Margrave’s Bastard Son was The Emperor

Chapter 85: Welcome

Chapter 85: Welcome

Ha! You!

Was it necessary for him to mention the late Emperor?

But since Ian had already made such a move, Count Merellof found himself without a proper response. He just kept tugging at his beard, groaning in frustration.

And to think, it dies if it touches snow? I seem to recall seeing Grula in winter, what a tricky crop. It grows in water and sand, but snow is its bane.

There were no greenhouses in Merellofs territory. They hadnt focused on farming, so there was no preparation for winter crops. If Ians words were true, they needed to buy Grula immediately and start greenhouse operations while cultivating it.

Thirty coins.

I apologize.

Thirty-one coins!

Count.

Consider the days ahead. How much time do we have to live as lords? Lets stop here. Burying each others faults is the true posture of a noble. Thirty-two coins.

He even made threats with elegance. Ian had set a somewhat high price of fifty coins because he knew the count would try to halve it.

Just as Romandro seemed to be waiting for the right moment, he coughed, signaling his subordinate outside to interject.

Knock knock.

Lord Ian, Lord Romandro. I have a report for you.

Oh? Is it urgent? We have guests.

Sorry. Itll just take a moment.

Oh, excuse us then.

This was a strategy to diffuse the heated atmosphere and give the countess a chance to persuade the count. She whispered to the count, her expression showing deep concern.

Creak.

As Ian and Romandro stepped out of the reception room, the countess raised her voice slightly and frowned.

Fifty coins each would total 5,000 gold coins.

Madness. 5,000 gold coins for weeds.

But this year is a bit unusual. We have to save our territory as soon as possible. I heard that Bratz is temporarily rationing and then planning to collect higher taxes next year.

The dead cant be brought back to life. That was one thing she was certain of. The countess subtly prodded the count.

Whats the maximum youre thinking per bag?

Ideally, not even a single gold coin.

No, I mean realistically.

Realistically, she was asking what would be an acceptable compromise between Ian and the count. The count twisted his beard, clearly displeased with the situation.

About thirty-five coins.

Hmm. Thirty-five coins.

The countess echoed his words, pretending to ponder. Her next move was predictable.

Do you think Ian would agree to that? He seemed determined to hold his ground.

That boy, getting greedy. Tsk tsk. Living like that wont get him far.

In my opinion, settling around forty coins might be better. As you said, if it snows, the price could rise even more. Then it wont just be about the price but the availability itself

The countesss concerns were valid. Things had become increasingly complicated, leading to this point. They might have thought there was no way back, but theres always a deeper bottom.

Between forty and thirty-five coins. If the negotiation goes in that range, it would be best to seal the deal immediately.

Hmm.

Perhaps ask for half of the Grula to be small seeds for cultivation and the other half to be larger for consumption?

Half would be for planting, so it made sense to fill the bags with as many small seeds as possible. The other half, meant for eating, would be better if they were larger. The count sipped his now lukewarm tea, murmuring in contemplation.

Hmm.

The countess continued her persuasion. The focus wasnt just on getting the Grula as cheaply as possible, but on ensuring a deal within a reasonable range.

After a while, Ian and Romandro returned to the reception room.

Sorry, the work took longer than expected.

Ahem. The tea has gone cold.

Oh, apologies for that. Hannah!

Yes, my lord.

Count Merellof, trying to take control of the situation, kept coughing conspicuously, while his wife played with her earlobe, looking embarrassed.

Clink.

The sound of her glamorous earrings clashing with her fingernails caught Ians attention. She spread three fingers, then caressed them with all five, signaling subtly. Ian, recognizing the signal, sat on the sofa.

Starting from fifty but settling for thirty-five at most.

It was hard to tell if this was just tough bargaining or the best Merellof could offer. However, Ian decided to trust the countesss cooperation.

Better to sell than not at all. Besides, there are other deals to be made with the people of Merellof, apart from the count.

With 100 bags, it would total 3,500 gold coins, almost a third of the taxes due to the central government. Ian glanced at Romandro and broached the subject.

Have you discussed the amount?

Sir Ian, fifty coins is just too much. We have the market in our estate, and at this price, it seems like youre refusing to trade with us openly.

The countess sharply criticized, and the count nodded solemnly. Ian feigned contemplation and then proposed a condition.

Alright. Lets add a condition then.

A condition? What kind?

