I Got Isekai’d, Well Shyt!

Baron Eamon leaned forward, his piercing gaze fixed on Rya across the polished oak table. "Could I take a look at the figures?" he inquired, his voice steady and clear. "I prefer to understand how the numbers will impact our interests."

Rya’s lips curled into a knowing smile as she gracefully handed the document to Lord Gawain, who was standing behind her. He accepted it, then made his way toward Nathaniel, eager to have the calculations verified before the meeting proceeded further.

The Earl grasped the parchment tightly, his brow knitting in concentration as he delved into the intricate figures sprawled before him. Despite the bright light streaming through the skylights, he leaned closer, a flickering candle by his side guiding his older eyes through the maze of numbers. The soft glow danced around him, casting gentle shadows that highlighted the lines of his face, revealing the intensity of his scrutiny.

"You’re welcome to correct any errors if I miscalculated, Lord Nathaniel," Rya said, her voice calm and encouraging as she observed the Earl’s examination with an attentive eye.

Engrossed in the task at hand, Nathaniel didn’t notice her focused gaze. His attention was solely on the numbers, which danced across the page in a complex ballet of trade implications. He had to concede that the Dark Elf’s diligence shone through in her calculations; every figure was precisely aligned, reflecting the intricate dynamics of the proposed trade deal.

After a brief pause, a subtle smile graced the Earl's lips, hinting at an unexpected intrigue. 

'She was very accurate... Hmmm... It seems that this Dark Elf is not merely a power-hungry woman... No, she possesses an intellect that is quite rare. She could prove to be an invaluable asset to the Kingdom... I only hope that the Meredydd line does not wither away with Quinus,' Nathaniel pondered, his thoughts swirling with the weight of his responsibilities.

Gently, Nathaniel placed the meticulously written paper on the table, sliding it purposefully toward Lord Johan. The young lord caught the page deftly, his brows furrowing as he scanned the contents.

"Does 3.5% work for your domain, Young Lord Johan?" Nathaniel inquired, his voice steady yet carrying an undercurrent of anticipation.

Johan read the document meticulously, nodding slowly as he recognized the fairness of the offer. He felt a swell of confidence; his father would undoubtedly endorse this trade deal.

"Yes. My father would certainly agree to this arrangement, provided the other Lords consent to the tax rate; then we would gladly accept the terms," he replied, sliding the page to his right so that Baron Thaddeus might examine it.

Thaddeus's eyes darted over the text quickly. At first, his expression was a frown, the weight of the numbers weighing heavily on him. Yet, as he delved deeper into the figures, surprise sparked in his gaze, causing his brows to arch upward in astonishment. With a cautious look, he raised his head to meet Nathaniel's steady glare, only to be cut off by the Earl's firm voice.

"3.5% Thaddeus..." the Earl stated, his tone unwavering and authoritative.

Thaddeus seated opposite him, felt the weight of the numbers pressing down on him, a hint of defeat flickering in his eyes. "But why won't you consider a 5% tax rate like the other Lords in the north?" he implored his tone a mixture of desperation and hope.

"Because I lack confidence in your ability to transport my goods to the Kartoll Kingdom," Nathaniel replied, his gaze steady and unwavering. His words hung in the air, thick with the implications of trust and reliability, as he continued, "This will be the first time I utilize your cities for this purpose."

Thaddeus glanced at the document again with a pained expression. He really could use the income, but he wasn't sure if he could handle the influx of goods coming into his cities. Rya saw the look, and she knew what could help Thaddeus agree to the terms.

"Lord Thaddeus," she interjected, her voice calm yet persuasive, "If this partnership flourishes and your cities prove capable of housing and distributing the Earl's goods, then it is highly likely that he will consider increasing the volume he sends your way. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Nathaniel?" She turned her gaze to the Earl, seeking his confirmation.

A glimmer of amusement danced in Nathaniel’s eyes, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a subtle smile. "Why would I increase the quantity of goods I ship to Kartoll, Miss Rya?" he queried, an eyebrow arched, intrigued.

"Because you send it yourself. You actively try not to use William's ports," Rya elucidated, leaning forward slightly as her conviction swelled. "I'm betting that your surplus sold up North is starting to saturate the market, driving prices down due to overstock. You require a new outlet for your goods, and Thaddeus's border city presents a perfect opportunity to export what you truly wish to sell."

Her words hung in the air, filled with a palpable sense of possibility, as they all considered the future that lay before them.

Nathaniel nodded his head slightly while having a slight glint in his eye.

