I stared quietly at Count Coplin, who had been dragged in.
This was the mastermind pulling Bassett’s strings from the shadows.
All to sabotage paper production.
‘I lured the culprit out with yellow dye as bait, but it feels a bit anticlimactic.’
Truth be told, this wasn’t enough to slap him with a heavy sentence.
The damage hadn’t been that significant.
But for me, it would make a pretty useful weapon.
This incident could utterly destroy Count Coplin’s reputation.
That would strip him of his seat in the imperial parliament.
No wonder he was so vehemently proclaiming his innocence.
“I-I swear it wasn’t me. My subordinates acted on their own…”
Count Coplin waved his hands wildly, ranting passionately.
I just smiled faintly in response.
No matter how much he struggled, it was pointless.
“Your butler has already confessed everything. In detail— even how you contacted Bassett.”
“Lies!”
“Oh, and we’ve secured testimony from the servant who relayed your orders. So enough with the excuses.”
“Grrraah!”
He let out a grotesque groan and clutched his head, tearing at his hair.
The stress must be killing him.
Of course— who’d want to lose that precious parliamentary seat he’d somehow snagged?
‘Making enemies with the Giovanni noble faction would be a burden for me too.’
I was already at the point of no return with Duke Sierre.
No good came from adding more foes.
I planned to settle this incident with a compromise.
At a very reasonable level.
“Actually, I’m not entirely opposed to a settlement.”
“R-Really?”
“What’s the point of stripping you of your seat? I’d gain nothing but grudges.”
“Ehehe! If you do that for me, I’ll pay any price. What do you want?”
“…”
I fell into deep thought.
Plain monetary gain just didn’t appeal.
In times like this, you take something money can’t buy.
‘Come to think of it, he mentioned running ranches, right?’
With paper emerging and threatening to ruin his parchment business, that’s why he’d resorted to such petty tricks.
I’d decided what to demand as settlement.
A meaningful smile crept onto my face, and Count Coplin’s eyebrows twitched.
He must think things are going his way.
But how about this?
“I hear you operate large-scale ranches in your territory.”
“That’s right.”
“I’d like those.”
“W-What?”
Most of Count Coplin’s domain consisted of vast grasslands.
Perfect conditions for livestock farming.
Midias had plenty of fields too.
If I set up ranches there, the profits would be substantial.
The old man in front of me would take a loss, sure.
But wasn’t that far better than losing his parliamentary seat?
“I’m not planning to take everything. Just send me the sheep and geese. Do that, and I’ll write a letter of non-prosecution.”
“Isn’t that a bit excessive?”
“You’re pulling out of the parchment business anyway, aren’t you?”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
No matter what he did, he couldn’t beat paper.
But even excluding leather, sheep were incredibly useful animals.
His mind was probably racing through the cost-benefit analysis.
No matter how he crunched the numbers, the conclusion was the same.
Even handing over the entire ranch would be a better deal than losing his seat.
To make the math easier for him, I added one more offer.
“I’ll prioritize purchasing goods from the Coplin family. How about some cowhide to start? Say, two hundred sheets?”
“Oh?”
In winter, wool and goose down sold far better than leather.
For stuffing pillows, quilts, or making clothes.
And since I wasn’t taking the livestock immediately, he could mitigate some losses.
Sheep needed regular shearing anyway, and geese could be plucked three or four times.
Having made up his mind, Count Coplin nodded.
“Fine. You said just the sheep and geese, right?”
“Yes. And just in case— slaughtering is forbidden from the moment we agree.”
“Ahem! A-As if I’d do something so low!”
His stammering suggested he’d considered sneaking some off.
But that wouldn’t happen.
I’d send people right away to count the heads.
“Send them once the pens are ready. Manage them well until then.”
“Of course.”
“Good. Then sign here.”
I drafted the contract on the spot.
The condition: upon receiving the sheep and geese, I’d provide the letter of non-prosecution.
‘Not a bad deal.’
But is it okay for the chief justice to do this?
Right now, I’m not the judge— I’m the victim.
So it’s fine to accept reasonable compensation and let it go.
I smiled and shook Count Coplin’s hand.
“Pleasure doing business. Let’s keep in touch.”
“Heh heh! Absolutely.”
The incident that started with Bassett’s theft wrapped up like this.
“Y-Your Grace. What on earth do you mean?”
Butler Miller Xavier looked dizzy.
I’d told him to build a ranch in Midias.
Sturdy enough to house thousands of livestock.
I felt a twinge of guilt.
We were already swamped expanding the papermaking factory.
But what choice did I have?
I couldn’t just let all those animals roam free.
“There’s still time, so no rush. We’re receiving them once the pens are complete.”
“Thank heavens.”
“Just know that for now. But don’t drag your feet too much. The deadline’s six months at most.”
“Yes, understood.”
I’d deliberately timed it with my return from Delriat.
