As soon as I disembarked at Guillaume City''s port, Mayor Guillaume was there to greet me with an unguarded smile.

    "I expected that after buying up so much cotton and wool, you wouldn''t be back for months. I didn''t think you''d return in less than a fortnight. Is something going on?"

    I bantered back, "Does there have to be a reason for us to meet, Mayor? Don’t be so distant."

    "Enough with the jokes. Even though we''re close, your domain is still a two-day journey by ship. It can''t be easy for you to travel here."

    "I''ve produced some wool and cotton fabrics, so I came to sell them—and to see you, of course."

    "Fabrics are always welcome here. And you as well, naturally."

    After a bit of small talk, we moved to a spot out of the way of the workers unloading the cargo. There, we continued our conversation, wandering into various topics.

    He spoke about his grandchildren and his efforts to lobby for a position among the life peers. He even talked about things usually reserved for family gatherings, like my marital prospects and the joy children bring. While this casual chatting is pleasant, it can also be exhausting.

    "A man should marry young. Sure, sometimes I can’t stand the sight of my wife, but just watching my kids and grandkids grow gives me the strength to carry on."

    "Is that so? Well, I haven’t married yet, so I wouldn’t know."

    "A man like you could have noble ladies lining up. Don’t worry too much about personality; focus on family and looks. Women hide their true selves well. You can never really know someone’s character from a few conversations."

    There''s an old saying: "You can know the depths of a river, but not the depths of a person." While it’s true that human nature is hard to fathom, choosing a future wife solely based on family and appearance is...

    Still, he has a point. Nobles’ marriages are generally based on conditions, with a few formal conversations instead of lengthy courtships.

    ‘Personality isn’t even something you’d get to know, anyway.’

    Just as I was hoping for a change of subject, the mayor finally brought it up.

    "Speaking of which, I don''t see any cotton fabrics. What happened to them?"

    "I packed them with the seaweed in the boxes," I replied.

    He frowned. "Those boxes look pretty heavy, so you’re just trying to dodge the duties, aren’t you? I must say, that’s disappointing."

    He caught on to my little scheme right away. Admittedly, bringing over a thousand large crates to hold a couple of hundred kilograms of seaweed was suspiciously excessive.

    "Come now, Mayor. You know we’re in this together. I wouldn’t cheat you. I have a proposition that benefits us both."

    The mayor’s curiosity was piqued, as I knew it would be.

    "In Guillaume, wool and cotton fabrics normally carry a 30% duty. You''ve graciously reduced it to 15% for me."

    "Indeed. You don’t know how much trouble it took to lower that rate for you."

    The tension between the Lyon Kingdom and the Granada Kingdom made war seem imminent. Weapon prices were already climbing, and if war broke out, they’d surge by at least 40%.

    ‘Anyone holding weapons then would have a goldmine on their hands.’

    As he headed toward the market, something caught his eye.

    “Cotton and wool fabrics on sale?” he murmured.

    Cotton and wool are stable commodities, always in demand for clothing. If you bought them at the right price, they were as good as gold. Naturally, he checked the price tags.

    “Six silvers and fifty coppers per bolt for cotton fabric? That’s incredibly cheap. Even the lowest market prices are at least six silvers and twenty coppers.”

    The prices here were lower than what you’d typically pay at a production factory.

    “Excuse me, is this price correct?”

    “We’re not in the business of false advertising. It’s six silvers and fifty coppers per bolt, or sixty silvers for ten.”

    This was slightly below what he’d pay at the factory, meaning he’d make a profit on resale.

    ‘If I sell in Montpellier, I can make a silver per bolt. That’s a 20% profit margin—not bad at all.’

    “How many bolts do you have?”

    “We have one hundred twenty bolts of cotton and about eighty bolts of wool.”

    “I’m a manager with the Amore Guild. I’ll take the lot. Give me an hour.”

    “Thank you, sir!”

    As they finished talking, other merchants began to crowd around, lured by the attractively low prices.

    “Damn it, he got here first.”

    “We’ll have to find somewhere else!”

    Andre? quickly realized that some "madman" was dumping fabrics at astonishingly low prices.

    ‘Whoever it is, they’re selling at absurdly kind prices. Let’s take advantage of it while we can.’

    Following his orders, Amore Guild’s men scattered to buy as much fabric as possible.

    Just as I’d predicted.

    And as I watched the frenzy, I turned to Cloe to discuss some more serious matters.