"Indeed, Lady Rya, you're perceptive," he replied, his tone a blend of admiration and caution. "The Kingdom of Marn to the North is the only one still purchasing my goods at market value. However, they’ve set a cap on their orders, clearly frustrated by how much of their gold flows into our coffers. Their discontent is understandable, especially considering their crops have struggled under the harsh, dry conditions plaguing their lands. This has only escalated the tension between our two kingdoms. But you are correct about the surplus—I must find more avenues to move it."

Rya’s brow furrowed as she posed her next question, a dangerous glint in her eye. "If Lord Thaddeus can demonstrate that his domain can transport your goods with minimal losses, how much would you be prepared to dispatch his way?"

Both Thaddeus and Johan leaned closer, curiosity etched across their faces as they awaited Nathaniel’s response.

"Hmmm... That's quite a complex question, Lady Rya," Nathaniel mused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "If we encounter no issues for half a year... then I could consider increasing the output by no more than 100%. But that is the utmost I could promise."

Thaddeus, caught off guard, felt his elbow slip from the table’s edge and barely managed to halt himself from crashing his face into the polished wood. A look of astonishment washed over him. "Y-you mean double?!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement and disbelief.

"Yes, if you can handle the volume, then I will double the amount to 240 million bushels of wheat and 10 million bushels of cotton. And if I have no issues within five years of this agreement, then maybe I might reconsider negotiating the tax rate," Nathaniel answered.

Thaddeus was dumbfounded, and he didn't know what to think. If Nathaniel could actually follow through on that promise, then Thaddeus would gain a massive fortune. He could probably double the size of his city and have enough money left over to start construction on a new castle that was more spacious than the old one for himself and his family. But he felt a glare coming from Duval. The Prime Minister was fine with hurting William's income but he didn't want his allies to be so financially independent that he had to actually convince them to remain his allies.

Quinus noticed Duval's glare, and he decided to add the cherry on top to convince Thaddeus that he didn't want to miss out.

"Lord Thaddeus... If you agree to this deal, I promise to work on creating a canal. Think of it as a man-made river. We can use this canal to bypass the Kingdom of Kartoll and reach the Eastern coast directly. This will make it easier to move goods to the east, and you could get imports from the island nations and the kingdoms from the Wasser Continent. And the Earl would probably agree to a higher tax rate if no foreign kingdom is involved... Wouldn't you, Lord Nathaniel?" Quinus said as he glanced at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips as he considered the implications. "If I don't have to pay the higher taxes to use the Kartoll port cities... then I could certainly manage a 7% tax rate, Prince Quinus," he replied, his tone measured yet confident.

Thaddeus's eyes widened in disbelief, and his sharp intake of breath was almost palpable in the air. "That's over 193 million silver coins!?" he exclaimed, incredulity lacing his voice. That translates to nearly 193 thousand gold! That’s almost doubling my domain's profits!" The weight of the numbers hung heavy in the room, and the potential for wealth shimmered like a mirage before them.

Thaddeus felt a rush of ambition swell within him, his mind filled with visions of gold and opportunity. However, his reverie shattered like glass as Quinus's voice cut through the air.

"But it's a shame that I wouldn't be able to create your canal with how things are... Especially since I won't have the heart to undertake such a monumental project while my fiancée's fate remains so uncertain," Quinus remarked, casting a meaningful glance at Rya, who played up her anxious expression to get the maximum effect.

Baron Thaddeus felt a momentary void of expression, his features frozen in contemplation as he absorbed Quinus’s words. He glanced at Rya, Nathaniel, and the Crown Prince, assessing the unspoken tension in the air. Thoughts raced through his mind as he weighed his options, recalling the years he had spent in the shadows of Marquess Duval. The once-lofty dreams of wealth and power had slowly eroded into the stark reality that Duval's influence, though still felt in the corridors of power, was waning. No longer the formidable leader he had once been, Duval remained the Prime Minister yet lacked the military clout required to inspire confidence or change.

Thaddeus had hoped against hope that Duval would steer the kingdom toward a brighter future, but that promise seemed more like a distant dream. With a heavy heart, he realized that this was one of the most compelling trade offers he had encountered in years, a rare glimpse of opportunity amidst an unforgiving political landscape. He understood then that he could no longer afford to sit idle, passively waiting for a more favorable offer to present itself. The time had come for decisive action—this was his moment, and he couldn't let it slip away.

With a deep breath to steady himself, Baron Thaddeus glanced at the Prime Minister, whose expression oscillated between fury and frustration, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

"Prime Minister... I would like to recast my vote on the emergency session," Thaddeus declared, the gravity of his words slicing through the room. "I'm... I'm changing my vote to present."

