An Eye for People
If one were asked to name the most renowned merchant in the Arken Empire, most would answer Herman Pascal.
Herman Pascal.
He had founded a trading company that bore his own family name, and with the ambition of extending his influence not only throughout the empire but across the entire Serdes Continent, he continued to expand.
Beneath him were three children—two sons and one daughter—all of whom had grown up being called geniuses.
Yet among them, the one who displayed the most outstanding genius was the second son, Stefan Pascal.
And right now, he was thinking this:
If things keep going like this, I'm dead for sure!
The reason was simple: the real battle for succession had begun.
He was a man whose merchant's instincts rivaled even Herman Pascal's. The moment something looked profitable he invested, and even when those investments failed he never regretted them; his nature was aggressive through and through.
He had intended to prove his place through pure mercantile ability alone. And so Stefan had concentrated solely on honing his merchant's sense under his father, Herman Pascal.
Only when that same father laid out the board for the succession struggle did Stefan realize Herman had never taught him the one thing that truly mattered.
The charisma to hold people in thrall!
What Stefan lacked was the decisive charisma a merchant needed.
The eldest, Merchit Pascal, and the youngest daughter, Tilda Pascal—set against the influence and charisma those two wielded, Stefan was nothing more than a spectator drifting on the edges of the crowd. With no presence of his own, he was inevitably being pushed further and further out of the succession fight.
That was when Merchit made him an offer.
—I'll be the real heir, but you're better at running the trading company, so you take the company. I'll stick to the mercenaries I already run. That way we can at least stop any disaster from falling into our sister's hands. How about it?
Merchit Pascal had jumped into the mercenary business under the pretext of protecting the trading company and struck it rich. Sharp-witted, he had also hired knight instructors and properly trained his personal combat skills.
Stefan might have lacked charisma, but he was no fool.
He takes the company mercenaries and I just take the trading side? What a joke.
No matter how much money moved people, force always came first. Merchit was already steadily building his military power—what would happen once he was named heir?
The hound that catches the rabbit is always destined for the pot.
He could not join hands with Merchit Pascal.
Then ally with the little sister?
Stefan let out a hollow laugh at how ridiculous even he found the idea. He would rather hang himself.
That girl only ever thinks of seducing men, swallowing other trading houses whole, and then devouring them.
His younger sister, Tilda Pascal, was already betrothed to another major trading house within the empire. She had inherited their mother's famous beauty and used it as a weapon to build an extensive network. She played the pure, foolish woman, yet inside she always held a knife and was ready to stab someone—a sociopath's temperament through and through.
If the two of them shared anything, it was this: under heaven there could be only one sun.
If I want to live, I have to beat both of them.
But how?
Stefan had no connections. Even the directors belonging to Pascal only ever mentioned Merchit and Tilda. Stefan, it seemed, was not even worth considering.
"Uuurrrgh…"
Stefan groaned and collapsed face-down across his desk. He needed to work, yet nothing would come together. They said even if the sky fell there would be a hole to crawl through—so why was that hole never given to him?
While he was still groaning in resentment—
"E-excuse me, Director? Are you in?"
His secretary opened the door and stepped inside. Stefan quickly sat up and put on a bright smile as if nothing had happened.
"What is it?"
"Urgent report just came in. They're demanding the exact same goods across the entire empire, so we need to secure volume."
"Volume? Is this even the season for anything?"
"That's exactly why it's urgent, isn't it?"
"Fair enough. What do they need?"
"Well… the wandering knights are requesting monster corpses."
"What? Monster corpses?"
It was an order strange enough to rank as urgent among urgents. There was even a superstition that merely keeping such things nearby invited bad luck; intact monster corpses were hardly something one expected to find lying around.
"Don't we have quite a few of those in our warehouses?"
Of course, Stefan was a man whose thinking ran on a completely different track from ordinary people. If something looked like it might make money, he kept it first and asked questions later. He had judged that monster corpses could serve as a kind of trophy.
"Yes. We've confirmed roughly one hundred fifty of them."
"Then just sell those. Are they saying they need more?"
"Well… the volume currently being demanded is several times that."
"What? What are they taking that many for?"
Ordinarily, even ten monsters would earn praise. It was enough to leave an impression even if no medal was awarded.
