“I could take the risk and propose it to Father, but…”
Given Hugo’s personality, it was doubtful he’d agree. Even if he recognized the potential profit, his dislike to corruption and awareness of the risks would make him reject it outright. Hugo prioritized safety above all else.
Though the Schrantz family had recently risen to prominence, just a few months ago they were merely lords of a minor territory—barely clinging to survival like a candle flickering in the wind. That was why Hugo was content with their current standing.
‘Personalities don’t change overnight.’
Unless someone else took over his body like Ian had, of course.
In the end, Ian decided to drop the matter entirely.
There were other ways to profit—ones that wouldn’t draw Duke Endran’s attention.
‘Now that I think about it, wasn’t it a few months after the civil war broke out that the famine started in the southern and western regions?’
“Nea, contact the merchant guild and tell them to stockpile as much Levior as possible. Use all available funds immediately. Ah—I’ll purchase some with my personal money too.”
Nea tilted her head in confusion.
“Levior? I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”
It sounded like a person’s name, but given the context, it was clearly an object.
“Weeds.”
“Excuse me?”
His answer left her stunned.
“Did you just say… weeds?”
She wondered if she had misheard.
“Weeds.”
The same answer confirmed she hadn’t.
“Why weeds?”
Why would anyone spend money buying weeds?
“You’ll find out soon enough. Oh, and while I’m at it, send a letter to Father. Tell him to focus on stockpiling food and mass-cultivating Levior.”
Ian left it at that.
“Wow, we’ve gathered a lot.”
Ian grinned in satisfaction as he inspected the piles of weeds accumulated over the past few days—Levior, the plant he had ordered to be collected in bulk.
He had announced to the villagers that he would purchase Levior, and they had brought in far more than expected. Though puzzled by the request, the villagers welcomed the easy side income.
Coincidentally, this aligned with the season for weeding before spring. In this frigid region, weeds were more of a nuisance than a threat, leaching nutrients from the soil without benefit.
Now, instead of burning them, the villagers could sell the useless plants for coin.
The sight of people lining up outside the mansion was almost comical—one might mistake it for a popular shop rather than a noble’s residence.
With little to do in winter, the peasants had no income, so Ian’s offer was a godsend.
“You’re really buying these weeds?”
Some hesitated, unable to believe their luck.
“That’s right. Place your sacks on the scale.”
“One at a time, please! There’s no rush—we’ll buy everything!”
“No cutting in line! Stay orderly!”
The mansion staff were busier than ever. Guards were mobilized to manage the crowd, while servants hauled the purchased Levior to storage.
Under normal circumstances, the sudden workload might have bred complaints, but Ian had taken care of that—he promised bonuses once the work was done.
The promise of extra pay was so enticing that even soldiers on guard duty asked if they could join in.
‘This is the key to surviving what’s coming.’
The Fried Empire faced several major crises.
The first was the eastern nomadic invasion—a devastating event that had nearly toppled the empire. But that was long past, so Ian didn’t need to worry.
The second was the Rafleon War Period, triggered by a revolution in the Fran Kingdom. But that wouldn’t occur for another 300–400 years, in an era of firearms and cannons.
The third was the Imperial Succession War currently unfolding—a conflict that, without player intervention, would end with the Fourth Prince backstabbing the exhausted Second and Third Princes to claim the throne.
But Ian had already altered that outcome by tipping off Duke Endran.
‘The Fourth Prince’s disappearance means Duke Endran has already made his move.’
Now, only the clash between the Second and Third Princes remained—a battle of brute force Ian had no intention of interfering in.
That left the fourth crisis—the one Ian was preparing for now.
The Great Famine.
A disaster so severe that more would die from starvation than in the war itself.
In peacetime, each territory could have mitigated the damage with relief efforts.
But who had the resources to spare during a civil war? Feeding soldiers alone was a struggle.
‘And wasn’t the empire’s breadbasket in the south and west?’
Eighty percent of the empire’s food came from those regions.
Now, the empire would split in two—the east and south backing the Second Prince, the north and west supporting the Third.