The chamber erupted in a cacophony of stunned murmurs and gasps as if the very walls of power had trembled under the weight of his decision. Quinus beamed with triumph, his eyes sparkling with victory. He stole a glance at Duval, whose face darkened, the color draining from it as realization set in.

"Are you completely certain, Baron Thaddeus Windermere?" Duval said, his voice laced with an unsettling gravity. A deep frown etched across his forehead, casting shadows over his sharp features. "If I were in your position, I would ponder this decision long and hard, weighing every consequence with utmost care."

"I have considered it thoroughly, Prime Minister," Thaddeus replied, his tone steady. "I wasn't aware of Lady Rya's actions or her resolve to safeguard our future king and kingdom. If she truly harbors nefarious designs, then I will certainly reconsider my vote... But for now, my ignorance compels me to refrain from committing to either side. For the moment, I choose present."

Duval's frown turned into a scowl, and then he took a deep breath and calmed himself down.

"I understand... And I'm deeply disappointed in your... Un—willingness?... L-Lord Eamon?" he hesitated when he noticed the Baron coming over to Thaddeus. "What are you doing—"

"I'm merely intrigued by this document, Prime Minister," Eamon interjected smoothly, snatching the paper from Thaddeus’s grasp.

At first, Eamon’s expression conveyed boredom, but as his right brow arched and his left eye narrowed, he turned to face Thaddeus, who deliberately averted his gaze.

The atmosphere in the room was charged, thick with tension, as he begrudgingly found himself aligning with Thaddeus’s critical assessment of the precarious trade deal before them.

Baron Eamon set the crinkled parchment down with a deliberate motion, folding his arms tightly across his chest, a physical barrier against the mounting pressure he felt. He wrestled with the weight of his decision looming over him like a dark cloud; the thought of approving the deal gnawed at his conscience. More than anything, he grappled with his steadfast loyalty to Duval. Years ago, he had promised Duval a prestigious seat in the Ministry under the belief that they would ascend to power together. However, that aspiration had become a Sisyphean struggle. He had bent over backward, negotiating fervently to appease Duval. However, with a decade of William undermining his every move as the Trade Minister, the profits for Duval’s coalition dwindled to mere coppers. His attempts at safeguarding the Royal family and his own domain had left him feeling hollow and defeated.

Around him, the whispers of dissent echoed like ghosts in the shadows. The voices discreetly murmured about Earl Nathaniel, lamenting the unjust stripping of his position when Duval claimed control. Nathaniel had done nothing to merit such a fate other than refusing to support Duval’s ascent. In stark contrast to Eamon’s faltering leadership, Nathaniel had tirelessly improved the lives of his subjects, cementing his domain as one of the most powerful in the entire kingdom. Eamon had once believed he could surpass Nathaniel, but after two and a half decades immersed in a treacherous game of betrayal, insatiable greed, and the relentless quest for power, he now found himself ensnared in a predicament that seemed inescapable. He cared not to witness Nathaniel’s departure from the Kingdom, yet the looming threat posed by William ensnared him.

Viscount William Lysander, once a figure of respect, had become a harbinger of disgrace, racking up scandals that tainted his reputation in the eyes of the court and even the Sovereigns. His actions were increasingly audacious; he would dry dock entire fleets, depriving the ship owners and their weary crews of their hard-earned livelihoods. He would hire laborers only to abandon them without a wage, casting those who dared to resist into the dank, shadowy prisons. And when their voices rose in protest, he would summon the guards, wielding his authority like a weapon, arresting those who dared challenge his tyrannical rule. The grip of corruption tightened around the kingdom, and Eamon found himself at the center of this storm, torn between loyalty and the desperate need for reform.

The viscount was tarnishing the Fiafyr Kingdom's reputation with reckless abandon, and no amount of intervention from Eamon or Duval could rein him in. William, with his grip on the only territory offering direct access to the sea, seemed to operate under a different set of rules. Meanwhile, the other viable port territory was in the hands of Baron Alistair Dravenhart—an ally of Duke Alaric—leaving the kingdom caught in a web of political turmoil. The King, foreign dignitaries, the Merchant Guild, and rival Noble Houses were all ready to lash out, their patience wearing thin.

Then came William's latest fiasco: a catastrophic fire ravaged a warehouse filled with expensive equipment and a stockpile of food destined for one of Duval's foreign partners. The damage was devastating.

