Yufi arrived at Bolnors Family’s castle by carriage, bearing a gift for Gorde.

Yes, that contract was merely a gift.

Though Kleyn Beer had caused a sensation and promised vast markets, that was all it was.

In this world, making money through commerce was mere trickery—like sly rats sneaking into granaries to steal grain.

Merchants produced nothing themselves, generated no wealth. Every gold coin they earned came from the labor of commoners, wealth that rightfully belonged to the nobility. Merchants were merely middlemen.

In the reception hall, Yufi greeted Gorde with an elegant, poised smile and a courteous bow.

Gorde gave a steady nod, grunted softly through his nose, and settled into his chair.

After exchanging pleasantries, Yufi presented the contract.

Gorde glanced at it, unimpressed. "You move quickly," he said flatly. "This should have been in my hands from the start."

Yufi covered her mouth with a light laugh. "True, I got there first. But at least I secured the complete version, didn’t I?"

Gorde remained noncommittal, silent. He already knew what Yufi wanted.

Left with no choice, Yufi spoke up herself, her tone gentle: "The Claire Family holds a documented viscountcy, just like the Bolnors. Both were ennobled after serving the Hero King in the First Human-Demon War. Surely, my lord, you wouldn’t wish to strain relations too severely?"

"Besides," she added smoothly, "didn’t one of your sons marry into the Claire Family?"

Many of Gorde’s usual tactics couldn’t be used against the Claires. Securing the full brewing formula and techniques remained uncertain.

By delivering it to him now, she was proving her worth.

Yet Gorde stayed silent, his expression unyielding as stone.

Facing him was nothing like dealing with Kestia. Here, Yufi was the supplicant; Gorde, the powerful lord holding all the cards.

She pressed on, using the Claire situation as leverage: "Allow me to mediate. Let the Viscount and the Earl reconcile. They could cooperate amicably, fostering prosperity across both territories." She offered a faint smile.

Gorde finally spoke, his voice cool. "The Claire Family disrupted the market. They caused significant losses to my domain. They must be held accountable."

"Disrupted the market?" Yufi’s smile didn’t waver. "From what I understand, that was Semos Trading Company’s doing. What began as ordinary competition in the liquor trade escalated only after Semos monopolized Grute herbs."

She didn’t outright accuse Gorde—the blame could rest on Semos. The Claires shouldn’t bear it.

Gorde studied her, surprised by her staunch defense of the Claires.

"To my knowledge," Yufi continued earnestly, "the Claire Family still seeks sincere cooperation. I urge you, my lord, not to let others sow discord and lose a truly trustworthy ally."

Gorde said nothing, tapping a finger lightly against his chair’s armrest. He understood Yufi’s game now.

She sought his support not through pleading, but through leverage.

If he refused, she’d side with the Claires—leaving him with mere cooperation at best.

To pull her away from them, he’d need to offer substantial backing.

The Claires were merely pawns in her negotiation.

A remarkably shrewd candidate for the throne.

Pity. Gorde had already chosen whom to endorse—a new contender.

Yufi tried to persuade him, but Gorde was immovable. His decisions were law.

"Five candidates now?" Yufi murmured, exasperated. "Why so many this term? Are the current earls trying to fracture the kingdom?"

Yet it was all within the rules.

A shadow of unease crossed her face. This felt like an omen of turmoil.

Two days later, a grand banquet was held at the manor.

Lanche attended alongside Kestia.

Nobles and merchants filled the hall—the largest gathering yet.

All because it was hosted by Yufi, a royal candidate, who had invited both Gorde and the Claire Family.

The Claires had been at the center of scandal; the Grute herb incident was common knowledge.

Everyone wondered how it would end.

Lanche scanned the crowd. He spotted old man Semos laughing with a group, but visibly haggard.

Ron caught sight of Lanche and scowled.

The Semos family had suffered terribly: wealth lost, Ron’s sister wed off.

They weren’t bankrupt, but their future now depended entirely on Gorde’s favor.

Beside Ron stood Lanche’s two elder brothers, Boznia and Frier.

Ron’s sister, Lexy Semos, had married Boznia. Frier, meanwhile, had once schemed to marry Kestia—but that plan lay in ruins.

Both brothers glared at Lanche, especially seeing him arm-in-arm with Kestia.

Kestia held Lanche’s arm firmly, refusing to let him hide away. She guided him through the crowd like a dutiful wife.

They’d been married nearly a year. To onlookers, their union seemed harmonious—Kestia showed no disdain for Lanche’s supposed worthlessness.

Frier’s jealousy festered. He’d mocked Kestia’s judgment behind closed doors, spreading vulgar rumors about her.

Now, unable to contain himself, he strode over, sneering: "You only won this round because Yufi backs you. Don’t flatter yourselves—you’re nothing against a count’s house."

The thought of losing Kestia still burned.

"When did you start speaking for the earldom?" Lanche smiled, fanning the flames.

"You have no right to speak, you worthless trash! The shame of House Bolnors!" Frier spat.

His voice cut through the chatter. The hall fell silent. All eyes turned, eager for the spectacle.

Kestia’s face hardened, but Lanche gently restrained her.

Unruffled, Lanche sighed. "Ah, so the mask finally slips? Whatever happened to the etiquette Lady Jelins taught you?"

"Staring at my wife daily—how shameless. No noble lady would have you. I barely dare admit I know you, lest I be tainted by association."

The crowd went utterly still, stunned into silence.

Later, replaying the scene in bed, they knew they could never craft insults so cutting—yet so flawlessly clean.

Frier stood frozen, utterly speechless.