Chapter 61

Sophie

Day 46, Day 6 on the Road

Kronfeldt

Achieving business success involves more than just making deals and fundamental economics; it hinges on the ability to develop connections. The true barrier to entry is resilience: facing rejection, knowing how to network, and projecting that you belong in the world of power. It’s a game of masks; the second you falter, show doubt, or appear out of place, you’re out of the circle. Sales is about confidence.

Before her assignment, I armed my stand-in with these essential tips, and now, with my advice fresh in her mind, she joined me in The Silk Lotus, to mingle with Kronfeldt's elite. My stand-in, Sable, posing as the White Fox, was my newest employee. She chatted away with sweet ol' Sweethoof, the youngest of the three pig sisters and one of the owners of the Silk Lotus, an opulent bordello in town. We sipped the latest obsession among the nobility, the New York tea blend, as I quietly whispered advice to my decoy. I had recently closed a deal with Sweethoof and her sisters: a hefty bag of Anika’s infamous drug tea to the Silk Lotus in exchange for coin but more importantly, friendship with the bordello owners including an invite to this exclusive dinner party event.

You’d think these pig sisters had found the Fountain of Youth, judging by how they fought over the tea. But not me; I was sticking to my mineral water. Gotta keep a clear head.

Now, let’s talk about my newest employee, the White Fox herself. I headhunted her right out of the banking guilds, a scrappy female red fox who was underappreciated and underpaid by her company. She reminded me of my younger self—eager to impress and prove herself. Sable, my newest recruit, was practically drooling over the salary I offered—a modest sum, really, but with the right words she signed the contract faster than you can say “poach”. As for the NDAs and no-compete clauses, I loaded into her contract with my skill, she barely blinked.

After recruiting Sable and before arriving at the Silk Lotus, I had controlled most of the Second mints in Kronfeldt, and it was time to make my move. After adjusting their value, I shifted the Seconds back to the Mining Guilds, securing stakes in mining futures and mineral rights—iron, silver, and gold—all through the East India Trading Company. These Seconds then flooded the market, finding their way into the hands of the initial investors who held the original rights and sold them, thinking they’d gained a solid return in Seconds.

Next, I signed contracts to grab most of the mining equipment from the local Blacksmiths and placed several orders for more mining equipment.

Then, the pièce de résistance: I melted down some of my prized Thirds, acquiring them from my Seconds at a handsome exchange rate. Soon, the three biggest mines in Kronfeldt would buzz with excitement—a mini gold rush sparked by my strategic nudges. And of course, I had James working his glamor. A rat, a cat, and a moleman—each with strikingly similar features and fur colors—strutted into every tavern and dockside haunt, spinning tales of gold-filled mines. It wasn’t just James spreading the word; my gold, discreetly planted in those mines by my contracted agents, lent the stories an air of credibility. Before long, eager traders and merchants wouldn’t be able to resist the lure. They’d spread the rumors throughout the realm on every ship and caravan that left the city, and soon the floodgates would open. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, would swarm into the city, chasing after the riches I had planted in their minds.

And those prospectors arriving in the coming weeks? They’d need mountains of equipment and capital for their gold rush—lodgings, tools, and, most importantly, loans. Enter the White Fox Exchange and Loans, ready to lend a hand to all the dreamers eager to strike it rich. Meanwhile, the East India Trading Company would be cashing in on the equipment sales and eventually uncovering something big within the mountain.

For there to be such significant investment in these mines, a person with a class must have prospected the geology of this land. There must be valuable minerals yet to be discovered, considering the number of workers drawn here, but so far, only iron has been found. While the East India Company rakes in profits from shipping the minerals worldwide, a portion of that bounty flows discreetly into Hanseatic Limited—a shadowy little company I had set up that would ship goods back to Thornhill.

My class level was climbing rapidly with all these transactions. I felt like I’d been stuck between levels 3 and 4 forever in Thornhill, but now I was racing past level 7. On top of that, my Espionage level had reached 2, and I was eager to boost it even further, so I sat next to my stand-in, eavesdropping on the local gossip while I reflected on my day’s work.

“Oh, did I show you my new teapot?” Sweethoof exclaimed, proudly showcasing it to the “White Fox”. “One of my runners won it in Gachapon. My sisters are sooo jealous!”

She laughed, cradling the teapot like a treasure as she poured herself another cup.

