Volume One: Forest Knight Chapter 90: Mrs. Mirapov, Part Two

After hearing Lady Mirabo out, Berion understood what was going on. It was nothing more than a mother fretting over the future, thinking ahead for every possible contingency to secure the safety of herself and her son.

Berion rose and walked to the railing of the terrace, gazing at the sea beyond the city. He sighed and said, “Times change quickly. I cannot promise you that I will certainly be able to keep you and your son safe.

“But I can promise you this: as long as I am alive, if you ever face an irresistible danger and come to Nolanburg, I will make sure you survive. Most likely, that would mean living in seclusion under new names.”

At that moment, Lady Mirabo also stood and came to Berion’s side. A faint fragrance of Nolanburg’s red rose soap lingered about her, wonderfully pleasant.

She too looked into the distance. After a long while, she said to Berion, “Why did you agree so readily? No conditions at all?

“Though you are a knight of noble character and fine skill, you spend so much time with that merchant and even advise him on business that I should think you are the sort who understands exchange and mutual benefit.”

Berion nodded at once. “Yes, Lady Mirabo. I am the second son of a minor knightly house, with no right to inherit any territory.

“If not for the chance to leave the city and wipe out the bandits, and for the favor of the Fire God, I would likely still be standing guard in Valonbre, crammed into a stinking barracks with a pack of rough men.

“But since my fate has changed, however modestly; since I now have a place of my own and a band of reliable friends and subordinates; I ought to struggle for them. That is why I agreed to your request.”

Lady Mirabo smiled at him. “Good. I like frank people. Plain speech is far better than beating around the bush.

“Now tell me, what do you want me to help you with? So long as it is within my power, I will do my best to satisfy you.”

“It is nothing too grand, really. I would like to ask you to serve as the ambassador for Nolanburg’s painted pottery and soap,” Berion said earnestly.

After hearing him out, Lady Mirabo looked puzzled. “An ambassador? What sort of work is that?”

“Ha, ha, ha!” Berion laughed heartily and explained, “It means you help me promote and publicize these two things.

“You are not only a noble lady of high standing in Yanwick City, you are also one of the most beautiful women in the northern lands. Every gesture you make draws the eyes of all the women in the North; your style is, in their minds, the very definition of fashion; the clothing and accessories you use are what every woman in the North wants to imitate.

“If you are willing to use Nolanburg’s painted pottery and soap, and recommend them to your close companions, then many people will surely want to buy them, and Nolanburg will naturally earn money.

“With money, I can raise an elite force and cultivate good relations with important figures at court. My title will naturally rise as well, and then I will have both the confidence and the strength to protect you and your son.

“Of course, I would not let you labor for nothing. For every set of painted pottery and every bar of soap sold in Yanwick City, I will give you a ten percent commission. What do you think?”

Berion’s proposal was truly tempting. Lady Mirabo was indeed somewhat moved, for not only could she obtain Berion’s promise, she could also earn a fair amount of money.

She had no real reason to refuse, especially in her present situation. Though many nobles were willing to befriend her, most of them did so in hopes of using her to gain favor with Count Gril.

These people were all courteous, sweet-tongued, and generous with their purses, but Lady Mirabo knew full well that they were utterly unreliable. The moment she fell from favor, they would cast her aside like a rag, and might even trample her underfoot.

“All right. It is a perfect arrangement. I agree,” Lady Mirabo said without much hesitation.

As she spoke, she extended her hand toward Berion, as though to seal their partnership with a formal handshake.

But when Berion looked at her long, delicate fingers, he did not dare take her hand. He knew that a woman like Lady Mirabo, who moved with ease among great nobles, was skilled at using her beauty to control men, and he absolutely could not fall into her trap.

So Berion pretended to turn, slipped his foot as if losing his balance, and made as though he were about to fall. He thrust out a hand to catch himself and did not hit the ground, but both of his hands were smeared with dirt, making it impossible to shake hers.

When Lady Mirabo saw Berion suddenly stumble, she was startled as well. But then she noticed how swiftly he had pushed himself up, how nimble his movements were, with only his hands dirtied. At once she understood why he had done it.

The startled Lady Mirabo turned to Berion with eyes full of admiration, though there was also a trace of displeasure in them.

She walked up close to Berion and, standing very near him, suddenly reached out and lightly flicked his nose.

Then, smiling, she turned away. As she walked, she said, “Little brother, you really are amusing. But don’t be afraid; your big sister isn’t going to eat you. I would not dare steal a man from that future countess.”

Seeing through his little trick and having it laid bare so bluntly, Berion felt a little embarrassed. Still, it was fortunate that Lady Mirabo had gone; only the maid had seen it, and that was hardly anything worth worrying about.

Yet the moment Lady Mirabo had come close to his body, Berion had indeed been stirred. A young man’s body was still far too immature, he thought with inward sigh.

Berion knew that a woman like that was absolutely untouchable. Loose relations between men and women were a grave taboo in life, and many excellent people had been ruined by it. He could never let himself become such a man.

When he returned to the private room on the second floor, Bran and Hark saw that Berion seemed distracted and that his face was faintly red. The two youngsters looked at him in puzzlement.

After Berion sat down, Bran saw him drink a cup of wine in silence and then continue sitting there wordlessly. Curious, he asked, “Sir, what happened to you? Did that Lady Mirabo do something too outrageous to you?”

