chest, threatening to choke him, but the count was a nobleman. He couldn’t afford a scene in front of the royal advisor.

“My lord?”

“Ah, forgive me. Could you repeat that?”

“If you amend Article 3, Clause 3, then Article 5, Clause 1 must also be revised for consistency. Shall we proceed?”

“Hm. Yes, let’s do that.”

Creak.

As soon as she stepped into the corridor, the lady leaned against the wall and exhaled deeply.

“Thank you for your efforts, madam.”

“…And what about Clark?”

“He’s living the good life at the manor—just receiving meals in his room.”

Though she insisted they weren’t lovers, the moment she slipped out of the count’s sight, her thoughts turned to Clark. Ian gestured for her to follow.

“If you wish, I can offer you my arm.”

“No, thank you. It’s just my waist that aches from the corset; my legs are perfectly fine.”

She held her dress with a proud, graceful air as she walked. Ian wondered if the bruises on her had worsened since that late night, but he didn’t ask. Some wounds hurt simply by being remembered.

Instead, he gently shifted the conversation.

“Have you ever met the younger sibling of Count Mereloff?”