Chapter 878: Infiltration

Since last year, Cecil’s goods have become increasingly common throughout this city.

As the wheels rolled over the newly paved roads of the noble district, the high-quality surface combined with equally fine wheels almost completely eliminated the usual bumps of travel. Pedinan Wendell sat inside a sleek black magi-car, his gaze drifting out the window. Along the street, new shops were busy renovating their storefronts—among the black spires characteristic of Aldernan architecture, a strikingly large glass display window took up an entire wall facing the street. Inside, shelves were still being arranged, and workers were hanging a sign above the main entrance, the elegant cursive letters spelling out:

“The Finest Pastries—Cecil Flavors”

“…As if only the people of Cecil truly know how to make desserts,” Pedinan muttered under his breath, frowning.

Across from him, his longtime butler—an honest and reliable man who had served the Wendell family for decades—shook his head. “Actually, the shop owners are just locals. The Shadowplay has stirred up those sharp-nosed merchants.”

“Shadowplay?” Pedinan repeated the word he’d been hearing more and more lately. “I’ve heard of it… Last winter, some Cecil merchants bought land in the southern part of the city and opened a new-style theater. But it was for the common folk—the tickets were cheap, and almost everyone crammed into a single hall.”

“Yes, it’s a low-cost drama for the commoners, and at first, hardly anyone came,” the butler smiled. “After all, no one really knew what it was about—the upper class wasn’t interested, and the commoners were cautious with their spare coins. But about a month ago, those Cecil merchants spent a fortune advertising in the newspapers and even opened the theater free for three days straight. Suddenly, it became all the rage, and it’s even sparked some new shops…”

He glanced out the window, where the “Cecil Flavor Pastries” shop was already passing out of view.

“They say the new drama repeatedly features certain pastries in its plot, and the final scene shows the main characters sharing desserts in a peaceful reunion. Somehow, those pastries caught people’s interest—what you just saw is actually the third such shop to open in the city.”

Pedinan listened, disbelief etched across his face. He frowned and shook his head. “I just don’t understand… Drama should be elegant and profound. What on earth are those Cecil people up to?”

“It’s hard to grasp, but the commoners seem to love it—after all, compared to jewels and estates, pastries are at least affordable, and they let the middle class show a bit of ‘decency.’”

“You know a lot,” Pedinan glanced at his butler. “Have you seen this so-called ‘Shadowplay’ yourself?”

“No, I haven’t,” the butler replied. “I’m past the age for chasing after plays and fads. But my son and two daughters have all gone. The young seem to really enjoy it.”

Pedinan fell into a brief silence, then shook his head and picked up a newspaper he’d set aside earlier. It was a local Aldernan paper. After Habier Reston’s founding of the Empire Gazette had been a huge success, the emperor gradually opened the way for private newspapers, though the barriers to entry remained high. Even now, only three or four papers were popular in Aldernan. As a somewhat old-fashioned noble, Pedinan favored only one: The Nobleman’s Weekly.

Opening to the second page, large bold letters caught his eye—

An advertisement from the Cecil Steel Investment Company, recruiting sales staff in Aldernan.

The ad was large, eye-catching, and lavishly designed. Placing such an ad must have cost a fortune.

“Even The Nobleman’s Weekly is running ads from Cecil merchants now,” Pedinan said with a hint of helplessness. “Who would have imagined this before?”

“Perhaps it’s the era of economic openness,” the butler agreed. “I hear our merchants have opened many shops in Cecil City as well… As long as the mana trains keep speeding along the border, this kind of thing will only increase. After all, no one can stand in the way of money.”

Pedinan listened thoughtfully but said nothing more.

…

“No one can stand in the way of money,” Viscount Hermil said, reclining comfortably on a plush red sofa, gently swirling a glass of fine White Mountain wine. His bright, sunny smile seemed contagious, lifting the spirits of anyone who saw it. “Of course, we used to say no one could stand in the way of gold coins—but times have changed, Count Holmark.”

Opposite him sat a slender, sharp-featured middle-aged gentleman with close-cropped golden hair. He held a wine glass as well, but his posture was more formal and reserved than the younger viscount’s.

This was Holmark, a member of Aldernan’s high society and one of the empire’s appointed economic ministers after Rosetta Augustus restructured the imperial order. Unlike Duke Seven, who oversaw the imperial bank, Holmark was responsible for foreign economic affairs. Since last year, he had been handling trade negotiations with the Highland Kingdom and the Silver Empire, achieving significant results.

“Paper currency has unique advantages—and when used properly, it can bind us more closely to our commercial partners,” Count Holmark said calmly, unfazed by Hermil’s somewhat casual demeanor. As a seasoned socialite, he always maintained the appropriate attitude toward visitors.

“Indeed, our commercial partners,” Hermil nodded, exaggerating his admiration. “I heard about your negotiations with the Silver Empire—truly a masterclass in diplomacy. Even reading the transcripts, I’m impressed by your quick thinking. I’ve dealt with some elves before, and I know how hard it is to change their minds—they can be more elegant and courteous than any noble, but that doesn’t mean they’ll buy your goods.”

“The Silver Empire is a tough fortress to breach,” Holmark replied evenly. “Their society barely needs Typhon’s industrial products—advanced technology makes their lives comfortable, and they have an innate pride. But our progress in the Highland Kingdom opened the door for the entire negotiation. Elves do need human empire goods, mainly enchanted paper and alchemical substrates… though on a much smaller scale than I expected.”

