Winter faded, and spring arrived in a burst of blossoms.
The western and southern regions buzzed with activity—soldiers busy in war, farmers bent over their fields, plowing and sowing. The heaviest fighting raged along the border between the two territories.
Together, these lands produced 80% of the empire’s grain. Control them, and victory in the civil war was assured.
That’s why armies converged here. That’s why the clashes reached apocalyptic scales. And that’s why most of the dying happened here.
“Ugh, damn this war. Can’t we live in peace for once? They’re taking 70% of this year’s harvest in taxes. Maybe I should quit farming altogether.”
Charles was an ordinary southern farmer.
For peasants like him, tucked far from the frontlines, daily life hadn’t changed much—except for the crippling taxes that made him want to scream.
Even country folk knew why taxes had spiked.
Natural disasters had ravaged multiple regions, gutting harvests.
‘Why should we bleed and sweat to fix other lords’ problems?’
Rumors swirled that their lord was shipping their crops to curry favour with the capital. Everyone knew. Everyone believed.
“Sweet merciful skies! Don’t say such things! What if they drag our children into this mess?!”
Charles’ wife—always high-strung—jumped like a scalded cat at his muttering. Today, her nerves were frayed raw.
“If trouble comes, it’ll come for me. What’re you on about?”
“You didn’t hear? Goldenbow’s sons—all three—got conscripted yesterday!”
“The jeweler’s boys? Since when are you chummy with them? Thought the draft was two per household?”
“I ran into Mistress Goldenbow at market. Soldiers came at dawn—any family not farming or smithing got emptied out!”
“You certain? Damn. Might snatch our boys next.”
“Thank the gods I eavesdrop. Rumor is, farmers and smiths are safe—for now.”
A small mercy.
“Don’t care about much else—just want our firstborn home alive. But if your loose tongue gets the others drafted, what then?”
His wife’s eyes teary. Charles wiped her tears, rough hands awkwardly gentle.
“Hey. I am just joking. Don’t cry.”
“Don’t joke like that! My heart can’t take it!”
“Alright, alright.”
He soothed her, gaze drifting to their younger sons working the distant field. Unlike them, his eldest was likely knee-deep in corpses by now.
A conscription officer—a drinking buddy—had been bribed to spare his boys. Then the eldest ruined it.
“I’ll never plough another field! I’ll earn a knighthood in the war!”
With those words, he’d volunteered, squandering his father’s coin and his mother’s tears.
‘That fool better come back breathing.’
Still his blood. Still his worry.
The rage when he’d left had curdled into something quieter, heavier.
Was he eating? Sleeping? Alive?
No letters. No news. Just silence where a son should be.
‘Stubborn ox. Street-brawler since he could walk. Too tough to die easy.’
But war had a way of grinding down tough men.
‘Come back without a single medal, and I’ll beat the stupid out of you myself.’
Just as he imagined thrashing some sense into the boy—
BOOOOM—!
The earth split open.
“SWEET GODS—! WHY’S THE GROUND—?!”
“WOMAN! GRAB MY—!”
The earthquake hit like a hammer. Then—
RUMBLE—!
A new sound.
They turned. Froze.
The mountain behind their field was coming apart.
“CH-CHARLES—!”
Too late to run. Too late to even stand.
Against nature’s wrath, they could only cling—
CRASH—!
—before the landslide swallowed them whole.
The earthquake erased Charles’ family in an instant.
Nature had joined the war.
And its casualties would reshape the empire.
Natural Disasters in the Western and Southern Regions
And that became the signal flare of the nightmare.
In the western and southern regions known as the granary areas, all kinds of natural disasters began occurring—torrential rains causing floods, droughts, and pest infestations.
In the south, marine monsters became active, blocking not only fishing but also maritime trade routes. Even when attempting to purchase food from other countries via land routes, nations eyeing the empire’s territory refused to sell food, creating a dire situation.
Some countries, uncertain which prince would become emperor, either conducted trade cautiously or refused altogether, claiming they were also experiencing shortages. Even when food was somehow acquired, it was often plundered by bandits.
Still, there was hope that last year’s harvest might somehow see them through this year.
But that hope was quickly shattered.
Fierce battles raged in the south and west, with special forces infiltrating deep into territories to burn crops. It revealed how ugly humans could be—as if thinking “I can’t die alone” or “If I can’t have it, I’ll destroy it.”
