Genius Prince’s National Revitalization from State Deficit ~ Right, Let Us Sell the Country - Book 8: Chapter Ep

“Aaah…”

In a room of the manor prepared for her by Cosimo, Falanya melted on to her desk like syrup.

“We rushed out of Lushan to Mealtars and had to enter the city without getting caught by the army of Cavarin… I’m spent…”

“The plan worked, though,” replied her guard, Nanaki, from the shadows. “What’s next? Are we heading back?”

“Ah, right… I was thinking we could stay a bit longer. I wasn’t able to see everything last time.”

Of course, everything depended on whether Cosimo gave his consent.

Sirgis was also standing by at attention. He spoke up. “Well, I shall send a letter to Prince Wein stating this.”

“Thank you, Sirgis,” Falanya answered. “You’ve been a great help to me throughout this entire matter. I was right to invite you.”

“You’re far too kind,” Sirgis returned with a respectful bow.

Falanya smiled. “Ah, and that surprised me. —To think you and my brother would have the same idea.”

Back in Lushan, Sirgis had proposed to Falanya and Cosimo that they should interfere with the armies’ advance by using Mealtars’s sales channels and money to buy up all surplus food in the West.

This coincidence was surprising enough, but she was shocked when he explained Wein’s plan, which turned out to be the same exact thing.

The two hadn’t spoken beforehand, but Wein and Sirgis had come to the same conclusion using their own experiences.

“…My plan lacked the mediation between Princess Lowellmina and Patura. I doubt this would have worked otherwise. I could never compare to Prince Wein, who folded in the entire continent into his plan.”

“But now I know how much I need your counsel. I look forward to working with you further, Sirgis.”

“Yes…I shall try my best.”

Sirgis then left the room to prepare the letter. Falanya noticed Nanaki’s eyes had remained glued to Sirgis’s back.

“Nanaki, do you still not trust him?”

“There’s no reason to.”

“Hmph…” Falanya pouted.

“But he does fill a role I can’t. I’ll just get rid of him if he becomes a problem.”

“Don’t say stuff like that. You have to get along.”

Falanya trembled with anger, and Nanaki gave her a side glance and he continued to stare at Sirgis beyond the door.

Sirgis walked down the empty hallway.

I was abandoned by my country, betrayed by my faith, and forgotten by the world, and yet, by some twist of fate, my enemy’s younger sister took me in…

An outsider might predict that this would make him hate Wein more and drive him to find the opportunity to kill the prince in his sleep. And this was mostly true.

Is there a God? If so, what is He telling me to do? I don’t know anymore.

In that case, he thought, I’ll just follow my own heart.

“…There are two exceptional members of the royal family. But only one can inherit the throne.” Sirgis’s gaze turned west. Toward Lushan and Wein. “I’ll put the naive little princess—my savior—on the throne whether she likes it or not. This will be my revenge. Don’t you call me a coward, Wein Salema Arbalest—”

The large carriage rumbled down the road. Inside was the hulking boulder of a person. Gruyere, king of Soljest.

“What are you moping for, Tolcheila?”

Across from Gruyere sat Tolcheila, who was the size of a small pebble in comparison. Her profile was somewhat rigid as she looked out the window.

He faced his daughter. “Let me guess, Tolcheila. You underestimated the princess of Natra. Are you panicking now that you can tell she has the jump on you?”

“…!” Her face twitched.

Gruyere watched her genially and pressed on. “If the events in Mealtars last year were the only thing going for her, you could have claimed it was beginner’s luck. But now the princess has secured Sirgis as her aide, and she played a big role this time, too. She’s raining all over your parade, huh?”

“……”

“Don’t worry. You’re my adorable daughter. Even if you end up a miserable loser, I won’t say anything. I’ll find you a kindhearted husband who can heal your broken heart.”

“Father,” Tolcheila began, her eyes burning with a fiery rage. “Mock me further, and I shan’t forgive you.”

Gruyere took her fury in stride. “Be angry and upset all you want; time stops for no one. If you want something, your only option is to reach for it before anyone else. So what will you do, Tolcheila? Are you going to let the beast inside you sleep forever?”

