I Flooded the Romance Fantasy with Dopamine – Chapter 4

Mikhail (2)

***

Six days later.

Dozens of able-bodied men were gathered in the courtyard of the grand duke’s residence.

The air inside the hall was heavy and cold.

The terror of ‘death’ was clearly etched on their faces.

Only one person, Anton, had a slightly different expression from the others.

It seemed his attitude was getting on the others’ nerves.

Especially in the eyes of Vasily, who lived in a village near his.

Vasily, who had a bushy beard and a large build that gave him a fierce impression, approached Anton and snapped at him.

“Hey, Anton! What’s with you being so carefree? When you think about it, isn’t this all your fault!”

As Vasily’s voice grew louder, all the surrounding gazes turned toward them.

Anton bit his lip for a moment, then shook his head firmly.

“There’s no need to worry.”

“Bullshit!”

“…That man.”

Anton recalled the memory from six days ago.

The face of the strange grand duke, who had smiled brightly at him.

“He wasn’t angry.”

“What?”

“Rather… like a child who had discovered a very interesting toy… he looked delighted.”

At Anton’s words, the hall was momentarily enveloped in silence.

He looked delighted?

The good-for-nothing who was said to have beaten a noble lady in the capital and even pissed on her?

If anything, that was an even more terrifying story.

“Crazy! Aren’t we all completely fucked? Take responsibility! Anton, you son of a bitch! I said take responsibility!”

Vasily screamed.

It was at that very moment.

Kkiiik—

The massive door at the front of the hall opened with a heavy sound.

And a servant entered, shouting in a booming voice.

“Everyone, attention! His Highness the Grand Duke, His Highness Mikhail, is entering!”

The moment that voice echoed through the hall.

Ururu!

All the brewers, who had been murmuring just a moment before, moved in perfect unison as if by prior agreement.

They knelt on the cold marble floor with their rough knees.

And bowing their heads deeply, they shouted in one voice.

“Long live the eternal Empire! Long live His Majesty the benevolent Father! We, the humble commoners, have an audience with the noble His Highness the Prince!”

Kkiik—

Along with the sound of the heavy door opening, Mikhail stepped into the hall.

At the end of his languid steps, he sat on the needlessly ornate chair placed in the center and spoke in a voice that sounded like a sigh, a voice full of annoyance.

“Rise.”

No one moved.

It was unthinkable to rise in the presence of royalty without permission.

“My neck hurts. From looking down at you kneeling bastards.”

Mikhail slowly looked over the brewers who had risen to their feet, one by one.

Each time his gaze landed on them, the men would flinch and shrink their shoulders.

“The alcohol you all make, I’ve tasted all of it.”

His voice was quiet, but it echoed clearly to every corner of the large hall.

“To be honest, it’s garbage.”

A silence as if ice water had been thrown over them.

A few of them unknowingly swallowed dryly.

“However.”

The corners of Mikhail’s mouth rose faintly.

“I do understand.”

At that one phrase, the frozen air trembled slightly.

A few of them cautiously raised their heads with puzzled eyes, only to quickly lower them again.

“You make it to preserve it, not to savor its taste, don’t you? There would have been no reason to make good alcohol with good ingredients. Since it wouldn’t sell anyway.”

At his words, which seemed to see right through them, a look of bewilderment crossed the brewers’ faces.

Anton unknowingly clenched his fists.

This Grand Duke, he really knew everything.

“And I also know that to improve it, you need a market.”

Mikhail paused for a moment, observing their reactions with a satisfied expression.

“So I’m thinking of starting a business. You all just have to come under my company.”

“……!”

Eyes filled with doubt, disbelief, and wariness.

They didn’t dare to open their mouths, but their eyes were saying ‘crazy bastard.’

“Of course, you probably don’t trust my words.”

Mikhail let out a small laugh.

“You’re probably thinking, ‘what kind of nonsense is that good-for-nothing bastard spouting now.’ It’s obvious without even looking.”

At his blatant self-deprecation, the brewers fell into even greater confusion.

Why would that noble person refer to himself in such a way?

“But there is something I have that you all don’t.”

He tapped his chest with his finger.

“My name. The name of the royal, Mikhail, and my seal. And my honor.”

When he said the word ‘honor,’ a smile bordering on a sneer hung on his lips.

“What I’m saying is that I will put my name on this garbage-like alcohol and guarantee its quality.”

The hall was once again enveloped in silence.

But this time, the quality of the silence was different from the previous terror.

It was a pure chaos, the kind one feels when hearing something utterly incomprehensible.

“What do you think the nobles of the capital will think?”

Mikhail said, spreading his arms like a stage actor.

“The alcohol made by that irredeemable drunkard, Grand Duke Mikhail, with his name on it. Wouldn’t they buy it and drink it out of sheer curiosity? In fact, since a guy like me is guaranteeing it, it would be even more trustworthy.”

Vasily’s jaw dropped.

What appeared on his fierce face was utter astonishment.

It was nonsense, but strangely, it was persuasive.

“Of course, I’m not telling you to do this for nothing.”

Mikhail paused for effect, then threw out the decisive line.

“I’m going to cut some taxes. I’ll help you with the cost of building new stills or warehouses.”

