After breakfast, Karl quickly changed into work-appropriate clothes and followed Count Watt onto the carriage heading for the city’s merchants’ guild.
No sooner had he settled in than Count Watt let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing visibly.
“Only work makes me feel truly at ease…”
Karl glanced at his father-in-law. “But… I can see you genuinely love Mother-in-law.”
“Of course. She’s strict, yes—but I love her deeply.”
Watt paused mid-sentence, blinking. *Wait. This isn’t where this was going.*
“Hold on—what are you implying? I said work relaxes me because I *enjoy* it, not because I’m avoiding my wife!”
His father-in-law hurried to clarify.
“Understood. Father-in-law loves his work.”
“Remember that. Don’t you *dare* repeat this at home.”
“Understood.”
Watt picked up the unread morning paper and dove in with quiet satisfaction.
Soon, the carriage rolled into the city, weaving through bustling dawn streets. People hurried past, clocks ticking in their strides. The world resembled Earth’s medieval Europe at first glance—but technologically, it leaned closer to the Industrial Revolution. Gas lamps lined the streets; running water and telephones were common. Even magic-powered automobiles existed—though wildly expensive. Not even Count Watt owned one.
Setting the paper aside, Watt watched the flowing crowd and murmured, “They toil all year… yet half their earnings vanish into taxes. What *are* those in power thinking?”
Karl knew imperial taxes were heavy. Worse: all territorial revenue had to be sent upward, then redistributed later to sustain the land. In short, Sowani Territory’s budget hung entirely on the whims of the capital.
“Those above must have their reasons. We shouldn’t speculate,” Karl said carefully.
Watt gave a wry smile. “Right. If word got out? Next year’s funds would shrink even more.” He turned to Karl, eyes gleaming. “Karl. Soon, the Thirteenth Prince and Fourteenth Princess will visit for the Freedom Festival. I won’t count on Freya—but *you* must build rapport with them. Maybe… just maybe… we’ll get a bigger share next year.”
The Freedom Festival celebrated Sowani Territory’s liberation from the tyrannical Old Empire. Normally, the capital ignored such events—but this year marked the 500th anniversary. Hence, royalty was coming.
Karl nodded firmly. “No problem. I won’t let you down.”
*Building royal connections?* Karl’s heart raced. *This is exactly what I’ve been dreaming of!!!*
*And whether Freya likes it or not… she’s bonding with that princess.*
Moments later, the carriage halted before Count Watt’s “Free Trade Guild.”
The building was strikingly plain.
“Guilds earn money,” Watt had once said. “No need for flashy facades.”
Translation: *Don’t let anyone know we’re profitable.*
Karl stepped down and followed Count Watt to the warehouse entrance.
“Your task: unload five hundred fabric boxes from the carriages into the warehouse.”
“…Alone?” Karl eyed the long line of wagons.
Watt nodded bluntly. “That’s why I called *you*. If I were free, I’d help. Just get it done.”
“What about the drivers?”
“Their pay covers driving only. I asked—they refused extra work. After such a journey? They’re dead on their feet.”
“…Or the driving pay’s already generous enough,” Karl muttered.
“You can think of it that way,” Watt said with another wry smile.
“Alright.” Karl had no choice.
“The handcart’s by the door. Finish by dusk. If not… no pressure.” Watt turned and left.
Karl sighed deeply at the mountain of crates.
*“Can’t find help”? Total nonsense! This is a test—can I endure hard labor?*
“Might as well. Call it training.”
He rolled up his sleeves and began.
Thankfully, ambient magic strengthened bodies here—this labor felt light. Time blurred. Before he knew it, lunchtime arrived.
Count Watt returned, smiling warmly, holding a rice box. Inside? Four whole chicken legs. *Special treatment.*
*(Rice existed here—but low yield made it costly. Ordinary families rarely tasted it.)*
Karl devoured every bite, wiped his mouth, and resumed work. *Rest longer? No. Fail by dusk = Father-in-law’s favor drops. Then… no backup when disciplining Freya.* He pushed harder.
By dusk, the last box was stacked.
“Phew——finally done.”
He surveyed the tidy warehouse, wiped sweat from his brow, grabbed his coat, and turned to lock the heavy door. Chain in hand, key sliding into the lock—
*Click.*
A razor-sharp blade pressed cold against his throat.
“Don’t speak. Don’t shout. Don’t move.”
Karl’s instinct screamed *resist*—but in that split second, a vision flashed:
*[The blade slicing his neck.]*
Hands shot up instantly. *Compliance. Only compliance.*
“Open the door. Let me in. *Now.*”
A woman’s voice—icy, weak, yet lethal. Karl knew: defiance meant death.
He obeyed. Reopened the door. The blade stayed firm at his throat.
“Close it. Walk inward. Hide me.”
He led her deep into the warehouse, into a narrow aisle choked with crates.
“You guard me. Don’t leave. Try to run—I kill you.”
Karl turned.
His eyes widened.
The woman threatening his life… was undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.
