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Chapter 30: Brandon's Plan
"I simply cannot agree to this..." Freya began, but her words faltered as she caught sight of Roma’s pitiful expression. With a sigh, she swallowed the rest of her sentence and muttered, "I—I give up. Do as you please."
Brandon had anticipated this reaction. He knew Freya’s tough exterior hid a soft heart, so he had already emptied his coin pouch onto the table with a clink. A few silver coins scattered across the surface—perhaps four or five hundred torr in total.
He paused, surprised at how little money he had left. Not long ago, he’d acquired a handful of low-grade gemstones from the spoils of Eberton, which he sold in Ankerze for a handsome sum—tens of thousands of torr. He had divided that fortune into three equal parts, entrusting them to Roma and Freya for safekeeping. But now, he remembered all too well how much of it had been spent on Moon Lilies, Glow Moss, and Dark Mage—the magical ingredients needed alongside Golden Acorns to brew an advanced magic energy potion. This concoction, known as the Wizard’s Fury Potion, was said to temporarily amplify one’s willpower attribute. In the game, it was a luxury worth its weight in gold; here, it would likely be even more coveted.
But like the painting of the elf princess 'Darkglow' in his possession—worth a million torr—it was an investment unlikely to yield returns anytime soon. Especially the painting. Try as he might, Brandon couldn’t find a buyer for it. He regretted leaving the task to Chael now. Perhaps he should have taken some gilded trinkets instead.
Such distinctive treasures were difficult to unload on the black market without private channels. And Brandon couldn’t help but curse under his breath. Back when he was just a player, he never had to worry about these things—NPCs didn’t care about feelings then. Now, arranging deals felt like navigating a minefield. He spread the coins out on the table and sighed. "It seems I’m down to scraps. But surely Freya still has something?"
"How does everything always come back to me?" Freya snapped, exasperated. She glared daggers at Brandon but reluctantly produced her own coin purse. "Fine! Our travel funds are all there. Do what you want with them..."
The pouch she dropped onto the table contained over four thousand torr. Brandon blinked, genuinely astonished, and glanced at her with newfound respect.
It had been nearly a month since they left Dragos. During that time, Freya had single-handedly managed the expenses for their group of six—himself, Roma, Barthom, the alchemist Tama, and his son—as well as four horses and the cost of renting a carriage. Brandon had assumed the funds he entrusted to Freya would be nearly depleted by now, yet here was proof that she had managed far better than expected.
Freya is quite the homemaker, he thought, impressed.
"What are you staring at?" Freya noticed his gaze and immediately checked herself, wondering if she’d accidentally worn the wrong outfit.
"Nothing," Brandon replied smoothly. "I was merely thinking how admirable Freya is. Whoever marries such a capable woman will indeed be fortunate."
"Freya belongs to me!" Roma chirped cheerfully from the side.
The long-tailed girl flushed crimson, her heart pounding wildly. "Fortunate? What nonsense... Stop saying such foolish things!"
She shot Roma a venomous glare. "And you! Roma, hold your tongue—"
But Roma had already tuned her out, grinning mischievously as she pulled out her own coin purse, equally empty. She shook it theatrically. "I don't have much either."
"What do you mean? Where did your share go?" Freya blurted, stunned. When Brandon divided the money, Roma should have been the least likely to spend hers.
"Gathering information costs money, Freya," Roma explained matter-of-factly. "Besides, I bought a warehouse and stocked it with wine."
"You bought a warehouse?" Freya gaped. "When?"
"While you weren’t looking."
"You’re supposed to tell me about things like that!"
Roma tapped her chin thoughtfully, wagging a finger mysteriously. "A merchant’s little secret~"
"Secret my foot!" Freya sputtered, momentarily at a loss for words. But knowing Roma, arguing further seemed futile.
"Little Roma, why store wine instead of food?" Brandon asked curiously.