In the past five years, the situation had deteriorated so much that Duval had imposed a demand on all Southern territories: no taxes on his agricultural goods entering their borders. Eamon suspected that the Marquess was quietly amassing fortunes while Duke Alaric endured his punishment, yet now Eamon was left bewildered, watching Duval bleed funds despite being the third wealthiest nobleman in the realm. It felt as if the Prime Minister had donned the rags of a cash-starved peasant overnight. And here was this enticing deal proposed by the Dark Elf—one he felt he had no choice but to accept.

To refuse would mean surrendering to Duval and risking the very fate of the Fiafyr Kingdom, for which Eamon felt a deep responsibility to protect. This feeling was amplified by his sense of impending war looming on the horizon, and Duval's eagerness for a peace treaty with the Alliance only heightened Eamon’s unease. The Prime Minister appeared convinced that such an agreement would erase the Kingdom's troubles. Yet, Eamon’s trust in him was dwindling, particularly after witnessing Duval’s inability to maintain control during this emergency meeting against the very woman he aimed to expel from the kingdom.

With a heavy sigh, Baron Eamon Stirling sat in contemplation. He recognized that his next move could cost him his ministerial position, but the evidence was irrefutable: Duval was an ineffective leader, and the Kingdom could not afford to falter due to his failings—even if it meant stripping him of power. Eamon felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, knowing that the future of their realm hung in the balance.

The Prime Minister’s words lingered in the air, briefly halting Eamon's thoughts. Quinus seized the opportunity to steer the Baron away from the Marquess, knowing that one crucial fact weighed heavily on Eamon: his Domain was entirely dependent on the purple slag provided by the dwarves, which was essential for maintaining his farmers' crops and population. The rugged terrain of his lands struggled to yield as the earth proved a stubborn adversary. However, with the purple slag supplied by Baron Zellin Coldforge and the dwarves, he had managed to initiate farming in areas once deemed impossible for cultivation, transforming his barren fields. Quin suspected that Duval had withheld news about Galfrei Domain's near demise at the hands of the Black Roses from Eamon

And if news of Rya, the revered Saintess, and Savior of Ironside, were to be cast out of the Kingdom, the Galfrei Domain could very well decide to forge its own path as an independent state. The easy flow of fertilizer that had fortified his soil would dry up, leaving Eamon’s domain even more vulnerable and dependent on the unreliable hands of Duval or Alaric.

Quinus, with a glint of cunning in his eyes, recognized that this was his moment. He needed to exploit Eamon's growing mistrust of Duval. As he observed the storm of conflicting emotions roiling in the Baron’s expression, he knew that this was the perfect opportunity to turn Eamon against his Prime Minister, setting into motion a chain of events that could alter the fate of their Kingdom forever.

“Baron Eamon,” he began, his voice smooth and calculated, “have you been made aware of the situation that unfolded in Ironside over a month ago? I know that Baron Zellin submitted a report to parliament, yet it seems there has been no response from our esteemed Prime Minister.” Quinus watched closely, probing the atmosphere for any signs that his instinct was correct.

Eamon, Thaddeus, and Nathaniel exchanged puzzled glances, their brows furrowed in confusion, while Alaric’s expression hardened as he turned to Duval, whose face had drained of color, appearing almost ghostly. The sight was bittersweet for the Duke; he relished every opportunity to witness the Prime Minister's downfalls, yet it vexed him that this particular failure was orchestrated by his nephew and that woman he regarded as little more than a whore. A tumult of thoughts surged through the Duke’s mind, but he struggled to conjure a scheme to thwart his nephew and his harlot, finding himself frustratingly empty of viable options. 

Meanwhile, William's mind raced at breakneck speed as he grappled with the impending loss of his most significant source of income, each thought colliding chaotically with the next. In stark contrast, Count Sebastian maintained his stoic demeanor, the hint of disappointment shadowing his gaze as he observed Duval. His heart was heavy at seeing his friend so uncharacteristically panicked. 

Terenthiel and the other members of the Divine Three, however, seemed entirely unconcerned with the turmoil unfolding around them. Instead, they directed their collective ire towards Rya, their intense glares as potent as daggers, and they all looked like they were trying to make the Dark Elf’s head explode, but it never happened. Rya simply smiled at them.

Eamon’s voice broke through the unease. “No, my liege, I haven’t heard of this... Is there something I should be aware of?” His calm façade wavered, revealing a flicker of concern.

Quinus feigned disappointment, relishing the moment. “Well, that’s rather unfortunate. You see, the Mercenary Group hired by the Duke and my cousin attempted to seize control of Ironside for themselves. That’s one of the reasons for my extended absence from the capital…”

The room erupted in murmurs and whispers, all eyes snapping to Duval, who could feel the tension coiling around him like a suffocating vine. “Is this true?” Eamon pressed, his patience thinning. “I didn’t receive this report or any form of communication from Ironside.”

