Chapter 216: The Business Plan

The plump Patrick Baum sat somewhat awkwardly in the reception room of Lord Cecil’s “castle,” adjusting his bow tie for the third time.

He wasn’t exactly inexperienced in the ways of the world, but even the most worldly-wise rarely get the chance to have a private conversation with a founding hero. He knew this meeting was entirely different from the last time at Kant Castle. Back then, he had been there as a representative of the Kant domain, receiving a commission from Duke Cecil amidst a crowd. This time, however, Duke Cecil had personally summoned him from Kant for a private, face-to-face discussion.

The pressure of these two situations was worlds apart.

Meanwhile, Patrick’s curiosity was piqued as he took in this place, which seemed utterly novel to him.

This residence was indeed Duke Cecil’s castle, but its style was nothing like the typical noble fortress one might imagine. Rather than a fortress, it resembled the “vacation estates” that had recently become fashionable among nobles in the central regions. It was probably not as fortified as a traditional castle, but the interior was surprisingly comfortable: wide floor-to-ceiling windows, a bright reception hall, warm corridors and rooms—and not a trace of the damp, musty smell so common in castles. This was truly remarkable.

Most of the walls were painted a pristine white, and bright magical crystal lamps illuminated every corner as if they were free. In fact, not just inside this castle—ever since entering the Cecil domain, Patrick had seen more magical crystal lamps than in his entire previous life combined.

God only knew how this newly established frontier domain managed such a feat—in just a few months, neat brick houses had been built, wide straight streets laid out, docks, mills, and sawmills all in place. But the most eye-catching feature was the rows upon rows of magical crystal lamps lit at dusk, lining the streets and the entrances of commoners’ homes—not just the lord’s mansion, but the homes of ordinary people!

Patrick had once thought it impressive enough that half the people in Kant lit oil lamps after dark, but seeing the brightly lit Cecil domain at night made his familiar town seem dull and lifeless by comparison.

Just how wealthy was the Cecil domain? Did they employ dozens or even hundreds of official mages solely to charge the street lamps outside commoners’ homes?

And what was going on with their incredible construction speed? How did they keep projects going through winter? And those civilians who wandered freely around the domain, laughing loudly and not trembling in fear at the sight of patrolling soldiers—what was that about? And those strange, noisy buildings called factories—what were they?

This domain seemed shrouded in countless mysteries. Yet Patrick dared not pry too deeply. He knew the land’s master—Grant Duke Gawain Cecil—a legendary figure who had lived through the Gondor era and the Second Expansion, rumored to have secret pacts with the Four Elemental Lords and close ties with elven and dwarven royalty. To Patrick, such a man was almost “inhuman.” Even if he had harnessed the power of the Elemental Lords to build this domain, Patrick had no doubt it was possible. But as a small-time figure, it would be dangerous to speak too freely on such matters.

As Patrick adjusted his bow tie for the fourth time, the seemingly absent-minded young maid approached again, filling his teacup for the umpteenth time. “Sir, tea.”

“Oh, thank you.” Patrick hiccupped with a watery sound but had learned his lesson—this time he only took a small sip. He realized the girl wasn’t trying to make things difficult or testing him on the duke’s orders; she simply hadn’t been taught proper etiquette by the head housekeeper. She just kept refilling the cup and watching the guest drink. If the guest was too earnest or overthought things—like Patrick half an hour ago—he might very well be drowned in tea.

“Does the duke know I’m here?” Patrick asked cautiously after setting down his cup.

The maid was just a lowly servant, certainly no match for a former lord’s advisor like himself. But only a fool would compare them so simply—this girl was the duke’s personal maid!

She paused, propping her finger against her chin, lost in thought for a few seconds before shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

Patrick sighed and gave up trying to get any information from her.

Just then, the reception room door opened, and a tall figure stood there. Patrick, who had just sighed, instinctively stood up.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gawain said with a smile as he entered. “I was inspecting the alchemy factory and sorting samples, which took a bit of time. Betty, have you served tea to our guest?”

Betty lifted the large teapot. “Tea’s been poured!”

At the sound of the water pouring, Patrick hiccupped again reflexively…

Gawain blinked. “Why does this plump gentleman’s hiccup echo like that?”

He didn’t press the matter, though, feeling pleased at the progress of his young maid. After giving her an approving smile, he turned to the slightly nervous, echo-hiccupping Patrick. “Sir Knight Philip spoke highly of you. When he last reported back, he mentioned how well you managed Kant’s finances—ensuring winter supplies and maintaining stable trade relations with merchants even after the lord’s death, so they would continue doing business with Kant next year?”