The White Fox tapped her chin. “Oh, dear… you must have one of the earlier versions of those Bianca teapots.”

Sweethoof’s expression shifted to concern. “Excuse me?”

The teapot was lovely, handcrafted by Bianca herself, but it was only a D-rank—not as high as a C-rank like Orion’s or several others in my portable wagon.

“Look closely at the lines on the ‘B’ underneath the pot,” I explained. “They’re less pronounced—one of her earlier signatures from when she was still a lower-level potter. It’s a nice piece, but see how the liquid pours? The flow is unsteady, breaking too easily. Watch this.” The White Fox took my C-tier teapot and demonstrated, pouring effortlessly from the spout. The water streamed smoothly into her cup, even as she lifted it higher, the flow resembling a delicate ribbon of silk.

“Incredible… you must tell me how you acquired this,” Sweethoof said, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Alas, I was lucky enough to win an S-tier prize from the Gachapon. It's the only way, really,” the White Fox sighed. “I must have spent over a thousand Seconds rolling just to get one.”

“I must have it. I must have it!” Sweethoof whined, sounding like a spoiled child who was used to getting her way. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink. “You can’t tell my sisters that I have… an inferior one. Please!”

Just then, a dozen mini conversations in the bordello’s waiting room were interrupted by the serving of dinner. The head staff would always announce who was sponsoring the meal and the dish before it was served. As the newcomers, we were up first.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“This meal has been presented to you by the gracious Miss White Fox,” announced the head butler, a black-furred boar with graying patches in his hair, dressed in elegant black noble vestments. His words prompted a round of applause as my stand-in nodded graciously to the guests. “The dish is called Deer Wellington—a foreign delicacy.”

Before us lay an enormous banquet table adorned with plates of the dish: a ring of pink tenderloin encased in golden puff pastry, drizzled with red wine sauce, and nestled on a bed of vibrant roasted vegetables. It looked like something straight out of a Michelin-star restaurant.

The nobles gathered, their curiosity piqued by the striking presentation of Orion’s creation. While other meals flaunted lavish abundance—cornucopias of roasted meats drenched in sauces—Orion’s dish presented a masterclass in restraint. Complex in technique yet minimalist in style, it radiated a confidence that declared “less is more.” Each element was perfectly cooked and elegantly arranged, demanding attention even in its simplicity. A ruby-red swirl drew the eye to a medallion of pink meat encased in golden pastry, resting on a medley of purple, green, and brown vegetables that looked like autumn leaves. For the nobles of Kronfeldt, it gave them a glimpse of the future of culinary art.

The most common complaint was that the portions were too small, which seemed to ruin the entire evening as guests were whisked away to a culinary wonderland only to crash back to reality when confronted with what felt mundane compared to Orion's masterpiece.

“White Fox,” Sweethoof, stammered, “I will give you anything you want for the Chattel that made this dish. How much? Name your price.”

“She’s not for sale,” the White Fox declared about Edith, who—if we’re being fair—was taking all the credit for Orion’s work. “At any price.”

“Oh, but a recipe, at least! Surely you have one,” Sweethoof pressed, an odd glint in her eye. “I’ll pay you 2 Firsts for just one recipe. I must have more, please!”

I leaned close to the White Fox, my voice barely a whisper, “Tell her I’ll think about it tomorrow—but it’s 4 Firsts, non-negotiable.” With a raised brow, the White Fox repeated my offer.

Orion had been fretting about coins just an hour previous. Now, here was a chance for him to get some on his own. There was no need to rely on his sugar mama coaxing open the town’s treasury.

The White Fox and I had already made our introductions to most of the important players in Kronfeldt. But one family I’d taken great care to sidestep: the mayor and his kin. They were Halfrins, a rare breed of what looked like half-elves. Farther south across the continent, Halfrins gave way to Beastkins, but still in the Azure Reach, Halfrins reigned supreme, especially in the North. The Queen herself was Halfrin, as were her dukes and mayors, all related or descended to her.

This was delicate work, and the White Fox needed to make the right first impression. I’d told her to bide her time before dealing with the mayor—direct contact would come soon enough. The man had an aristocratic air about him: long, sharp features, pointed ears, and a refined severity. His marble-gray skin and dull orange eyes only added to his statuesque presence, framed by slick black hair just beginning to gray.

Even though I wanted to avoid him, I couldn’t resist lurking within earshot of the mayor’s conversation with Silktail, the last and oldest of the Bordello owners’ pig sister trio.

