I slipped my arms through a dark suit appropriate for welcoming guests, then left the bedroom to head to the guest room. Though it’d been three months since my return from Roguebert, it didn’t mean that all the problems in that village—and by extension, the port city—had been wrapped up in a neat little bow.
Clinton’s crimes were extensive; he’d illegally shackled many nearby towns and villages with heavy taxes, forcing them into poverty, and the residents that he’d abducted and sold off to slavery weren’t all rescued just yet. While we’d managed to crush two people involved in the slave trade, the industry itself was alive and well. And since Clinton, the man behind all these crimes, had died, the area was left without a magistrate and had no official to take care of all these matters.
Had I been allowed to become the magistrate, things would’ve been much easier. But I was only twelve, and naturally, my father wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I threatened the dispatched magistrate who had been sent in Clinton’s stead, turning them into my puppet who dutifully carried out my commands so I could take care of matters.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to just wave my hand and revert the financial crisis of the towns and villages, and rescuing the abducted slaves was progressing at a snail’s pace. If I were allowed to mobilize useful pawns such as the Dark Knights, I wouldn’t have had this much trouble, but they were under my father’s direct control, not mine. I had no right to use them as I pleased.
As a temporary measure, I made those areas tax-free, but that was just a drop in the bucket. Though removing taxes for a period of time would give the residents more breathing room, it did little to solve the fundamental root of the issue: poverty.
The Lightless fief’s wealth wasn’t infinite either; we couldn’t make this place tax-exempt forever, and I had to quickly come up with some kind of alternative solution. The magistrate I controlled didn’t have any valuable ideas of his own, and to top it all off, I had been receiving invoices from the port city’s Merchant Association. Clinton, that sneaky weasel, had given out IOUs under my name when he was procuring ships, cannons, potions, and the like.
Normally, merchants wouldn’t have allowed one to pay afterward, especially for hefty purchases like these, but Clinton’s name carried a great deal of trust as he served as our magistrate. That man had left a troublesome parting gift to me. Thanks to all of that, I was busy holding meetings with these merchants and filling out paperwork; I hardly was able to get a rest for the past three months.
At first, neither the merchants nor I could come to an agreement. They sent these invoices to me and demanded that I pay, refusing to discount even a single coin. In response, I claimed that these agreements had been made with Clinton, not my house; I was just as much of a victim since my name had been stolen. Without my own signature on these contracts, I felt like they were void, but that cunning bastard had used a stamp with the Lightless family crest to sign off on these contracts, creating a very sticky situation for me.
Though there was no signature, the stamp carried enough weight to be seen as legitimate in some cases. The only ones permitted to use it were the members of House Lightless, their relatives, and those who ruled the land under their control. And because Clinton had served as our magistrate, he was counted among them. As a result, we were at a standstill with one side demanding payment and the other refusing to comply.
The Devil’s Sea had been a thorn in the side for merchants, especially those who had trade routes of the sea. I managed to defeat the ship-devouring monster and successfully make it my minion—to be more precise, I killed it and made it my familiar, but the premise was the same. When I told the angry merchants that this monster now did my bidding and only spared ships I allowed to pass—that is, I effectively controlled trade over that area—the merchants who came for discussions immediately changed their tune.
Of course they did. They were now allowed to trade with Stelia using the shortest route possible, and Stelia, a region of snow and frost, was home to a variety of unique monsters, including wyverns. Needless to say, the pelts and magic stones harvested from there fetched a high price on the market. Combined with their unique furniture and artwork, the region was practically a money-making machine. Every merchant was dying to secure a trade route there, so they eagerly turned from their invoices to instead begin discussions about forming ties with Stelia.
Most of them discussed rights and taxes. These greedy merchants flooded into my manor daily to negotiate. In their eyes, even the expense of a two-day trip by carriage was worth coming here.
“This was a very fruitful conversation, Sir Lofus,” a merchant said. “I do hope we can talk again soon.”
“And I sure hope we don’t,” I snapped. “Tone down the frequency of your visits.”
Our meeting went smoothly today as well, and the official was all smiles as they practically skipped out the door. We agreed that the ships and other invoices for this house would be a loan, one with no interest and no payment deadline. I basically didn’t have to pay the money back and I was practically off the hook, but in exchange, I had to act in the interest of the merchants for a while.
First thing in the morning, I was subjected to this meeting for a few hours. I was utterly exhausted, and after the merchants left, I uncouthly lounged on the sofa of the guest room. Carlos eventually returned, having sent the merchants on their way. In his hand was a tray of coffee and a ham-and-egg sandwich. The breakfast that I’d requested was already prepared.
“Oh dear... You seem quite exhausted,” he remarked.
“I haven’t been able to rest at all,” I grumbled. “I’d love to just cast away my responsibilities and run.”
“I don’t think that this is your responsibility, my lord. Surely, you can let Lord Lightless take care of things.”
My father? I thought. It was his incompetence that allowed Clinton to run wild in the first place, bringing upon this laughably pathetic situation. If I let him handle it, he’d only repeat the same mistakes.
“Impossible,” I said snarkily. “I’m sure my oh-so-mighty father is rather...fatigued from managing his massive fief. After all, he let scum like Clinton roam free and do as he pleased.”
“That was only because the inspector he dispatched was bribed as well...” Carlos said, awkwardly shifting his gaze to the ground.
“Try saying that to the victimized citizens. I guarantee you that such an excuse won’t fly.”
And neither will it with me. I was killed countless times in my dream for my father’s willful ignorance.
Carlos, unable to retort, snapped his mouth shut as I huffed proudly and began to munch away on my sandwich.
I’d much rather have the Devil’s Sea rumors remain. So long as people believe that the ship-devouring demon of the sea is still alive and well, I can control trade in that area and make it seem like only those permitted by House Lightless can pass. We’d effectively have a monopoly on the routes to Stelia. Maybe I should head back to Roguebert and summon Strafe once, just to intimidate others.
Unfortunately for me, I simply didn’t have the time to do so. Between taking care of the aftermath of the incident and secretly contacting the magistrate who carried out my orders, I was neck-deep in work.
Should I switch bases for a while? Maybe move to the port city to make things easier for me? No... If I do that, father will send the Dark Knights after me again. Good grief...
“Speaking of,” Carlos said, as though he recalled something. “You’ll be departing next week, won’t you?”
“For what?” I asked.
Next week? Depart? Do I have to?
“Oh? Have you forgotten?” Carlos asked. “You were so excited that you practically vomited. I’m talking about the party hosted by the house of Duke Galleon.”
“Ah, yes...” I replied.
That’s right, I received an invitation for it a mere three months ago. How could I forget? It was the day I saw a nightmare where I was killed millions of times—I vomited not from joy, of course.
The host, House Galleon, was the home of Raymond, the second Demon Lord of the tale. If I attended that event, I would inevitably meet him.
I suspected that even in my dream’s story, this was where I would first meet him. Truth be told, I was a bit—no, quite hesitant. After all, I knew that one way or another, I’d follow him around, become a member of the Elite Four, and ultimately get killed. If I didn’t attend the party, perhaps the future would change, along with the Elite Four. Maybe I wouldn’t join him, thereby avoiding my own death.
I was also not keen on making the journey; the duke’s house was very far away. The Lightless march was located on the east side of the kingdom, while the Galleon duchy was situated all the way on the opposite side, in the western region. Their fief was vast and enormous.
Even if I went by carriage, it’d take at least a week before I arrived. The royal capital had a train which could shave off some time, but even so, I was busy with taking care of the aftermath of Roguebert along with the merchants. I simply couldn’t leave the manor for more than a week. I guess I’ll have to sit this one out...