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Translator: penny
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Pearl in the Mud
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The night in the slums was as dark as ever, but the space in front of the refinery was the exception.
The area before Eric's refinery was brighter than broad daylight.
Hundreds of torches tore through the darkness.
It was truly a spectacular sight.
Just yesterday, haughty nobles had sneered at it as a sewage-filled dump, pinching their noses with handkerchiefs as they passed.
But now, they were discarding all dignity to line up in hopes of snagging even a scrap of trash.
"I got here first! Clear the way!"
"Hey now! Who dares block my path? I'm a distant relative of Young Lord Eric—eighteenth cousin!"
"Don't make me laugh! I've been the neighbor of the nursemaid who changed Young Lord Eric's diapers back when he was still drooling!"
It was a sight to behold: noble aristocrats throwing decorum to the wind and screaming at the top of their lungs.
Into that chaotic fray glided the ducal carriage emblazoned with the Theodore family crest, bearing Eric.
Screeech.
The nobles who had just been grabbing each other's collars and hurling insults suddenly parted to either side as if on cue.
"Young Lord Eric!!"
"Young Lord! Just a glance this way! I've brought gold!"
"Please, just talk to me once!"
They swarmed the carriage window like a flock of starving pigeons.
If not for the mercenaries Eric had hired in advance blocking them desperately, the carriage might have been overturned on the spot.
Click.
The carriage window cracked open—just enough for the width of a pinky finger.
Eric's bored eyes glinted through the narrow gap.
"Ugh. So noisy."
Eric scowled, tongue clicking in irritation.
They sniff out money like it's nothing. Hyenas, the lot of them.
Trash yesterday, savior today.
It was a nauseating display of money's true face.
"Young Master, look over there. Every major merchant guild in the empire is gathered. If we hold an auction right now, we could name our price!"
Alfred could barely contain his excitement, spittle flying as he spoke.
"An auction? Too much hassle."
"Pardon?"
"Hate anything loud."
Without hesitation, Eric flung open the carriage door and stepped out.
He slowly scanned the bigwigs pleading at him with clasped hands, arms folded behind his back.
Potbellied merchants dripping with jeweled rings on every finger, haughty counts, scheming young ladies flashing sly smiles...
All of them reeked of money.
"Why are you making a racket in front of my shop? It's annoying."
Eric's gaze swept past them indifferently.
I don't need rich pigs loaded with cash. What I need isn't suckers... it's...
His eyes halted at the far edge of the crowd, in the shadowed corner against a dingy wall.
Amid the nobles in their flashy silk finery huddled a small figure draped in a threadbare gray robe.
A woman who looked ready to topple over, shoved this way and that by the throng.
For a split second, Eric's lips quirked up.
Found her.
A pearl in the mud.
A raw gem caked in filth right now.
But in the future, the empire's one and only 9th-circle grand archmage, capable of slaying a dragon single-handedly.
Abigail.
Currently a lowly researcher at the Magic Tower, saddled with every menial chore imaginable.
But that little head of hers brimmed with revolutionary magic formulas decades ahead of their time.
Without a second thought, Eric pushed through the crowd.
"Young Lord? At least take my proposal!"
"Out of my way."
"Young Lord!"
"Deaf? I said move."
Shoving aside a merchant guild master's protruding belly, Eric approached the trembling Abigail.
Sensing the approaching shadow, she hastily curled into herself.
"S-sorry... I'll get out of the way... d-don't hit me...!"
Her defensive posture emerged reflexively, a testament to the torment from her Magic Tower seniors.
Eric stopped before her and looked her over carefully.
Thick glasses, disheveled red hair, filthy coppery robe.
She looked worse than the Magic Tower cafeteria lady.
But to Eric's eyes, she was a walking sack of gold.
"Hey."
"Eek! I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I was just sent on an errand by the seniors...!"
"Sorry for what? Follow me."
"Pardon...? Where?"
Abigail looked up with a dazed expression.
Her eyes quivered like there was an earthquake behind those thick lenses.
Eric jerked his chin toward the refinery interior.