"I thought you'd be curious, so I looked into it. There's this."
The secretary held out a transcribed copy of a public notice.
"Apparently the Far East is selecting a single official—they're recruiting brave knights capable of fighting monsters. Anyone who presents thirty monster corpses will be granted the territory and office of the recently executed Tessalos Wolcher… That's why the wandering knights are placing orders."
"Worth coveting."
Vagrants who wandered about hoping to accomplish a single merit would light up with ambition at the chance of land and title. The location was the Far East, adjacent to the Land of Evil, but what of it?
"Hmm…"
Stefan scratched his chin. His eyes never left the notice.
This isn't the literal content…
He turned the hidden meaning over in his mind.
Telling those sorts to bring monsters… is it to gather people who have the ability to kill monsters all at once?
They had set a minimum condition of thirty monsters for screening, and something else was waiting after that—perhaps?
That's one reading, but let's look at it differently.
Stefan applied his merchant's instinct.
Bring thirty or more monsters and they would give you a territory.
This is a blatantly lopsided deal.
It was difficult work, yes, but not the kind of heroic feat that merited the grant of an entire domain. An excessive reward meant one of two things: either the man who posted the notice was catastrophically stupid…
Or it's bait to draw them in.
Wandering knights from every region would flock together seeking a title. And what would they bring with them? Their retainers—and the corpses of monsters.
Which means the Grand Duchy of Baldrova needs monster corpses.
There Stefan hit a wall. Wanting monsters in a place crawling with them? It was like importing sand into the middle of a desert, or fish at the seashore.
Trying to cook the books? Some black-market scheme? Stock manipulation through chaos?
Among the countless possibilities, something that required large numbers of corpses and could be posted publicly came down to only one answer.
Research.
They were conducting research that demanded vast quantities of corpses, and using an official post as bait to summon people.
Maybe…
It could make money.
The excitement was so sharp that light finally returned to the eyes that had been dulled by the succession struggle.
"Are we trading monster corpses right now?"
"Yes. The wandering knights are pouring in; they're practically fighting over them."
"Understood. Tell every other branch as well—buy up every monster corpse you can. We secure them first. Clear?"
"Uh… is that really all right?"
"Just do as I say."
"Understood."
"Then!"
Stefan shot to his feet and snatched up his coat.
"W-where are you going, Director?"
"I'll be away on a business trip for a few days. You said that wandering knight is downstairs?"
"Yes, he is, but Director—?"
As if every minute and second were too precious to waste, he ran.
"Mwahahaha! Count yourself honored to travel with this hero, Robellus!"
The wandering knight who called himself Robellus laughed in an oily fashion. Narcissism dripped from every word and gesture.
Stefan forced an uncomfortable smile.
"Ah, I'm honored. Haha…"
"As long as you remain at this Robellus's side, you will feel as safe as if the empire's walls surrounded you on every side. Speaking of this body of mine…"
As the monologue began, Stefan sighed inwardly.
I really have no eye for people at all, do I?
Of the ten wandering knights who had stopped by the trading house, the one he had judged the best turned out to be this. For the entire two-day journey to the Grand Duchy he had been boasting of his own exploits. When he ran out he simply repeated himself, yet somehow the details kept shifting. Even the same story was never memorized the same way twice.
This is why I can't stand wandering knights.
Wandering knights!
Eight-tenths of the tales any bard was required to know by heart were the heroic sagas of wandering knights. Their adventures and deeds made hearts race and offered catharsis against the monotony of daily life.
Of course, that was a fantasy held only by the children who listened to the bards. Stefan knew their true faces all too well.
They call themselves wandering knights, but they're nothing but thieves and thugs…
They were armed bands trained beyond ordinary standards, yet with no lord above them and no affiliation. It would not be strange if they turned into bandits or ruffians at any moment.
In fact, several of them come every week asking to be sponsored.
They could not even prove their skill, yet they shamelessly demanded money and credentials. Sponsorship was necessary for building connections, but Stefan had no desire to stain his network by bringing in such riffraff.
And even if I did make one, what then?
They wandered the land for the sake of a single title, bragged that with one knighthood they could do anything, and the moment things went sour they fled in their underclothes. There was always a reason they were wandering.
