A month passed, and July arrived—bringing with it the peak of summer's blistering heat.
The trees around Hawkfort had long since been felled, so there were no annoying cicadas. But under the relentless sun, the stone walls baked like a furnace.
"Haaah…"
Elaina brushed a damp lock of hair behind her ear and exhaled a breath of sultry frustration. Despite the heat, the smile on her face betrayed her thoroughly cheerful mood.
Thanks to Rus's clever marketing and her own shrewd business acumen, Angel's Tears had sold at the high price of 1 gold and 70 silver coins per bottle.
While Rus had given away over sixty bottles as samples, and many of the first sales to nobles had been steeply discounted, they still managed to sell 376 bottles. After deducting costs, the first month's profit totaled 336 gold and 55 silver coins.
Of course, 70% of that went to Rus. But even so, the Federo Trading Company cleared a clean 100 gold—in just a month.
Nobles weren't going to purchase in bulk anytime soon, but they had a powerful influence. Once a product caught on with them, it could start a trend. For at least the next year, sales were unlikely to fall off dramatically.
It was, without a doubt, a great deal.
In less than a year, she'd fully recover her initial investment, and every coin earned after would be pure profit. Even if sales dropped off, she estimated her yearly dividend wouldn't be less than 500 gold coins.
Five hundred gold!
That was nearly the value of Flashgold Town itself. The Federo Trading Company barely made that much net profit annually.
And it all came from one invention by Rus, developed in just three days.
Elaina found herself more and more unable to see through this man.
Was he really just a lowborn thug?
Knock, knock.
"Madam Elaina, the chilled Angel's Tears you requested," came a voice from outside.
"Come in," she said lazily, reclining against the back of her chair, ready to enjoy a rare moment of peace in the sweltering summer.
The door opened.
The maid carrying the tray was just about to step inside when she suddenly felt a large hand press against the bottom of it. Startled, she was about to cry out—until she saw Rus's face.
He held a finger to his lips, motioning for her to stay quiet, then tilted his head toward the hallway.
She understood and slipped out silently.
Rus stepped inside with the tray and gently closed the door.
Elaina had dressed lightly to combat the heat—only a sheer, light-purple silk gown clinging to her skin. The fabric clung like a second skin, damp with sweat, so delicate it was hard to tell whether the silk was making her skin appear tighter, or her flawless skin made the silk seem softer.
Her head rested against the chair's backrest, eyes closed. Her black hair cascaded loosely, and her lush red lips drew the eye. Her slender neck glistened with sweat, glowing with sensual appeal.
And below that—
That full, shapely figure, showing not a hint of sag, stretched the silk into sinfully perfect curves.
She wasn't wearing anything underneath.
Her knees pressed lightly together. Her legs parted slightly. Her toes pressed playfully into the soft carpet—each one freshly painted a bold, vibrant red.
Rus didn't want to disturb this perfect image. He tiptoed forward, set the tray down, and poured her a glass of wine, offering it gently.
Her fingers brushed his hand as she reached for the glass. Then her eyes snapped open.
"What are you doing here?!"
She tried to stand, but her sitting posture made it difficult. Half-rising, she lost balance and fell back with a soft grunt.
A ripple of movement.
"This is my castle," Rus said casually. "I can go wherever I please. And I'd suggest you not move so much—the more you move, the more I can see."
"Pervert!" Elaina shot him a murderous glare, slammed the glass onto the table, and stood despite his warning. Her hips swayed as she strutted to the wardrobe, grabbing a heavy nightgown and wrapping it tightly around herself. "What do you want now?"
Her walk, wrapped in sheer silk, was a visual temptation. Rus shifted slightly, making room for his "little brother," and grinned. "Just here to collect the rest of my payment, Auntie. You still owe me seven hundred gold coins."
"I'll pay when the funds come in," Elaina replied curtly. "Business is about mutual benefit. If I go bankrupt, you won't get anything either."
"I know," Rus said, eyes flicking to the sweat glistening on her collarbone. "But I need the cash now. Can't you push things a little faster?"
