Volume 2

Chapter 69 : Helen Faust, Part Five

As a somewhat impoverished city, Little Pelican City’s humble civilian district was swept into a sea of celebration today.

The city’s grain came from scattered surrounding villages, and even the farmers from those villages had never seen such an exaggerated harvest, let alone the civilians buying rice from shops.

Such a bountiful harvest was more thrilling than anything.

The scent of wheat in the air and the dazzling golden brilliance before their eyes couldn’t lie.

The fertile lands of the southern territory spared most civilians from devastating famine, but while they didn’t starve, they couldn’t live with daily abundance either.

After all, poverty was an incurable disease.

But now, the scene before them sent the city’s civilians into a frenzy of excitement.

The grain was so plentiful that farmers were even willing to grab handfuls and give them to passersby on the street.

As carts moved forward, wheat fell, and they didn’t care.

In this jubilant atmosphere, Henk, in the middle of the procession, couldn’t contain his emotions.

But Lauriel, pushing the same cart, showed no excitement.

“So many people…” he muttered, his rough voice grating when lowered.

“Lauriel, we’re practically heroes!”

Henk exclaimed excitedly.

“Look at their eyes… Gods, I’ve never been looked at like this!”

The young man waved eagerly at passersby, wanting to scoop up a handful of wheat to give away, but Lauriel grabbed his wrist.

“What are you doing?” the stout farmer growled.

“Giving… giving some to the people,” Henk stammered. “There’s so much—”

“What’s the point? Do they know how to turn wheat into flour?” Lauriel snapped.

Lauriel said expressionlessly, “Give it to them to rot in a cupboard, or let them sell it for money?”

“It’s… it’s at least a gesture of goodwill…”

“What goodwill? Does the wheat we grew have anything to do with them?”

The man pushed the cart forcefully, looking at Henk coldly.

“I farm to feed myself, Henk.”

Henk scratched his head, saying nothing.

Lauriel wasn’t wrong.

What farmer in the Empire held the notion of “feeding everyone”?

Farming was just a means of survival.

Still, Henk didn’t like Lauriel’s callous attitude and wondered why his old acquaintance was like this.

When he got back, he’d ask his father and brother. Maybe they knew.

At the thought, Henk grew nervous, his joy dampened.

He glanced around, seeing the farmers immersed in the happiness of the harvest, before whispering to Lauriel, “You said we could sell this grain outside Little Pelican City… How exactly do we do that?”

Lauriel made it sound simple, but Henk, with his limited experience, couldn’t fathom how to sell so much grain elsewhere.

Lauriel glanced at him.

“Why do we have to sell it ourselves?”

“…Huh?”

“This territory may not look wealthy, but no matter what, there must be rich merchants here.”

Lauriel gripped the cart’s handles tightly, his rough voice unable to hide his eagerness.

“I don’t believe no one else has thought of what even a farmer like me can see.”

Henk caught on.

“You mean… find merchants to sell it for us? But—”

He had no fondness for grain merchants.

Those stingy, cunning types always drove prices down, exploiting them.

The thought of dealing with them made Henk uneasy.

“But dealing with them,” the young man said urgently, “those damn guys would bleed us dry!”

“…No.”

Lauriel looked up at the highest point in Little Pelican City, toward the city lord’s castle.

The nearly forty-year-old farmer muttered, “This time, it might be different.”

***

Rozokaira sat in his office, puffing out clouds of smoke.

As the wealthiest merchant in Little Pelican City, his influence was immense.

“…That’s all the information about the fields outside the city and those farmers.”

“Phew…”

Rozokaira, cigar in mouth, exhaled a thick plume.

“Those fields, that potion—any leads on their origin?”

“Sorry, sir, we couldn’t… find anything,” the subordinate reported, head bowed, visibly nervous.

The robust middle-aged man narrowed his eyes.

“Seven days, and still nothing? Not a single clue?”

The subordinate, trembling, replied, “It’s… our failure. We’ll definitely—”

“Enough.” He waved a hand. “Go. It’s not your fault.”

The subordinate left as if pardoned, while the shrewd merchant, richest in the city, stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Looks like some big shot’s using Little Pelican City as a testing ground.”

A week ago, Lord Leonard’s cryptic warning had already put Rozokaira on edge.

Now, seven days later, this unbelievable harvest and the impenetrable secrecy—despite all his probing—confirmed his suspicions.

“Only ‘rule-bound’ transactions, huh…”

He tapped the desk, frowning.

“What a waste of a golden opportunity.”

Leonard had instructed all the city’s wealthy merchants and nobles: no underhanded tactics, not even excessive price suppression.

For a merchant, this was hard to swallow.

He faced a group of dim-witted, short-sighted farmers who’d struck it rich overnight.

If he could use every trick in the book… Rozokaira believed he could make the biggest fortune of his life.

But Leonard’s stern demeanor, practically brandishing a knife at the table and the unknowable pressure of a higher power made Rozokaira abandon any risky moves.