While the south had slightly higher production, the difference was insignificant.
But controlling those regions meant controlling the war.
More food meant more population—and starving the enemy into submission was a viable strategy.
That was why most battles would concentrate in the south and west.
‘But soon, famine will strike those very regions, crippling them.’
The famine was a catastrophe born of human folly and natural disaster.
And Ian intended to profit from it.
Levior wasn’t just any weed.
It was a hardy, fast-growing plant that thrived in poor soil—a last-resort crop during famines.
By stockpiling it now, Schrantz would have leverage when the crisis hit.
‘We’ll sell it at a premium—or better yet, trade it for favours.’
A smirk played on Ian’s lips as he watched another cartload of Levior roll in.
The empire was burning, but Schrantz would emerge richer than ever.
In some regions, unprecedented torrential rains, pest infestations, and swarms of billions of locusts devastated what little crops remained.
In others, droughts and earthquakes struck.
To make matters worse, similar disasters occurred in the south, while massive sea monster outbreaks prevented fishermen from venturing out.
With trade ships unable to sail, maritime food imports came to a halt.
As the civil war intensified, countless men were drafted—killing and dying—leaving too few hands to till the fields.
A cascade of natural disasters within a single year triggered a catastrophic famine, soon ravaging every corner of the empire.
Self-sufficiency became impossible, and with maritime trade blocked, the situation grew dire.
Had the empire recognized the dwindling food supply early and acted, the damage might have been mitigated. But consumed by war, no one had the capacity to respond.
Even if they had noticed, the widespread devastation would have made intervention futile.
Thus, countless perished from starvation, and even after the war ended, the empire took decades to recover.
‘Yet astonishingly, there’s one solution.’
An unremarkable weed, scorned as worthless—Levior, a plant native only to the north—held the key to surviving the famine.
In just days, warehouses were packed to the brim with the harvested weeds.
‘A mere 5 shillings per crate. Unbelievably cheap!’
The price barely covered labor costs. In the north, Levior was so common no one would even pay for it—a testament to its perceived worthlessness.
A hardy grass thriving in barren soil, Levior dotted even the wastelands near Ansen. Farmers despised it for sapping nutrients from the earth.
Toxic if ingested, it caused illness and tasted foul—so repulsive even grazing animals avoided it.
Useless as food or fodder, its only utility was as a pest repellent when burned, thanks to its acrid smoke.
Who could’ve imagined this wretched weed would become the famine’s salvation?
One player discovered that boiling Levior into a watery porridge could sustain a person for a day. Shared online, this revelation went viral.
The game developers had declared the famine unsolvable—until six years post-launch, when this breakthrough emerged.
Soon, the method spread globally, even reaching the devs, who immortalized the discovery by naming the weed “Levior” after the player’s username and expanding its in-game lore.
“I’m not sure about this…”
Nea eyed the crates piling up in the warehouse with deep scepticism. Though following Ian’s orders, she couldn’t shake the feeling they were tossing coins into the dirt.
“By next summer, famine will grip the west and south. Food prices—and Levior’s value—will skyrocket.”
She understood Ian had his reasons, but—
“Famine? How could you possibly know?”
Ian had always been like this.
He prepared for crises as if foreseeing the future—not predicting, but knowing with unsettling certainty.
‘He once claimed to have informants, but…’
Nea knew that was a lie. Having attended him constantly (except when he slept), she’d found no evidence of such sources.
Yet, every disaster he’d mentioned had unfolded exactly as he said.
“There are ways to know.”
His baseless confidence baffled her. Ian never explained—he simply bulldozed ahead.
‘Still, his status helps.’
Had he been a commoner, they’d have dismissed him as a madman. But as the young master of a rising house—one with a track record—people followed, even if uneasily.
Levior’s true value would soon be undeniable.
When the famine struck, Schrantz would wield it as both lifeline and leverage—turning despised weeds into empire-shaping power.
And Ian?
He would be the one holding the keys to survival.
Leave a Reply