At auction, the rare Black Pearl wine could fetch twenty times its base value, typically selling for around 550 gold coins per barrel. However, auction houses charge a 10% commission, and a portion of the proceeds must be paid as goods tax to the nobility. This means that through an auction, a seller would at most net 400 gold coins per barrel.
Field, however, sold his stock in bulk directly to a noble, avoiding both commission and taxes.
The 500 gold coins per barrel deal was an exceptionally generous price.
"Friend," Simon said with a gleam in his eye, "might I purchase that rat monster's skull? I'll offer 20 gold coins. I'd like to hang this heroic trophy in my collection room."
"Of course." Field put on an expression of feigned reluctance, struggling to suppress a laugh. Clearly, his embellished tale had done the trick. In reality, the rat monster had lasted barely three minutes against Ashina, and the skull held no real value to him. With a theatrical thumbs-up, he added, "A noble identity requires outstanding trophies to match. I dare say this one still carries the divine power of a miracle upon it."
After completing his trade route, Field walked away with 5,020 gold coins—a staggering profit.
But he wasn't foolish enough to carry all the coins with him. Instead, he spent 30 gold coins to deposit 3,000 gold coins in the royal vault established in Mapleleaf City. This served two purposes: first, to demonstrate goodwill and a willingness to collaborate with Mapleleaf City; second, to avoid the risk of being robbed on the way out.
Field knew all too well that despite Simon's show of generosity, the baron was likely feeling the sting of the transaction. In all likelihood, he was already scheming ways to reclaim the gold.
As the saying goes: What is earned in Mapleleaf City is spent in Mapleleaf City. Not a single coin leaves this place.
"Baron Field, it's been a pleasure doing business with you. The maids have already prepared your bed, and the bathwater is at the perfect temperature—it's time to indulge in a man's primal nature. Of course, I'm not talking about those lowly housemaids." As Field expected, Simon, having spent a fortune, was already showing signs of regret. His belly jiggling with each step, he affectionately looped his arm around Field's. "I'll wager you've never laid hands on one of the exalted chosen."
Field muttered inwardly, The chosen of my household? I cuddle her whenever I like. She's adorable.
"Ahem, indeed, I haven't. Chosen ones are precious treasures, far too rare," Field replied, playing along with feigned sincerity.
Simon smirked, clearly pleased. "Hmph! Well, Mapleleaf holds a rare treasure of its own. Come, I'll show you something truly extraordinary—you've never seen anything like it."
A rare treasure of Mapleleaf? Field thought wryly. Surely it's not that dancer of yours, the one so 'popular' the stable hands are marking tallies on her alongside the horses?
Suppressing the twitch at the corner of his mouth, Field could feel the truth: after spending five thousand gold coins, Simon was desperate to claw some of it back.
"Ahem, perhaps another time," Field said, awkwardly wiping cold sweat from his brow. Hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere, he asked, "Baron Simon, might I inquire—does Mapleleaf City sell direwolves? I'm looking to purchase a large number of them."
Simon, still trying to pull Field upstairs, replied absentmindedly, "Direwolves? Those rare beasts only appear in the nomadic khanates. They're not easy to come by."
Field, in far better physical shape, quickly disentangled himself from the feeble, wine-soaked noble. Simon, visibly drained by his excesses, was no match. After stepping back and coughing twice to break the tension, Field continued, "The Northern Provinces are riddled with corrupted plants, writhing tentacles, and pulsating flesh. Horses often get their hooves trapped. I need mounts better suited to such treacherous terrain. Besides, direwolves are undeniably imposing—they'll serve as a bold symbol of my bravery."
Realising he couldn't persuade Field to stay any longer, Simon sighed and gave his belly a resigned shake. "Very well. I'll instruct the merchant caravans to keep an eye out for direwolves—no one refuses gold."
"Even pups will suffice," Field replied smoothly. "I promise to pay a price you'll find satisfactory."
Field smirked inwardly. Once he actually acquires the wolves, who else but me would purchase them in bulk? By then, I'll haggle him down all the same.
Field's lordly skill allowed him to instantly elevate fifty direwolf riders to the first rank, but the key was acquiring the wolves. They would become a powerful addition to his forces. Moreover, preserving the genetic line of dragon-blooded wolves was imperative—that bloodline was an unparalleled treasure.
Much like the royal gryphons, which were descendants of the "Holy Gryphon" bonded with the Empire's founding emperor, the legacies left behind by chosen ones weren't limited to artefacts. Animals, technology, and magical techniques all held tremendous value.
"I must return to the Northern Provinces and continue my expansion," Field said simply, offering a quick farewell before turning on his heel to leave. "I feel wealth and glory calling my name."
Not long after Field's departure, Simon's expression soured into one of visible pain. Groaning dramatically, he shuffled toward the guest chambers. "Oh, my precious gold coins—so small, so shiny, so tempting. Gone! All gone! Is there any tragedy worse than this? Well, except that time my baguette broke in half…"
Reaching the guest chamber, Simon carelessly flung open the door. A captivating figure awaited him inside, draped in translucent silks, one leg elegantly crossed over the other. She had clearly been waiting for quite some time.
"I was hoping for the handsome Baron of the Shadowlands," the woman remarked icily. Though her attire was provocative, her gaze was piercingly cold.
"And by the way," she added with a mocking smirk, "that thing of yours isn't a baguette. At best, it's a little maggot."
"Failure," Simon muttered with a sigh. "Baron Field has no interest in women. He'd rather chase adventure—and rob me of my rightful gold coins." Despite the woman's barbed remark, Simon didn't lose his temper, instead sounding genuinely regretful. "If I'd known this earlier, I wouldn't have sent those second-rate maids to try and seduce him. He probably thinks I've got no better options. I should have sent you from the start! Who could've predicted he'd seal a five-thousand-gold deal? Damn it, how can the Northern Provinces still harbour treasures? Isn't that place just rotting corpses and tentacles? Maybe I should send someone to assassinate him."
"Ha! There's that petty side of yours again," the woman teased with a wicked laugh. "Long-term business is far more profitable. He's even deposited money to show his goodwill—now's not the time to kill him. Besides, you can't make a move here in Mapleleaf City."
Simon slumped like a chastened child, his 200-pound frame practically sulking. "Fine. You're right."
"You scared him off with your greed," the woman continued, her tone laced with mockery. "He's such an adorable little boy—I'd love to get my hands on him." She licked her lips seductively, reclining lazily on a cushion. With a clink, she snapped a shackle onto her own wrist, her sly gaze darting back to Simon. "Or perhaps he has… unusual tastes. Nobles often do, don't they? Some fancy handsome young men, others prefer children, and there are even those who enjoy watching slaughter. Here's an idea, Simon: have your servants tell him about the masked ball in Mapleleaf City three months from now, on the fifteenth. Make sure he knows it will cater to every whim."
"I already mentioned it in passing," Simon said with a shrug.
"Then send him a formal invitation," the woman replied as though it were obvious. "The Mapleleaf City Ball welcomes anyone with value to contribute."
"Fine," Simon relented, though he added with a hint of disdain, "but truthfully, I doubt he'll survive that long. Luck doesn't stay with anyone forever. The corrupted beasts of the Northern Provinces are no laughing matter—even chosen ones have fallen there."