Chapter 84: Popularity Is a Crime

I had told him, very clearly, to stop causing accidents for a while.

I had even added a solid dose of intimidation for good measure.

The one saving grace was that Vargas’s laboratory was very far away.

I had deliberately placed it a good distance from the manor, and now I felt that had been a wise decision.

There was no telling what kind of stunt he might pull next.

Wasn’t he the lunatic who had blown up the mercenary guild the moment he entered the imperial capital?

What kind of insane thing are you up to now, Vargas?

I mounted my horse at once and rode past the textile factory.

Workers had come out, tilting their heads in confusion.

The sudden incident had clearly startled them.

“Everyone, bring water. As much as you can!”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

It was an urgent order, yet the workers moved in perfect unison.

Watching them run toward the well with buckets in hand felt strangely reassuring.

Loyalty really did need to be high.

In unexpected situations like this, devotion showed itself clearly.

I couldn’t help but feel a little proud.

The place is in chaos, and I’m getting sentimental? Get a grip.

I quickly headed toward the northwestern forest.

Soon, a building with black smoke rising from it came into view.

Strangely enough, Vargas’s laboratory looked mostly intact.

Which was odd, considering the sheer scale of the explosion.

“With that level of flash, there shouldn’t even be debris left.”

Just in case, I tied the horse well back and approached cautiously.

All the while, I called out to that damned Nermeia sorcerer—alchemist—drunkard.

“Vargas! Where are you?”

“Cough! Cough! Ugh! Ptui! Over here!”

A man covered in soot like charcoal crawled out from behind the building.

To his credit—if only barely—it seemed he had conducted the experiment outside.

“What happened?”

When I asked, Vargas thrust his right arm into the air.

In his grip was a potion glowing in a variety of colors.

It was impossible to tell how something like that had caused such a massive explosion.

Vargas grinned with childlike innocence.

“This is dye.”

“The color’s unusual, sure, but it doesn’t look very useful.”

“Eeh? That can’t be right. You can apply any color you want with perfect accuracy.”

“Well, that changes things.”

“And you can use it on anything.”

“What?”

“For example, clothing, of course, but also glass or wooden boards. It completely replaces the material’s original color.”

…

For a moment, I was speechless.

If that were true, it meant the dye added no thickness at all.

Could something this insane really exist?

I hurriedly organized my thoughts and fired off the most important question.

“How much does it cost to make?”

Naturally, that was what mattered most.

What good was an amazing function if the unit cost was absurd?

To use it in business, the numbers had to work.

Vargas flashed a grin, baring his white teeth.

“I spent a lot on experiments, but the dye itself is cheap. About 2 goldens per bottle. This amount should be enough to dye an entire bundle of fabric.”

He was probably using the Midias textile factory’s output as a reference.

One bundle would be roughly 100 kilograms.

The efficiency was far better than expected.

“How long does the dyeing take?”

“Instant, of course. No need to dry it.”

“Well done. Very well done.”

I praised Vargas and held the potion up to the sunlight.

It looked as if the Milky Way had unfolded right before my eyes.

This substance could generate staggering wealth.

It would change the very paradigm of dyeing.

“Good. Then shall we start a business? I want to introduce this to our textile factory. How much will you sell it for?”

“What?”

Vargas looked genuinely shocked.

From my perspective, it was a perfectly reasonable question.

There was an original creator, after all.

To obtain the product legitimately, we needed a contract.

But Vargas seemed to be thinking along very different lines.

“Khk! Y-Your Grace!”

“What now?”

“Honestly, at first I thought you were just another noble trying to use me.”

This bastard—pouring his heart out is one thing, but mind your wording.

“But Your Grace was different! Sniff! Sob!”

Situations like this happened often in any society.

Someone pours their soul into a proposal, only for their superior to quietly steal the credit.

It happened even in the modern world, with all its oversight.

In the Middle Ages, where burying things is easy, it must be even worse.

By rights, this should have been handled that way.

A project carried out by the organization belonged to the organization.

After all, Vargas was employed by me.

Still, I had no intention of being that strict.

This guy was simply too useful.

Who knew what he might come up with next?

What if another absurdly overpowered invention like this universal dye appeared?

Think of it as an investment in the future.

I quickly searched for a compromise that would satisfy both sides.

I needed an offer that would keep him cooperative.

“Let’s set up a production factory.”

“I can make this on my own, though?”

“No, I mean officially. If the factory gains prestige, it’ll help when we create a brand.”

“Ah!”

“Then splitting shares becomes easy. How about sixty–forty?”

“In that case, I’d—”

“Sixty.”

Vargas just stood there, blinking.

It seemed he needed time to process the situation.

Eventually, he slowly shook his head.

“No. I don’t really understand how the world works anyway. I’m only good at making potions.”

That was textbook sucker logic.

I don’t know, so you decide.

It was practically an invitation to take everything.

To greedy, malicious people, he’d be perfect prey.

But to me, Vargas was a goose that laid golden eggs.

Why would I do something as stupid as cutting it open?

I nodded readily.

“Fine. I’ll take 51%. I’ll handle everything else. You focus solely on experiments and production.”

“Will you really do that?”

“You’re exactly the type to get scammed. What if I had bad intentions?”

