Wet Thighs

"Your Grace, I would of course accept the work, but…"

He hesitated over how to phrase it, buying himself time.

"I primarily deal in overland routes. Sea routes are a different matter entirely. Is there no one else you could entrust this to?"

"It's not that there isn't anyone. But sending our own people is also difficult."

The Duke let out a heavy sigh.

It seemed the root of the Duke's troubles lay in this city called Iselia.

"I won't ask you to accept without explanation. But know this: if you listen to what I'm about to tell you, you're committing to the job. If you want to refuse, now is the time. You helped settle that incident before, so I owe you a debt. I won't force you."

For someone of the Duke's standing to make concessions to a mere merchant.

It was somewhat surprising.

This matter was undoubtedly troublesome.

And yet he said there would be no consequences for declining.

True to his word, he would likely continue their business relationship as before.

He thought about it briefly.

He had to make his decision here and now.

Taking it back to consider was essentially the same as refusing.

By normal logic, he should decline.

But what about as a merchant?

Duke Grabahl was a fair man.

If he accepted, the Duke would surely guarantee adequate compensation.

Money was never enough, no matter how much one had.

And if he ever wanted to expand into the Empire, the Duke's backing would make things considerably easier.

… And then there was Orleans.

This job would likely be passed down to Orleans.

From the Duke's tone, sending someone under his direct influence would cause problems.

In that case, they would need to assign someone expendable.

And if that person also needed to be reliable enough to complete the mission, it would have to be Orleans.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He'd come this far because someone he'd helped relied on him. He should see it through.

"Understood. I'll take the job."

"Good. I believed you would say that."

For the first time, the Duke's expression showed relief.

"First, His Highness the Crown Prince is staying in Iselia. Or rather, a loose blockade is forming around him."

"A blockade?"

"Yes. Not militarily. His access by land routes is being obstructed."

"That's… not good."

"Indeed. There are wells, and mages can help to some extent. But food is the problem."

"So that's why you needed wheat."

"Exactly."

The next candidate for Emperor, the Crown Prince, was gradually being starved out.

This certainly couldn't become public.

"You can't deliver it yourself because it would provoke those around him?"

"Precisely. My support for His Highness the Crown Prince is well known. If I act rashly, it will escalate to military action."

"I see. But in that case, sending that wheat would only buy time, wouldn't it?"

"That time is what we need."

The Duke tapped the map with his finger as he spoke.

"The forces blockading Iselia belong to the Fourth Princess in the line of succession. She's squeezing him through subordinate nobles, but she also fears His Highness's counterattack. If the famine reaches its limit, His Highness won't sit idle. He'll summon his army and strike back. He's only holding back because he fears splitting the nation."

"Ah, so His Highness's life isn't actually in danger."

If he counterattacked, it would inevitably lead to civil war, so he was exercising restraint.

But that patience was nearing its limit.

"If food arrives, he can hold out. And in that time, my allies and I will erode her support. Negotiations are already underway. We just want to avoid provoking this princess until the very last moment. Ideally, a ship that happens to be carrying wheat arrives in Iselia, sells it, and leaves."

"That's why I'm convenient."

"Yes. You'll be suspected, but it will still buy us time."

The land routes were blocked, making direct food delivery difficult.

If left alone, civil war would begin and likely not end until an Emperor was decided.

They wanted to deliver by sea without it being traced back to the Crown Prince's faction.

The situation was somewhat convoluted, but that was the gist of it.

"But wouldn't the sea routes be obstructed too? I would watch the sea if I were them."

"… They don't have ships. There may be some interference, but it should be manageable."

He'd worried about them boarding like pirates.

Surely they wouldn't fire magic or arrows from a distance.

Troublesome, but not dangerous… right?

"This is what I'll pay you."

A bag stuffed to the brim with gold ingots was placed before him.

He couldn't help but flinch.

He'd seen large amounts of gold coins before, but never so many gold ingots at once.

The Empire's flag was stamped into each ingot, confirming their authenticity.

"Wow…"

Azu let out an involuntary sound too.

He understood the feeling.

Orleans seemed relatively uninterested.

Having lived a life largely removed from money, she simply might have no attachment to it.

"I need you to deliver this no matter what. Can I count on you?"

"Understood. Leave it to me."

They exchanged a firm handshake.

If this succeeded, it would be a major step forward.

But at that moment, the basic principle that good deals always have a catch had slipped his mind.

Had he been mesmerized by the gold ingots?

Had the Duke's trust gone to his head?

Or had he simply gotten carried away?

The caravan was disbanded, and after collecting Alexia and the others, they were guided to the ship loaded with wheat.

Just as the Duke had promised, it was a fine galleon.

The crew seemed skilled as well.

With time being short, they departed hastily.

… And now, he was drenched from a raging storm.

"Blegh."

"Finn-san, please hang in there."

Finn was vomiting in a corner of the ship.

He hadn't known Finn got seasick. Azu was rubbing her back.

"This is a terrible storm. Apparently it's common in these waters."

"Well, no wonder there's no interference. Even if they wanted to, they couldn't."

"Being wet feels gross."

Elza and Alexia were wringing out their soaked hems.

Their wet thighs were dazzling.