“But at least it gave us a trade route to the southern continent,” Hermil smiled. “I hear Cecil merchants have already done business with the Ogure tribes and even the dwarves in the far west. In commerce, they’re a step ahead of us.”

“Not just that,” Holmark shook his head. “They even have ties with the Silver Empire.”

Hermil’s eyes widened in surprise.

“The Silver Empire? Cecil?” the young viscount exclaimed. “How did they manage that? I mean… there’s that vast wasteland in between—no bird could fly across it.”

“Of course, it’s not the same kind of trade we do. But the relationship between the Silver Empire and Cecil is indeed close,” Holmark said seriously. “I heard from the Highland Kingdom that when the nations cooperated to repair the Grant Wall, the elves and Cecil people came together. That wasteland blocks direct trade, so only a few goods travel the long overland route—from the Mosswood, through the territories of the Grey Elves, orcs, and fae, across the southwestern rift and the border forests of the Highland Kingdom, finally reaching the elves’ lands…”

The middle-aged noble frowned slightly, swirling his wine glass. “This trade is small-scale and not yet a threat to us commercially. But who knows what the future holds? Cecil is too good at pulling off the unexpected, and their efforts to maintain ties with the elves must mean they have plans.”

Hermil’s playful smile faded. He stood, pacing thoughtfully, circling twice before returning to his seat. After sipping his wine, he seemed to reach a decision. “Looks like… the southern continent’s market will inevitably become a ‘battlefield’ in the future.”

“Even if Cecil stays out of it, the southern market will become a battlefield,” Holmark said with a knowing smile. “You should know how much our factories produce daily—short-sighted people only think about selling to neighbors and villagers, but those with vision realize that the farther goods travel, the longer and richer the profits.”

Holmark smiled at Hermil. “We’ve opened trade routes to the Highland Kingdom and the Silver Empire. The empire’s southern investment company has already started reaping gold. As with any new frontier, those who establish themselves first earn the biggest share.”

“Of course,” Hermil set down his glass, exhaling softly as his sunny smile returned. “That’s why I’m eager to support your ‘Southern Investment Company.’ I’m willing to invest a hundred thousand—no, a hundred and fifty thousand pounds at the start. Count, I trust you’ll put the money to good use.”

“Hermil, my friend, you can wait at home for your handsome returns,” Holmark stood, smiling as he extended his hand. “The shareholders’ profits will prove your keen insight today.”

Hermil shook the count’s long, slender hand. “Honestly, I don’t have keen insight. I just discovered a trick and stuck to it—”

“Oh?” Holmark’s curiosity was piqued. “Care to share this trick with your new business partner?”

“It’s simple—whatever the Cecil people do, I follow,” Hermil laughed. “They invest everywhere, so I do too. In this age of new things and new frontiers, I don’t need to be first—being second is enough.”

Holmark looked at the young viscount’s cheerful smile and was momentarily speechless.

After a pleasant conversation, the rising noble star of the past two years took his leave.

Count Holmark, slender with a high nose and pale golden hair, returned to his reception room. Looking at the two wine glasses on the small round table and the sofa where Hermil had sat, his expression remained unchanged, but he muttered under his breath, “Ah, restless youth…”

A servant entered to tidy the room, and the butler followed, awaiting further instructions.

“What do you think of Viscount Hermil?” Holmark asked casually, turning to his longtime butler.

“I shouldn’t judge a noble,” the butler replied meticulously.

“A restless young man, yet undeniably talented,” Count Holmark said without waiting for the butler’s response, speaking to himself more than anyone else. “In just a few years, he’s become the wealthiest among the new generation of nobles. That’s not luck—though many believe he simply got lucky meeting that craftsman named Martin, and stumbled upon the Angray loom.”

At this, Count Holmark shook his head slightly. “I admire young men like him, but like most of his peers, he only focuses on what interests him. From the standpoint of a Typhon noble, his attitude toward Cecil… what is this?”

His gaze was suddenly drawn to something a servant was clearing off the table. He couldn’t help but ask aloud—it looked like a thin book, with a colorful cover and rather cheap binding. When the servant handed it over, he finally made out the letters on the cover—

Magical Living

“A magazine…” Holmark was no stranger to new trends. He recognized this thin volume as one of the magazines that had been gaining popularity in recent years. But this wasn’t one his household subscribed to. “Did Viscount Hermil leave this behind?”

The butler glanced over and nodded. “It appears so.”

“A respectable noble wouldn’t usually care about such things, but have someone send it to him later,” Holmark said as he flipped casually through the first few pages. “Hmm… this is run by people from Cecil?”

“Yes, sir,” the butler replied. “It’s a magazine started recently by several merchants from Cecil, focusing on life in the magical era—mainly the lifestyle of the Cecil people. It’s been very popular among the respectable middle class these past two months, since many of the magical devices featured are hot items on the market.”

“Respectable middle class…”

“Yes, those who can afford a magical ice chest once a year—lawyers, doctors, that sort. Of course, many young nobles enjoy this magazine too—they like those novel and interesting machines.”

Count Holmark hummed in acknowledgment, then asked seemingly at random, “Does anyone in this house subscribe to it?”

“Yes, as far as I know, Chef Richard does. He’s been talking a lot lately about plans to get a magical phonograph for the kitchen.”

“Tell Mr. Richard—and anyone else—that if they bring such things into this house, all their shopping privileges will be revoked,” the count said flatly. “We’re not without our own magazines.”

“…Yes, sir.”

(End of chapter)