The old man stared into my eyes, his expression one of shell-shocked. Nichol's garbled cries grew more desperate, but I paid no attention. The choice was clear, and it was up to Roland to determine the fate of his family.
"Please…" Roland gulped down a mouthful of saliva, his face paler, hands trembling. "... don't do this to me, lord," he fell to his knees, dragging his son along. "I can never pay you back. Even my family cannot. We will all die."
"Do you really think begging will change my heart?" I sneered, leaning onto the cane in my hand. "On the way here, I had plans to make this business more profitable, recognizable… but you have ruined it all. And you want me to just forget it and move on? That ain't happening buddy!"
Listening to my somewhat true words, Finnan nodded in silence while Roland threw his head to my legs, now weeping. The rest kept watch, without any movements.
"Forgive me, lord… I beg of you… please forgive me…" Roland continued his begging, annoying me further.
Come on! I rolled my eyes in frustration. "Did you listen to anything I said?" I shouted; anger evident in my eyes. "If you want forgiveness, bring me five times the amount, right here and now. Then we can talk."
"Lord, I cannot possibly…" The man looked at me, horrified by the ultimatum, but before long, Finnan intervened.
“That is enough, Roland.” He stepped forward, blocking the man’s face from my view. “The damage had been done, lord.” He said, directing his words to me. “Nothing can revert it back. But do not endanger your health or any others for it.”
I raised a brow, not quite clear what he meant.
"You need rest, my lord. And as for this man…” Finnan firmly gripped Nichol's hair, raising his head to reveal his mouth filled with blood, and the rest trailing down his lips. “…he needs a healer immediately. If he dies here, the chances of recovering our losses go with him. Roland alone could only pay so much, for so long."
He had a point. Despite my anger, I couldn't afford to let emotions cloud my judgment. Nichol's well-being was crucial for any chance of repaying the debts, even more so than his father's.
“…Yes, lord,” Even Roland rose to his feet, his voice trembling. “…please allow my son to heal.”
I nodded in agreement, and Finnan gestured for the guards to carry the injured man to the factory infirmary while assigning another guard to guide me to the office quarters.
“We will continue this in the office,” I warned Rolant who, after a tight nod, followed his son, and turned to the captain of the guards. “I don’t know how, but get these men up and ready.” My gaze swept across the intoxicated workers and the other guards. “Or it won't end well for any of you.”
“Yes, lord.” The captain replied with determination.
“Finnan, come with me,” I called out, urging him to join me to discuss the issue in detail.
“In a few moments, lord,” he politely denied. “I need to sort out some urgent matters here. I will join you with Roland.”
“…Alright.” I acquiesced, letting the man do his job.
In the ensuing moments, the injured man was promptly taken to receive medical care, his father closely tailing him to ensure his well-being. Meanwhile, I made my way to the office, a moderate-sized room located upstairs. Climbing the stairs seemed to sap the life out of my legs, leaving me huffing and catching my breath.
With a heavy sigh, I finally reached the office and slumped onto the long sofa tucked into the corner. The guard closed the door behind me and stationed himself outside, ensuring my security and privacy. Counting my breaths I lay there, staring at the ceiling, illuminated by the bright rays of the setting sun streaming in through the open window.
The warm glow provided a brief respite from the day's never-ending ordeals. Yet, the thought of "What now?" lingered in my mind like a persistent shadow.
A year's worth of maintenance costs had seemingly gone to waste, as Finnan pointed out. If I hadn't been present, I suspected Roland would have done his best to hide the losses and write them off as unrelated expenses. That's how business often operated, or at least, that's what my knowledge and experience had taught me.
But to his luck, I was here now, with one singular goal: "To recover the losses and push the profits sky high." Both were challenges that strangely echoed my line of work back home, where guns and fear held sway to some extent.
"I suppose I could do the same here." I was well aware of the effects and consequences of my actions in this medieval world where justice often ran blind. If I remained subtle about it, I could hopefully avoid any repercussions that might lead to losing my head. After all, I was merely a clown, in the game of power and politics.
As I lay there on the sofa, deep in thought, two soft knocks on the door interrupted my contemplation. I shifted to a seating position and granted entry to whoever was outside. It came as no surprise to see Finnan enter, followed closely by Roland, who was wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.
They stood across from me, and I had to order them to take seats on the opposite sofa. Finnan reclined back, exuding a sense of calmness, while Roland impatiently tapped his boots on the matted floor.
"So," I rested my hand on the armrest beside me and propped my head on my palm. "What's your decision?"
"I… I…" Roland stuttered, glancing repeatedly at Finnan, who didn't bother to look back.
"Yes?" I furrowed my brows, sensing something amiss in their exchange.
With no reaction from Finnan, Roland took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. I watched for what felt like a minute as he focused solely on his breathing. Eventually, he returned my gaze, now displaying a hint of determination.
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"I have a suggestion, lord," he finally spoke, and I leaned forward, eager to hear the proposal from a man who had already lost so much.
"What kind?" I asked, a slight smile forming on my lips.
"I will increase the establishment's profits by three hundred thousand (300,000) Nirils within the next five years," Roland declared, his voice showing newfound confidence. "In return, you assure my son and me that we will keep working, as our fathers have done."
Listening to the man, I leaned back, folding my legs comfortably. "I can do that. But first, you need to explain this plan of yours."
Roland slid to the edge of his seat, clearing his throat before speaking. "It is all but a simple plan, lord. We must do what has been on hold for quite a while."
I stayed silent, prompting him to continue.