“I didn’t send a report because the issue was dealt w—” Duval began, but his words stumbled, his mind racing to conjure a convincing retort. The stakes had never felt higher, and Eamon wasn't taking it anymore.

"You didn’t think the near capture of Ironside warranted a report?! Or the involvement of the army?!?" Eamon’s voice rose, frustration boiling over as he locked eyes with the Prime Minister.

Duval shrugged, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation. “It wasn’t as if a war was on the verge of breaking out. Just a small band of rogue mercenaries—we handled it with ease.” Yet, deep down, he felt a twinge of disappointment when Zellin reported that they survived thanks to Rya and Quinus. If things turned to the worst then it would have helped the peace treaty with the Divine Three by no longer having dwarves as a part of Fiafyr.

A collective scoff echoed from Quin and Rya’s group, disbelief evident in their expressions.

"Ten thousand of the Black Roses? Are you an idiot?" Sir George balked at the Marquess's statement.

"The Black Roses!? The Duke hired that Mercenary group from right under our noses!... Did you order them to invade Ironside!?" Eamon accused the Duke.

Alaric had one of his patented glares, which he pulled out for special occasions. "Of course not! I hired some of them to be my son's bodyguards and nothing more. I rid myself of their services once they reported that they failed to protect my son. So whatever they tried to do was of their own accord and none of my concern." The Duke lied.

"So you admit that you had some Black Roses working for you?!"

"I did... And it turns out that the rumors about their exploits were greatly exaggerated. And my son paid the price for my foolishness..."

Quinus looked at his uncle, "No, Uncle... They were everything they were cracked up to be... They captured Lady Rya with a powerful slave collar and used her to kill hundreds of Ironside's soldiers. The Kings Slayer almost killed me. And Rudolf Rose, the Leader of the Mercenaries, was about to kill Baron Zellin and all the mages of the Ironside Guild. If we weren't able to free Rya from the slave collar, then Ironside would have been conquered..."

"Lady Rya?... You're talking about the Dark Elf here?" Eamon asked.

"Yes, she is... She was the only person able to kill the Kings Slayer, and she healed my wounds so I could stop Rudolf from killing Archmage Hajdah and his surviving members of the Mage's Guild. His enchanted shield was a bit of a problem... But he fell to my blade nonetheless," Quinus answered.@@novelbin@@

Eamon looked at Rya with wide eyes, a mix of admiration and disbelief, before turning his furious glare back at Duval. Meanwhile, Quinus met his uncle's steely gaze, which he returned with equal intensity. A silent battle of wills raged between them.

"Do you have something to say, nephew? If so, please speak up," Alaric said, his voice steady and commanding as he fixed his attention on the young Prince.

"I may not have proof, uncle... But I doubt you cut yourself off from the Mercenaries. And if my suspicion is correct, then you're the reason why Rudolf was trying to conquer Ironside... One less ally for my father to rely on and one more piece on the chess board to get the throne for yourself..." Quinus said.

A smirk crept across Alaric’s face, unsettling in its calmness. “Bold words, nephew... But I am a loyal servant of the Kingdom. Surely you know better than to believe your dear old uncle would covet the throne for himself.”

Rya, sensing the tension in the air, interjected with a measured smile, "Your actions say otherwise, Alaric."

"And what are my actions saying... Lady Rya?" Alaric asked in a tone filled with discontent.

"That you're a fool whose original plans have failed and now you are aimless... I wonder what you're going to pivot to next now that you can't get the throne... Unless you think you can with a war? Hmmm?" Rya smiled as she taunted the Duke.

Alaric stayed silent, and although Rya was bluffing, she was closer to the truth than she realized. This made Alaric uneasy about using the Kingdom of Marn to invade the north. If she was part of one of the Royal Armies, they would annihilate anything in their path. Everything he had planned must be put on hold until she was dealt with. Killing her was out of the question because of her healing magic. Breaking them apart was the best option. But that was in a field he was weak in. Alaric needed a woman's touch, and no other woman could do the job better than his wife, Leandra. He needed to provide her with all the resources she would require to execute her plans.

Alaric flashed a sly grin at Rya. "You two really are the perfect couple," he teased, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's almost eerie how you both think alike."

Rya shot him a withering glare, sensing the underlying message in his words. His compliment felt more like a cryptic jab, leaving her puzzled and on edge as if she were missing some hidden meaning behind his bemusement.