"Your form is improving, my lord," a red-haired female knight said, her voice carrying its usual rough, soldier’s edge. "But your stamina is still pathetic."
Edric grabbed a towel from a nearby bench, wiping the string of sweat from his forehead as he forced himself to stand. "I'm working on it, Serah."
This has become the normal day for Edric. In his pursuit to lose weight, he would train and exercise in the morning, in the afternoon he would look over his house's records, this would continue until late in the evening wherein he will then get whatever rest he can, and then repeat everything in the morning.
A tedious and tiring routine, but necessary if he wants to actually survive.
Serah watched him for a long moment, her sharp gaze taking in his posture before she reached down to pick up his discarded wooden blade. "Speaking of things that take time... what do you plan to do with that young maid Gareth is babysitting?"
Edric paused, the towel draped over his shoulders. The memory of the terrified young maid who had served him the poisoned wine crossed his mind.
"I don't believe she's the culprit," Edric replied calmly, his modern analytical mind evaluating the pieces on the board. "But whoever actually orchestrated the attempt on my life is still out there."
He sat down on the bench and looked up to the sky. "For now, it’s safer if I keep her close, under my direct supervision. If she’s away from the others, the real culprit can't use her as a scapegoat again, and I can monitor any subtle shifts in her behavior."
Serah nodded slowly, satisfied with the tactical logic. "And what about the corrupt clerks? They've been rotting in the lower cells for days now."
"I'm still thinking," Edric’s expression hardened, a cold smile touching his lips. "But the survey team returned from the Dunmere mines last night."
Serah’s eyebrows shot up. "And?"
"Malek was thorough, but not thorough enough," Edric said, tossing the towel aside. "The engineers reported that the cave-in at the Dunmere Mine was, in fact, real. However, they believe the structural damage is entirely fixable. With enough manual labor, the tunnels can be repaired, cleared, and fully operated once more."
He leaned back against the wooden bench, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps I'll send them to that mine, make them dig up the dirt they tried to bury."
"My lord." Gareth’s smooth, measured baritone cut through the courtyard. The old chamberlain stepped out from the covered walkway, his posture impeccable, holding a freshly pressed linen cloth.
He bowed precisely to Edric. "Pardon the interruption, but someone is urgently requesting an audience with you."
Edric took a cup of water and downed it in one go. "An audience this early in the morning? Who is it, Gareth?"
A faint, uncharacteristic glint of amusement touched Gareth’s stoic eyes. "A merchant, young master, the only one to answer our summons."
Edric wiped the last traces of sweat from his neck, nodding toward the manor. "Hoh? Then we'd best not make him wait. Have him brought here "
"Here, young master? Not in the receiving hall?" Gareth asked curiously.
"No, no need for that, I don't want to waste time preparing for that, I just want to get down to business."
"At once, young master."
After a few moment, the visitor was escorted to the courtyard.
Dressed in a well-tailored but slightly weathered traveling coat, his boots showed the distinct dust of the hard frontier mountain passes.
The moment Edric laid eyes on him, still in his sweat-stained training gear with Serah and Gareth, the young man practically bowed on all fours.
"Ah! Lord Marquess!" The man bowed deeply, a wide, remarkably energetic smile plastering across his face. "An absolute honor. A true privilege to meet the lord of Galehelm."
Edric blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sheer, unbridled energy radiating off the man. "Sit. Enough of the pleasantries. Who are you?"
"Of course, my lord! I am Javier," he introduced himself, throwing his hands out with a dramatic flair that made Serah’s hand instinctively twitch toward her sword hilt.
"A humble representative of the Cresting Wave trading company. I have braved the freezing mountain passes, fought off the biting frost, and risked my very life to come before you today because I desire—nay, I crave—to form a partnership with House Artos." He continued as he sat across Edric.
Edric didn't smile, though internally, his modern sensibilities were immediately intrigued. He turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder. "Gareth, tell me exactly what we know about Javier and this Cresting Wave company."
Javier puffed out his chest, clearly expecting a glowing review.
Gareth pulled a small piece of parchment from his sleeve, his face entirely blank. "The Cresting Wave company is a relatively small, obscure merchant guild based out of the mid-tier southern sectors. They possess fewer than three established shipping routes, and their capital is deeply leveraged."
Gareth lowered the paper, his cold eyes fixing on the visitor. "Furthermore, Master Javier here is an exceptionally low-ranking merchant within said company."
"Essentially, he is a glorified peddler who was given a single wagon and told to find profit where the grand guilds refuse to look," the old man continued.
Javier’s jaw dropped. The proud look on his face instantly collapsed into a comically offended pout.