"You already know this, lord, but this business has seen very minuscule growth for the last two decades.” He began on a grim note. “Instead of increasing, it is decreasing with each passing year, which is not sustainable. Most of our outlets are performing well below the desired figure die to fierce competition in all regions, earning us nothing but losses. If this continues, we will be out of business in the next five years."
"Tell me something I don't know." It seemed that even earning a hundred thousand gold coins per month wasn’t enough for the business to keep up with the market.
"There is a way, lord… To get rid of the losses and become profitable within a short amount of time.”
“Then why haven't you gone that way?” I asked the obvious question.
"Well…" The manager hesitated for a second, and observing him Finnan rolled his eyes.
"Because it required us to destroy the very thing that’s keeping the business afloat for so long," he added, his voice sharp. "Unless we wanted to sink both Seiren Textiles and Willards at the same time, we could not have gone that way."
"You knew about this?" I turned to Finnan, surprised by his comment.
"Yes," the man nodded.
"Then why didn’t you tell me?" I questioned, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment.
"Because you never asked, lord." Finnan replied, sitting upright with his hands forward on his lap. "And I assumed you knew about this, like every advisor."
"Didn't I tell you I forgot?" I glared at the man, who lowered his head in response.
"Forgive me, Lord," he replied. "It slipped my mind."
“Better not this time.” I warned, now shifting my eyes to Roland. “So, what was the way that threatened the very existence of the count’s family and his business?”
"The plan was to tamper with the reputation of our business," Roland answered with a heavy breath. "Seiren Textiles makes very high-quality garments for a limited number of high-paying customers. They always pay well, allowing us to earn significant profits. However, in recent years, the competition has grown beyond control, and other providers have emerged in every region, catering to specific demands that we couldn't match. We are falling behind in pricing, supplies… anywhere you look, there is an issue popping up every day. To combat that we tried hiring…"
"So, you decided to…" I nudged him, directing him to explain his plan rather than recounting all his shortcomings.
"Apologies, lord." Roland continued. "So, we decided to lower the quality of our products slightly and offer them at lower prices to appeal to a broader consumer base. But doing so meant risking our reputation among the high-class clientele who have always associated us with exclusivity and luxury. We feared that this move might tarnish the brand's image and drive away our loyal high-paying customers, while not attracting enough middle-class customers to fill the gap."
My mind raced, understanding the conundrum they faced. Sacrificing their reputation for gains that didn't guarantee immediate profits and could lead to severe long-term consequences was indeed a risky proposition. However, I could see the practicality of the approach – it could potentially earn profits if they stuck at it long enough, while letting go of their reliance on the reputation entirely.
"It was a practical approach to solving our decade-long predicament," Roland spoke my exact thoughts. "Lord Count and his advisors, even Finnan’s father, seemed to agree with me. But just as we finished purchasing materials and put our plan in motion, they abruptly cut down the funding, leaving us high and dry, going nowhere."
"Why would they do that?" I couldn’t wrap my head around the Count and his advisor’s backpedaling tactics. If they cared for their reputation so much, then why agree to it in the first place? Hesitating in the middle of anything never ends well.
"Finnan’s father calculated our plan was too risky with little to no reward," Roland explained, and Finnan nodded in agreement. "We would let go of the loyal customers only to cater to the picky ones who might not even afford or deserve us. Both Willard and Seiren Textiles' names would be sacrificed for petty gains, they said."
"Why didn’t you spin a new brand then, independent from Seiren Textiles, while using the same resources?" I put forward the idea that every company used back home when they came under fire. They renamed themselves or completely created a new brand with the old brand’s resources. Marketed themselves as the complete opposite of their predecessors while being the same under the hood, and success was sure. How could these people not understand the basics of business management was honestly baffling to me.
"Establishing something new isn’t as easy as it seems, lord," Roland countered. "People like to rely on someone they already trust. Why would they choose something new with no record to show?"
"That's why you give them benefits like none other," I cried in annoyance. "You give them free stuff, discounts, customer service, and so on. There are a thousand things you could do to get people's attention. That is all you need to sell stuff."
"For that, lord, we need funding, a lot of funding, which we don’t have," the manager sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration.
"So, if I give you the necessary funds, you promise to see it through?" I asked.
Roland met my gaze, startled by my offer. "...Absolutely, lord. With proper planning, it is possible."
"Then that settles it." I leaned forward, extending my able hand which Roland, after a second of contemplation, accepted. Shaking hands, I said, "You and your son can keep your jobs, but I am taking direct control of the business from now on. Every decision you make will go through me first, then be implemented. And once I arrange the funding, we will proceed with this new brand. Till then, keep it a secret. Understand?"
Roland nodded frantically, a wide smile on his lips, probably overjoyed that he had saved his job. "I will, lord. Rest assured."
"But remember your promise," I reminded him. "Three hundred thousand Niril profit for Seiren Textiles within three years."
His smile faltered. “... it was to be five years.”
“It is three...” I tightened my grip over his hand. “…Or none.”
"I… I understand, lord. You have my word." Roland gave a shallow bow, his joyed smile nowhere to be seen.
"Before that…" Finnan interrupted, and I let go of the man’s hand. "I would like to draw your attention to something else, lord." He extracted an empty, cracked glass bottle from his coat pocket and placed it on the table.
"What’s this?" I reached for the bottle, removed the cork at the top, and was greeted with the hard scent of wine. "Goldendale Vineyards," I read the name inscribed on the glass. "Isn’t it one of our…"
"Three weeks ago, there was a robbery in one of our storage areas. Twelve crates and three drums of wine were stolen. I found this, and many other smashed bottles here," Finnan informed with uncanny calmness in his voice.
"That is… that is… lord, I can…" Roland panicked at the revelation.
I looked at the manager. "What the hell did you do!"