That way, I could hand over the letter right on schedule.
‘What’s left now?’
I might not return for half a year.
Better tie up loose ends.
Deep in thought, I suddenly remembered Adam.
He was in beast form, but lately he’d been looking decent.
Fur neatly combed, dressed in noble attire.
Honestly, he looked more handsome than Count Coplin to me.
At least his physique was solid.
‘Time to switch up the wardrobe.’
I’d been thinking about it for a while.
Those gaudy, dangling robes made my head spin— and not just for a day or two.
And these damn leggings.
No matter how many times I thought about it, I couldn’t compromise on those pants.
The problem: without armor, there were zero alternatives.
‘Then I’ll just have to make them myself.’
Imperial nobles all kept dedicated tailors on hand.
To satisfy their vanity, they needed unique, refined styles.
Ones others couldn’t easily copy.
That’s why bizarre trends sometimes took off.
Like leggings and short vests being standard for male imperial nobles.
“A tailor…”
Anyone with decent skills already had a patron.
I’d have to scout new talent.
And this time, I planned to make a new belt too.
The drawstring style was just too cumbersome.
Swish.
I grabbed a quill and sketched belts, pants, shirts, and more.
‘Damn! The writing feel is unbeatable.’
No wonder people said parchment couldn’t compare.
Lost in my work, someone knocked on the office door.
Knock knock knock.
“Come in.”
“It’s been a while, Your Grace.”
The visitor was Vargas, the sorcerer from Nermeia.
He always wore a gloomy expression, but had an unexpectedly quirky side.
If not reined in, who knew what trouble he’d cause.
Hadn’t he half-destroyed the worker dorms while “curing” the plague?
Lately he’d been quiet, researching the substance Feltron left behind.
“What’s up?”
“Remember the sample from last time? Preliminary results are in.”
“Oh? Spill it.”
“This substance is a by-product of a demigod.”
“Demigod?”
“Yes, you’ll probably find it easy to understand. Turns out there’s a similar entity here too.”
“You mean Adam. The supposed god of the earth.”
“Of course, the church won’t acknowledge it. They pretty much see him as a monster.”
“Self-proclaimed, anyway.”
Regardless, Feltron seemed to have rallied northern nomads using demigod powers.
Then got thoroughly beaten by Abel and fled.
‘Provoking me like this means he’s recovered his strength, huh?’
But I had no intention of dancing to his tune.
I had too much to do— why waste time on the barren north?
Let him nurse his ancient grudge alone.
‘Keep provoking if you want. See if I bite.’
I tried to erase thoughts of Feltron.
He wasn’t much of a threat yet.
Of course, I couldn’t ignore him completely.
If he kept sabotaging my businesses, it’d get seriously annoying.
“I’ll be away for a while. Any way to block his schemes?”
“Definitely. Install magic circles, and we can detect this substance’s approach.”
“Good. Then stay here and handle it.”
“Deducting from my debt?”
“Work hard for six months, and I’ll wipe it clean. Deal?”
“Oh! Generous as rumored.”
Anyone observing for a day would see how well I treated employees.
Top-tier wages in the capital, mandatory shifts.
No coercion or abuse— just mutual respect.
To Vargas, who’d wandered the world, it must look like paradise.
“I’d love to settle down here.”
“You can. Want a lab too?”
“Really? Nermeia mages are usually shunned everywhere.”
Nermeia sorcerers were always blowing things up.
No matter how valuable mages were, no noble would take in such monsters.
Unless they wanted their house ruined.
But I didn’t mind.
If explosions were a concern, just build the lab far away.
And money? I had plenty.
Still, precautions were needed.
“But you’ll pay hefty damages if anything goes wrong.”
“Isn’t that the same as now?”
“I won’t stop your potion research. No one else in the empire offers that.”
“Fair point.”
“And if you behave, I could supply cordyceps pills indefinitely.”
“…
‘Solid leash. I’ll keep potion research minimal.’
“Good. Let’s draft the contract.”
I moved to push aside the paper covered in sketches.
But then Vargas asked,
“What’s that, anyway?”
“Designing new clothes. Brainstorming ideas.”
“Those buttons look awfully small.”
“Big ones kill the style.”
Small buttons were standard for shirts.
No plastic, so I’d need substitutes.
Maybe metal painted white.
“Looks hard to make— expensive?”
“It’s for me, so fine.”
“But I think I could make those easily.”
“How?”
“This substance.”
Vargas pointed to the black liquid from Margon’s body.
Demigod by-product, was it?
“You can make small items with this?”
“Yes. The method is…”
His explanation followed in an excited voice.
But I barely understood half.
Too many magic terms.
The gist: using the demigod by-product, even millet-seed-sized shapes were possible.
I snapped my fingers.
“Forget buttons. Something else first.”
“Huh? What?”
“A zipper.”