At that moment, the atmosphere in the hall completely changed.

Money.

Taxes.

Those words were like magic.

In their dying eyes, a faint glimmer of life began to stir.

Mikhail did not miss that change.

He smiled with satisfaction and drove the final nail in.

“Of course, the choice is yours. I’m a generous person, after all. If you don’t want to come under me, you’re free to continue doing things on your own.”

His voice was endlessly gentle.

But the thorns hidden within that gentleness were incredibly sharp.

“Ah, but by the way.”

Mikhail snapped his fingers as if he had just remembered something.

“From now on in this territory, I plan on issuing brewing licenses only to ‘my company’.”

It grew cold.

The air in the hall instantly dropped below freezing.

A brewing license.

One wouldn’t die without it.

The profits were low anyway.

But, it was certain that they would live a life worse than their current one.

Vasily clenched his fists so tightly without realizing it that he couldn’t even feel his fingernails digging into his palm.

Mikhail looked around at their pale, stricken faces and continued speaking as if he were thoroughly enjoying himself.

“As you know, the soldiers in this Far East Maritime Province don’t have much to do. If I order them to crack down on illegal moonshining, wouldn’t they work with great pleasure?”

It was a threat.

But no matter how blatant the threat was, they couldn’t dare say anything.

Because he was royalty.

Mikhail crossed his arms and looked down at them with a satisfied expression.

“Now, shall I hear your answers?”

Mikhail leaned back on the throne and said with an expression as if he were suppressing a yawn.

“Anyone who opposes my proposal, how about you raise your hand.”

Only a suffocating silence flowed through the hall.

Dozens of men kept their heads bowed, not moving a muscle.

Not a single person’s finger twitched.

The corner of Mikhail’s mouth twisted up.

‘Truly democratic. Just like that neighborhood to the north.’

A sound like air escaping, a small laugh, burst out.

He nodded his head as if satisfied.

“A unanimous vote. A very fine picture indeed.”

He stood up from his seat and brushed off his clothes as if there were dust on them.

It was an attitude that suggested all the bothersome work was now over.

“Good. Then I’ll consider the matter settled.”

“As for the detailed contract terms or support measures, my servant over there will explain them.”

Mikhail pointed with his chin at Boris, who was standing like a shadow in a corner of the hall.

“I’ll be on my way now. I have another appointment.”

He walked out of the hall with languid steps, without a single glance back.

Kkiiik—

The heavy door closed, and only the dazed brewers and Boris, with his stiffly frozen expression, were left in the hall.

***

The labor force to sweat on the front lines was secured through a very democratic process.

What was needed now was a competent agent to manage them and sell off the products.

Mikhail sank deep into his office chair and rummaged through the stack of documents on his desk.

It was the result of hounding his servants and a few low-ranking officials all night.

A list of all the merchant guilds currently using the port of this Far East Maritime Province.

‘The situation is quite….’

A hollow laugh escaped him with every page he turned.

The polarization was extreme.

Either they were massive merchant guilds that had a distribution network like a spiderweb across the entire empire, or they were small-scale merchants barely operating one or two ships.

It was easy to see just how hopeless this territory was.

His finger stopped on a name.

Valeriano Merchant Guild.

‘I’ve heard that somewhere before.’

It was a familiar name.

He scanned the summary written on the document.

The main products were timber, seafood, and grain from the Far East Maritime Province.

In this land, it was considered relatively large-scale, but in the context of the entire empire, it was at a mid-tier level, nothing more than a shark swimming precariously among whales.

The founder was Andrea Valeriano, from the Empire’s autonomous republic federation.

He had died a short while ago, and now his only daughter had inherited everything.

‘Laura Valeriano.’

The moment he saw that name, a fragment of a forgotten memory surfaced.

‘Ah.’

A character from [Blood, Lilies, and the Double-Headed Eagle].

The villainess who acted as the faithful limb of the 2nd Princess Anastasia, the star of high society and the queen of the empire’s underworld.

A genius merchant who valued credit more heavily than gold, yet in the end, was a woman who was cast aside after being used because of that very credit and made her exit by a miserable suicide.

‘But….’

If his memory was correct, Laura joining hands with Anastasia and becoming completely corrupt was something that happened after she took control of the merchant guild and advanced into the capital.

If so, then for now.

For now, she should just be a talented merchant who regarded credit as her life.

The phrase ‘rumors of internal conflict’ written at the end of the document supported that thought.

‘She’ll be useful.’

He smiled with satisfaction.

Young, competent, and desperate—there was no better candidate than this.

Ting—

Mikhail lightly shook the bell.

Soon after, the sound of bustling footsteps came from outside the door.

Bang!

The one who opened the door and entered was the maid, Anya, with her young face dotted with freckles.

She still showed clear signs of being afraid of Mikhail.

“D-Did you call for me, Your Highness!”

“Come here.”

Mikhail held out the crude business proposal he had roughly scribbled to her.

“Deliver this document to Laura Valeriano of the Valeriano Merchant Guild, along with my words.”

He tapped the glass bottle on the desk with his fingertip.

The alcohol inside the bottle sloshed.

“That I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse.”