Otaku Translation: The Amber Sword V2C134

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Chapter 134: Roma’s Second Plan (Part 3)

“Isn’t that an exchange?” Roma asked, her eyes gleaming with interest as she watched the young adventurers handing out food.

“If anything, it’s charity,” Sanford replied from behind. “Not quite what I’d call trade.”

Roma tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “But it is an exchange. They give food in return for hope—doesn’t that count?”

“Hope?” Antietta blinked. In fact, everyone shared her confusion. Was that truly an exchange?

But Brandon saw it at once.

He looked at Roma with astonishment, wondering how her mind worked—how she always managed to see angles no one else could. He quickly gathered his thoughts and asked, “Lady Antietta, if this territory were placed under your rule, how long would it take you to establish self-sustaining commerce?”

The noblewoman caught the weight in his words. Was the young lord considering something about this land? Or was this just another of his tests?

Still, she considered the ragged, half-starved people on the street before answering carefully, “At minimum, one year. At most, two. There is no wealth among the people, no foundation for commerce. Even if taxes are restructured and land redistributed, it will take time to build up capital… but yes, within two years, I believe I could restore some economic activity. The roads, however, would be difficult—they’ll require significant investment.”

“So we give the wealth to them,” Roma interrupted cheerfully. “Then they’ll have it, right?”

Antietta hesitated. “That… makes sense?” she asked uncertainly. “Or does it? Isn’t this like lending coin to gamblers so they can bet against you? In the end, you’re simply playing with your own money—and might even lose it?”

She looked at Roma the way one might regard a compulsive gambler. Though perhaps in this case, it was more accurate to say a compulsive merchant.

“Oh, but it does make sense,” Roma said, lifting her chin and wagging a finger. “You said it yourself—‘lending.’ That clever gambler ends up richer, even if the wealth is only written on paper.”

“But they’re still penniless beggars,” Antietta countered. “What good is a debt note when there’s no gold in hand?”

Brandon observed Roma’s gesture and felt as though he were watching a ruthless capitalist in training.

“True,” Roma admitted with a smile. “But not everyone wants to stay poor. When we distribute wealth, we are making an exchange. We buy their hope for a better future.” She pointed to her eye. “See? Everyone desires a better life. What we give them is the means to reach it—the ability to participate in production, shall we say?”

“And when they pursue that dream,” she continued, “they fulfill the promise of the debt note. And I gain new partners in the game.” She winked mischievously. “Unlike gambling, when you plant a coin in the soil, next season you get two back.”

Her companions were still struggling to grasp it all, but Antietta finally began to understand Roma’s intent. Still, the logic seemed far too idealistic to accept.

“It does sound a bit fantastical…” she admitted reluctantly.

Brandon nodded. “It is ambitious.” He studied the young girl beside him with admiration. Roma’s idea, while framed as an exchange, was closer to a form of resource redistribution. It wasn’t merely redistributing labor or goods—it was circulating capital itself. Her plan assumed ownership of all wealth in the territory belonged to the lord. Yet despite its simplicity, the insight was remarkably advanced.

Of course, such a plan required meticulous planning beyond mere distribution. Brandon wasn’t well-versed in economics, but he had a historical model to draw upon.

Infrastructure and war.

“It’s more like buying labor,” he said. “Though lords usually treat labor as secondary value, they fail to realize that wealth creation varies depending on how efficiently it’s used—even if all resources belong to the lord.”

“Of course, if we are to do this, the question remains—how do we distribute the wealth effectively?” Brandon said, then added with a glance toward Antietta, “Lady Antietta, what would you propose?”

“Roads,” she answered immediately.

Their minds ran along the same path. Then, after a pause, she leaned in slightly and whispered, “Sir Brandon, what is your intention here?”

This question would’ve been unthinkable to her once. Advising a lord to attack another legal noble and seize his lands was tantamount to treason. But the realm had deteriorated steadily, rumors of rebellion spread through the provinces, and after seeing the cold cruelty of the nobility firsthand, even the last shreds of her faith in the kingdom had begun to unravel.

Brandon gave a slow nod and shake of his head.

He certainly had intentions. Grudin’s domain bordered his future holdings, and the man was hardly worth mourning. When the time came, he would strike first. But not now—not yet. He lacked both strength and timing. Two months hence, during the November Uprising—sometimes called the December Rebellion—the entire kingdom would erupt into chaos. No one would care about a minor border conflict between lords.

Still, Tonygel was one of the poorest regions in Eruin. Brandon had worried Roma might struggle here—but instead, she had shown an uncanny instinct for opportunity in even the bleakest conditions.

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if Roma dropped into the Abyss and started trading with demons.

With a rough plan forming, the next step was refinement—and funding. Fortunately, funds weren’t an immediate concern. The ransom extorted from that petty noble, plus the shipments arriving from Braggs, would serve as startup capital. After that, the rich deposits in the southern territories would sustain growth.

As any seasoned traveler knew, if you crossed over and couldn’t find mineral wealth to exploit, you were doing it wrong.

Just then, a sharp crack of a whip sliced through the air.

Everyone turned. A small band of cavalry had just entered the city, their gear mismatched but their banners unmistakable. On the standard flew a pelican over a black-and-white checkerboard field—a sigil tied directly to House Jandel. These were undoubtedly Baron Grudin’s soldiers.

They rode through the streets lashing anyone who didn’t move fast enough. Starving men and women scattered like livestock, fleeing the blows with fear twisting their emaciated faces. Their tormentors laughed heartily at the sight, some nearly falling from their saddles with mirth.

Antietta frowned. Such cruelty was nothing new—Braggs’ peacekeeping cavalry behaved little better.

Beside her, Cinnabar let out a quiet, bitter snort.

“They seem to be dragging something,” Sanford noted, pointing behind the riders.

“Corpses,” Brandon answered grimly. “They’ve returned from hunting bandits.”

A heavy silence followed his words.

Antietta furrowed her brows. “That’s normal, isn’t it?”

Brandon raised a hand, silencing her, then gestured toward a group of women kneeling on the ground nearby, sobbing into their hands.

Antietta’s breath caught. “Why are they crying?”

“A ‘bandit’ is often just a farmer driven to desperation by taxes,” a mercenary of the Gray Wolves muttered bitterly. “Those in the hills aren’t raiders—they’re tax fugitives. Most live no differently than farmers. Only because they fled their dues are they branded less than human.”

“My father died the same way,” he added, clenching his jaw. “Cursed nobles…”

Antietta exhaled sharply. “Only men?”

Brandon nodded solemnly.

A strange hush fell over the group. The only sounds left were the jeers of the noble soldiers and the sobs of the grieving women. For a moment, no one spoke.

Project Update: Volume 2 is now fully translated! However, as I'm currently focusing on stacking chapters for Volume 3, the release of the remaining chapters in Volume 2 will slow down a bit.

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