Chapter 28: Bread and Power

The visitor slowly raised a hand and loosened the ties of her hood.

The dark fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing a sharp-featured, lean face. Her brown hair was tied back, and her black eyes were as calm as a deep pool in the candlelight.

— Nine-Fingered Keen.

The underworld queen of Frannia had come in person.

In the corner, Juliet’s bow came to an abrupt halt, nearly releasing a discordant note. Her eyes widened, fox ears perked straight up, and her mouth formed an ‘O’.

The big boss who had sought Auror’s total annihilation during the day had now come alone at night to offer a humble apology. This turn of events was deeply satisfying.

Her heart surged with excitement, and she even wanted to improvise a song. But a glare from Auror silenced her, and she obediently continued her Italian mafia cosplay.

Keen’s gaze traveled across the room: from the carved ceiling beams to the heraldic plaques on the walls, then to the flickering whale-oil candles on the central candelabrum, and finally settled on Auror, who was lounging in full regalia in her chair, exuding an air of authority.

“Impressive presence,” she said.

“The noble circles in the capital are always gossiping, saying Marquis Olivia is a country bumpkin whose fiefdom reeks of cow manure.” Keen took a seat as Balian guided her, accepted a proffered glass, swirled the amber liquid, and curled her lips. “But seeing this today, those people are clearly blind. This spectacle, this style—I have a friend who has burgled over a dozen noble mansions in the capital and never saw anything like this.”

Auror thought, ‘As if you could have seen this. The solemn, dignified atmosphere created by symphonic music and dim lighting is a hallmark of mafia films—how could these medieval bumpkins who have never even seen an incandescent bulb possibly comprehend it?’

“Don’t think the borderlands are all roughnecks. The Olivia Marquisate borders the sea, and we host many distinguished guests.” Auror picked up her glass and took a measured sip. “That said—I expected you would send an errand boy, not come in person.” She set down the glass, lifted her violet eyes, and studied Keen with an amused smile. “Rest assured, everyone here is loyal to me, and walls have no ears. Whatever you have to say, President Keen, feel free to speak frankly tonight.”

Keen set down her glass. “This afternoon’s affair—I underestimated your strength. I lost men and face. I’ll take the loss.”

Auror extended an olive branch: “My people also lacked restraint. My apologies—truth be told, we all have our faults.”

Keen looked at her for a moment, then suddenly laughed and picked up her glass again. “We’re even.”

They agreed to let bygones be bygones.

Auror leaned back into her chair, tapping her lace-gloved fingers lightly on the armrest. “Speaking of which,” her tone shifted to a casual jest, “President, your people are quite comfortable here. I haven’t let the city guard interrogate them; they’ve been well fed and lodged, and even a physician has tended to their wounds.” She paused, a slight smile curling her lips. “Would you say we now have a foundation for equal cooperation?”

Keen’s dark eyes flickered in the candlelight. “I suppose.” She set her glass down, her posture relaxed yet upright. “What do you want from the Guild, Miss Auror, in exchange for releasing my people?”

Auror didn’t beat around the bush. “I told you. The Happiness Water. I want it banned, completely eradicated from Frannia.” She raised her eyes and said directly to Keen, “This cannot be done without the Guild’s help.”

Keen’s brows furrowed. Before, she could dismiss Auror’s demands as a joke, but now she was at her mercy. The afternoon’s ambush had been a hasty plan; many of the men she sent were her most loyal personal guards. If they were all lost here, her own position might become unstable. One wrong move and the whole game was lost. With no other choice, Keen had to negotiate.

“Miss, you must understand that the kickbacks from smugglers are no small sum for the Guild. If you want the Guild to withdraw its protection, you need a plausible reason.” Keen looked at Auror. “A few captives aren’t worth that.”