Neeeigh!
"Wh-what? What's wrong with them?"
The carriage horses began to thrash. They had caught the scent of a dragon. Horses raised within the Grand Duchy were used to it and did not frighten, but to outside horses the smell was as dangerous as leaping into fire.
Stefan advised the coachman who was failing to control them.
"Put on the herb masks we prepared and they'll settle. There's a pouch there—fit it over their muzzles."
"Ah, that? Understood."
Once the masks stuffed with herb packs were fitted over the horses' snouts, they stopped struggling and simply stared ahead. The halted carriage began to move again.
Stefan lifted his gaze and looked up at the sky at an angle.
Lonely Mountain, called the last bastion of the Far East. And atop it, Baldrova Castle—built upon the dwelling of a dragon that could never shed its savage nature.
The Red Dragon Baldrova.
He swallowed hard without meaning to.
A merciless tyrant who would tear even an imperial prince to pieces. A demon dragon that absorbed every malign essence of the land and sought to rule the world!
What kind of idiot went and got himself engaged to that dragon?
And at the same time he thought:
What kind of person might that idiot become to me?
Once inside Baldrova Castle, Stefan surveyed the space within the walls. Because the notice had been aimed at wandering knights, a great many of them had already gathered.
"Hey, no cutting in line!"
"You there! Sneaking over to our monsters—touch them and you're dead!"
"You bastard, you looking for a fight?!"
Hot-blooded men stood around their own carriages, locked in contests of pure presence. Looking at their appearance, the sizes and styles of their armor were a complete mishmash, and even the maintenance was sloppy.
Their so-called retainers are all just bandits in different clothes…
In contrast, the wandering knights themselves were gaudy to the extreme. Some wore brand-new arms and armor made by famous craftsmen simply to stand out; one had even hired a bard to read out his own profile. Another had cleverly left the scars of past battles on his gear to appeal as a veteran of a hundred fights.
That's the one who bought corpses from our trading house.
Stefan remembered the man purchasing thirty. And the ones loaded on the carriage ended at thirty as well. One after another they walked the corridor looking every bit the refined, elegant knights.
Every last one of them is nothing but surface polish…
They did not wash, yet they doused themselves in perfume so thickly that the nauseating mixture of scents made him want to vomit.
The place they arrived at was the banquet hall. All the tables had been pushed aside and the center cleared, so nearly fifty knights could stand with space between them and still have room to spare.
"Come to think of it," Robellus said, striking up conversation, "have you ever seen the man who is to become master of this castle?"
Asking about someone else instead of talking about himself was proof he was nervous. Stefan shook his head.
"I've never seen him, but they say he's of the Rosnova family."
"Ah! The Rosnova family! The sword that guards the empire. Then why was he chosen as the Grand Duke's fiancé?"
"I heard his body is weak. And his eyes are blue instead of the Rosnova family's distinctive color, so they say the adultery was all but certain. The family supposedly seized on that as an excuse to cast him out… and he accepted it, becoming the fiancé and now the regent of the Grand Duchy."
"Hooh… is that so?"
Robellus scratched his chin at the words. Greed far beyond his station glittered in his eyes.
"Hmm, if a half-wit kicked out of his own house can play at being a king as the fiancé… then if things go well, I might be able to snatch that fiancé position for myself, no?"
Words that belonged in a bandit's mouth spilled freely from a knight's. And they had already entered the very territory of that "half-wit," yet none of them seemed to realize it.
This is the sort of creature that once was a scion of a knight family called the sword of the Arken Empire…
People said the knights of the Arken Empire were rotting, but seeing a bottom deeper than the bottom made him want to sigh.
Yet Stefan was a merchant. He knew the sword was closer than the law, and he knew how to coat his words wherever he stood.
"Haha… w-well, that could be."
Even while coming here, Stefan had not held any great expectations for Ferda. There were rumors that he had executed Tessalos Wolcher and brought the eastern lords under his control, but every rumor was exaggerated.
A man cast out for having nothing special—what could he possibly achieve…
With his expectations for Ferda set aside, he waited.
And the moment the true master of this castle finally appeared, Stefan realized it once more.
He truly had no eye for people at all.