"Hey! 'Glorified peddler' is incredibly harsh, old man!" Javier rebuked Gareth, throwing his hands up in defense. "I prefer the term 'visionary pioneer!' And my rank is 'Junior Procurement Specialist,' which sounds significantly more impressive, thank you very much!"
Gareth was entirely unamused. He didn't even blink, standing perfectly rigid like a statue of judgment.
Edric, however, felt a sudden urge to laugh. Javier’s eager, ambitious, and slightly unhinged demeanor was a refreshing change of pace from the stagnant, terrified bureaucrats he had been dealing with all week.
'This guy has hustle,' he thought to himself.
"Alright, 'Visionary Pioneer,'" Edric said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Pitch me your ideas. How exactly can a small company and a low-ranking merchant help the Marquess of House Artos?"
Javier’s comedic offense instantly vanished, replaced by the sharp, calculating gleam of a true salesman. He stepped closer to the table, his demeanor shifting into something entirely focused.
"It's simple, my lord. You have a massive territory rich in raw lumber, iron, and frontier goods, but you lack the distribution network because of the treacherous nature of your lands."
"Plus with your falling out with the Golden Hands Company, other companies are more hesitant to partner with you." he continued.
Then he tapped his chest proudly. "But Cresting Wave doesn't use the main roads. We specialize in the treacherous, the unknown. We can smuggle—excuse me, transport—your raw goods directly to the independent manufacturing towns in the east, south, anywhere! Completely free of the Golden Hands' influence."
Edric listened intently. The modern corporate strategist in him recognized the play immediately: it was a classic niche market bypass against a massive conglomerate monopoly.
"It's a bold strategy," Edric murmured, his golden eyes locking onto Javier. "But let me ask you this, Javier. Do you actually possess the executive authority within your company to sign off on a massive, resource negotiation with a Marquess house?"
Javier stood up straight, proudly slapping his hand against his chest. "As the designated commander of my single, glorious wagon and the sole representative currently freezing his toes off in your beautiful territory... yes, my lord! I am the absolute authority out here. They told me to bring back profit, and I intend to bring back a mountain of it."
Edric's lips twitched into a small smirk. "And you aren't afraid of what the Golden Hands company will do to your company if they find out you're actively undermining their business?"
Javier let out a bright, dramatic chuckle, winking at the young lord. "Oh, absolutely, my lord. They'd turn us into splinters. But that’s the beauty of a partnership, isn't it? If those big, scary fat cats try to swing their weight around and mess with your primary trade partners... your magnificent, heavily armed forces will protect us, right?"
Serah let out a sharp, amused snort from behind Edric, while Gareth simply closed his eyes in silent, professional suffering.
Edric leaned back in his chair, a genuine, amused smile spreading across his face. The kid had nerves of steel wrapped in a clown's wardrobe. He was exactly the kind of ambitious, desperate, and flexible tool Edric could manipulate to break the economic stranglehold on Galehelm.
"Sit back down, Javier," Edric said smoothly, gesturing to the chair. "Let's hear the rest of your proposal."
Javier quickly sank back into his chair, pulling a small charcoal stick and a rolled-up piece of parchment from his coat pocket. He looked like a man ready to draft a contract that would cement his legacy.
"Excellent! So, regarding the initial shipment of timber or perhaps raw iron ore from the northern foothills, I propose an initial exchange rate of—"
"For now, no resources or produce will leave my territory," Edric interrupted flatly.
Javier froze, his charcoal stick hovering a millimeter above the parchment. He blinked, his energetic smile faltering into a look of profound confusion. "Ah... pardon me, my lord? Did the frost bite my ears? Did you say no exports?"
"You heard correctly," Edric said, leaning back and folding his arms. "My territory is currently unstable. Between the administrative restructuring we've just endured and the upcoming winter, Galehelm cannot afford to part ways with even a single log of wood. I need to consolidate what we have."
Javier scratched his head, completely thrown off his rhythm. "But... Lord Marquess, with all due respect, a trade partnership usually requires, well... trade. If I return to the southern hubs with an empty wagon, my superiors will demote me from 'Visionary Pioneer' to 'unemployed.'"
"Oh, you won't be returning with an empty wagon," Edric replied smoothly. "Because I don't want to sell. I want to buy. I need you to import produce into Galehelm."
"Import?" Javier echoed.
"Grain, wheat, livestock," Edric specified, his mind fixed firmly on the looming threat of the frontier winter. "Things my territory is in need of, as much as you can physically haul over those passes you're so proud of."
Javier’s lively demeanor vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy gravity. He leaned back, tapping the charcoal stick against his chin as his mind raced through numbers, routes, and risk assessments.