Ill agree to forty coins per bag. In return, youll sign a pledge not to interfere with any economic activities in this territory in the future.

Not interfere with economic activities?

The counts eyes narrowed suspiciously at the unexpected condition, and the countess was similarly surprised. They couldnt fathom the intent behind such a condition.

Isnt that too much?

No, its not that its too much, but

It was a very meaningful condition.

The count guessed, looking at the warriors in the corridor, that Ian was planning to deal with the border tribes. Was he trying to divert something their way?

Such a foolish condition. Even if we dont interfere, the central authorities will intervene if we report it. Tsk tsk.

However, Ian saw through the counts thoughts. The meticulous count might be good at hoarding money, but not at seeing the deeper picture.

He seems to suspect the Cheonrye tribe. Hes barking up the wrong tree.

A long silence, feigned as contemplation, followed. Romandro watched them both, and the countess broke the silence by picking up her teacup.

Sir Ian, as a head appointed by the Emperor, you already have autonomy over the economic rights of your territory. Its strange that youre setting such an obvious condition.

Is that so? If its obvious, then theres no need to adjust the price.

At her words, the count widened his eyes and glared at her. It was an unspoken warning to stay silent if she didnt understand. The countess looked down, feigning embarrassment, but Ian realized it was her intention.

Alright. I dont know how you view Merellof, but ensuring each others rights is only fair. However, you must also promise not to object to Merellofs economic activities and settle at thirty coins.

Count, I told you it was forty coins.

Fine, thirty-one then.

Changing the leading digit twice is a bit much, isnt it? Count?

The negotiation, fluctuating between going down from the top and up from the bottom, was bound to meet in the middle. After a few rounds, Count Merellof finally reached his limit.

Thirty-five! I cant go any higher.

Thirty-five coins, the price the countess had secretly indicated. Ian crossed his arms and signaled to Romandro. It was a show to make the deal satisfying for both parties.

Hah~. Alright.

This was it. A sigh, conceding as if there was no other choice. Ian smiled lightly, as if to say he was completely yielding.

Thirty-five gold coins per bag, for 100 bags. A total of 3,500 gold coins.

Good. Youve made the right decision. Lets draft the contract.

As Ian and the count shook hands, Romandro brought out the pre-drafted standard contract. It was ten pages long, but most of it was standard clauses used among nobility, with key points only on the first and last pages.

Clink.

The count meticulously examined each word of the contract. Unbuttoning his overcoat indicated that this process would take some time.

Here where it says fresh, lets change it to one week after harvest. Is that okay?

Yes, but please add that this may vary depending on the harvest schedule.

Understood. Bring me a new sheet of paper.

Here it is, Count.

Rip!

Modifications continued in this fashion.

Torn drafts of the contract littered the floor at his feet. Ian and Romandro took turns dealing with him. The countess, unable to hold back any longer, tapped her waist impatiently.

Are you tired, madam?

Oh. Sorry. That was rude of me.

Not at all. Since this might take longer, perhaps you would prefer to rest in another room?

Ian asked, glancing at the count, who remained fixated on the contract.

Honey. Are you listening?

Do what you like. Just dont bother me.

The countess didnt seem offended; rather, she appeared grateful for his indifference. Ian, leaving the count to Romandro, stood up to accompany her.

Madam, allow me to show you out. I could use some fresh air myself.

At his words, the counts eyes followed Ians back. Why is he personally escorting her instead of a servant? His jealousy surged like reverse-flowing blood, but he was a nobleman. He couldnt disgrace himself in front of an imperial advisor.

Count?

Ah, sorry. Say that again?

If we modify clause 3.3, we also need to adjust clause 5.1 at the back for consistency. Shall we do that?

Um, yes. Lets do that.

Creak.

The countess leaned against the wall in the corridor and sighed deeply.

Youve worked hard, madam.

And Clark?

Hes probably the luckiest in the mansion. Just staying in his room, eating whats brought to him.

Although they said they werent in a relationship, the first person she asked about after escaping the counts radar was Clark. Ian gestured for her to follow him.

If you wish, I could offer my arm for support.

Thats alright. Its just my waist thats sore from the corset, my legs are fine.

She walked gracefully, holding the hem of her dress with poise. Ian wondered if she had more bruises from that night but chose not to ask. Bringing up wounds, in any form, can be painful just by the mere mention.

Instead, he subtly shifted the conversation.

Have you ever seen Count Merellofs brother?