"Your father was a valiant nobleman, the chosen 'Crimson Rose' of the Ross family, and he left behind a legendary story in the Empire," Simon remarked with a polite tone. In truth, the two had no real connection, and the Earl's first chosen heir had long since fallen in battle—killed in the war against the elves. Raising his voice, Simon added, "I deeply admire his bravery and hope to meet him someday."
Simon was a short, stout man with unnaturally pale skin, his face covered in freckles and warts. Reclining lazily in the arms of two scantily clad maids, he puckered his lips and sucked a cherry from one of the maid's fingers. Leisurely chewing on it, he then spat the pit onto the maid's fair skin with a loud "thwip," saliva and all.
The maid showed no sign of displeasure; instead, she giggled incessantly.
Such decadence was no surprise to Field. Many nobles lived this way—after all, they had grown up in luxury, able to obtain anything they desired. Their threshold for pleasure had been pushed so high that only ever-increasing levels of indulgence could excite them.
As long as they didn't trouble him, Field couldn't care less.
At Simon's gestured invitation, Field took a seat and returned the courtesy, saying, "You are one of the most astute landowners I have ever met. The prosperity of Mapleleaf City is unlike anything I've seen before."
"Haha, I like your honesty," Simon replied with a hearty laugh.
Thus, adhering to noble decorum, the two exchanged pleasantries for some time.
"Honestly, Field, you've inherited your family's bravery and wisdom. There aren't many who can venture into the Cursed Lands and return unscathed," Simon said as he struggled to sit up. Waving his hand to dismiss the maids, he signalled that the idle chatter was over. Rising to his feet, he added, "Let's move to the drawing room to continue. Since these common waifs don't appeal to you, we'll leave it at that. Perhaps you'd prefer an elf or a mermaid? Heh, though I'm afraid I don't have any at the moment—the last batch was cooked and sold off to other nobles."
Field felt a wave of nausea but maintained a composed expression. "Even mermaids?" he asked coolly.
"Of course," Simon replied with a mischievous smirk. "Next time, I'll take you to one of our more interesting underground banquets. I guarantee you'll find something to your taste."
"Haha, now that's something to look forward to—typical of the Baron of Mapleleaf," Field responded with a hearty laugh. He had no interest in such sordid gatherings, but as a seller, he knew how to flatter his host. He then sighed theatrically, as if relieved, and said, "Making it out of the Shadowlands alive… I owe it all to my soldiers and the goddess's blessing. I'm still amazed myself—it seems fortune has chosen to favour me for now."
Simon clapped his hands in admiration. "I do enjoy dealing with those favoured by fortune."
They moved to the opulent drawing room, where Field's goods had been inspected and delivered to the estate. Through the windows, the barrels of sherry could be seen stacked outside.
"And what do we have here?" Simon asked, his interest piqued.
"Hammer," Field called, turning to one of his guards, "show the Baron what you've brought."
Rather than moving straight to the transaction, Field instructed his guard to present a skull. It was the head of a mutated rat from the great vineyard, grotesque in size—its skull alone as large as a grown man's torso. Sprouting horns and sharp fangs, it resembled a demon from the depths, its grotesque grin frozen in a sinister expression.
"This was the first extraordinary creature I encountered in the Shadowlands—a corrupted giant rat demon. Its fur burned with purple hellfire, its claws could tear through the thickest scale armour with ease, and with a single roar, it unleashed a banshee's scream. My vanguard knights didn't even last a moment; seven of them were incinerated by its demonic flames!" Field paused dramatically. "Damn it, those were knights meticulously trained by the Ross family—reduced to nothing but charred remains."
"Hsss~" Simon sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Mapleleaf Fortress has never faced an attack from rat demons. They seem… quite formidable."
For nobles, truth often mattered less than maintaining an impressive façade.
Field lifted the skull, feigning a look of lingering dread as he spun a fantastical tale. "This creature weaved through my ranks time and again, an unstoppable force. Not a single soldier could stand against its claws. There was no countermeasure, no hope. Do you understand that kind of despair? All I could do was pray for a miracle."
Simon nodded, his expression grave. "The sort of despair when you've eaten all the honey and realised there's no more in the pantry."
"At the brink of death," Field continued, his tone heavy with reverence, "the goddess answered my prayers. A thunderous bolt of lightning, imbued with divine wrath, struck the foul beast's head. Only then did my knights seize the opportunity to slay it."
"Praise the goddess!" Simon exclaimed, awestruck. He traced the symbol of the goddess of love across his chest, clearly shaken. "The Northern Provinces are synonymous with hell itself. The church and the crown have tried countless times to subdue it, all in vain. That you returned alive is a miracle in its own right."
"Indeed," Field agreed with a shrug, pulling at his collar as though recalling the heat of the ordeal. "But for the peace of the Empire, and for treasures of great value, I'm willing to take such risks. Especially treasures like the fabled Black Pearl wine, a vintage thought lost for over a decade. Even this greedy rat demon was an astute creature, guarding the rare bottles with ferocious zeal."
"My word!" Simon gasped, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Black Pearl wine? The vintage from ten years ago—the one reserved for royal banquets?" He leaned forward eagerly. "Show me those rare bottles at once—I can't wait any longer!"
Nobles were utterly powerless against rare and precious items. While obtaining the wine hadn't been particularly difficult for Field, his embellished tale of hardship elevated both its price and its prestige.
As the barrel lid was pried open, the rich, aromatic scent of the wine filled the room. Simon wasted no time in sampling it, his face melting into an expression of utter bliss. "This is the taste! Do you know, my father had a single bottle of this in his collection, and only on his birthday last year did he allow me to taste a single glass! The velvety smoothness—it's divine. I wager my father would be absolutely green with envy."
Field chuckled. "Naturally. A noble beauty deserves to be cherished by noble gentlemen, and noble wines require noble palates to savour them."
Even in modern times, customers are more likely to buy a product if it comes with a compelling "story." Take, for example, the simple pitch: Friends, I've got an exclusive deal for you! This item was originally priced at 900 million, but I pressured the seller into giving me a discount. Now it's only 9—grab it while you can!
"I feel I've found a kindred spirit," Simon declared unapologetically. "These rare wines are as good as mine." He summoned a servant and whispered instructions before turning back to Field. "Please wait a moment, Baron Field. I must consult my advisors on the price—this isn't a small transaction."
"Take your time," Field replied smoothly.
After a brief consultation, Simon returned with an offer of 500 gold coins per barrel.
The amount matched precisely what Field had needed to fund his venture into the Shadowlands.
A standard sherry barrel holds approximately 500 litres. Since one litre equals 2.1134 pints, and a pint of wine is typically served as a single glass, a barrel could yield about 1,057 glasses. For common wines, a single glass would cost 25 copper coins, making an entire barrel worth roughly 26 gold coins and 41 silver coins.