In the end, Baron Foreman had no choice but to reveal his identity and seek shelter at the Harwin estate.
It was, after all, one of the wealthiest territories in the area.
Since he was now facing an indefinite stay away from home, there was no way he could impose himself on House Sayers—a territory currently being managed by a twelve-year-old girl.
As expected, Baron Harwin welcomed him enthusiastically.
“You made an excellent choice not going to Sayers! They probably don't even have enough food to feed themselves over there!”
Baron Foreman knew almost nothing about farming.
Still, he casually tried asking a few questions.
“Even so, don't they have Erenta? They can fish there, can't they? I also heard they've planted potatoes on the plains.”
Baron Harwin and his daughter Dalia immediately replied.
“That land is terribly unproductive. They've been growing olive trees there for centuries and barely made any profit from them. Whatever they plant probably won't grow well.”
“Erenta is the same. Only tiny fish live in that river. You can't survive on those and potatoes alone, can you?”
Everything that followed was equally pessimistic.
“Even if they wanted to plant something else, they probably don't have spare seeds. The area around Erenta usually grows autumn radishes, and it's spring right now. There won't be many seeds for other crops. Most families only grow a few for fun.”
The more he listened, the worse Sayers' situation sounded.
Eventually, Baron Foreman became so curious about the truth that he couldn't resist.
That was why he disguised himself as a fisherman.
And while doing so, he happened to encounter Brisa during her patrol of the territory.
Hm?
Baron Foreman blinked slowly.
A territorial inspection at a time like this? By a little girl?
On impulse, he struck up a conversation.
He complained that he wasn't catching any fish.
He thought she might find it annoying.
Instead, she looked at him with unmistakable sympathy.
She didn't say it aloud.
But her expression clearly said:
Poor thing.
She's more compassionate toward commoners than I expected, he thought.
And she didn't even make a show of it.
Baron Foreman studied Brisa carefully.
She truly was beautiful.
Like a porcelain doll brought to life.
I heard the last princess of Liente raised her personally and educated her herself.
Brisa Sayers.
The famed genius of the central region.
But no matter how brilliant someone was...
In a crisis like this, genius alone couldn't save them.
Ancient languages didn't put food on the table.
At this rate, he would probably see her at the Harwin estate before long.
A desperate young girl begging for a sack of flour.
Then it happened.
Brisa quietly gave an order to one of her maids.
The maid looked horrified.
Yet instead of protesting, she rummaged through her pocket and handed something over.
...Paper? No. A card?
Brisa accepted a pen.
Then, right there on the spot, she elegantly wrote something across the card.
When she finished, she held it out to him.
Baron Foreman accepted it automatically.
[Invitation]
It was an exquisitely old-fashioned invitation card.
The sort of luxurious design people had used fifty years ago.
Liente style.
He had heard stories.
Apparently, in Liente, maids carried invitations with them at all times.
That way, whenever their master wished to continue a social relationship, an invitation could be delivered immediately.
The card read:
To Mr. Oliver Hanson,
Within the halls of the Sayers Marquis Estate, where the fragrance of passing years lingers,
I wish to host an evening banquet in honor of a treasured guest.
Beneath gentle candlelight and the melody of stringed instruments,
when the door opens at the third toll of the bell,
I hope your esteemed presence, Mr. Oliver Hanson,
will become the final touch of elegance that completes the gathering.
The portions in parentheses had been freshly written in Brisa's neat handwriting.
For a moment, Baron Foreman wondered if he had somehow traveled back in time.
Even in the west, where noble culture flourished more than anywhere else, invitations like this had gone out of fashion decades ago.
Then he checked the date.
His eyebrows drew together.
One and a half months from now?
Even if the Sayers estate emptied every last grain from its warehouses, surviving a single month would be difficult.
And yet she was inviting guests to a banquet six weeks away?
“Normally I'd ask for a written reply,” Brisa said elegantly.
“But given the circumstances, I'm not sure the postal system can be trusted.”
She smiled.