“…Oh, this is bad,” she murmured with a smile. “I was just asking myself what I wish to do and what must be done to that end.”

Tolcheila looked straight at her father. “And the answer is shocking. My earlier statement about my greatest adversary has come true—Father, you are in the way of my desires.”

Gruyer smiled once again. “Does that make you sad, Tolcheila?”

“No, Father. I have never been more zealous.”

“Wonderful,” Gruyere replied with heartfelt joy. “In that case, I will repeat myself as well. I will be your trial from here on out. Challenge me in the name of your greed and desires—”

“Well then, Master Felite, what shall we do about all those provisions?”

The Patura Islands. Apis and Felite were in the fortress where Wein was once captured. It was now where the government operated out of.

“We managed to put everything away, but the storehouses are completely full. Nothing else will fit. We’re already getting complaints,” she added.

“No need to worry. We’ll send it to Mealtars in time,” Felite answered brightly.

Apis wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure? I have a feeling even they’ll refuse these quantities.”

“They won’t. After all, each of the Western nations is going to suffer a food shortage in the winter. The requests will come pouring in.”

“A food shortage? Why…? Ah, I see. They sold too much of their supply, haven’t they?”

Felite nodded. “Selling more means less in reserve. It’s an obvious principle, but it’s also easy to forget under the spell of money. Many cities and villages sell as much as they possibly can, resulting in increased poverty.”

Apis’s face puckered up. “…People will think we’re manufacturing this famine to sell them back their food at a higher price. Won’t that make Mealtars the enemy in their eyes?”

“That’s why Mealtars reached out to us. They said they’ll sell the food to us wholesale for a cheap price.” Felite smiled wryly. “We’re the middleman to help ease people’s anger.”

“That makes sense. They would have to calculate how far the famine has reached and the amount of food they would need to buy.”

Just then, a messenger entered the room. “Pardon me, Master Felite. An emissary has just arrived by ship. They request an audience with you.”

“An emissary? Apis?”

“…There is nothing scheduled for today.”

So this was a sudden visitor. Intrigued, Felite questioned the messenger further.

“Did they state their business?”

“They wish…to buy the food we imported from Mealtars.”

Both Felite’s and Apis’s expressions immediately darkened.

Patura had food. They wanted it. That was fine.

But this was all happening way too fast.

“…Where is the emissary from?”

The messenger answered this question timidly.

“Eastern Levetia—”

Footsteps echoed in the dim audience hall. The desolate sound came from the shoes of Gospel Director Caldmellia.

“Your Holiness, everything has been taken care of.”

She attended to Holy King Silverio, who sat upon his throne. The mute figure in front of Caldmellia was no different from a lifeless corpse.

“Tigris’s death has rattled the Kingdom of Velancia, but this is nothing to be concerned over. In fact, the loss of his beloved younger brother has finally sparked something in their king. As for the matter of Natra—”

As Caldmellia gave her report, she suddenly sensed a presence behind her. When she turned around, a silhouette stood against a faint light. The tip of the sword in their hand dripped with crimson blood.

“I’ve finally tracked you down,” someone rasped. The shadow took a step forward.

It was Tigris’s servant Fushto.

“I was after the fourth person at the scene. I found the evidence and followed it here. To the Agency of the Holy King.”

Fushto pointed his sword at Caldmellia.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? I’m listening.”

Although his tone was hushed, Fushto looked ready to kill. His murderous desire would make anyone catch their breath.

“Well done.” Caldmellia looked like a holy mother when she smile. “You’re right; I am the one who authorized Tigris’s death. Agata would have made a fine target, too, but I specified that Tigris would be the priority. After all, his departure was certain to make the events here all the more interesting.”

“………”

Caldmellia did not see lives as lives. She spoke as if they were her toys.

However, Fushto’s blade did not waver. His rage had frozen over, turning into permanent bloodlust—something ice-cold.

“You shouldn’t walk into a place uninvited. Even if I am killed, you will die, too. Do not throw your life away for nothing. There will be lovely things ahead if you stay alive.”

