Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Ivaylo let out a slow, thoughtful sigh before giving his answer, his tone the perfect blend of polite concession and measured optimism, the kind only a seasoned merchant of high pedigree could master.

"I would have preferred a few more acres for the vineyard, but… I understand where you stand and where I stand. The terms are acceptable."

His words were smooth, even. Professional as they let out a small hint of regret.

He had conducted a hundred such negotiations in his life and would likely conduct a hundred more.

But behind that carefully composed expression, his thoughts burned with a different tone altogether.

Fifteen acres… for just 900 silverii?By all the gods, they're practically giving it away.

He had expected some form of stiff, guarded arrangement—perhaps a lease steeped in caution or an agreement loaded with clause after clause. But this? This was generosity masquerading as prudence. The up-front fee was little more than ceremonial.

He had, of course, noted the more important part , that once the first term of five years was complete, the crown would claim a bit more than ten percent of the vineyard's gross income annually. That clause, to a lesser merchant, might have been a concern.

But Ivaylo Fugger came from old money. Real money.He had been cooking books before most of these provincial accountants had even been born.

Gross income was only a figure on parchment, and parchment could be edited. Especially in a land like Yarzat, still a frontier in many ways. He had spent a lifetime in boardrooms and smoky taverns, he was the one that set up his family to prominance, bribing clerks, incentivizing scribes, and dressing losses as expenses and expenses as risks.

A little creative accounting was not only expected in merchant circles, it was a respected art.

Besides, he had survived the market collapse caused by the great Civil War,what was this for him?

This would be easy.

Or so he thought.

What Ivaylo couldn't yet realize was that the realm of Yarzat, despite its distant location, fresh soil, and provincial charm, was not the lawless, backwater frontier he imagined.

The prince, was no fool and even less forgiving on those matters.

His love for ledgers was near pathological, and under his rule, he would implement his obsession.

For every leased vineyard, detailed agricultural surveys were to be scheduled twice yearly. State tallymen, would prepare to catalog every grape vine.

Every harvest would be weighed.Records kept.

More than that, Alpheo's ministry would estimate the probable income from the production. Any significant deviation between expected yield and reported income would raise flags.

And unlike Romelia, where merchants like Ivaylo could lean on noble favors, family alliances, and gifts in velvet pouches, Yarzat had no senate, no open council, no long-standing class of easily bribed intermediaries.

Here, power flowed from the top down. And if Alpheo declared someone to be in breach of royal lease, not even the gods would help them.

Ivaylo had just walked into a dream opportunity, prime land, fertile investment, a rising star of the south.

But this was not Romelia.This was Yarzat.

And Yarzat, for all its youth, was commanded by a man with centuries of experience behind him.

Ivaylo's musings were cut short by the subtle scrape of parchment against wood, a sound that pulled him back into the moment like a soft clearing of the throat. Aron had pushed the document forward, an orderly stack of papers sealed with the royal sigil, its ink still dark and fresh. Beside it, he set down a feathered quill, its tip glistening with ink.

"We are happy to welcome you into the fold, then," he said, his voice bearing the polished formality of someone who had delivered that phrase dozens of times in the past few days. "This is your contract. You may take your time to read through it, of course. If you'd prefer, I can provide a summary of the main clauses to help you grasp its contents more swiftly."

Ivaylo reached forward and took hold of the parchment, his fingers brushing its edge with practiced ease.

"I would very much appreciate a summary," he said with a slight nod, his tone open and diplomatic,though he started skimming through the first page.

Aron returned the nod, already shifting his eyes to the first page. "Very well. The lease term is five years, with an initial honorary fee of 900 silverii for the vineyard and 600 for the dye works. This is just how we had agreed."

He turned the page, his tone remaining calm and clipped. "Clause four stipulates that all manual labor employed in the leased lands must be composed of free citizens of Yarzat. No bond-servants, no imported workers, and certainly no slaves. They are to be paid a monthly wage of three silver per head, with oversight to ensure compliance. "

Ivaylo's brow lifted faintly, his merchant instincts twitching.

"Three silver?" he repeated, just to be sure he had heard correctly. "Per worker, per month?"