“I know.” Auror didn’t follow that thread; instead, she pivoted. “This Happiness Water line might seem like a steady income, but have you considered, President—it comes from outside the city, and the channels aren’t in the Guild’s hands. If today’s merchants are easy to deal with, tomorrow’s might not be. They could support other gangs to fight the Guild. What would the Guild do then?” Auror paused. “But cooperation with the Olivia family would be different.” She lifted her eyes, her tone calm. “The Olivia family holds the position of Chancellor, with administrative power. Legal channels would bring far greater profits to the Guild than taking a cut from contraband, and you wouldn’t have to worry about your nest being raided.”

Keen tapped her fingers on the table. “For example?”

“For example,” Auror paused briefly, “Recently, the Chancellor has been organizing disaster relief and purchased a great deal of grain. It sounds like a benevolent policy, but it’s actually a mess. From the warehouse to the victims’ hands, the grain passes through many layers; who knows how many people plan to skim off the top? In the end, when it’s distributed, no one will know it’s the Chancellor’s grain, and no one will feel grateful to the Olivia family.”

Keen thoughtfully swirled her glass. “You want the Guild to handle the grain distribution?” Even as she said it, her mind was racing. Distributing relief grain might not bring much money, but the intricacies of which household gets what, through whose hands, and who remembers the favor—these are far more valuable. For a locally-rooted organization like the Guild, grassroots penetration and control are worth more than profit sharing. “Interesting.”

“But—” Keen looked at her, a hint of scrutiny in her eyes. “Do you have the capability, Miss? To hand the grain over to the Guild—will the Chancellor agree?”

Auror laughed and shook her head. “Of course the grain can’t be handed directly to the Guild—I can’t say that to my father.” She tapped her fingers lightly on the armrest. “But I can recommend bakers to the Chancellor, and I can apply for funds to build new bakeries. The grain is procured, and it needs people and places to process it. The Marquis is busy with state affairs; these small matters are mine to decide.”

“Bakers…” Keen slowly chewed over Auror’s proposal.

In the Frankish Kingdom, the staple was wheat. To turn wheat into edible food, it had to be husked, ground into flour, and baked into bread. In other words, you needed at least a mill and an oven—things the destitute victims couldn’t afford. So bakeries and bakers emerged. In the countryside, nobles and churches sometimes funded public bakeries, allowing serfs to use them for a grain tax. In the city, it was simpler: bakeries obtained wheat or flour and sold bread to the poor. In Franria, bakeries were essentially the e-commerce, convenience store, farmers market, and supermarket all in one. The poor relied on them to survive!

Auror’s proposal was for the Marquisate and the Guild to jointly establish new bakeries, designated as relief institutions, to turn the collected wheat into bread for distribution. Keen’s mind began to wander. With the current grain shortage, using the wheat supply as a trump card, they could easily squeeze out competing bakeries and achieve a monopoly. What better way to control people’s hearts than to control their stomachs? Moreover, as infrastructure, these public bakeries would operate long-term, ensuring sustainable profit. If Auror succeeded, the Guild would not only rule the underworld of Franria but also control its very foundation.

—Of course, all this required obtaining a special operating charter from Chancellor Ed and appointments as official bakers.

If a modern person witnessed this scene, they’d probably be petrified. A high official’s daughter colluding with a gang leader, monopolizing the city’s food supply under the guise of disaster relief, engaging in power rent-seeking, and laundering the underground forces into a semi-official organization while hollowing out the government. In any modern country, Auror would be shot a hundred times over. The prosecutor’s indictment would stretch from the court hall to the door, with every charge a major case.

But this was the Frankish Kingdom. A medieval feudal state where nobles inherited power and commoners sought protection from gangs. Auror didn’t see her actions as taboo. Compared to the Frankish Kingdom’s abysmal administrative system, the gangland order she was crafting with Keen might be far superior. At least Keen could kill whoever she wanted—she had power—whereas her father Ed couldn’t even stop the Queen from using the Frankish Guard to murder and silence people.

Keen raised her glass to Auror. Auror smiled, nodded, and raised her own glass in return.

“Pleasure doing business.”

“Pleasure doing business.”

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