Chapter 55: Opening Trade Routes (1) — The First Stop

Late at night, after finishing his affairs, Duke arrived at the door of the study and knocked softly.

“Come in.”

Duke pushed open the door and entered, gazing at the back of his father. He bowed his head slightly and said respectfully, “Father, everything is taken care of.”

The middle-aged man put down his book, turned around, and looked at his second son. After a moment of silence, he spoke: “You handled the monster attack on the wasteland well this time.”

“Father, it was my duty,” Duke replied calmly, accepting his father’s praise.

Looking at his second son, whose talent was unremarkable but who was diligent, the middle-aged man’s expression grew complicated.

Their family was merely a minor baronial house. After paying taxes to the kingdom and tributes to their liege lords, there was little left. Cultivating an heir was already a strain on their resources; for other family members, they could only support the most promising. There was little else he could do.

“Your talent is ordinary, but I have seen your efforts over the years.” After a long pause, the middle-aged man spoke again. “Within the family, there is no future for you. I want to hear your choice.”

Duke kept his head bowed, silent.

A gentle night breeze flickered the candlelight, casting shifting shadows and adding a quiet atmosphere to the room.

“Father, I will follow your arrangements.”

After careful thought, Duke decided to obey his father’s wishes.

“Tomorrow, I will introduce you to that pioneer from the Echs family. Whether you succeed will depend on yourself.”

“Yes, Father.”

Duke bowed and withdrew from the room.

As he walked down the dim corridor, Duke’s expression was tinged with melancholy.

He had learned much about the monster attack on the wilds more than a month ago. The pioneer from the Echs family had established a developed territory in less than a year, and, while securing his own lands, had demonstrated such formidable strength that the gnoll invaders retreated and turned instead to attack the inland.

The memory of the battle against the gnolls was still vivid in his mind. If not for the protection of the city walls, the local garrison could scarcely have withstood three hundred gnolls.

“I hope he’ll take notice of me.”

He knew he had few redeeming qualities—apart from hard work, he had nothing else to offer.

Six hours later, the sun had risen.

Veylin climbed out of bed, dressed, and stepped out of his room.

“My lord, are you going out dressed like that?” Raimondo, who had been waiting at the door, eyed Veylin’s attire with some doubt.

Yawning, Veylin replied, “Changing clothes is such a bother. This will do.”

After breakfast, Veylin set out with Raimondo and two caravan guards, four in all, for the center of the small town to pay a visit to the local lord.

They passed through filthy streets until they reached a relatively clean castle square.

A plainly dressed steward, seeing them approach, hurried forward and greeted them respectfully, “May I ask if you are Lord Veylin?”

“Yes, I am.”

The steward was relieved to see the young man’s calm demeanor, so lacking in arrogance.

“Please follow me, my lord. The Baron has been waiting for you.”

Veylin followed the steward into the castle, along a broad, stone-paved corridor, and into a modest hall.

A middle-aged man, seeing the youth in linen clothes enter, rose at once to greet him, his second son Duke following close behind.

“Young eagle of the Echs family, welcome. I am the noble of this place, Baron Wisk Grovner of Grovner.”

Veylin regarded the genial, middle-aged man before him, placed his right hand to his chest, bowed slightly, and replied, “Greetings, my lord Baron. Forgive my intrusion.”

“Haha, your arrival is my honor.”

After some polite exchanges, Wisk cordially invited Veylin to sit and instructed the servants to bring out the finest pastries and wine.

Raimondo took his place quietly behind Veylin, while the two guards waited outside.

Standing behind his father, Duke glanced up at the imposing young man accompanying the youth. Unable to discern the man’s strength, he was inwardly astonished.

“So, Veylin, is it all right if I address you by name?” Wisk said with a smile.

“Baron Wisk, as you please,” Veylin replied gently, seated on a finely crafted chair.

“That is the bearing of a scion from a noble house with true lineage,” Wisk thought, recalling the arrogant young nobles who had come seeking tributes in his grandfather’s day. He couldn’t help but shake his head.

They went on to discuss the state of the Cadro province, with Veylin, who had stayed in the territory for over a month, learning much useful information.

Most significant was the news that the kingdom had stationed a Silver Knight Order in this remote province.

According to the kingdom’s military structure, a Silver Knight Order included three Gold Knights, three hundred Silver Knights, three thousand Bronze Knights, and an indeterminate number of knight squires, totaling between five and ten thousand men.

“Baron Wisk, I have come here for two reasons: first, to pay my respects to the Grovner family; second, for business.” After some polite conversation, Veylin revealed his purpose.

Wisk was not surprised; he had anticipated this.

“And what is the commodity?”

Though he already had intelligence on the matter, Wisk maintained courtesy and did not reveal his knowledge before the proper moment.

“Salt—refined from mineral salt.”

At this, Raimondo produced two small cloth bags from his belt and placed them on the long wooden table.

At Veylin’s gesture, Wisk dispensed with further formality, took the bags, and carefully poured out their contents.

The refined mineral salt was pure white and crystalline, with uniform grains. Wisk rubbed a pinch between his fingers—dry, smooth, and fine—then tasted it and his eyes lit up with surprise. “Excellent quality. What is your asking price?”

“My lord Baron, how much do you think it is worth?”

Wisk did not answer immediately. Instead, he examined the other pile of coarse salt, making a mental assessment.

After a moment, Wisk pointed to the refined sample and said, “For this type, I am willing to offer twenty-five copper coins per pound.”

“As for the other, it is slightly bitter and of lesser texture, but still better than the mineral salt on the market. I am willing to pay ten copper coins per pound for it.”

Veylin found these prices close to his own expectations and was about to negotiate further, but Wisk interrupted.

“Veylin, business can wait. There is something else I must ask of you.”