The day the tax collectors arrived started normal enough with the pre-dawn light filtering weakly through Ethan’s window, pulling him from sleep. He stretched, yawning, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Scratching Opie absently as the snake coiled comfortably around his arm, Ethan rose and padded over to the window. A low bark from outside announced Wynd’s presence. The wolf nosed eagerly at the silk drape that barred the way to his room with Grandma Millie. Grandma Millie nodded at Ethan with a smile before going away, leaving Wynd behind.

Ethan made it to the backyard and onto the grass. Wynd bounded behind him, and Ethan scooped him up in a rough hug, burying his face in the thick fur. Opie slithered down Ethan’s arm and onto Wynd’s back. Wynd didn’t react much but a playful wrestling match ensued between the pair regardless. Ethan watched with a smile.

Everything is going smooth.

After a good half hour of letting Wynd and Opie wear each other out as Ethan meditated, he decided it was time to get more productive. He rushed to his room and settled down in his designated workspace which was a quiet corner of his room. Focusing his mind, he activated his [Basic Rune Creation] skill. With ease, he channeled his mana, and visualized the intricate patterns that formed the foundation of a rune mote. One by one, they materialized in the air. Tiny spheres of condensed magical energy. Such marvel of this world he’d found himself in. By the time he stopped, a few hundred rune motes swirled around him.

Wiping sweat from his brow, Ethan stretched again, his muscles pleasantly sore from yesterday’s training. He grabbed his training sword, a simple but well-balanced weapon, and stepped outside. The morning air was crisp, and the rising sun cast long shadows across the training grounds. He ran through a series of practiced attacks and parries, his movements becoming progressively more fluid. By the end of the session, he was huffing lightly, his body pleasantly warm.

Returning inside, again, sweat clinging to his skin, Ethan knew it was time for a bath. The manor had a perfectly functional bathing area and he got into steaming water and scrubbed himself clean, the grime of training washing away.

Refreshed and invigorated, Ethan settled down at his desk with a stack of parchments. These weren’t magical scrolls, but ledgers and reports detailing what was going on in his barony, Holden. The first documents he reviewed detailed the wildly successful sales of his newly introduced soap. A single bar was priced at a very reasonable 150 aurums, making it an affordable luxury for most of the townsfolk. The Aurum was the standard currency of this world. He’d tried making comparisons with USD, but realized direct comparisons were often inaccurate. The average worker in Holden brought in around 25,000 aurums a month, making a bar of soap a minor splurge but not an unreasonable expense.

To put things into perspective, a loaf of bread typically cost around 150 aurums, while a pound of meat hovered around 800 aurums. A simple meal at a tavern could be had for 300-400 aurums, and a night’s stay at a decent inn would set one back by about 1,500 aurums. Clothing was more expensive—a well-made shirt could cost upwards of 2,000 aurums, and a pair of sturdy boots even more.

For the wealthier residents, luxury items were available at a premium. A bottle of mediocre wine could easily cost 10,000 aurums or more—as the process of making wine, too, was inefficient in this world—and a beautifully crafted sword could command prices of 100,000 aurums or higher. Granted, said sword wouldn’t be a normal sword, either.

Ethan’s soap, at 150 aurums per bar, was therefore a small indulgence for most. It wasn’t a necessity like food or shelter, but it was affordable enough that many could enjoy a little luxury in their daily lives. This positioning was key to the product’s success—it made people feel good about themselves without breaking the bank.

After all, the soap in this world could cost up to a thousand otherwise. That, too, on the cheaper side of things.

Ethan was pleased to see the initial market resistance he’d anticipated completely melt away. Sales figures were climbing steadily, and rumors of “Holden’s Wonder Soap” were spreading throughout the region.

This economic success was a double-edged sword, however. As his coffers swelled, so did the attention he attracted. Flipping through the reports further, Ethan noticed a concerning trend. There were increasing reports of murders in Holden, and banditry in the outlying areas of his barony. A frown creased his forehead. This sudden spike in violence felt suspicious. Was it random, or something more? He sighed. There was always something.

Just then, a firm rapping on the door startled him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he called out.

The door creaked open, and Roland stepped inside. His face was grim. “My Lord,” he began, “the tax collectors have been spotted; they’ll be here soon.”

Fuck.

***

The journey to Holden tested their patience, not just in terms of the swollen river and dwindling supplies, but also with the constant nagging thought of Theodore. Gilbert couldn’t shake the image of the man—likely lounging in a silk robe, surrounded by sycophants and remnants of some lavish feast. Yet, a new thought planted by snippets of conversations overheard in taverns sprouted a bud of curiosity. Soap.

Soap. A simple luxury. Since attending the tax collection meeting in Corinth, Gilbert had heard whispers of a revolutionary new product—a cleansing bar that left skin soft and fragrant. The Baron of Argent, Montague, who could be considered a shrewd businessman, even mentioned a planned meeting with Theodore to establish a trade route for the stuff when they’d been in Argent. Rumors trickled down as far as Westford, and they painted a picture of this soap as a potential goldmine.