"Mm, mainly juniper spirits and Usson sweet wine," Roma nodded.
Brandon studied her earnest face. Her bright eyes sparkled with curiosity, as if perpetually eager to learn.
"You foresaw the war ending in July?" he finally asked.
"A bit later, actually. I didn’t expect events to unfold so swiftly. But Madara’s forces stalled in Dragos, so they’ll seek prey elsewhere. As you often say, Brandon, timing is everything—even necromancers know this."
"Still, once the war ends, nobles will crave celebrations. Everyone’s talking about it," Roma added, ticking off points on her fingers.
"How do you know all this, Roma?" Freya stared at her incredulously.
"A merchant’s little secret," Roma smirked, tail practically wagging.
"You catch on quickly," Brandon remarked, flicking her forehead lightly. Roma recoiled, clutching her head and pouting indignantly.
"Don’t do that, Brandon!"
Yet Brandon suspected her insights weren’t learned but instinctive—a rare gift. Girls like Roma were few and far between.
Surveying the three coin purses on the table, totaling less than five thousand torr, Brandon realized maintaining his current status in Braggs—and executing his plans—would require significant funding. Building a territory would demand even more. As the saying went, an emperor couldn’t afford hungry soldiers, and Retto’s followers depended on him. Rubbing his temples, Brandon realized he’d overlooked a crucial step: earning money must take priority.
Forget the high-grade magic energy potion, the painting of Princess Darkglow, or the Earrings of Endless Ice. Buyers for such items were scarce in Goran-Elsun’s southern backwaters. Unless he ventured to Kurk, Ampersal, White Sail City, or Münsterlos, where extravagant spenders thrived and underground markets turned a blind eye to transactions, selling these goods would prove challenging.
After much deliberation, Brandon concluded his best options were either charlatanism or alchemy. The former carried risks—like burning at the stake—but alchemy seemed safer, especially with Tama assisting him.
Nobles loved intrigue. Selling tree crystals, graveyard dust (from Eberton), and poisons would appeal to their darker tastes. Excess moon lilies, dark mage, and glow moss could produce mana potions sought after by mid-tier wizards.
With a plan forming, he turned to Roma. "How much do you need? Would a hundred thousand torr suffice?"
"A hundred thousand?" Freya gasped. "Where would we get that kind of money?"
"I hear Earl Nakin’s treasury is well-stocked..." Brandon stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"You—you wouldn’t dare!" Freya paled, recalling Brandon’s antics in Ridenburg.
But Roma remained unfazed, smiling innocently. "A bit more wouldn’t hurt. I estimate profits will double."
"Roma, stop egging him on! Can’t you talk some sense into him?" Freya hissed, glancing nervously around. She feared eavesdroppers who might report them to local lords, trapping them in this inn.
"Freya, Brandon can be trusted," Roma assured her.
"Trust you both!" Freya fumed. Still, she resolved not to let Brandon raid any noble treasuries. Escaping prison in Ridenburg had been unavoidable, but this was different.
Convincing herself it was duty—not concern for Brandon’s neck—that motivated her, Freya calmed down and sat stiffly, glaring at him.
"By the way, why did you bring us to this village?" she suddenly asked, realizing another unanswered question.
This human settlement appeared insignificant—a mere cluster of twenty-three households with a single inn. According to Brandon, it wasn’t even marked on maps. Yet they’d lingered here for half the morning.
Freya watched him closely, unaware that Brandon grew impatient too. He’d sent Barthom out nearly half an hour ago, yet the man hadn’t returned. Had he miscalculated?
Peering through the inn’s wooden shutters, Brandon scanned the road outside. No, this was the place. The ancient beech tree beside the wagon path and the familiar architecture confirmed it. Was the person they sought delayed? Forum posts claimed he’d been here since the start of the game.
Frowning, Brandon spotted a flash of red rounding the street corner—Barthom’s fiery beard.
His brow rose slightly.
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