At that, Berion glared at him and laughed in scolding tones. “Get lost! What do you know, you little brat? I reached an important agreement with her. Nolanburg’s painted pottery and soap are going to sell like wildfire from now on!”

Bran looked even more confused. “Sir, isn’t that something to be happy about? Why are you so quiet, and looking so burdened? And your face is red too.”

Before Berion could answer, Hark dragged Bran aside. In a low voice, the more worldly Hark muttered, “You don’t get it. I’m telling you, our lord was probably teased by that Lady Mirabo, big sister style.”

“Teased by a big sister? That really would not be something to celebrate,” Bran replied.

Hark smacked Bran on the head, his expression one of deep disappointment. “You blockhead. You don’t know how wonderful an older sister can be.”

Clearly, although Hark was younger than Bran, in mind and body he was far more mature.

Seeing the two of them whispering in the corner, Berion slammed his cup onto the table. “All right, all right, it’s time to go. I have to tell Gamji about this when I get back.”

After returning, Berion told Gamji about his encounter with Lady Mirabo that day, though of course he left out the more delicate details.

The moment Gamji heard it, he jumped up excitedly. Overjoyed, he said, “My good brother, what incredible luck you have! To have Lady Mirabo seek out cooperation with you on her own.

“You should know that I went through several intermediaries just to get that set of painted pottery tea ware and soap into her hands. I spent more than two hundred denars greasing palms before I finally won a chance to meet Lady Mirabo once.

“But even when I was with her, I did not even finish a cup of tea before she had to leave on business. I did not even get a word of thanks for the gifts I brought.

“Still, she is undeniably beautiful, and her figure is excellent. The meeting was worth it, and I do not feel I lost anything.”

As Gamji rambled on and gradually lost all sense of decorum, Berion could not help casting him a contemptuous glance. But Gamji ignored it completely, continuing to reminisce about the delightful fantasies Lady Mirabo had inspired in him. He jiggled his increasingly bulging belly and carried on with his foolish lecherous display.

After waiting quite a while, Berion finally managed to get him to stop. Wiping sweat from his head, Gamji took up his cup and gulped down water in great mouthfuls, while beaming all the while.

“To part with only ten percent of the profit, and not even from the gross revenue, and still get Lady Mirabo to promote our goods—it is an amazing bargain,” he said.

Berion nodded. “Exactly. Only by sharing profits can we obtain profits. If this model works, we can copy it elsewhere. Once the key people are won over, everyone else will naturally follow.”

“Exactly. And now that the three major bandit gangs south of the Karl River have all been wiped out by you, the trade routes are much smoother. I plan to recruit some caravan guards in the next couple of days and then form a caravan of our own to open a route into Terra Province,” Gamji said.

“Good. I support you. First go there, get familiar with the place, and settle all the connections. Then we can cut into the Terra Province market.

“Do not be stingy with money. Only by tying more people to our wagon can we make them stand firmly on our side, and then we will be able to sell more goods.

“If sales volume is large enough, even if the margin is thinner, the overall income will still be very considerable. And with such volume, our bargaining power when purchasing raw materials will be stronger, allowing us to acquire them at lower cost.

“At the same time, as production scale grows, efficiency will rise as well, and overall costs will actually fall. For us, there is only profit and no harm.”

After hearing Berion’s analysis, Gamji clapped his hands with delight. “Berion, my brother, I truly admire you. I may not be ignorant of these things, but I simply cannot explain them as clearly as you do. You’ve made everything instantly clear to me.”

Berion rolled his eyes at him again, thinking that after all, he had once been exposed to theories of marketing in his previous life. These things were understood by merchants in the Middle Ages, of course, but they had not yet systematized such experiences into theory, so naturally they could not speak of them so eloquently.

“Oh, right. You said you wanted to recruit caravan guards. Where were you planning to recruit them?” Berion asked.

Gamji replied, “During this month after the Northern Knights’ Tournament every year, many people pour into Yanwick City—mercenaries who were not eligible to join the tournament and have no wish to fight and risk their lives, as well as squires whose fathers have died and whose titles were stripped away, and younger sons without inheritance rights. They all choose to go with the larger caravans into the city.

“That is because during this period, many capable merchants and caravans come to Yanwick to watch the excitement, do business, and select decent people to serve as caravan guards.

“Brother Berion, you know this as well: the work of a caravan guard is not as dangerous as that of a mercenary who walks with his head hanging from his belt, but the roads are now full of robbers, and most lords and prefects do not have your means to wipe out so many bandits.

“So when a caravan goes out on a long journey, it is basically inevitable that a few guards will be killed or injured. That is why we are always willing to recruit extra caravan guards, so we can fill any vacancies at any time.”

“Mm-hm.” Berion nodded at Gamji’s words, then asked, “Are there many among them who are good horsemen?”

Gamji burst out laughing. “Of course there are. Many of them may not be able to charge with a lance in hand, but they can still swing swords and hack at bandits from horseback without any problem.

“Caravan guards are basically all expected to ride. If you can’t handle horses, how could you do the job? Even if they are not great at fighting from horseback, they are still more than capable of dealing with ordinary little bands of robbers.

“Oh, Brother Berion, why are you asking? What do you need them for?”