“Then I’d just blow everything up. That’s my specialty.”

“Wow. That’s… kind of scary.”

“Heh heh heh!”

Vargas and I laughed foolishly as we shook hands.

A universal dye appearing at just the right moment.

This stuff was basically cheating.

With just 2 goldens, you could dye an entire massive roll of fabric.

The production cost of textiles would plummet.

When cheap, high-quality goods flood the market, massive ripples are inevitable.

But it’s fine. This place’s production capacity is already at rock bottom.

On top of that, all wealth was concentrated in the upper class.

It was practically a world begging for communist winds to blow.

The existence of knights with absurd combat power kept the status quo intact.

But revolutions only fail when numbers are small.

Each of those knights was worth hundreds, even thousands of men.

But would that always hold true?

What if hundreds of thousands surged forward?

If I stabilize society, people won’t even think about revolution.

Just make life comfortable.

Why revolt when you’re well-fed and secure?

Then the Enpher Empire would last far longer.

Why go to such lengths?

Because I’m one of the Empire’s top elites. A revolution would be incredibly inconvenient for me.

That was why I kept launching all these projects.

And yet—what fresh nonsense was this?

“Duke Carius, please cease your excessive popularity farming!”

“This will cause great disorder within the Empire!”

White-haired old men were shouting at the top of their lungs.

For a split second, a thought crossed my mind.

Where am I? Who am I?

The absurdity was overwhelming.

I was dizzy, sure, but I hadn’t lost my senses.

I was just standing there, dumbfounded.

Why had I been dragged into this insane situation?

They asked me to attend the assembly for once, so I came lightly, and this is what I get…

A bunch of old nobles spouting utter nonsense.

Everyone desired fame, to some extent.

You couldn’t exactly condemn someone for being popular.

But my status made things complicated.

“We fear that dangerous rumors may arise, Yooooour Graaaaace!”

Stop dragging out your words like Joseon-era officials.

It makes it sound like I actually did something wrong.

There was only one “dangerous rumor” they could mean.

Treason.

A royal more popular than the Emperor?

And a duke with a legitimate claim to the throne?

You didn’t need to watch many historical dramas to know where that led.

From the Emperor’s perspective, he’d probably want to seize an excuse and crush me outright.

But he could do that even if I weren’t popular.

How did imperial law work again?

Completely flexible, depending on who wielded it.

If the Emperor truly wished, no one in this hall would leave alive.

The Empire’s greatest powers—the Grand Masters—would swarm in and slaughter everyone.

In any case, their argument boiled down to this.

“So what exactly would you like me to do?”

“Reduce the supply. Some may rejoice, but those who earn their living weaving cloth will lose their livelihoods.”

“Oh? And if I do that, my popularity drops sharply?”

“Most likely. And please also restrain your biased judgments in favor of commoners.”

It seemed they’d decided to air every grievance they had.

I chuckled and tilted my chin.

Go on.

“Ha! And what else?”

“Please lower wages in the Duchy of Carius and in Midias. Talent is flocking there, and complaints are rising everywhere else.”

It just kept getting better.

They needed talent?

Then they should pay accordingly.

There was a limit to how many people I could hire anyway.

If wages elsewhere were decent, people would stay near home.

Why would they all come to Midias?

I could refute every single point.

First, cloth had traditionally been made by spinning thread at home and weaving it on looms.

But that was all side work.

And how many people actually lived solely off textile production?

The more absurd part was that I had already hired most of them.

So no one was actually harmed.

Second, biased rulings.

No—why blame me when you committed crimes?

That one wasn’t even worth addressing.

They were just asking me to side with them regardless of the truth.

Finally, lowering wages.

You want workers, but you don’t want to pay them?

The reason I treated laborers well was simple.

Was it pity for their poverty?

No.

I wanted to enjoy this comfortable life as a duke for a long, long time.

If the red tide of communism ever rose, your heads would be hanging in the streets.

No matter how strong knights were, they couldn’t withstand sheer numbers.

Ungrateful bastards.

Arguing endlessly with such narrow-minded people would achieve nothing.

So how did I end this damned farce?

Why overthink it?

It was simple.

“My popularity with the masses isn’t the real issue, is it?”

“How do you mean?”

“How can I stop people from liking me? Should I deliberately act disgracefully?”

“Ahem! That’s not what we meant.”

“The real question is this, isn’t it? Whether I harbor treasonous intent. Whether His Majesty doubts me.”

The eyes of the imperial assembly members widened all at once.

They hadn’t expected me to bring that up so bluntly.

I pressed on, utterly unconcerned.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go ask His Majesty. Whether he thinks I look like someone who’d rebel.”

A long silence followed.

No one dared to speak.

They were afraid.

Afraid to pose such a question to that iron-blooded Emperor.

“You spoke so boldly of ‘dangerous rumors.’ I thought you were prepared for that much.”

I rose from my seat, a mocking smile curling my lips.

“Be honest. Are you just jealous that the people and I are making so much money?”

An uncomfortable tension spread through the hall.

Had I hit too close to home?

So what.

I was just saying what I thought, same as them.

Now, pause for effect.

Then came the final blow.

“Try living properly for once. Instead of scheming to leech off others.”