One week later.
Patrick and his party finally reached their destination.
After a week-long carriage ride from the Schneider Barony, they arrived at a city surrounded by a massive outer wall.
This was the County of Parmas.
The ruling family was the most prestigious in the region, boasting a level of influence that ranked them among the top three powers in the eastern part of the Atronia Kingdom.
Naturally, their territory was vast and highly developed.
Dozens of merchant groups were stationed within the inner city alone. This was exactly where Patrick had come to sell his monster byproducts.
Upon their arrival...
"Young Master, we have arrived."
"Oh... we are? That was faster than I thought."
"Yes, well..."
"Tsk. The side income along the way was so good, I almost wanted to take the long way around."
At Patrick's words, Chandler shuddered.
He's a literal monster.
He had heard the rumors—that Patrick was a prodigy of the sword, a talent seen only once in a millennium. He had heard them, but like most such tales, he assumed they were exaggerations born of high expectations for a young noble.
However, the past week had been more than enough to change the perception of Chandler and the other workers.
Who knew you could beat a Troll to death with your bare fists?
If it's the Young Master, he might actually be able to take down an Ogre.
They had been attacked by monsters three times over the past week. It started with three Trolls, followed by a pack of dozens of wolves, and finally, an ambush by a horde of Goblins.
Each time, Patrick displayed a godlike martial prowess, systematically wiping them out. His performance against the Goblins at the end was particularly terrifying.
[You worthless runts! How dare you!]
To Patrick, a monster that didn't drop valuable loot had no right to exist.
He swung his twin swords without pause, hacking them into pieces. Watching from the sidelines, Chandler and the workers realized for the first time in their lives that even Goblins could be objects of pity.
In any case, they had come to a profound realization regarding Patrick's skill and personality. No one in the group looked at the young boy lounging lazily atop the freight cart as a mere ten-year-old anymore.
Don't mess with him.
Cross him and you're dead.
Stay sharp.
The men marched forward with the rigid discipline of fresh recruits.
"Halt! State your identity and purpose of visit!"
A soldier guarding the gate, armed with full plate armor and a halberd, met Patrick's group.
Patrick glanced at the soldier from atop the cart and thought to himself:
Daaaamn... You can tell a place has money just by the guards' gear. Look at how that weapon shines.
Patrick gauged the wealth of the area just by looking at the state of the soldiers' equipment. As the cart came to a stop, one of the attendants stepped forward.
"I am Chandler, an apprentice butler of the Schneider estate."
Chandler intentionally used the title of apprentice butler to ensure they weren't looked down upon. He was signaling to the soldiers that they had a noble backing them, preventing any unnecessary hazing.
"And your purpose for visiting?"
But what could he do? To soldiers employed by a Count, an apprentice butler from a mere Barony carried no weight at all.
Faced with the soldier's cold, businesslike tone, Chandler gave a soft smile.
"We have come to engage in commerce under the orders of our Lord."
"Hmm. Are you the one in charge of this caravan?"
"No, I am not. Our Young Master has accompanied us."
But please, don't provoke him if you can help it. He bites.
Chandler couldn't bring himself to say those words. It wasn't just him; the entire party wore ominous expressions. They had already learned the hard way about Patrick's temperament. There was no guarantee that a disaster wouldn't strike if this nameless soldier tried to conduct a strict, overbearing inspection of Patrick.
Don't touch him. Just let us through.
Please, I'm saying this for your own sake.
Despite the party's desperate silent prayers, the soldier was unnecessarily diligent.
"In that case, I must verify the face of the person in charge. Would you step forward for a moment?"
Whyyyyy?
Just let it go.
You stickler-for-the-rules bastard.
Now the soldier would ask prying questions, Patrick would get annoyed and act out, and then...
"O-oh no..."
"W-wait a second..."
Just as the workers were about to rush forward to intervene.
"Wow! Mister, your armor is so cool!"
A bright, innocent voice rang out from somewhere.
The moment they identified the source of that voice, the jaws of Chandler and the workers dropped in unison. What they saw was a sight truly hard to believe.
"Are you a knight, Mister? Your armor is amazing."
"Ha... Hahaha. No, I'm just a territorial guard."
"Whoa. But you're this strong? Your arms are so thick! You're tall, and your beard is cool, too."
"Hahahahaha..."
A boy with sparkling, starry eyes looked up at the soldier in pure admiration, and the soldier scratched his head sheepishly at the praise.
Yes. Well... how should one put it?
It was a heartwarming sight. The kind of scene that should naturally bring a fond smile to one's lips.
Wow. That's cold.
This is actually too much.
So that's what "fake" looks like.
The workers, who knew Patrick's true nature, were all speechless.
Regardless, Patrick was melting the stiff soldier with his quintessential childhood innocence.
"My daddy told me to come here and sell some things."
"Ah, I see."
"Can we go in?"
When Patrick tilted his head and asked, the soldier replied with a fatherly smile.
"Yes. Of course. Please, head inside."
"Yay! Thank you, Mr. Soldier!"
