Day by day, it became hotter as we approached midsummer. Our Hermit Beans sales were only rising, along with the sales of Zunda mochi. Both were selling out every day, enough that I was beginning to worry if there would be any edamame left to use for livestock feed. But that problem was somewhat mitigated by feeding the livestock leftover beets after taking out their sugar.
A research team and harvest team were sent to the beet field, in order to experiment if the plant could be farmed closer to the city. We were having more trouble when it came to gagd meat. While demand was high, supply couldn’t catch up. Half a month had passed since we introduced the meat to the public, but we had only been able to hunt four gagds.
Apparently this was a decent outcome, but it definitely wasn’t enough for the meat to reach each of the tens of thousands of people in Lishua. It wasn’t the season for storing food to boot. While its climate was similar to Hokkaido, the northernmost prefecture of Japan, it was still hot in summer.
“Do we have to make refrigerators...”
“Even the most basic of electric refrigerators would be impossible to make with the current technology in Azur.”
“Thought so.”
We had completely settled into Mister Milon’s manor. Since we had gone hands-off with the endeavor itself, we had some time on our hands. True to a Japanese saying ‘small minds and free time make for no good,’ we had begun talking about inventing a refrigerator.
The predecessor of the refrigerators we have today was a model that chilled its contents with ice. Its structure wasn’t complicated: a box with two compartments. The top compartment held the ice, while anything that needed to be chilled was put in the bottom compartment. Since cold air falls, this would chill the contents at the bottom.
However, we were missing a couple of things before we could recreate this contraption in this world: insulation and ice. Without the former, the ice inside it would melt in no time, and how could we obtain the latter at this time of the year? Perhaps we would need to transport it from a high altitude, or have spellcasters create some with their ice magic.
Both options seemed extremely impractical. The ice would melt over such a long journey, and the thought of creating ice by hand (in a sense) was madness. We would run through every qualified spellcaster in the blink of an eye. Whether it was called magic or superpowers, it was unthinkable for a society to rely on the ability of a select few of its inhabitants.
What would happen if, after completing the refrigerator and popularizing it to the point where it was a necessity and each house, the spellcasters went on strike? People’s lives would be drastically altered, since they could no longer store any food.
In order to prevent such an instance, the spellcasters would have to be constantly paid and treated well, not to mention enough of them would need to be employed so they can take vacations. They would be treated differently. In other words, they would be elevated to a privileged class. Without them, life would become unsustainable.
“The birth of arcane rule.” Tiamat cackled.
This was more than a certain group of people ruling by force. In this hypothetical world, the spellcasters controlled the very aspect of life.
There was a novel I really enjoyed that had a similar premise, where a high school-aged girl is transported to a world where magic rules all. People who can’t use magic are not simply ruled by those who could, but protected, like animals being protected by humans. That was a good one.
“In any case, I want to avoid that kind of future.”
“It may not even be worth entertaining the possibility.”
“Refrigerator’s a no-go, I guess.”
“We aren’t completely out of options.”
“Let’s hear what your—”
Interrupting me, the door to our quarters opened and an employee of the shop came flying through it.
“Sir Eiji! There’s a messenger from the royal court!”
Here we go, I thought. There was no way that the Kingdom of Azur would idly watch as we furthered our plans.
From just looking at the numbers of Mister Milon’s business over the past half month, it was easy to see the exorbitant amount of money that was coming in. There was no reason for the government not to take notice, especially since our intention was to save the people of Azur from an epidemic.
Unfortunately, I was sure they hadn’t taken notice too kindly. In modern-day Japan, anyone was free to help people, do good deeds, and volunteer their time. In a medieval society, though, it wasn’t that simple. The most popular person in the kingdom had to be the king. A hero other than the king saving the people? Unthinkable!
I may sound like a broken record, but the only reason some high schooler transported from our world can get away with such flashy accomplishments was because they occupy a fictional world. Someone who was summoned for the benefit of this world in its time of need would, of course, be used for the benefit of this world, and discarded after there was no use for them. While that may sound awfully cut and dry, that’s reality for you.
“He is a lazy bum who wanted a hero to take care of all of his problems. Naturally, he would take the easiest method when dealing with the aftermath,” Tiamat said. I mostly agreed.
“And if the hero wants to avoid such a fate, he’s left with two options.”
Once peace was restored to the world, the hero could say his farewells and disappear somewhere, or else he could utilize the cheat codes bestowed upon him to usurp the highest power. He had to choose one or the other.
“In Azur, the hero chose the latter.”
“Right.”
I chuckled, as I cleaned myself up before meeting the royal messenger. According to legends, after vanquishing the Demon Lord, the hero married the king’s daughter, and eventually inherited the throne from his father-in-law.
Who knew how much of this was true? Any institution, a country, army, etc. would be hard pressed to give up the power they have. This is evident just from looking back on the history of Japan. When Tokugawa Yoshinobu moved to return governmental control to the emperor, it wasn’t like everyone obediently followed. Even Oda Nobunaga, who was promised the nation by Saito Dosan, took a decade before he controlled the state of Mino by taking down Tatsuoki, Dosan’s grandson.
No country has gone through a change in power without blood. It was only evident. I imagined that Mister Hero slaughtered every one of his opposition on his way to the throne. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. Any kingdom must have started with some form of robbery or usurpation or conquering. Even the very beginning of the British Empire is said to be of some pirate captain or a leader of a gang of outlaws.
We were shown to the meeting room, where the messenger was already waiting for us. He was a middle-aged man, sitting at the seat opposite from the door like he owned the place.
With just one glance, I knew I hated him. While he was the guest, and might have been been entitled to that seat, why did he have Mister Milon and Miss Millia sitting on the floor?
However, despite how much I despised and loathed someone, I had a special ability of never showing a lick of it. Most bureaucrats employed the same skill, since anyone coming to complain at a city office had the same kind of attitude this messenger had. I didn’t know if they thought they were above everyone else, or if they thought government workers were below everyone else, but I did know that trying to genuinely talk to these types was a waste of time.
I would treat this man by the book. Put myself down, and it would only inflate their ego. Speak logically, and they would start claiming that the government was oppressing them.
“Nice to meet you. My name is Eiji. I was told you’re here to see me.”
“I am Viscount Zahreed,” the messenger introduced himself, full of self-grandeur.
Interesting. A noble sent as a messenger. Apparently they weren’t sending any lowly bureaucrat as their first scout. They either didn’t have the time for it, or had some other reason to send this man first.
“And how can I help you?”
I sat down on the couch opposite him. While I wasn’t offered to sit, Viscount Zahreed didn’t reprimand me for it.
“There are rumors that you are using disreputable knowledge to deceive the people of our nation.”
That was rather straightforward. Hmm. Perhaps, despite his self-grandeur, he wasn’t given too much power to negotiate.
“I see.”
“A Hermit’s knowledge is disreputable? Has the royalty of this nation no decency?”
While I only acknowledged the question, Tiamat, standing behind me, called out in an offended tone. The messenger’s expression froze.