The door had barely closed behind Kel when he paused.
His footsteps slowed in the corridor, breath condensing faintly in the cold air. His eyes narrowed—something unfinished.
He turned back.
Walked the same measured steps.
Opened the door.
Count Vanhart and Viscount Malloren, still standing in quiet contemplation, looked up as Kel reentered—not surprised, merely attentive.
Kel stepped forward, coat trailing softly behind him. He did not sit.
His gaze fixed directly on the Count.
"Count," he said calmly, "how do you intend to market this?"
The Count blinked.
"Marketing?" he repeated, voice low. "In the traditional way. We inform the guilds, provide samples—"
"Traditional," Kel cut in quietly, "is what brought the territory here."
Vanhart fell silent.
Kel's eyes did not waver.
"Where will you bring the capital from to scale production?"
Vanhart did not answer immediately.
His jaw tightened.
Malloren shifted slightly.
Kel waited.
When neither spoke, he continued.
"Exactly," he said with quiet finality. "You do not have the capital."
Vanhart's eyes lowered a fraction.
Kel stepped closer.
"The moment we announce harlroot is active, other houses with more stable economics will try to undercut you. You have no backing to withstand that. You'll sell for low and lose potential."
Malloren frowned.
"Then what do you suggest?"
Kel glanced briefly toward the window—toward the fields awakening beneath frost.
He spoke slowly, clearly.
"We change the approach."
Kel's Proposal (part II)
He folded his hands behind his back.
"We don't sell cheap. We don't sell slow. We sell fast and strategically."
He began to outline the plan without hesitation.
"We announce immediately that Vanhart territory has resumed harlroot cultivation. Those who understand its value will come."
Malloren nodded.
Kel continued.
"But we add a condition: the first ten merchant houses that arrive and purchase more than fifty percent of the available stock will receive forty percent discount on every future harlroot purchase for one year."
Both men looked at him sharply.
Malloren hesitated.
"A year? That's—"
"Long enough to stabilize the land," Kel finished, "and short enough that they'll rush to get in early."
He walked to the desk.
Tapped a finger over the parchment.
"Tell them it's a territory revival investment privilege. They'll compete to be within the first ten."
He looked at Vanhart.
"And when merchants compete, they make noise. That will spread faster than royal courier dispatch."
Vanhart slowly nodded.
"But a forty percent discount is steep," Malloren said. "We'll lose profit—"
"No," Kel interrupted, "because those merchants will be signing an agreement."
He lifted his gaze.
"The agreement states that in exchange for a forty percent discount, they will provide thirty percent commission back to Vanhart from every external sale using our harlroot. Written as processing fee."
Malloren's breath caught.
"So… they sell cheap, but we earn on their success."
Kel inclined his head.
"And when market demand spikes because harlroot proves twenty percent more effective than standard winter stock, those merchants will raise selling price. Which increases commission margin further."
Vanhart's fingers tightened slightly over the edge of the desk.
Kel continued, unbroken.
"Additionally—we will request advance capital from those first ten merchants. Call it 'Revival Loan Contribution.' In return, their discount covers repayment. They receive long-term purchase benefit. We receive immediate funding."
He turned slightly toward Vanhart.
"With that funding, you open secondary ventures—grain, lumber reclamation, small-scale silver ore refining. Diversify recovery."
Malloren stared.
"…In short," he said slowly, "we ask them to finance the rebirth of this land."
Kel met his gaze.
"Not ask."
His eyes sharpened.
"We give them the privilege to do so—before someone else does."
Silence followed.
Deep.
Not stunned.
Contemplative.
Kel stepped back.
"That is the plan."
He turned toward the door.
"Execution begins tomorrow morning."
After He Left
He reached for the handle.
Paused.
Without turning, he spoke softly.
"One more thing."
The two men looked up.
Kel said simply:
"Do not appear desperate. You are not selling survival. You are trading opportunity."
Then—
he opened the door and walked out, leaving silence to settle in his wake.
Count Vanhart remained motionless for a long moment.
Malloren slowly exhaled.
Finally, Vanhart turned to him.
"He speaks," he murmured, "as though he's been here decades."
Malloren replied softly.
"No. He speaks like someone who has watched this land fall and rise… more than once."
Vanhart's eyes lowered.
"…and now refuses to watch it fall again."
They stood by the window.
Outside, wind pulled softly against newborn stalks of harlroot—bending them gently.
Not breaking them.
Malloren's voice came quiet.
"Do you think he will succeed?"
Vanhart watched the sky.
"I think," he said quietly, "winter will have no choice but to yield."