And so, Patrick charmed the strict guard, and the party was able to enter.
As they passed through the outer wall smoothly, Patrick smirked to himself.
It doesn't cost a dime to play pretend.
He thought that, aside from not being able to drink alcohol, the life of a child wasn't so bad.
Once inside the city, Chandler spoke to Patrick.
"Young Master, I heard you intend to open trade with a new merchant group this time."
"That's right."
"Do you have a specific group in mind?"
"Nope, not really."
When Patrick answered so confidently that he had no plan, Chandler looked bewildered. Patrick simply shrugged.
"What do I know? I'm only ten, after all."
"..."
He's only ten when it's convenient for him.
However, this put Chandler in a difficult spot.
"Young Master, if you don't have a merchant group in mind, it will take a long time to sell the goods. Showing the items to various groups and negotiating prices could take months at the very least."
"Well, I suppose so."
"Are you saying you're fine with it taking that long?"
"Of course not. I'm busy as hell; I can't just sit around whiling away the time."
Then what? What are you planning?
Chandler wore a grumpy expression, and Patrick let out a short laugh.
"First, where is the place in this city where merchants gather the most?"
"That would be the entrance to the city market."
"Right. Then let's drive the carts there."
"Surely you aren't planning to just set up shop and sell things there? Young Master, you'll be fined for conducting business within the city walls without a permit. In severe cases, you could even face criminal punishment."
"I know that much."
Patrick smiled at Chandler.
"Let's just go. I have a plan."
Chandler had no idea what Patrick was thinking, but for now, he had to do as he was told. Patrick was the one in charge of this mission, after all.
"Ooh, the scale is quite impressive."
Patrick marveled at the market located within the inner city of Parmas.
Food, clothing, daily necessities, and various miscellaneous goods... Truly, they had everything.
An abundance of goods means there's plenty of money. I was right to come here.
To make money, one had to go where money moved. And once you arrived at a place with lots of money, the thing to do was...
Stand out.
Patrick subtly pulled a small pebble from his hand and, without anyone noticing, flicked it with his thumbnail. Then...
CRACK!
"Huh? Wha—!?"
"Whoa! Steady!"
The workers driving the freight cart panicked. Suddenly, the axle of one of the carts snapped, and the vehicle tipped over.
Since it was heavily loaded, the moment the cart fell, the carefully wrapped monster byproducts spilled out.
Troll hides, Owlbear pelts... and even the most expensive item, a full-body Saber Tiger skin, were revealed to the public. Then...
"Hey! What do you think you're doing? Can't you do anything right?"
Patrick roared, venting his fury.
Chandler stammered in panic.
"I-I'm sorry, Young Master! The wheel axle suddenly snapped."
"What? Why would a perfectly good axle just snap?"
"I... I'm not sure myself..."
"Dammit! We have to carry these all the way to the Capital! What are we going to do if the cart is already broken?"
"Yes. That... wait, what?"
For a moment, Chandler was confused. The Capital? He hadn't heard anything about that. Wasn't their goal to dispose of all the monster byproducts here in the County of Parmas?
Ignoring the bewildered Chandler, Patrick frowned and shouted.
"Dammit! Of all things, the cart carrying the most expensive full-body Saber Tiger skin had to flip over! How are you going to fix this?"
"Yes. Well, that is..."
"This was a special order! Where am I going to find another Saber Tiger skin without a single scratch on it? You couldn't find one even if you threw money at people!"
"Uh... yes. Uh... right. Yes."
Somehow, Chandler felt a sense of dissonance in Patrick's words. He seemed angry, but the content of his anger was... how should he put it? It was like...
A product advertisement?
In front of the dazed Chandler, Patrick continued to scowl, scratching his head aggressively.
"Dammit! What if a hole got poked in it?"
"It's... it's a sturdy hide, so that shouldn't happen."
"Pick it up and fix it, quickly! And what's the state of the cart?"
"The axle is completely snapped."
"Then we can't use this. We'll have to get a new cart."
"Yes. I'll try to find one as quickly as possible."
"And what if we just buy any old cart and it flips over again?"
"Well, that's..."
"It can't be helped. We have some leeway in our schedule, so take your time and find a sturdy, high-quality cart. Got it?"
"Yes. Yes, I understand, Young Master."
"Tsk, looks like we'll have to stay in this city for a while. It's a pain to be held up like this."
"..."
Patrick tossed a coin pouch to Chandler.
"Find an inn where the group can stay. Got it?"
"Yes. Understood, Young Master."
And so, Patrick and his party ended up staying at an inn within the inner city of the County of Parmas.
Just as originally planned.
After they settled into the inn, Chandler asked.
"Did you do that on purpose?"
"Pretty much."
"Was it also you who broke the cart, Young Master?"
"Pretty much."
"Don't tell me... your plan was to spread rumors that we have rare goods by showing them off in a crowded place, so that merchants would come to us on their own?"
"Pretty much."
Watching Patrick yawn and answer indifferently while lying on the bed, Chandler shook his head in disbelief.