Traces of sauce lingered on the exquisite silver tableware, gleaming enticingly in the soft light of the many candles. A dinner enjoyed by hosts and guests alike had just ended.
An impeccably cordial smile still graced Boer's face as he personally escorted the two designers from the Steel Heavy Industry Consortium-Copperhammer and Hunter-out of the club. A simply decorated but exceptionally sturdy carriage had long been waiting.
"Gentlemen, have a safe journey." Boer took Copperhammer's broad, rough, calloused hand and shook it firmly, then turned to Hunter, whose white hair was meticulously combed and whose eyes were deep.
"Especially you, Mr. Hunter. The nights are chilly. Please take care." He turned back and repeatedly instructed the attendant, his tone gentle but carrying unquestionable weight. "Make sure both masters reach their lodgings safely. If anything at all goes wrong along the way, I will hold you responsible."
At this, Copperhammer let out a hearty, booming laugh that seemed to set even the bells on the carriage shafts softly ringing.
"Boer, put your mind at ease! You've helped us solve those dreadful problems, so we'll get to work right away. We'll hurry to draw up more factory plans, too, and we'll need your full support when the time comes. Our ideal Iron Kingdom..."
He stretched out a huge, fan-sized hand and clenched it hard in the air, sparks of fervor and longing flashing in his eyes.
"...leave it to us! Just thinking that we'll bring that future into being with our own hands gets these old bones too excited to sleep!"
By contrast, Hunter seemed much more subdued. A barely perceptible trace of worry crossed his wrinkled face as he quietly added:
"Copperhammer, and Lord Boer, there is no need to rush. Every great creation begins with nothing and gradually takes shape, one step at a time."
He shook his head, his graying hair trembling in the night breeze, then sighed softly, as though chewing on some bitter word. "Nobles, ah, nobles..."
Before his voice had faded, his once-sharp gaze gradually grew clouded, sinking into some distant, heavy train of thought.
Boer kept smiling as he watched the carriage rumble over the flagstone road and finally disappear around the street corner. As the sound of the carriage receded, the smile on his face slowly ebbed away like the tide.
When the heavy oak door of the meeting room silently closed once more, shutting out the clamor outside, the air within seemed to freeze in an instant.
Without a word, Boer walked straight toward the seat at the head of the long table, a broad, velvet-covered, high-backed chair. Rather than sitting upright, he leaned back almost languidly.
Then he raised his legs and casually rested them on the smooth edge of the lectern. As his weight shifted backward, the entire chair balanced precariously yet steadily on its two rear legs, giving a faint creak that sounded particularly grating in the pin-drop silence.
Overhead, candlelight poured down from the chandelier, casting shifting patches of light and shadow across his face and obscuring the look in his eyes.
He simply sat there quietly, like a divine statue lost in contemplation, or a lion feigning sleep.
Two uneasy men stood before him.
On the left was the giant Thatch. His tall, burly frame was slightly hunched now, and the large hands that had once wielded sharp blades and struck terror into pirates were nervously kneading the hem of his clothes.
His weathered face, marked by a shallow scar, was filled with the struggle to speak and the hesitation that held him back.
On the right was the red-faced agent Roland. His round face, usually full of a merchant's shrewdness and affability, had flushed even redder. Fine beads of sweat kept seeping from his forehead. He wiped them away again and again with a silk handkerchief, yet could never wipe away the endless stream of anxiety.
Roland's eyes darted about, not daring to meet Boer's gaze. Sometimes he glanced at Thatch; at others, he helplessly scanned the military maps hanging on the meeting room walls.
Silence rose like a swelling tide, drowning the entire room and pressing down on the two men until they could barely breathe.
"Well?" At last, Boer broke the deathly silence. His voice was calm, yet carried an invisible pressure as his gaze settled first on Thatch.
"Two grown men, squirming like sheltered young ladies? If you have something to say, say it. If you've got wind to pass, let it out. Otherwise, get back to work. The things waiting for you to handle in the city must be piled mountain-high, surely?"
His gaze was sharp as a blade, as though it could pierce appearances and reach straight into their hearts. "Thatch, did Locke and the others fail to send the kingdom's armed forces to assist you?" He turned to Roland. "Or are those noble lords still refusing to relinquish power and tripping you up behind the scenes?"
Boer's questions were like a key, abruptly opening the floodgates Thatch had kept shut for so long.
In an instant, the grand ambitions he had formed while holding Camille in his arms, Boer's promise to give him power and standing, and the reality of this recent period-outwardly glorious, yet filled with obstacles at every turn-intertwined and battered his mind. He drew a deep breath.
"My lord..." Thatch's voice was rather dry as he struggled to speak. "The process of bringing them into our ranks has actually... gone fairly smoothly. With the fine armor and swords you've supplied, our brothers have basically crushed those gangs. Usually, once we deal with a few stubborn leaders who refuse to face reality, the rest submit..."
His words began to flow more smoothly, but the helplessness and resentment within them grew stronger.
"But... the problems come afterward. When it comes to dividing up the 'dirty money' handed over by the gangs, the city guards started by asking for half, then went on to pocket huge amounts in secret. They even... even got into small armed clashes with our men over the spoils! Ever since then, the two sides have been united in name alone. Apart from being quicker than anyone when there's money to grab, they spend all their time muddling through and showing up without doing any work!"
Thatch raised a hand and rubbed hard between his brows, trying to sort out his tangled thoughts. "That's not even the worst of it. The more gangs we reorganize, the more obviously my control over the whole force declines! Those former gang bosses gather their old followers around them and repeatedly defy the 'old hands' I send-the brothers who came with me from the sea!
