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Translator: penny
Chapter: 4
Chapter Title: Blue Powder Monopoly
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"The residue left after refining. I'll take all the Blue Powder."
"Eh...? What do you mean?"
Abigail blinked in disbelief, doubting her own ears.
Blue Powder.
It was the toxic byproduct left over after extracting Mana Crystals from Blue Waste Ore.
Trash that cost a pretty penny to dispose of because of its potency.
"Th-the powder? But it's so toxic that even the Magic Tower struggles to dispose of it properly. We can't even bury it in the ground..."
"Exactly."
Eric nodded with a kind, good-natured smile.
"It's troublesome trash that's a pain to get rid of. From the Magic Tower's perspective, wouldn't it be great if I took it off your hands and saved you the disposal costs?"
"In exchange, I get exclusive rights to collect it. Not a single grain goes anywhere else."
Abigail's eyes shook violently.
Her brilliant mind rapidly analyzed Eric's proposal.
'He's taking a massive loss, handing over Blue Waste Ore dirt cheap just to help a lowly researcher like me.'
'And now he's even offering to handle the most headache-inducing toxic waste himself...?'
'This man... is he a savior?'
Abigail clamped her trembling hands over her mouth.
Eric Theodore, the lazy young lord shrouded in nothing but bad rumors.
But rumors were just skin-deep.
In truth, he was a wingless angel who quietly helped the weak and performed acts of kindness in secret.
'How could I have misunderstood someone like this...? I'm the real trash.'
Overwhelmed with emotion,
Abigail looked up at Eric with teary eyes.
Not that Eric cared one bit. His inner thoughts were the polar opposite.
'Heh heh heh. She's totally hooked.'
Blue Powder.
Right now, it was treated like toxic trash that people paid to haul away. But exactly one year from now,
ironically, Abigail herself would develop a new magical formula that would transform Blue Powder into
the core ingredient of mana bombs, reborn in spectacular fashion.
With power hundreds of times greater than conventional gunpowder bombs.
A strategic weapon that could upend the tides of war in an instant.
By then, the price of that powder would skyrocket dozens of times higher than refined Mana Crystals.
And he was securing it for free right now—complete with grateful thanks.
What could be a more perfect scam...
Or rather, a more perfect business deal?
"So, what do you say? Deal?"
Eric held back his bursting laughter
and asked in a solemn tone.
Urged by Eric, Abigail shot up from her seat.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"Young Lord, I'll never forget your grace as long as I live!"
She bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Yeah, yeah. Just sign the damn thing already."
"From now on, every scrap of byproduct from the Magic Tower goes straight to you, Young Lord—not a single grain left behind!"
Scritch. Scritch.
The quill danced across the contract,
its scratches ringing out more cheerfully than ever.
Eric pocketed the contract before the ink even dried,
swallowing a triumphant smile.
'Nice. Bomb materials on infinite refill for life.'
He'd snagged the continent's top powder keg without spending a single coin.
Oblivious to it all,
Abigail stood there with red-rimmed eyes, lost in.
In her eyes, Eric was a glowing savior incarnate.
And so, an irreversible curtain of misunderstanding rose between the two.
'My sugar daddy...!'
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
After seeing Abigail off, Eric toured the factory interior with Alfred.
Sweltering heat.
The moment they stepped through the entrance, a suffocating wave of heat slammed into them.
Nonstop machine clamor.
Acrid chemical fumes.
And laborers drenched in sweat.
The sudden order surge had left dark circles under their eyes, their fingertips trembling precariously.
Crash!
The accident he'd feared happened.
One exhausted worker stumbled, dropping an expensive vial of reagents.
"Aigoo! S-sorry! I've committed a mortal sin!"
The worker paled and flattened himself amid the shattered glass.
"P-please, spare my life!"
For a typical noble, this would warrant a whipping on the spot—no arguments.
The refinery foreman charged over with a grim face,
club in hand.
"You idiot! How dare you pull this in front of important guests!"
The moment the foreman raised the club over the worker's head,
"Stop."
Eric waved him off lazily.
"Young Master! We're terribly sorry. This fool dropped expensive reagents..."
"Shut it and back off."