“Would it be acceptable if I received your answer now?”
“I-I'll come!”
Baron Foreman answered immediately.
Genuinely flustered.
“I'll arrive on time. It would be my honor.”
“I'll be waiting.”
Brisa gave a graceful nod.
Then she turned away and left with her maids.
Baron Foreman remained standing there, invitation in hand.
Blinking.
What exactly was that...?
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand the girl's intentions.
What is she planning?
Meanwhile—
By then he'll probably be quite hungry.
I walked away from Baron Foreman, lost in thought.
If an old man goes hungry, that's rough.
He's traveled all the way here from another region. The least I can do is offer him a decent meal while he's in the central territories.
If he stayed at the Harwin estate, he'd probably experience a few hungry days before long.
Selling horses to buy dairy cows...
I suppressed a sigh.
And later they ended up selling me and my maids too.
If they hadn't done that, they might have survived a little longer.
Truthfully, what happened to the Harwins had nothing to do with me.
But surprisingly, what moved my heart was the old man's professionalism.
“Th-thank you. Thank you, my lady.”
He hadn't been fishing.
He'd been working.
Even at his age, he was still carrying out Grand Duke Nozen's orders.
Still doing his duty.
One and a half months from now, food shortages would begin hitting the Harwin estate as well.
He eventually returns to the west safely in the original story, so I know he'll survive.
Still... an old man should at least get one proper meal.
I owed Leopold a psychological debt.
Perhaps he'd already forgotten.
But I doubted I ever would.
Because of that, feeding his grandfather once felt like the least I could do.
By then we'd probably have plenty of food.
And besides...
He's Leopold's grandfather.
Thinking about it, two meals would probably be fine too.
When we finally returned to the estate, Martha had arrived.
The maid I had sent to Jejel Street that morning was waiting in the rear garden.
“My lady!”
She hurried over.
“I bought everything you requested! Just like you predicted, prices had fallen quite a bit.”
Yet she didn't look happy.
“But... Jejel Street issued an order.”
Her face darkened.
“They told all merchants not to do business with people from Sayers anymore.”
I had expected that.
Jejel Street no longer belonged to House Sayers.
It was the first move Baron Harwin could make to squeeze our throat.
“It doesn't matter.”
I waved it off.
“They'll run out of inventory eventually too.”
By now, a crowd of knights had gathered in the garden.
Everyone wanted to see what Martha had bought.
“I honestly thought you'd plant these seed potatoes in the garden too...”
“I'm using the garden for something else.”
I already knew exactly who the garden belonged to.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cluck, cluck, cluck!”
“Peep! Peep peep!”
The knights gasped.
“They’re adorable!”
“Look how glossy their feathers are!”
Even I crouched down beside them.
I gently stroked the chicks that had arrived with the hens.
Then I gazed at the chickens with profound affection.
“Our source of protein.”
To raise chickens, you needed land.
The central region didn't have much.
As a result, commerce had developed instead of poultry farming.
Most households only kept three or four chickens in their yards.
The chickens sold in the market weren't meant for local consumption.
They were supposed to be transported elsewhere through Sayers' trade routes.
But now no buyers could arrive.
Prices had inevitably collapsed.
And ordinary families couldn't afford to buy more chickens either.
After all—
Chickens didn't grow for free.
These little guys need food too.
When famine was approaching, increasing livestock numbers became a burden.
“B-but what do they eat?”
Rangshi had come to inspect the chicks.
He looked deeply concerned.
“If they grow up properly, that's like feeding a whole knight's worth of food per chicken!”
He folded his arms.
“They'd better grow strong and protect the territory.”
I eased his worries.
“We have dried rice bran and wheat bran in storage.”
I smiled.
“Scatter that for them first.”
"If the Guild gives us the rice bran and wheat bran remaining in their warehouses, we'll allow them to collect the roots as well."
To grain merchants, rice bran and wheat bran were practically garbage.
I had known that.
Which was why I had asked for them.
All of them.
Every last sack in storage.
And so—
A month and a half passed.