"Impossible." Elaina was clearly irritated, but the heat had robbed her of the energy to argue. "I had to scrape together last time's 300 gold from the autumn grain fund. This time, profits are going straight back to fix the shortfall."
"If you're so desperate for money," she added coldly, "then hand over the formula for that 'miracle liquid' used in Angel's Tears."
Rus shook his head. "You know that's not happening."
"Then have a little patience," she snapped, pointing to the door. "I'm entering the next stage of marketing planning. Kindly, immediately, get out of my room."
Rus shrugged. "Can't you just go back to Monne City and take a loan using Federo Trading's name—"
Thwack!
A pillow flew at his head. He caught it with ease and buried his face in it, inhaling deeply.
"Mmm… such a lovely scent. Is that 'Elegant Lady' brand rouge?"
"Rus!!" Elaina shrieked, red-faced.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Auntie. Tranquility cools the heart. You're only this hot because you're overthinking things." Rus chuckled as he backed away. "Since you won't help me, I'll be going now."
At the door, he turned back with a grin. "Oh, by the way—I still prefer the purple one."
Elaina froze, then looked down at her toes—painted precisely that color.
For a moment, she didn't know how to respond.
Rus closed the door behind him, shaking his head with a laugh.
Of course, he hadn't come just to tease Elaina.
—Though, admittedly, it was entertaining.
He had something far more important on his mind.
Back in the war room, Gordon was already waiting. "Lord Rus, everything is arranged as you instructed. Nothing was overlooked."
"Visdon didn't interfere, did he?"
Gordon allowed himself a small smile. "No. When he heard it was by your order, he didn't even dare come close."
"But…" he hesitated. "Are you sure this is wise, my lord? After all, this is Hawkfort…"
"That's exactly why I'm doing it." Rus's voice was firm. "Starting tonight, you and Boro will stay at Erik's house. Tell no one."
"As you command, my lord." Gordon bowed deeply.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed in the hall.
A maid burst in, panic etched across her face. "My lord—something's wrong! Master Boro—he's injured!"
Rus's expression sharpened.
Boro held the key to the saponification process. He was too important.
"Don't panic. Tell me clearly—what happened?"
"He… he's badly burned! His right hand! It looks all blistered and moldy and—like rotten meat!" the maid stammered, nearly in tears.
Her words were chaotic, but Rus gathered that Boro's life wasn't in danger. "Where is he? Take me."
"Y-yes, right this way!"
She turned on her heel, not even bothering to bow.
Rus sighed inwardly. This maid's training was clearly lacking.
Then again, he couldn't expect much.
In this world, professional servants were often trained from childhood in noble households, spending a lifetime in devoted service. But in a bid to cut costs—and keep his secrets—Donald had dismissed every single trained servant in Hawkfort.
Even during the inheritance ceremony last month, Gordon had to hire help from Flashgold Town at an exorbitant price.
Only recently, with finances improving, had they brought in three new scullery maids—but they were untrained locals, barely fit for purpose.
Good help was hard to find.
They reached the infirmary. The moment Rus stepped inside, he was hit by a pungent salty stench—the unmistakable smell of sodium hydroxide.
Boro lay on the bed, drenched in sweat and clutching his hand. A maid was frantically trying to bandage the wound, but with little effect—blood was still seeping through the gauze.
"My lord, why are you here?" Boro sat up abruptly, glaring at the maid. "Didn't I tell you not to disturb the lord?!"
"I came of my own accord," Rus sighed and said coldly, "You two—go. I'll take it from here."
"But, my lord…" the maid started, visibly trembling.
"I said out." Rus's voice turned sharp. The two maids quickly bowed and left the room.
As Rus gently peeled away the gauze, Boro clenched his teeth hard.
Even though Rus had braced himself, the sight of the wound still made him suck in a breath.
Boro's large palm was hideously burned—the skin twisted and warped like tightened fishing net, with raw flesh exposed beneath, resembling a sausage split from over-roasting, blood oozing steadily from the ruptured skin.
"How did it get this bad?" Rus demanded. "Didn't I tell you—always wear gloves when handling lye?!"