“I was just doing my duty,” Patrick replied modestly. “I’ve always handled dealings with the local merchant guilds and advised the lord accordingly. I’m ashamed to say that while I’m skilled in heraldry, grammar, and etiquette, I’ve devoted more energy to finances, which… isn’t exactly glamorous.”

“It’s only unseemly if you’re good with money but won’t admit it,” Gawain laughed. “I’ve called you here today to discuss financial matters. I imagine you already know that?”

“Yes, I saw your letter. Your domain has reached a productive stage, so you want me to help establish trade routes?” Patrick nodded. “Alchemy potions, right?”

“Exactly—alchemy potions. But I must warn you, the way the Cecil domain produces and sells these potions is quite different from what you might expect. I have a brand-new trade model, and I need your help to build and implement it.”

“A brand-new trade model?” Patrick frowned, unsure what Gawain meant. “You mean the lord’s cut?”

“That’s too complicated to explain. It’s better if you just look at the materials.” Gawain gestured to Hetty, who handed Patrick a relatively thin booklet. “This will explain what I mean by ‘new trade model.’”

Patrick took the booklet. Though he respected Gawain, he was somewhat confident in his own expertise. Having dealt with merchants for half his life, he was very familiar with setting up trade routes and managing inventory. No matter how novel the trade model, it couldn’t be that complicated to require a whole booklet. But he didn’t say this aloud and instead nodded respectfully. “Very well, I’ll take a look. Your Grace, you can rest assured—I’m quite confident in my business acumen.”

As he spoke, his eyes caught key terms in the booklet: chain distribution, regional agents, circulation networks, profit-sharing models, market expansion…

Gawain said nothing, quietly watching Patrick skim through the booklet.

Patrick finished a quick first read in a few minutes, then spent three times as long on a second pass.

Just as he was about to start a third, Gawain interrupted. “Mr. Patrick, what are your thoughts?”

Patrick rubbed his eyes, looking a bit dazed as if momentarily forgetting he was in the duke’s reception room. His mind was swirling with those bewildering terms and operational plans. When he realized Gawain was addressing him, a cold sweat broke out. “Y-yes, Your Grace! I’ve finished reading it—I’ve finished!”

“I know you have. I want to hear your thoughts.”

“Well…” Patrick glanced down at the booklet, suddenly at a loss for words. “These ideas are things I’ve never considered before. They seem strange… but also feasible? However…”

The stout man hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Alright, I admit logically it makes sense. If implemented, it would quickly become a commercial powerhouse in the southern region—no individual merchant, shopkeeper, or even regional guild could compete with such a tightly organized, highly efficient, unified merchant group backed by a great noble. But to be honest, it’s almost impossible to realize. You want everyone in this sales system under unified command—the bottom-level shops directed by regional agents, who in turn answer to a general manager you appoint. But no merchant has ever accepted such constraints before. Of course, we could enforce it with money and contracts, but you also want the lowest-level shops to sell directly to commoners, and that…”

Patrick spread his hands. “Alchemy potions aren’t some stinky ointment brewed by country herbalists. Even poorer mercenaries might not afford them. How could commoners possibly pay? Even if we sell to them, no one would buy!”

“You don’t need to worry about that. Since I said the new alchemical potions can be sold to commoners, I’ve naturally considered the price. I can guarantee they’ll be affordable enough for ordinary commoners to manage with a bit of effort. Nobles across the lands can also equip their armies with these potions.”

Gawain didn’t overpromise—he didn’t claim “even serfs can afford alchemical potions,” because that wasn’t realistic. Not every domain was like Cecil’s. In most places, serfs had virtually no personal property. No matter how cheap the potions, they couldn’t even afford a bottle cap. For now, Gawain simply couldn’t change that.

Making alchemical potions affordable to middle-class commoners—or city dwellers—in other domains was already his greatest goal.

At first, Patrick couldn’t help but doubt what Gawain was saying—it just seemed impossible. But seeing the unwavering expression on his face, he wisely kept his skepticism to himself and instead focused on the trade model described in the manual. “Alright, I have to say, what’s written here is full of wisdom—if you were selling grain or cloth instead of alchemical potions, I’d rate it even higher. But I do have one last question… do you really have that many alchemical potions?”

The “business scholar” spread his hands. “To ‘feed’ a sales system like this, the number of alchemical potions needed isn’t small at all.”

Gawain smiled faintly and waved to the two attendants who had followed him. “Go bring in those few crates of samples.”

“F… a few crates?”

(End of chapter)