Even after overcoming all those trials, the crops that had somehow survived were completely wiped out by a sudden swarm of locusts.
When “soaring food prices” turned into a confirmed “famine,” all territories finally went into emergency mode. People in their territories were already beginning to starve to death.
But by the time it became an established fact, any response was far too late. It was a crisis with flames already at their feet—an unprecedented famine in the empire’s history!
Amid this situation, a rumor began spreading among the people.
“They say there’s a way to eat a weed called Levior, which only grows in the north and was used as a pesticide.”
“Apparently, it tastes terrible but fills your stomach.”
This rumor, which started in the north, quickly spread to the east, west, and eventually even the farthest corners of the south.
“They say Schrantz County, a remote northern territory, has large stockpiles of Levior and is even ‘cultivating’ it.”
Those who heard rumors of alternative food sources naturally focused on them. The origin or veracity of the rumors didn’t matter—what mattered was the possibility of securing food in the face of a confirmed famine.
Merchants moved the fastest. Though they didn’t know if it was true, if it was, it could be an opportunity. They rushed to secure Levior as quickly as possible, leading to an unprecedented influx of merchant groups from all over heading toward Schrantz.
As the rumor spread rapidly, nearby territories were the first to react. Due to their physical proximity, it was inevitable that the closest territories would come first.
A total of 40 merchant groups arrived to trade for Levior.
Ian decided to conduct this trade in Dariel Village, as it was where most of the Levior was stored. The Levior stockpiled in Rosen wasn’t for sale—it was reserved for distribution to the territory’s people during food shortages.
“Young Master, are you really sure about this?”
“About what?”
“The trade. You’re really going to handle it yourself?”
Nea was worried about Ian, and for good reason—he had insisted on personally handling the Levior trade this time.
“Wouldn’t it be better to call the Schrantz trade envoy to handle it on your behalf, even now?”
Nea offered sincere advice out of concern for him.
Merchants had their own specialized skills. Even if he was a war hero who could turn the tide of battle, trade and negotiation with merchants were entirely different. She feared that Ian, who was neither lord nor heir, wouldn’t be able to match the seasoned merchants in trade dealings and might end up being manipulated, losing face in the process.
“It’s fine. I know a thing or two about trading.”
The only trade Ian had ever conducted was with the elf village. That deal had gone smoothly because their interests aligned perfectly, but this trade would be nothing like that.
‘Sigh… I should trust the Young Master.’
Was Ian’s stubbornness normal? While he would yield if he thought his subordinates’ advice was correct, when he dug in his heels like this, there was no changing his mind.
‘And usually, when he insists this much, it means he has a plan.’
Perhaps it was because she had observed him for so long, but she knew that when Ian was this stubborn, it was because he was confident he could succeed. She even felt a little anticipation about how he would successfully negotiate with the merchant leaders—though her unease was still greater.
“Well then, it’s about time. Shall we go in?”
Ian headed to the reception room.
Inside, men dressed stylishly and adorned with precious metals were seated. They were all the merchant leaders who had come this time.
When Ian entered, the waiting men rose from their seats.
“Long time no see, Lord Ian.”
“You seem even more impressive than just a few months ago.”
Ian glanced at Nea. Realizing why he was looking at her, she sighed softly and quietly explained.
“They’re the merchant leaders who came to trade Levior with us before.”
“Ah, right.”
He hadn’t paid much attention to them before, having only exchanged a few brief words, so he didn’t remember them.
“Thank you for coming all this way. Please, everyone, have a seat.”
Ian took the seat of honor.
Watching him, the merchant leaders laughed inwardly.
‘Heh heh, Lord Ian is our trading counterpart?’
‘His memory is bad—does that mean he’s not that bright? Maybe we can make a good deal here.’
They saw Ian as an easy mark.
And why wouldn’t they? He was the one who had paid good money for Levior, a weed no one else wanted to buy. They thought he was just a lucky fool who had stumbled into a windfall.
‘Do they really think I’ll just roll over and let them take advantage of me?’
Ian inwardly sneered, fully aware of what the merchants were thinking. He could practically see them mentally calculating how much profit they could squeeze out of him.
“For merchants, time is money, right? Then let me ask directly: How much are each of you willing to pay?”
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