The Duke laughed heartily, the sound echoing across the meeting room. He threw his head back, clutching his stomach as tears formed in his eyes. Finally, he calmed, wiped away a tear, and spoke.
"Are you an idiot?"
"Excuse me?" the Baron asked, clearly insulted.
"I asked if you're an idiot. You want to be a Count with no contributions to the Crown under your name? Do you want to die and immediately pass your title to your son? Is that your grand plan?"
"Can't you make something up?" the Baron asked, losing his patience.
He had given up the dance, and so he would give up any decorum altogether. Since the Duke insisted on treating this deal like an alleyway exchange, that's exactly what he would get.
"Have you not studied the kingdom's laws? I can't just prop anyone up without a significant contribution to the Crown. At minimum, it would have to be in magic crystals, and I'm not talking about a dozen but hundreds to buy your way in. Alternatively, you can eliminate a threat beyond Rank 2 and earn your title that way, assuming you don't get paid out in exchange. The recent Demon Lord crisis would have been your best shot, but you cowered like the other nobles instead of hunting down demon worshipers."
He was merely a Rank 1, so that was impossible. He knew about the cultists and their activities, but there was nothing he could do about it other than inform the Crown and be rewarded with a pittance. If he did that, however, he would likely face their retaliation, so he kept his head down and stayed out of the conflict, similar to everyone else.
"Then, land. How about half of the farming land you personally own?"
"You really are an idiot, aren't you?" the Duke said, with pity rather than amusement.
Somehow, the look the Duke gave him was even worse than being laughed at.
"The incredibly profitable land you're demanding is the Duchy's greatest asset, paying for the majority of the taxes. If I gave you even a single slice, the Crown would have my head. On top of that, you would die as well. Do you really think privately owning that farmland wouldn't attract the wrong kind of attention? All they would have to do is marry your heir and kill you. Tell me I'm wrong."
The Duke had a solid point. The title and land of such extraordinary value would attract the wrong kind of attention. On top of that, he would make enemies of all the other nobles who coveted such a powerful source of income.
"Fine, just a few villages then."
"Now you're finally starting to make sense. What do you plan to do with them?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what I said. What are your plans?"
"I—I haven't thought of it yet."
"That just tells me you want to take the profits and leave the villagers with nothing, which means you would end up destroying whatever village I give you. This would reduce the Duchy's productivity, leaving both you and me with barren land that produces no income, a net loss. So that's a no as well."
"Then what are you willing to give me?" the Baron shouted in response, having grown tired of being insulted continuously. "How much do you think Ariel is worth?"
"You still don't get it, do you?" the Duke sighed. "It's not about how much Ariel is worth, that's slavery. The question is, how much are you worth?"
The Baron stared at the Duke incredulously, unable to come up with a response. What was the difference exactly? Isn't that slavery as well?
"You said you wanted a village earlier, right? That is only acceptable assuming you had an actual plan in mind for the territory. If you just want the income that comes with it, why bother with land? Let's get straight to the point of what you really want."
The Baron listened intently as the Duke continued.
"How much would you earn from that land until your death? How much value can you extract from any piece of land I can afford to place under your name? How much would you personally be able to earn from anything that you've demanded from me?"
"I—I'm Rank 1, so…"
"Is the math too difficult? Let me break it down for you. You achieved Rank 1 at the old age of 160, which means you were close to the end of your lifespan before you managed to rank up. Unless you get a sudden bout of ambition and courage, I estimate you will likely die within 800 years."
The Baron agreed. That was his lifespan. He had never been the combative type, so he had barely managed to reach Rank 1 with the help of his soldiers, who allowed him to kill in dungeons while keeping him safe. Despite a regular schedule, it still took him over a century to reach Rank 1 safely. Reaching Rank 2 would simply be impossible unless he had significantly stronger soldiers under his employ.
"Now, a prosperous village can bring in a few platinum coins after taxes per year. Let's be optimistic and say 5 platinum coins every year for some reason. Multiply that and convert it up, and that's 40 mithril coins from a piece of lived-in land for your lifespan. That is the worth I am assigning to you personally."
That was a significant sum for an individual to live off until the end of their life. Even as a noble, he could go far with that much instant cash. He didn't need to put any effort into managing property. Plus, this was a gift, meaning it was already after taxes. He could simply take the money and spend it sparingly until the end of his life.
"What do you say?" the Duke asked. "How about 50 mithril coins to see you through the rest of your life? You can retire and do absolutely nothing if you want. With that much money, you'll never have to work another day. All you need to do is keep your title and spend slowly within your means. It's not a bad life, if I do say so myself."
The Baron thought about it and agreed. This was the life he wanted, the life he was worth. By accepting this deal, he could simply relax and spend his money leisurely. With less than 800 years left to live, living this way was more than worth it.
But then a thought struck him. He was only worth 50 mithril coins at most. Why couldn't it be more?
From the very beginning, the Duke had held the upper hand in this negotiation. Since the moment he sat down, perhaps even before that. What if he had been underestimating his own value? Was 50 mithril coins really all he was worth?
He should negotiate for more, but how? He had agreed that he was only worth that much given his current lifespan. Lifespan… what if he could extend it? What if, instead of asking for something tangible like land or money, he requested more years of life?
The Duke was supposedly incredibly powerful, able to destroy an army single-handedly. If the rumors were true, he could ask the Duke to help him reach Rank 2 in exchange for Ariel's hand in marriage.
Then, with an extended lifespan, he could continue to have more daughters and sell them. Ariel was quite popular among the other nobles, and he could profit from them whenever he wished.
This deal with the Duke, however, was different. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take advantage of such a powerful man. He would never get another chance like this again.
He could always make more daughters and more money throughout his life, but he could never gain more lifespan again. This change in perspective the Duke had allowed him to see was perhaps the greatest benefit he might gain from this deal.
"No," the Baron said proudly. "I don't want money, land, or titles anymore. Instead, I want you to help me reach Rank 2."
The Duke raised a single brow in response. "Do you have any idea how expensive that request is?"
"I'm sure my daughter is worth it."
"She isn't. I'm not going to get into the logistics of it, but you simply don't understand what you're forcing me to give up in exchange for your request."
That was millions of bullets that he would have to make from scratch. He had recently spent the millions of ammunition he built up while at the academy, which was why he and the girls weren't running around killing everything in sight. He had run out of bullets and would need to delay their hunting until they had enough.
This meant more spending on scrap metal, delaying projects the golems could be working on, and putting time and energy into escorting this tub of lard through dungeons. Frankly, it was an insult to his effort, time, and ability.
"I'm sure you can afford the loss," the Baron said, pushing his luck.
"I would have to give up my own lifespan in exchange. You truly believe you're worth that much?"
"No, but my daughter is."
"No, she isn't. Frankly, I'm done with this discussion. Your greed has gone beyond reason, so I will have to formally reject this negotiation."
The Baron narrowed his eyes. There was clearly an unknown cost to being able to wipe out an army single-handedly. Still, he wouldn't give up easily. This was just a greeting. He would pull back, remain stoic, and continue negotiations another time. Perhaps he should appeal to the wife rather than the husband.
"Very well. I shall take my leave. If you want to continue this discussion, you know my price. Good day, Duke."
The Duke waved his hand dismissively, allowing the Baron to leave.
The Baron stepped out of the meeting room and called to the maid waiting outside, "Fetch my daughter. It's time we leave."
"I apologize, My Lord. But Lady Seraphina took her out of the castle upon their meeting."
"What? Where did they go? Where is she?" he asked in a panic.
"I was told they went to a dungeon."
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