"And those old brothers of mine, as you know, are all blunt, straightforward men. They can't stand those gang thugs' slippery ways either, so the two sides clash constantly. I... at first, I thought that even two streams need time to settle together when they merge. So long as they didn't go too far, I couldn't bring myself to punish them harshly, for fear of alienating them..."
His voice sank, filled with deep self-reproach. "But... one day, Camille told me that people from our security company were actually at the docks... collecting protection money again! Although I later investigated and publicly beheaded the bastard who led it, hoping to make an example of him... the result was an even worse split within our ranks. Those from the gangs thought I was playing favorites, while my old brothers thought I'd acted too late and been too lenient! And even... even the little hope and trust the city's people had in us at first has now turned into... disgust and fear..."
He paused, his final words almost inaudible. "And... those nobles. They... they sent people saying they were on friendly terms with you and we mustn't damage that relationship. They forcibly demanded that we return some of their people and 'investments'... I... I..."
At last, he could no longer hold himself up. As though every ounce of strength had been drained from his huge body, he slid dejectedly to the cold floor, all dignity forgotten, his head bowed low, not daring to meet Boer's seemingly all-seeing gaze.
The moment Thatch finished, Roland rushed to speak, as though a second's delay would cost him the courage to open his mouth. He forcefully wiped the sweat from his shining red face with his already half-damp silk handkerchief and cautiously began, his voice carrying a barely perceptible tremor. "M-my lord, I... on my end..."
He drew a deep breath and spoke faster. "During this time, we've completed several deals using the weapons manufactured through your... your ability. But the nobles over in the Commonwealth have been pushing their offers lower and lower..."
As he spoke, he furtively lifted his eyes and stole a quick glance at Boer. Boer remained expressionless, his fingertips tracing lightly through the air. The metal cubes already hovering there arranged and combined themselves along some mysterious trajectory like docile swimming fish, showing no reaction to his words.
This wordless silence made Roland's heart race even faster. He could only steel himself and continue. "I... I confronted them. They all gave the same story, saying... the market was saturated and competition was fierce. But my lord, you supply superb blades, sharp and durable. How could... how could they possibly fail to fetch a good price? They... they simply dumped a huge pile of ledgers on me, as high as a mountain! Told me to check them myself..."
A sob crept into his voice, the despair of a manager who possessed a title but had been stripped of all actual authority.
"Every sales channel, every detail of the accounts, is firmly controlled by people sent by the nobles. They may fear your military strength and not dare openly oppose me, but the final reports they hand me are always bewildering things dressed up through layer after layer of embellishment. And... and they always shove them at me to sign at the very last moment... I... I'm like a blind man, a deaf man..."
The rest of his words dissolved into helpless sobs.
Only then did Boer finally move. The liquid metal flowing around his fingertips silently withdrew into his palm and vanished, as though alive. He lowered his legs from the lectern, and all four chair legs settled firmly on the floor with a soft thunk. At an unhurried pace, he walked between Thatch, who sat slumped on the floor, and Roland, who was on the verge of collapsing.
He neither rebuked nor comforted them. He merely extended both hands and rested one on each man's tension-stiffened shoulder. Those palms were not particularly broad, yet they carried a strange, reassuring strength.
"Actually," Boer said calmly, yet his voice exploded like thunder beside their ears, "Locke has already spoken to me privately several times."
He paused, feeling the shoulders beneath his hands instantly tense, then continued in that same unreadable tone. "He said your knowledge and abilities... are not enough to sustain the undertaking we have before us."
"M-my lord!" Roland was scared out of his wits. His legs buckled, and he nearly dropped to his knees, supported only by Boer's hand on his shoulder.
Thatch, too, closed his eyes in despair, his mind blank, as though he could already see his fate of being ruthlessly discarded.
Yes, how could a brute born a pirate like me, and a merchant like Roland, who looks shrewd but is actually being played like a puppet, shoulder such responsibilities? Lord Locke's doubts are perfectly reasonable. Lord Boer... is probably going to give up on us too... He could not help thinking mockingly of himself. No wonder Locke keeps sending women to his lordship. He's probably wanted to replace us for ages...
Yet Boer's words suddenly took a turn.
"But I refused him." His voice was clear and firm, every word striking their hearts like a hammer. "And every other request of that kind."
At that moment, Thatch's and Roland's hearts seemed to be dragged abruptly out of a frozen abyss and began pounding wildly again. An enormous, indescribable swell of aching gratitude swept away all their defenses like a flood bursting through a dam.
Their eyes involuntarily grew hot and red, and their noses stung.
Both raised their heads at once to look toward that figure.
Boer had already turned away from them and was walking slowly toward the meeting room door. The burning candlelight stretched his figure long, casting a steady, dependable shadow.
"I did make you a promise." His voice was not loud, yet it reached their ears as clearly as the most solemn oath and branded itself into their minds. "Rest assured. I'll resolve every one of these problems you've encountered."
Those words were like warm sunlight, dispelling all the gloom and chill in their hearts.
The two exchanged a glance, each seeing in the other's eyes the excitement of someone who had narrowly escaped disaster, along with a little embarrassment over their earlier loss of composure. They quickly turned their heads away, unwilling to let the other see the corners of their eyes, which might already be damp.
Just as Boer's hand was about to touch the door handle, he seemed to remember something. His steps paused, and without turning around, he instructed them mildly:
"Oh, Roland."
"Here, my lord!" As though infused with a new strength, Roland abruptly straightened his back and answered more loudly than ever before.
"Bring me a map of the kingdom. Clearly mark the locations of all major confirmed and suspected mineral deposits in the country, especially iron and coal." Boer's tone brooked no argument. "I want to see it on my desk before tomorrow morning."
The red-faced agent's face now shone, all his worries and fears replaced by this specific, important task. He practically shouted his reply:
"I promise, my lord! I'll get it done!"
Before you continue