Hadrata, the capital city, within a luxurious fortress, Mortan suddenly woke up from his bed, his whole body drenched in cold sweat.
He dreamed of wizards using magic to create an abundance of bread, and then the wheat in his own hands became worthless...
But how could that be possible?
Using magic to make bread was simply a wild fantasy!
Mortan wiped the sweat from his brow with trembling hands and struggled to sit up in bed, but he quickly noticed that something was amiss.
"Baxi... Baxi!" Mortan repeatedly called out the name of the estate's steward, but got no response. It took a good while before a knight rushed over.
"Lord Mortan, you're awake?"
"Where's Baxi? Where did he go?!" Mortan anxiously questioned, grabbing the knight's arm.
"He left half an hour ago... and... and he took your favorite glazed wine pot with him..."
The knight stumbled over his words for a long time before daring to reveal the truth. Unspoken was the fact that many valuable items had been taken by the fleeing attendants within the fortress; they had neither the capability nor the time to stop them.
"Baxi, I've provided for him for forty years, how could he dare?" Rage threatened to overwhelm Mortan, nearly causing him to faint again, but what chilled him to the bone was the implication behind all of this.
"Where's today's Magic Daily? Bring me the newspaper!" Mortan said urgently. "And send someone to Fire Oil City immediately, by any means necessary, I need to find out whether those wizards still have any food in their hands!"
In the face of Mortan's scolding, the knight didn't move, but spoke tentatively, "Lord Mortan, I'm afraid there's no longer any need to confirm that."
Just one hour ago, a train from Fire Oil City had already arrived at the capital. At the station right now, food was piling up, and some workshops had already implemented a system of four meals a day.
All the evidence pointed to one fact: the council was far from being out of food, in fact, they had as much as they wanted!
The great nobles and wealthy merchants of the entire capital were almost going mad, as many frantically tried to sell off their hoarded grain. But because the council provided three meals and lodging, no one was willing to buy grain on a large scale anymore.
The price of wheat dropped instantly from a high of five hundred copper coins to one copper coin for five kilograms, with no one even willing to give it a glance.
Rumors were rife in the markets, with whispers that wizards could turn air into bread and lake water into strong liquor. Their food was utterly worthless now because from this day forward, the council would take care of every person's food and lodging within the kingdom...
And now the trade routes to the empire had been sealed off in both directions. They lacked sufficient transport capacity and couldn't possibly smuggle out so much grain without the council knowing.
Every sentence spoken by the knight was like a long sword piercing straight through Mortan's chest.
He understood that he was finished, everything was over...
"Gustav, you betrayed me!" Mortan roared in a furious outburst, but the commander of the Divine Punishment Army he was referring to clearly couldn't help him now.
Just then, a commotion erupted outside the fortress, followed by the sound of heated arguments.
Mortan's face turned pale, and he almost fell out of bed.
Before Mortan could ask, the knight took the initiative to speak. "It seems that the merchants who have come to collect debts have arrived!"
Mortan felt a surge of anger rise within him. Since when did a few lowly merchants have the nerve to barge into the estate of a Marquis of the kingdom?
He might be unable to deal with wizards, but surely he could handle a few wealthy merchants?
In a blaze of fury, Mortan yanked the knight's sword from its scabbard and, without even putting on his shoes, stormed out.
In the front hall of the fortress, a dozen loyal trusted aides were confronting a group of unwelcome visitors who had burst in.
The leader appeared quite amiable, around forty, squinting slightly, with an air of affluence.
"Stanford?! Who gave you the audacity to intrude onto my estate!" Mortan entered the fortress's front hall barefoot, sword in hand, and spoke in a cold voice.
"Your estate?" A look of surprise crossed Stanford's face, then he calmly pulled a deed from his coat and said amiably, "You must be somewhat forgetful, Marquis Mortan, this estate is mine now!"
"Of course, you can choose to buy it back with thirty thousand Gold Coins!" Stanford said nonchalantly.
Seeing the other man produce the deed, Mortan was briefly choked with anger, trying to contain his rage as he retorted, "If I remember correctly, the term on that should be one month!"
"That's thirty thousand imperial Gold Coins, Lord Marquis, in one month, you likely won't be able to gather that sum, so to prevent any accidents, I had no choice but to come and collect the debt early!" Stanford explained apologetically, and then pointed to the fine print on the contract, "It's all clearly stated in the contract!"
Mortan burst out laughing in anger, having never experienced such an insult. He was after all a Marquis of the kingdom, and now someone thought he couldn't even afford a mere thirty thousand imperial Gold Coins!
Though he no longer had any savings, his domain still held vast lands, mines, slaves, and even vassals...