"My lord... that is... exceptionally difficult," Javier said softly, his voice losing its comedic edge. "Moving raw materials out is easy. Procuring massive quantities of grain and live cattle into a freezing frontier right before winter? It’s a logistical nightmare. The cost of purchasing that much livestock in the south during the harvest season is already at a premium. The capital required, the guards needed to protect food supplies from desperate bandits... it’s nearly impossible for a company of our size."
Edric watched him closely. He knew Javier was right. It was a nightmare. But it was exactly the kind of impossible task that separated a generic merchant from a desperate, ambitious genius. It was time to push.
Edric let out a soft, theatrical sigh, shaking his head as he began to stand up from his chair. "Well, that is truly unfortunate, Master Javier. I was genuinely looking forward to establishing a highly profitable, exclusive partnership with your guild. I had hoped to find someone adaptable, someone who could see past a few.. hurdles."
He turned his back to Javier, glancing toward Gareth. "But it can't be helped, I suppose. It was foolish of me to expect a small, unknown merchant with a single wagon to handle the grand logistical needs of a Marquess house. Gareth, please escort our guest out and provide him with a warm meal for his troubles."
Javier’s face flushed red. He sat perfectly rigid, his eyes wide. He knew exactly what the young lord was doing. It was a textbook, barefaced piece of reverse psychology, designed to wound his professional pride.
Every logical bone in his body told him to walk away, to take the free meal, and save his company from a massive financial gamble.
But his burning ambition, and his absolute refusal to be dismissed as a small-time peddler, completely took the reins.
"Hold on! Just—just one moment, my lord!" Javier barked, practically slamming his hands onto the armrests as he stood up. He swallowed his anger, forcing a tense, prideful grin onto his face.
He adjusted his traveling coat, his eyes flashing with a fierce, stubborn determination. "I can find a way. The Cresting Wave may be small, but we are flexible. I know a few barons in the mid-tier territories who are looking to liquidate their surplus grain for a fair price. I can secure the livestock. But... you have to give me time.
"An operation of this scale can't be organized in a week," he continued.
Edric turned around slowly, a cold, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "I can give you time, Javier. But nature will not. The first heavy snows will completely block my roads. I need those grains and livestock secured and inside my walls before the deep winter sets in."
"That is your deadline."
Javier winced slightly, doing the mental math. It was tight. Brutally tight. "Understood. I will handle it."
He paused, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his merchant instincts kicked back in. He cleared his throat, lowering his voice as he stepped a bit closer to the young lord.
"However... to make a miracle like this happen, on such a short notice, I’m going to need a significant financial advance from you, my lord."
"Moving that much weight requires coin upfront. And, well... as I mentioned, the roads can be quite... hazardous. Additionally, book-keepers and sellers sometimes incur unexpected costs for their product. A little extra 'grease' is always required to keep the wheels turning smoothly, if you catch my drift."
Edric blinked, looking at the young merchant blankly. Grease? Why would he need to grease the wheels of a wagon to cross a border? Are the axles on his wagon that old?
Coming from a modern world of corporate digital transactions, the localized, unwritten nuances of medieval bureaucratic bribery and palm-greasing completely flew over Edric's head. He simply assumed Javier was talking about literal maintenance costs for the journey.
"If your wagons require extra maintenance supplies, that is fine," Edric said dismissively, entirely missing the subtle implication. He turned to his chamberlain. "Gareth. Agree to his advance. Take Javier down to the administrative wing and have him coordinate the exact figures with Lira and Matthus. Let them review the budget and draw the funds from the treasury."
Gareth, who understood exactly what Javier meant by 'grease,' let out a very faint, silent sigh at his young master's sudden innocence regarding corruption, but he bowed flawlessly nonetheless. "At once, young master."
Javier looked slightly bewildered that the Marquess had taken his euphemism so literally, but he wasn't about to complain about a Lord who was willing to fund the bribes without asking questions. His wide, energetic grin snapped right back into place.
"You won't regret this, Lord Edric!" Javier declared, bowing deeply. "The Cresting Wave will deliver. I'll see you before the first snowfall!"
Gareth led the way to the manor, with Javier following closely behind.
"He's a strange one," the crimson-haired knight remarked, her hand resting on her pommel. "Are you certain we can trust a man who leaps at a death-wish of a contract just because you bruised his pride?"
"I don't trust his loyalty, Serah. I trust his greed and his ambition," Edric said softly, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight. "And right now, those two things make him the most reliable merchant in the south."
"I look forward to a long and prosperous partnership, my lord!" The eccentric young merchant yelled out as he disappeared inside the manor.