Indeed. Duke Aelric’s health keeps him resting most days. And our Queen—she’s spending most of her defense coffers on the coast guard in Havenreach. Not a coin spared for the mines here, not a shred of recognition for our worth,” Mayor Kaelan murmured, frustration evident in his voice.

“And meanwhile, Aelric’s council busies itself filling the war chests for the impending ducal succession,” Silktail scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “And our taxes, Mayor Kaelan, let us speak plainly—they are naught but a grievous waste. Those mercenaries you’ve employed? Hardly worth the Thirds you squander on them. My husband’s wine caravans have faced ambush far too often.”

“Until the old Duke finally departs this world, I can scarcely do more with the meager resources at my disposal,” the mayor lamented, his voice heavy with regret. “I must prioritize the Duke’s care; his daughter lacks the years to manage such burdens alone. And raising taxes in a remote backwater like this? It just keeps people from settling here.”

Silktail raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “This land is brimming with rich, untapped volcanic soil—prime for investment and ripe for harvest. Why don’t you Halfrins see that with just a bit of foresight and two well-chosen B-tier mercenary companies to keep the raiders and troglodytes at bay, we could double or even triple our farming output?”

The mayor gave an apologetic bow, using the opportunity to slip away and engage a different noble in conversation. My business here was done. I caught the White Fox’s eye and gestured for us to leave. We rounded up our crew in the kitchen and then headed to the entertainment district to prepare for the Gachapon event. In the dark alley, I switched out my bunny mask for a boar mask, shed my coat to reveal a flight attendant uniform, and ran through the show once more.

This time, luck was on one of our customers' side—a particularly thrilled customer walked away with an S-tier Teapot. Our town purse was overflowing, to the point that an accountant was almost necessary to track it all.

Exhausted, I returned to the inn and booked a tiny room for Edith and me. After a quick bath, I checked in on Orion’s room. He wasn’t there, but James was, sprawled across his bed in a drunken haze, with Wulfric and Ulf asleep on the floor.

The next morning, I took Wulfric, Ulf, and Edith over to the East India Trading Company to get them started organizing the warehouse. I paid them two Thirds a day, though they were unsure how to use the coin and would only spend it if I ordered them to—which sort of defeats the purpose. They unloaded my portable wagon, stacking tea and medicinal supplies neatly on the shelves. I’d also arranged for teamsters to transport ingots from the smelters to our warehouse, ready for delivery across the realm. Wulfric, a former slave, was now in charge of ensuring these reached the Hanseatic Limited, Thornhill’s personal connection in the town.

Looking ahead, I wanted to establish a proper trade route back to Thornhill. To make that happen, I headed to the Builder’s Guild to contract the Steady Hammers—a group that had recently lost a big job to their rivals, the Copper Nails, and were now taking on smaller projects. Discretion was key, so we put the East India Trading Company’s name on all the paperwork to secure a road and trading post about half a day north of Thornhill—not too close to attract people to Thornhill but near enough to keep it connected.

In the Builder’s Guild, men hauled ladders, wood, and bricks to neatly stacked stockpiles, while others pored over blueprints and maps under makeshift tents in the sandy yard. At the main desk, a mole man in a bronze, bicycle-shaped helmet sorted scrolls with swift, clawed hands. He examined the contract I’d placed before him alongside a map of Kronfeldt’s outskirts. A red string marked the proposed road stretching south to Thornhill, ending at a carved horse figurine representing the trade post I wanted to be built.

“There’s not much down that way but raiders and trogs,” the Steady Hammers’ guild rep said, looking at the contract with a puzzled expression.

“I'm just the messenger for the White Fox. She assures me that land is ripe with resources, and the East India Company is planning farms and furrier operations.”

“As long as you’ve got the coin, we’ll get it done.”

“Just remember our confidentiality agreement,” I replied smoothly. “The East India Trading Company doesn’t want competitors sniffing around. I want all your employees to sign confidentiality agreements.”

“Aye, the Steady Hammers keep to our word,” he replied, signing off on the contract. “Road construction starts tomorrow, with the trade depot soon after. Might take a few months, but it’ll be solid. The Steady Hammers will nail it down for ye.”

And so, the first steps were set in motion to open a trade route between Thornhill and Kronfeldt. This was a bridge not just of goods, but of influence, built one stone and one coin at a time.