Explosive Sales

Two days passed in the blink of an eye, and Thomas and his party had been away from the castle for two days.

At the break of dawn, they finally arrived at the territory of the first neighbor within the Tulip territory—the Black Rock Territory.

The Black Rock Territory was a barony, famous for its abundance of black rock. Although its location was relatively remote, it was not as destitute as the Storm Territory; after all, starting from the Black Rock Territory, everything further north consisted of noble lands.

As the caravan entered the small town of Black Rock, the townspeople curiously sized up the merchant group.

Previous caravans had always come from the north or the west, but this one had come from the south, where there was nothing but the Land of Misfortune.

Clatter, clatter!

Inside the nearby castle, the arrival of a fully armed group in town had been discovered, and Baron Boris personally led a squad of thirty guards to hurry over.

"Who are you people?" Baron Boris scrutinized the group before him.

"Respected Baron Boris, we are a caravan from the Storm Territory. We have been dispatched by our master, Sir Nalant, to bring local specialties to your territory for sale!" As Nalant's steward, Thomas represented Nalant's dignity while abroad.

Though his tone was respectful, he remained neither servile nor overbearing.

"Storm Territory?" Boris was taken aback, then recalled something. "Right, I remember a group of people passing through to the Storm Territory some time ago. Is your lord one of the knights enfeoffed by the Count? But how did he end up assigned to the Land of... the Storm Territory?"

The fact that the Count had enfeoffed eight sons of vassals to compete had long since spread, and Boris was naturally aware of it. Had he not been young and without a suitable son, he would have hoped for such a stroke of luck to fall upon his own family.

"Yes, respected Baron Boris. My master, Sir Nalant, hails from the Berick Family; he is the second son of Baron Andrew!"

"The Berick Family? So that's it!" Boris had previously been puzzled as to why Nalant had been assigned to the Land of Misfortune, but hearing it was the Berick Family, he was no longer surprised. All the vassals knew of the feud between Aldin and the Berick Family.

"Tell me, what goods have you brought?" Boris was curious. What kind of specialties could a place so poor that the serfs were lucky not to starve to death possibly have? Looking at the three fully loaded wagons, Boris couldn't help but darkly speculate whether Nalant had exploited the serfs' grain supplies.

Upon hearing this, Thomas finally revealed a smile. Many townspeople were already watching from afar, which was exactly the effect he wanted.

"Baron Boris, our caravan has brought salt and rare dried sea fish!" With that, Thomas gave an order, and the guards immediately pulled the cowhide tarps off the wagons.

"Wow! So much salt!"

"And dried fish! Where did those come from? Aren't there Mermen and Sea Monsters by the sea? How many sea fish would it take to make so much dried fish!"

When the specialties on the wagons were revealed, it instantly sparked a wave of exclamations. The townspeople hid in corners, their eyes fixed greedily on the three wagons of goods.

The dried fish, in particular, could sell for thirty copper coins a pound—a luxury reserved for the nobility.

Boris's pupils contracted. Whether it was the salt or the dried fish, these were specialties beyond his imagination; he had originally assumed it would just be wheat squeezed from the serfs.

"Where did you get this salt and dried fish?" Boris snapped back to reality and asked curiously.

Even his Black Rock Territory couldn't produce these two items. The salt was easier to explain; he figured they were close enough to the Barony of Quinte to buy some and smuggle it in for cheap resale.

As for the sea fish, only the great nobles had the means to produce them in quantity.

"In reply to Baron Boris, the salt is produced by our own Sprite in the Storm Territory, and the dried fish was caught by our master, Sir Nalant, leading the serfs himself!" Nalant had long since prepared the script.

"A salt-producing Sprite? Such luck!" Boris didn't doubt the salt production, merely feeling a twinge of jealousy at Nalant's fortune.

As for the dried fish, he didn't press further. No matter what method they used to catch them, they wouldn't tell him even if he asked.

"Then how many copper coins a pound are you selling this dried fish for? Ordinary commoners probably can't afford it, right?"

"In reply to Baron Boris, the salt is seven copper coins a bag, and the dried fish is ten copper coins a pound!"

"So cheap? Are you sure you didn't misspeak?" Although the taste of salted dried fish wasn't as delicious as fresh sea fish, the market price was usually thirty copper coins due to the salt used in curing.

Yet, not only was the salt cheaper, but the dried fish was also a third of the usual price. Boris didn't know what kind of business Nalant was running—was this charity?

"Baron Boris, this is the price set by my master, and it will be sold at this price from now on!"

"Fine! Since I am a neighbor to Sir Nalant, then go ahead and sell!" Having said that, the deflated Boris didn't linger, turning to lead his guards back toward the castle.

"My Lord, shouldn't we buy some? If they sell at such low prices, won't the salt we buy from the Barony of Quinte become unsellable?" After leaving the town, the captain of the guards beside Boris asked cautiously.

They usually went to the Barony of Quinte to buy salt. Once purchased, some was kept for the castle's use, while the rest was sold to their own subjects at ten copper coins.

"Buy it? That's a specialty from the Land of Misfortune. Do you dare eat it?" Boris retorted.

"Besides, regarding the salt sales, if I didn't have to deal with that sour, illegitimate son of Quinte, I wouldn't want to trade with him at all. Now that the Storm Territory is selling salt to the subjects, that's perfect. I'd rather not earn those few copper coins than let Quinte take my money."

Because they were both vassals of the Count, Boris could not refuse the Storm Territory's caravan from doing business in his town.

However, the fact that the Storm Territory produced salt also gave Boris a roundabout sense of satisfaction.

In the past, when buying salt from Quinte, not only would Quinte mix in large amounts of sand, but he would also deliberately make his caravans stay in White Salt Town for several extra days, forcing them to spend more money there.

The noble lords were worried about being tainted by misfortune, but the commoners couldn't care less.

The discounted salt at seven copper coins a bag was enough to make them forget everything else, not to mention the dried fish at ten copper coins—a taste the commoners had never experienced before.

Therefore, after Boris left, the townspeople swarmed forward.

"My lord, is your salt really only seven copper coins a bag?" a serf in rags asked timidly.

"Yes, seven copper coins a bag!"

"What about the dried fish? Is it really ten copper coins a pound?" asked a commoner who looked relatively well-dressed.

"That's right, ten copper coins a pound. Those who want to buy, come quickly! We are only staying in Black Rock until noon before we must continue our journey!" Thomas answered them one by one.

"Ah, then I want two bags of salt!"

"I want some too, give me three bags of salt!"

"I want five bags of salt and a catty of dried fish..."

Once the prices were finally set, serfs and commoners alike swarmed toward the caravan in an instant.

"Don't crowd, don't crowd! Form a line and come one by one! We have plenty of salt and dried fish!"

It was now Thomas and his men's turn to be busy, and Quick and the other guards quickly began to maintain order.

Thomas stood on the carriage clutching a porcelain jar, responsible for collecting money and distributing the goods.

As they busied themselves, noon arrived in the blink of an eye.

"Everyone, it's about time! We must be on our way!" Although the initial crush in front of the carriages had subsided, many villagers from nearby were still trickling in.

However, Thomas and his men had a mission to complete and could not afford to linger here for too long, so they began to stop selling their goods.

"My Lord, will your caravan be coming back?" The townspeople stepped aside upon hearing this, but they still asked the question they cared about most.

"We will not. Our caravan will only travel to Tulip City from now on and will no longer stop at Black Rock Town!" Thomas stood on the carriage and answered in a loud voice.