Aron glanced up and gave a small, courteous nod. "Correct."

The merchant inhaled softly through his nose, not quite a sigh, but something near it. "That is… unusual. And quite the unexpected expense, I must say." His tone was not combative—more reflective, as though simply stating a fact.

Back in Romelia, a vineyard could be worked by a mix of debt-peasants, hired labor, and slaves, all of whom came cheaper than three silver a head; you only had to provide the food after all.

Still if you are in Yarzat, do as the Yarzats do.

"But," he continued, smoothing a hand along the side of the parchment, "it's an expense I can digest.''

Especially if that means I will have my means of production for wine and dye

Aron gave Ivaylo a brief glance before flipping to the next page of the contract, his voice smooth and formal as he continued. "Now, the next clause is one I believe you'll find quite reassuring—it was included specifically with your safety and long-term interest in mind."

Ivaylo tilted his head slightly, intrigued despite himself. The flicker of curiosity in his expression was not lost on Aron, who offered a faint smile at having caught the merchant's attention.

"The lease will be renewed automatically on a yearly basis, without interruption," Aron explained, "and barring any proven criminal activity, this arrangement will remain in effect for the foreseeable future. However, in the event of a legal transgression, the severity of the crime will determine the consequence. The lightest offense may require only monetary restitution; the gravest, however, could result in the seizure of the leased land."

Ivaylo furrowed his brow slightly and gave a skeptical chuckle. "That portion doesn't exactly sound like it favors me."

Aron gave a brief, polite cough, then turned the page again. "Ah, my apologies. The next section is the one I intended to highlight. In exchange for a modest annual fee, paid separately from the lease, you will be eligible for royal insurance."

That earned a sharper look from Ivaylo, his eyes narrowing with interest.

"Should your investment suffer from unforeseen events, natural or man-made, such as a flood, a fire, or even an act of sabotage by a rival merchant or hostile agents of the state, you may petition the Crown for relief.

If your claim is approved, the Crown will provide funding to cover up to fifty percent of the costs required to restore or rebuild the damaged infrastructure present on the leased land."

Ivaylo blinked once, then leaned slightly forward. "You mean to say… if something were to happen to the winery, if it were destroyed or damaged, I'd be reimbursed for the rebuilding cost?"

Aron gave a small, dry smile and nodded. "That's precisely what the clause states up to half of it, Master Fugger. Naturally, it is contingent upon formal inspection and approval, but yes, the Crown will assume responsibility for half the cost."

Ivaylo sat back in his chair, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face.

That is… even better than I thought. Most crowns tax you and leave you to your fate if misfortune strikes. But this? They are basically craddling you like a baby.

Aron's smile remained, his fingers already flipping toward the back of the document. "There are, of course, a few remaining clauses, minor ones pertaining to maintenance standards, inspection schedules, and local employment practices. You are welcome to read them at your leisure."

"I shall," Ivaylo replied, still smiling as he adjusted the papers in his hand. "But I believe we're well on the path to agreement."

Aron leaned back slightly in his chair, fingers steepled as his tone shifted into something quieter, more deliberate.

"If you proceed with your signature, Master Fugger," he began, "there is an additional matter I would like to raise, one of opportunity, for both of us."

Ivaylo's eyes flicked upward from the parchment. His merchant's instincts were as sharp as ever, and he recognized the prelude to something valuable.

Aron didn't wait for him to ask.

"I would like to extend to you the offer of a royal contract," he continued, "regarding the black dye you plan to produce. The Crown is currently seeking stable suppliers for materials such as this one."

Ivaylo's smile was immediate, spreading with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had seen this coming from the very beginning.

"I am more than willing," he said smoothly, his tone all courtesy but his eyes gleaming with shrewdness. "It would be an honor to serve the Crown's needs."

Aron offered a polite nod, but in truth, he wasn't surprised in the slightest. He had already suspected as much. It was no coincidence that Ivaylo Fugger had chosen black dye as his secondary venture.

Everyone in the South knew the Prince had a near-obsessive fondness for uniformity among his soldiers, and the black dye used for the signature Yarzat coats was costly, inconsistent, and until now, largely imported.

Though it appeared that it would be produced locally.