Could Theodore have actually stumbled upon something that could fill his coffers? Gilbert scoffed. Still, the seed of doubt was sown.

The creaking of their saddles and the clip-clop of hooves did little to alleviate the chill that clung stubbornly to Gilbert’s skin. Holden loomed on the horizon. It was a far cry from the bustling markets of Corinth, where the air still held the faint, lingering scent of fresh lavender soap.

The rumors had trickled down and stirred a flicker of curiosity in Gilbert—had Theodore actually turned over a new leaf? He scoffed once more, shaking his head. “Nah, that bastard couldn’t manage a pigsty, let alone a soap empire.”

As they crossed the rickety wooden bridge over the Holden River—a far cry from the bridge that had been swept away during the spring floods—the first signs of neglect became apparent. Fields that were once neatly ploughed lay fallow, weeds encroaching at the edges. The few figures they saw in the distance looked ragged; their faces etched with worry.

Reaching the town gates, they were met with a scene far removed from their usual reception. No angry mobs or desperate pleas. Instead, a pair of nervous-looking men in mismatched livery approached, their eyes darting between Gilbert and Edgar.

“Masters,” one of them stammered, bowing clumsily, “we’ve… we’ve been instructed to escort you directly to the manor.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Edgar. “Directly to the manor, eh?” rumbled the [Mage] of the Red Tower, his voice low and gravelly. “Interesting.”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Yes,” the man flustered further, “Lord Theodore… he requested your immediate presence.”

Theodore requesting their presence? This was unexpected. The last encounter had been a tense affair, culminating in a near-riot and the intervention of the Lord Commander under the king. Had Theodore finally come to his senses? It seemed unlikely.

Shrugging, Gilbert dismounted. “Very well,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with a flicker of curiosity. “Lead the way, then.”

The financial situation in Holden was grim. Where Holden’s coffer had been overflowing under Lord Baelgard reign, they were gathering dust in Theodore’s. Upon inheriting the Barony five years ago, Theodore had been a wild card. The king had been desperate to instill some responsibility into the wayward young prince, and thus, he had seen Holden as a chance for him to learn the value of hard work.

However, their hopes had been dashed upon the rocks of Theodore’s incompetence. Three years ago, the tax owed by Holden sum which, considering the Barony’s modest income, was too much.

Furious at his son’s blatant disregard for his duty, King Alexander had refused to bail him out. Instead, he’d ordered the full amount to be collected with interest—a move that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned tax collectors. It could easily double the original amount owed, depending on the King’s discretion. In this case, the interest accrued over three years had easily pushed the amount to 2,500,000 aurums. It was a crippling sum for a small Barony like Holden—and, indeed, a record that’d be etched in history for Theodore’s incompetence.

Reaching the Holden Manor, a sense of foreboding settled over Gilbert. What trickery was Theodore up to now? Whatever it was, Gilbert was there to do his duty—collect the taxes, and ensure the King’s writ ran true in every corner of the kingdom. Taking a deep breath, he gestured for Edgar to follow. The heavy doors opened and they stepped inside, ready to face whatever awaited them.

***

Ethan would admit, that had been totally unexpected. Then again, he’d been hell bent on ignoring the possibility of the tax collectors arriving anyway. And as he read the parchment in front of him, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

By Order of His Majesty, King Alexander of Obsidian

To the Esteemed Lord Theodore, Baron of Holden

The familiar flowery ass language of court pronouncements did little to mask the fact that Ethan would soon be skull-fucked if he couldn’t come to an agreement. He needed, maybe, a month more. That was it. Regardless, the only useful part in this whole parchment with Theo’s father’s stamp was the following.

The taxes are as followed:

2,500,000 aurums (including penalty)

Sighing internally, Ethan smiled at the two men sitting across him. He did wonder a bit at how they hadn’t outright insisted on collecting the tax from Holden the very moment they had arrived. There was no doubt in Ethan’s mind that they would have demanded the money. But they’d been rather silent after introducing themselves. Edgar, especially, had been eying him like a hawk. The man appeared to be a Red Tower [Mage] from what little Ethan could piece together. That was more than concerning, as any number of things could go wrong with such an individual around.

Gilbert, though, hadn’t offered anything besides a greeting. The man was silent, and from what Ethan could see, he was waiting for Edgar to be the one to speak. Hmm. It’s possible Edgar sensed I am a [Mage]. Given that it’s highly disrespectful to ask for someone’s status and not to mention, I haven’t seen or heard of any skill called [Identify], I am certain these two are being careful.

Should Ethan use that to his advantage? Heh, why not.

“I assume your journey had been easy,” he said.

Edgar and Gilbert shared a glance. The latter nodded minutely. “We would be lying to say the opposite, Lord Theodore,” said Gilbert, and Edgar nodded. “Although there were some unforeseen delays, the journey was easy enough. I believe the word that describes our journey would be tiresome.”

“I see.” Ethan leaned forward. “I hope my men were hospitable?”

