Whether he saw those vignettes on the streets or not, the Demon Lord casually said, “More money than we can spend will flow into our coffers, anyway. Give away the booze we bought out from neighboring villages to those in the Longhouses. And distribute the food we collected any way you see fit.”
“You never hesitate to blow money, do you? How much did you move under the table when you were in the Empire?” Tahara asked.
“One thing has never changed. I only play with house money.”
Tahara burst out laughing. “True that, Chief!”
When the Demon Lord had been entangled in the power struggle of the Empire, he had funded his schemes and campaigns with both legally and illegally procured funds...according to a short story in The Infinity Game.
“All right, boys!” Tahara called to his laborers. “Whip out the wagons and go buy out every bottle of booze around—for triple their prices! Tell the bar and liquor shop owners to pay the makers extra too. At this rate, our booze’ll run dry in no time.”
He could take all the alcohol he needed out of the Casino’s cellar without paying, but that didn’t contribute to the nation’s economy. By procuring drinks from local bars, shops, and distilleries, Tahara aimed to inject even more money into the market. Liquor sellers in the area would find themselves with an influx of cash, which would trickle down to the distillers and farmers who provide the ingredients. They would spend that money on something, somewhere, lining the pockets of someone else... As simple as it was, this was the basic law of circulating the economy. If someone along the line decided to hoard that money for themself and stop that circulation, the economy would rot until it crashed. Misers had been a main cause of Holylight’s stagnant financial state.
On the other hand, now that the Demon Lord had the entirety of Holylight under his thumb, his position enabled him to spend money without a thought for the consequences—his interests firmly lay in other matters. Especially when it was money he had snatched up from the pompous central nobles.
On the Demon Lord’s command, Tahara moved forward with planning out how to haul the booze into the Longhouses. He was overseeing the workers stocking the wagons with food when Ren and several members of her committee passed by.
“Hey, Ren! Everything good?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? There is nothing but admiration for Master among the crowd,” Ren said.
“When you throw a party this big... If you don’t mind, can you take these over to the Longhouses?” Tahara gestured to the veritable mountain of food and drinks, all part of the hoard they’d confiscated from the central nobles—house money, to borrow the Demon Lord’s words.
“That is quite a lot,” Ren said. “Have you spoken to—”
“Don’t sweat it,” Tahara cut her off. “Chief told me to dole these out to the folks in the Longhouses.”
“I see. Master always has his attention on the impoverished,” Ren said.
“That’s...one way to put it,” Tahara said. “Just make sure the choir boy knows it’s a generous gift from the Secretary.”
“Yes. I will enlighten the populace with how deep Master’s mercy and compassion runs.”
“’Kay... Thanks,” Tahara said, not entirely convinced they were on the same page.
Ren seemed unbothered as she immediately led the wagons to the Longhouses...where she would undoubtedly exaggerate the mercy and compassion of her Master, and the residents might just believe her.
After all, the Longhouses were nearly filled up; two thousand refugees from the slums of Euritheis, four hundred freed slaves from Hellion Territory, and one hundred fishermen from the Island Legion already accounted for half of them. On top of that, laborers who’d heard the rumors of the Longhouses flocked to them, keeping Ren busy allocating the remaining vacancies. Before long, the Longhouses would be at capacity—housing five thousand residents...and enough food and drink to keep five thousand people fed and merry.
The amount of food and drink needed to accomplish that was not insignificant. To fund the entire celebration in the Longhouses without batting an eye would come across as proof of his compassion, whether he intended it to or not.
Meanwhile, the supposed paragon of compassion had been pounding down drinks all morning, having rigged up all sorts of effects on the Casino roof. Aku and Tron watched the Demon Lord drink like he was trying to drown himself.
“M-Master Demon Lord! Don’t you think you’ve had enough...?” Aku asked with concern.
“It’s fine. How am I supposed to get through this ridiculous charade without a drink or two?” the Demon Lord claimed.
“Demon Lord. Useless drunk,” Tron said, squinting in disgust.
“Look down there,” the Demon Lord gestured beyond the balcony. “They’ve been partying it up all morning. If everybody’s drunk, nobody’s drunk.”
“Demon Lord talking nonsense again,” Tron said.
The Demon Lord had cast aside all pretenses of composure. He wasn’t getting through this ridiculous ritual without some liquid courage. In fact, he’d only handed out free and one-bronze-coin booze because he wanted the crowd to be as inebriated as he was.
Tron seemed to have forsaken hope for the Demon Lord as she held Mimi to her chest and fell back onto the couch.
Meanwhile, Aku happily watched the village below from the balcony, binoculars in one hand. “Mistress Ren is taking food to the ancient town!” she announced.
“Mm. She can hand out as much of that as she wants,” the Demon Lord said.
“They’ll be so happy. You are very kind, Master Demon Lord!” Aku said.
“Nonsense. Now that we can secure fresh seafood anytime we want, all that food the central nobles hoarded is little better than trash—I have no use for it,” the Demon Lord said, truth underscoring the casual, drunken replies.