“Let Mila handle contact with those farmers… Heh, they’ve probably never seen a real woman in their lives.”

Rozokaira leaned back, sighing.

“I won’t make what I could’ve, but I can’t let this gold slip through my fingers…”

Knock, knock, knock—

The knock made the tycoon raise an eyebrow.

“Come in.”

The guard opened the door.

“Sir, two… farmers. They say they want to discuss a deal.”

“…Farmers?”

Rozokaira paused, then grinned with interest.

“Intriguing. Let them in.”

The guard nodded, shouting outside, “The boss says come in!”

Two men in coarse linen clothes entered.

The tall, decent-looking young man seemed anxious, while the unassuming, stout man appeared remarkably composed.

“You…”

Rozokaira propped his legs up, showing no contempt, just lazy curiosity.

“Want to do business with me? Hmm?”

“We heard,” Lauriel said, staring at the man puffing smoke behind the desk, “Mr. Heg is the richest man in Little Pelican City.”

Rozokaira Heg burst into laughter.

“So what? Do I look like some philanthropist?”

“If you are, that means you’re smart enough.”

Henk flinched at Rozokaira’s laugh, but Lauriel remained unfazed.

“Someone not smart enough couldn’t hold onto vast wealth in this damn world.”

“…”

The merchant removed the cigar, leaning forward slightly, grinning.

“Interesting. Go on.”

“And since you’re smart, you must know what changes are coming to Little Pelican City—no, to all of Watson Territory.”

Lauriel took a deep breath, his trembling fingertips betraying his outward calm.

“You must know about the magical fields outside… In just seven days, they yield four or five times the harvest. That means, in a short time… Little Pelican City can produce massive crops.”

He stepped forward, and the guard entering with them immediately placed a hand on his sword.

Rozokaira shook his head, signaling the guard to stand down.

“Please… ‘savor’ this wheat. Just smell it.”

Lauriel wiped his sweaty palm on his clothes before pulling a handful of wheat ears from his pocket, placing them on the desk.

Rozokaira curiously grabbed a small handful, sniffing it. In an instant, his pupils contracted.

He’d never… never smelled such fragrant wheat!

Even the finest wheat from the richest fields couldn’t match this aroma.

What started as mere amusement turned into quickened breathing for Rozokaira.

“You see its quality,” Lauriel said.

“This quality, combined with its terrifying yield, could, in a short time…”

He trailed off, and Rozokaira, panting, finished, “Massive output to satisfy common folk, high quality for the elite… If this wheat floods the market at a low price in a short time…”

Rozokaira spoke in a chilling tone, his expression like a ravenous wolf.

“…Destruction, then domination.”

He murmured, trembling—not from fear, but from uncontrollable excitement.

Henk, watching, felt a chill down his spine.

He grew afraid, unsure of what would happen next, only knowing it couldn’t be good.

Rozokaira stubbed out his cigar, stood, and stared at Lauriel.

“You want to discuss this deal? To distribute this wheat across Watson Territory?”

“Yes, I believe you have the means.”

Rozokaira fixed Lauriel with a gaze most couldn’t withstand.

After a long pause, he said, “You’re not afraid… I’ll take everything you have?”

“If people like you would do that, we’d have nothing from the start.”

Lauriel answered candidly.

“That field isn’t ours, that potion isn’t ours, even the grain we grow wouldn’t be ours.”

“But… somehow, it all belongs to us now.”

Under Henk’s bewildered gaze, Lauriel clenched his fists, head lowered, voice hoarse.

“So, I’m betting—betting that for some reason… you won’t, or can’t, forcibly take what we have.”

The office fell silent.

Henk was nervous and confused, Lauriel kept his head down and the last wisps of cigar smoke rose from Rozokaira’s desk.

“Heh heh… Hahaha!”

The merchant laughed heartily.

“You’re a farmer? Someone like you, a farmer? Unbelievable… unbelievable.”

“Impressive!”

He looked at Lauriel with admiration, saying loudly, “This deal, I’ll make with you. All the grain you two harvested these seven days, I’ll buy it all. Name your price!”

“We’re not selling outright. We want a share.”

Lauriel stared at the tycoon he’d never have reached in his lifetime, speaking deliberately.

“I’ve said this much, so I hope you don’t treat me… like a fool.”

Rozokaira studied Lauriel, then grinned.

“What’s your name?”

“Lauriel, Lauriel Moramo.”

“Good, Mr. Moramo.”

Rozokaira pulled a box of cigars from his desk drawer, handing it to Lauriel.

“I like smart people, and I love working with them. You’re no fool, and you don’t seem like a farmer. That title doesn’t suit you.”

“I am one, for now,” Lauriel said, taking the cigars while emphasizing, “If that field stays mine, I might be a farmer for life.”

“Haha, no one will try to take your things, rest assured.”