Eric stared down at the scattered glass shards on the floor,
then let out a massive yawn that split his face.
"Yawn... How long have you been at this?"
"Pardon? Sixteen hours straight, sir..."
"You're insane."
Eric shook his head in disgust.
Sixteen hours.
It suddenly reminded him of his past life—dying at his desk after transfusing coffee during endless overtime.
'Damn it...'
Lost in thought for a moment, Eric pulled out a calculator.
'No wonder defects are piling up in this state. Reagent losses probably exceed labor costs. Worst cost-performance ever.'
Efficiency: zero.
People aren't machines.
You have to oil them up, cool them down, and let them rest to squeeze out peak performance.
Eric immediately turned to Alfred.
"Alfred. Take notes."
"Yes, Young Master."
"Full overhaul of the work schedule for all staff, starting today."
"How so, sir?"
"Three-shift system. Cap work at exactly eight hours per person per day."
"Yes... Pardon?"
Alfred's pen froze midair.
"Eight hours? But Young Master, laborers are supposed to work from sunrise to sunset..."
"Don't argue. And double overtime pay for anything past eight.
Meals: ditch the grass slop. Meat sides for all three daily."
Silence.
A hush fell over the refinery, as if every machine had ground to a halt.
The workers doubted their ears.
Eight-hour shifts? Double overtime? Meat with every meal?
They'd never even dreamed of such treatment.
"Y-Young Lord... are you serious?"
The prone worker asked in a quavering voice.
Eric scowled irritably.
"Yeah. You drowsy idiots breaking reagents and churning out defects costs me more. Just sleep it off and come back sharp. Got it?"
A brutally capitalist directive from his past-life overworked salaryman days,
purely calculated to cut defects and boost productivity.
"Sob... Hic...!"
"Young Lord...!"
But the workers interpreted it entirely differently.
Thick tears began plopping from their hollow eyes.
The one noble who treated them like humans instead of expendable livestock.
A merciful master who offered rest and meat over punishment for mistakes.
"Long live Eric, Young Lord! Long live House Theodore!"
"Loyalty forever! I'll give my life!"
"I'll work till my bones shatter!"
The factory turned into a sea of in an instant,
but
'My eardrums... Just work well without the life pledges.'
Eric plugged his ears in revulsion.
Even Alfred dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, moved to tears.
'Young Master acts cold about efficiency and money, but his heart is so warm. This is true noblesse oblige—caring for those beneath him first!'
But Eric just shook his head at the scene,
cringing.
'I just told them to rest up... Why's everyone bawling? So noisy.'
Unable to bear the cheers piercing his eardrums any longer,
Eric clamped his hands over his ears and bolted.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Refinery rooftop railing.
A cool night breeze blew, but the factory below still thrummed with heat.
Vrrr.
Endless mechanical vibrations.
To Eric's ears, it sounded like sweet music—money duplicating itself.
Eric leaned crookedly against the railing, gazing down at the darkened city.
In the distance, the Theodore estate faintly came into view.
A long line of torch-bearing carriages stretched before its main gate.
"Sebastian."
Eric murmured lowly.
"It's Alfred, Young Master. Sebastian's the butler next door at the count's."
"Oh... Sorry, mixed up. Anyway."
Eric's gaze fixed on the carriage procession at the estate.
"Second brother's off, then?"
"Not yet. Word just came—he's finished packing and boarding now."
'Second bro. Nermang...'
The guy who bribed investigators to throw Eric in jail and snickered behind his back.
The ill-fated side character who lost the heir race and got shipped to the Northern Frontline—the very place he'd mocked.
'Hmm...'
Eric's lips curved subtly upward.
'Too stingy to just let him go.'
Eric was a man with a very... extremely long grudge.
Plus, the guy's pockets still had plenty to pluck.
"Let's go."
"Pardon? To the estate?"
"Nah. Gotta see my dear brother off properly."
"See him off...? You two were never close, why bother..."
"Family's for helping in tough times, right?
Make his trip less lonely—lighten his wallet... er, heart a bit."
"Did you just say wallet...?"
"Your imagination."
His steps light as a feather at the thought of one last gift for his departing brother,
Eric said,
"Get the carriage ready. Let's hurry."