“Oh, most certainly,” Edgar cut in, with a voice deeper and smoother than one would expect from such an old man. He shifted his posture in the chair.

Ethan forced a smile. “Now, gentlemen, about the matter at hand...”

Gilbert cleared his throat, his voice gruff. “Indeed, Lord Theodore. We are here to collect the taxes owed to the crown.”

Ethan’s smile faltered for a brief moment before returning, a shade more strained this time. “Ah, yes, of course. About that...” He hesitated, then blurted out, “I’m afraid I cannot.”

Two sets of eyebrows shot up simultaneously. Edgar’s bushy white brows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “You cannot?” asked Gilbert, though Ethan suspected the men were acting to be surprised. After all, this shouldn’t exactly be surprising in the slightest knowing how Theo had been.

Ethan held up his hands placatingly. “You misunderstand. It’s not that I don’t intend to, it’s simply that if I were to take such an amount out, Holden’s logistics would—my apologies for the language—end up quite fucked.”

Gilbert’s frown deepened, and Edgar’s gaze narrowed. This wasn’t the response they were expecting, obviously.

“So you intend to deny the crown?” Gilbert asked.

Forcing a polite smile, Ethan shook his head vehemently. “No, I wouldn’t dare defy Father. Simply put,” he leaned forward, “I have a plan.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Yes. My plan utilizes a rather unconventional approach. See, the current tax burden cripples my ability to truly maximize Holden’s potential. However, with a bit of ingenuity, I believe I can not only generate enough income to repay the crown in full, but also solidify Holden’s financial standing.”

Gilbert scoffed. “Elaborate, Lord Theodore. You wouldn’t expect His Majesty to simply accept empty promises.”

Ethan, unfazed, leaned back in his chair. “Have you heard rumors of a new type of soap, perhaps?”

Intrigue flickered in Edgar’s narrowed eyes. “Soap, you say?”

“Precisely,” Ethan continued. “I’ve been experimenting with a unique recipe, utilizing natural ingredients and botanicals harvested from Holden’s own lands. It’s unlike anything currently on the market, and I believe it has the potential to be a runaway success.”

“Soap, huh?” Gilbert rumbled, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “There might be a niche for such a product, but is it enough to generate the kind of revenue you require? What about the soap sold by the more experienced?”

Ethan smiled confidently. “Soap will be just the first step. I have a vision for a whole line of handcrafted, luxury bath products. Marketed correctly, they could become highly sought-after, not just by the nobility, but by the burgeoning merchant class, and heck, peasants as well.”

Ethan gave his pitch, explained the pricing, investments, returns, the profit margins. Everything.

Edgar scoffed. “Mediocre soap, at best. One five aurums a bar? What luxury will that provide? How, exactly, do you plan to repay the crown with such a frivolous product?”

Ethan’s smile vanished. “I would advise you to hold your tongue, sir. My product is far from mediocre.” He leaned back, his voice devoid of warmth. “While I may be banished from the capital, I am still a prince. Disrespecting a royal is a serious offense, wouldn’t you agree?” He locked eyes with Edgar, a dark glint flickering in his gaze. “I could easily arrange for the unfortunate disappearance of you and your family. The king would likely blame bandits, and I would gladly accept my punishment, even death, for such a crime.”

A flicker of orange danced around Edgar’s shoulders—which was a telltale sign of his magical aura flaring in anger. Ethan smirked internally, enjoying the subtle threat.

Ethan was, obviously, bullshitting. However, he needed to maintain appearances. These two wouldn’t dare do a thing for the sole reason that the king would chew them out if they dared. Even under horrible circumstances, the king wouldn’t let them go without punishment, for he needed to maintain “face”.

Thus, Ethan leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “I will not tolerate any insults to my product—a product that you have yet to try. Try the soap yourself, if you dare,” he challenged, “before dismissing its potential.”

Sensing the escalating tension, Gilbert intervened. “Lord Theodore,” he said in a calming tone, “perhaps you’re being a bit unreasonable.”

Ethan leaned forward again. “Once I secure a deal with the Baron of Argent, the tax will be the least of your worries. My factories will bring in a steady stream of income, allowing me to settle the debt immediately. And I plan to write to the King, proposing an even grander scheme. A soap that not only cleanses but also acts as a remedy for the Blight. So, wouldn’t that be enough to repay a measly sum of 2,500,000 aurums?”

Edgar and Gilbert’s eyes widened in surprise, though they quickly masked their reactions.

“Surely, His Majesty wouldn’t deny investing in such a revolutionary product—one that’s affordable and beneficial to the entire kingdom,” Ethan continued, his voice laced with a hint of arrogance to make sure he still portrayed himself as Theodore, even if slightly.

The room fell silent once more.

“But, Lord Theodore—”

Just as Gilbert was about to voice his doubts, the door creaked open and someone Ethan hadn’t expected entered. Huh, what is he doing here? Ethan thought, and Edgar rose to his feet and saluted the newcomer with his expression tight.

What the hell is going on?