Rozokaira stepped around the desk, unbothered by the dirt on Lauriel’s clothes, and patted his shoulder.

“This is fate’s gift to you. No one can take it.”

“A lucky and smart man… We’ll work well together, Mr. Moramo.”

“On that note, I have a bold request,” Lauriel said, rubbing the cigar box.

“Oh, let’s hear it.”

“I’d like… an advance on the payment.”

The man said.

***

In the city lord’s castle in Little Pelican City, Anselm and Mingfuluo were in a room arranged by Bernahl, watching a projection of Lauriel and others.

“Things… are about to take a bad turn, aren’t they?”

Anselm propped his chin, giving Mingfuluo a half-smile.

“That Mr. Rozokaira doesn’t seem like a good merchant.”

Mingfuluo stared at the two men shaking hands on the screen, silent for a long time before answering softly, “It’s fine, as long as the grain can flow into the market normally.”

“Because the insane production speed and yield will keep prices low, letting more people eat better food?”

The young Hydra said with a bright smile.

“…Yes.”

Miss Doll kept watching the screen, not forcing herself but genuinely believing this.

—As long as the grain reached the market and appeared on more tables, her goal was achieved.

“If anything…” she murmured, “this is better. If the farmers’ grain piled up in Little Pelican City, it’d be a waste. And they alone couldn’t impact the entire grain market.”

Anselm smiled without speaking.

The screen shifted to Breeze City, formerly of Mirror Lake Territory, now under Hydra’s domain.

That side hadn’t seen this situation yet, but the city’s excited, joyful atmosphere was identical.

“The first week’s results look great.”

Anselm leaned back on the sofa, speaking leisurely.

“Here in Watson Territory, setting aside those two farmers, Little Pelican City’s grain issue should be resolved in days. In just a week, every household could eat soft, fragrant bread. By then, the second crop will be ready. Truly… remarkable.”

He tilted his head toward Mingfuluo, smiling warmly.

“As the creator of this masterpiece, any thoughts, Helen?”

“…The creator isn’t me, it’s you… Father.”

Mingfuluo lowered her head slightly.

“The soil enhancement potion was your idea.”

“Hehe… Well then, let’s just talk about your thoughts.”

Anselm didn’t deny Mingfuluo’s words, only squinting his eyes as he spoke.

“Thoughts…”

Mingfuluo gazed out the window.

Even from the upper district of this territory, she could see the commoners celebrating.

Under Anselm’s assurance that no transcendent beings would interfere, and with order maintained openly and justly, there was no doubt that the residents of Little Pelican City, regardless of status, could enjoy the finest grains.

From now on, they would no longer need to worry about food.

This was the meaning of a transcendent being’s existence—this was the true meaning.

When the malicious nightmare of [Why do you pursue] surfaced in her mind, Mingfuluo finally found a way to confront it.

“I think I can answer Father’s question now,” Mingfuluo said, her purple eyes behind gray frames glinting faintly with light.

“This is why I pursue that future.”

Her voice rose slightly, her emotions vivid and clear.

“Oh… I see.”

Though she seemed to have strengthened her resolve, as if breaking free from a shackle, Anselm only smiled.

He reached out, twirling a strand of Mingfuluo’s hair, and said casually, “But if, Mingfuluo, you only came to this resolve after seeing such a scene…”

“Doesn’t that prove…”

The devil leaned close to her ear, whispering, “that your previous persistence was without reason?”

“…”

In an instant, the burning passion in Mingfuluo’s heart was utterly frozen.

The chains that seemed about to break suddenly tightened, as if strangling her throat.

“But that’s alright.”

Anselm’s hand slid from the back of Mingfuluo’s head, brushing over her snow-white neck, resting on her soft waist and pulling the delicate Miss Doll into his embrace.

“Why dwell on the past?” He gently rested his chin on her head, speaking tenderly.

“Your resolve now, the you of now, is real.”

“Isn’t that right, Helen?”

Mingfuluo Zege trembled slightly.

When a person has no choice, faced with unavoidable pain and despair, they can often burst forth with astonishing will and realization.

But what if… Was there a choice?

And what if it was a choice so beautiful, so blissful, so reassuring, fulfilling her desires, her cravings, satisfying so much?

Mingfuluo was not weak.

She could even sacrifice her own emotions—how could she be weak?

But in this matter alone, whether she was weak or not was irrelevant.

It made no difference.

Because this was a denial of the persistence she had clung to for fifteen years after Erlin’s death, a denial of the resolve that allowed her to weigh human lives on a scale for sacrifice, a denial… of her foundation, her everything.

So Mingfuluo could not face this matter and Anselm, on the other side of this unfaceable truth, offered her a warm, sweet, venomous embrace.

Miss Helen rested against Anselm’s chest, murmuring blankly, “Yes… Father.”

The cheers of the commoners, the scent of wheat, the hunger soon to vanish…

Yes, everything now, including herself, must surely be real.

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