"Aren't you here to trade? Come on in."
"M-me? B-but I'm at the very back... those people were first..."
Abigail glanced nervously at the nobles lined up ahead, fidgeting.
"What does that matter? The owner's picking you."
Eric raised his voice so the stunned nobles could hear.
"Seller's choice."
The surrounding aristocrats erupted in shocked murmurs.
"Trading with that filthy wench?"
"Hey! Do you know who I am, treating me like this, Young Lord Eric?!"
"What the hell is that bitch's deal?"
Ignoring the nobles' indignant uproar, Eric beckoned curtly to Alfred.
"Close the gate. No one else gets in."
"Pardon? Send all those customers away?"
"Yeah. Tired today. We're closed."
Clang.
The heavy iron gate slammed shut, completely muffling the outside noise.
Right now, Eric only needed one person.
The future grand archmage.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Refinery manager's office.
Seated on the worn leather sofa, Abigail squirmed restlessly, as if the cushion were studded with thorns.
Before her steamed an exquisite teacup of the finest quality.
Clink. Clink.
Her trembling hands made the cup rattle noisily against its saucer.
Eric watched her from his perch on the desk across from her, one leg crossed over the other.
She looked just like a frightened kitten.
To think this shrinking violet becomes the grand archmage who single-handedly chokes out a dragon five years from now... Life's full of surprises.
People really were impossible to predict.
The current Abigail was crushed under the Magic Tower's picky professors and eccentric seniors, her self-esteem drilled straight through the floor into the basement.
But she possessed a fatal talent.
A mana affinity anomaly.
Her body reacted explosively to mana crystals refined from blue waste ore.
In a word: genius.
While others needed a hundred mana crystals to barely conjure a single small fireball, she could unleash a flame storm with just one.
No one had recognized her value yet.
Not even herself.
"Um... Young Lord?"
Abigail called out in a tiny voice.
"What."
"A-are you sure you want to trade with me? I don't have any authorization from the Tower Lord. The seniors just told me to bring back whatever I could... or else just die there..."
"So how much do you need?"
"Huh?"
"The amount your seniors wanted. How many?"
"W-well... for this experiment, about a cartload of blue waste ore... B-but I don't have much money right now..."
Abigail fumbled in her bosom and pulled out a crumpled leather pouch.
The pouch she placed on the table felt pitifully light.
Clearly just pocket change.
Her seniors had dumped the task on the runt without giving her proper funds, no doubt.
If she goes back empty-handed, she'll really get beaten to death tonight...
Tears welled up in Abigail's eyes.
It was a hopeless situation.
But Eric, watching it all, inwardly cheered.
Jackpot. Hooked the perfect mark.
He stroked his chin with a grave expression.
"A cartload... You know the going rate out there is at least ten thousand gold, right?"
"Sniff... I'm sorry. This is all I have..."
"I'll match what you've got."
"Yes, understo—What?!"
Abigail's eyes bulged.
"What did you just say...?"
"Matching your pocket change. Heck, service—double it and throw in extra."
"No way! You'd take a massive loss! Why would you do that for me...?"
The reason was simple.
Because you're the future grand archmage.
And there was one key goal besides that.
Eric pulled a pre-prepared parchment contract from his bosom.
"One more thing. From now on, I'll supply everything the Magic Tower needs. Thirty percent below market rate."
"F-for real?! B-but I don't have the authority to decide..."
"Take this contract back, and the Tower Lord will carry you on his back. But..."
Eric leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially.
"There's a condition."
"A-a condition...?"
Abigail gulped dryly.
Eric's soulful gaze and outrageous generosity.
N-no way... Does he want my body...?
It was a pattern straight out of the novels her seniors devoured.
Abigail's face flushed beet red.
Instinctively, she hugged herself with both arms, trembling.
A torrent of sinister, lurid imaginings flooded her mind.
As she squeezed her eyes shut...
The words from Eric's lips were beyond her wildest guesses.
Abigail opened her eyes, doubting her own ears.
"Wh-what...? What does that mean...?"