“…How kind of you to care for the common folk,” Fushto replied. “But someone like me—someone who let his master die—has no place to return to. I will join you and present you to Master Tigris on the other side—!”

Fushto kicked off the ground. His rage shaved the exhaustion from his body, and he closed in on Caldmellia like a gale. Then, as the dark gray sword drew toward his hated enemy’s throat…

Fushto was cut in half.

“Ah—?”

As blood and entrails scattered through the space, Fushto slid across the ground.

What happened?

The answer was the shadow of a small figure next to Caldmellia that abruptly stood.

“Holy King…Silverio…”

Silverio held a staff in one hand. It was more like a scabbard shaped like a staff. In his other, there was a faintly luminescent blade.

It can’t be…

Fushto remembered a certain story, his consciousness fading. It was about one of Holy King Silverio’s achievements, an anecdote about how he had taken on a fortress of thieves by himself and brilliantly convinced them to open the gates. This was nothing more than a urban legend. Silverio never convinced the thieves; he just killed every single one of them.

I failed you until the very end… Please forgive me, Master Tigris…

With an apology to his departed master, Fushto’s consciousness disappeared forever.

“…It’s a shame.”

Unbothered by the blood staining her clothes, Caldmellia knelt by the dead servant and gently closed his eyes. This gesture was filled with unmistakable sympathy for the dead.

“If you had lived, we could have had more fun…”

Next to her, Silverio soundlessly sheathed his sword. Leaning against the sword-staff, he spoke. “Mellia.”

Caldmellia instantly responded to her name and faced him. “Yes, Your Holiness?”

“That prince of Natra keeps a Flahm girl by his side, correct?”

“Yes. I hear Prince Wein favors her.”

“Look into her background,” Silverio ordered. “There is something about that girl. My intuition whispers to me…”

“Understood,” Caldmellia replied with neither resistance nor doubt.

Silverio’s word was law. That was the basis of their relationship.

“Please leave everything to me. I shall do as Your Holiness commands—”

“Wein, we’re finished preparing for the return trip home. We can head out tomorrow.”

“Super. We can finally get outta this joint.”

In a room of their temporary estate, Wein and Ninym breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad things turned out okay, but it was total chaos for a while there,” Ninym noted.

“No kidding. I swear I’m cursed or something. When we get home, I’m gonna go to a church and douse myself with holy water.”

“Any idea who could have cursed you?”

“Too many to count.”

“Can’t argue that,” Ninym said with a wry smile.

“Siiiiiigh… Who knows what’s gonna happen trading-wise now that I’ve patched things up between the Empire and Patura…? I mean, there was no way around it, but I can’t even sell my Imperial goods anymore…”

“Right, our trade partners. Didn’t any of the Holy Elites seem promising?”

“Yeah, but he died.”

“Besides Prince Tigris.”

“Nah… Oh, wait. Yeah, maybe one.”

Then, a knock came at the door, and a servant entered the room.

“Y-Your Highness. A guest seeks an audience with you.”

“Who?” Wein asked the frazzled man.

“The Holy Elite Sir Agata.”

“…Got it. Show him in.”

The servant obeyed Wein and ushered Agata inside.

“I apologize for showing up unannounced, Prince Wein.”

“Hey, we were both just screwed over by Caldmellia. This is nothing,” Wein replied. “So you mentioned something back at the round table; what do you want to discuss?”

“Indeed.” Agata nodded. “As you know, I represent the group of city-states that make up the Ulbeth Alliance. And in truth, the Alliance is on the verge of collapse.”

“Sorry to hear that… What’s going on?”

“It isn’t easy to explain. However, I believe this collapse is my chance.”

Agata took a step forward.

“I plan to take advantage of the Alliance’s demise and unify the cities into one nation. Prince Wein, I am here to ask for your aid—”

And thus, the Gathering of the Chosen drew to a close. It was quite a long one. Tigris had died. Cavarin fell into chaos. One situation triggered another. The people said not a single good thing came out of the Gathering.

Future historians would know the truth. This meeting sprouted the seeds of mayhem.

And Prince Wein was at the center of it all—