"My lord, the weather's been unbearable… My hands were breaking out in heat rash from the gloves…" Boro mumbled, eyes downcast. "Besides, I never expected it would suddenly explode while heating…"
Rus narrowed his eyes. "You used an iron pot, didn't you?"
Boro flushed with guilt. "Y-yes… We ran out of wooden buckets…"
"You idiot!" Rus laughed bitterly in disbelief. "You think the safety procedures I set are just for fun?!"
Sodium hydroxide + high heat + iron = trouble. The reaction produces water, ferric oxide… and hydrogen gas. The first two aren't deadly—but hydrogen?
That's how you blow up a kitchen.
Thankfully, the reaction blew early. If it had gone on just a little longer, the whole kitchen might've been destroyed.
Rus grabbed a basin of clean water, shoved Boro's hand into it, then poured out half of a self-replenishing healing potion into a bowl and handed it to him. "Drink this."
Boro obeyed and took it down in one gulp—his eyes widened in astonishment.
"Gods, that's incredible!"
The bleeding stopped almost instantly, and the wound began rapidly closing. It wouldn't heal fully overnight, but with a bit of rest, he'd be back to work in half a month.
"You're off for the next two weeks," Rus said. "I'll hire someone from Flashgold Town to handle cooking for now."
"But my lord…" Boro looked anxious—this job paid well, and he didn't want to lose it.
"Don't worry," Rus reassured him with a grin. "No one's taking your place. Once you're healed, if you don't want to continue the Angel's Tears work, you can return to your kitchen duties."
"I'd love to keep doing it!" Boro said, nodding earnestly. "I swear, I'll never ignore your orders again!"
"I trust you." Rus clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave.
To a lord, two roles are sacred: the chef and the personal guard. You don't cross them—ever. If things really don't work out, you still have to replace them gently.
Because these people are directly responsible for your life.
Rus had read Romance of the Three Kingdoms in his past life—he had no intention of ending up like a certain leopard-faced, halberd-wielding general.
"Good people are hard to find," Rus muttered as he walked through the castle halls.
Yes, Boro had messed up. Badly.
But there was no one else in Hawkfort who could handle glycerin production.
The technique wasn't especially complicated, but it did require precision—and absolute loyalty. Rus couldn't risk too many people knowing about it.
Most commoners were loyal enough, but they lacked the intelligence. Training someone would take ages, and once more people knew the secret, the risk of leaks skyrocketed.
"Lord Rus!" Erik appeared at the end of the hallway. "I heard you were looking for me?"
"How's the gear procurement going?" Rus asked.
"Not good," Erik admitted. "The best bows around here come from the Thousand Needle Forest. That land's under the Warton family. They're charging five gold per bow—for something worth only three."
"I've already sent someone to Monne City to look for alternatives."
Rus wasn't surprised.
A month ago, after returning to Ironforge Keep, Angor had chewed out Jude and publicly declared that any promises Jude made were invalid. The Warton family, he said, would not give up what they had rightfully claimed.
That violated the noble code of honor, of course. But aside from a few lukewarm criticisms, no one lifted a finger to set things right.
After all, why risk your neck if there's nothing in it for you?
"What about the beechwood we have in storage?" Rus asked. "Can't we craft our own bows?"
"Unfortunately, no," Erik said, shaking his head. "I've seen how war bows are made—dozens of steps, months of curing, and even then the failure rate is high. That's why they're so expensive."
"I see…" Rus sighed again. "Good people really are hard to find."
"There is one other way," Erik said, hesitating. "Though… it's not exactly respectable."
Rus's brows rose in surprise. The always-straightlaced Erik, suggesting something shady?
"Let's hear it."
"You know about the Continental Pact, signed 230 years ago—it outlawed slave trading. But the Bloodsoaked Highlands ignore it entirely. I've heard they deal in slaves regularly… including skilled dwarves, gray dwarves, and gnomes."
Rus's eyes lit up. "What about elves? Catgirls? Foxgirls? Drow?"
"Probably," Erik muttered. "I've never been there myself, but… yes, I imagine so."
"How expensive?" Rus pressed.
"I'm not sure," Erik said. "But when I used to serve under Lord Donald, I heard a pure-blooded elf could go for tens of thousands of gold. Dwarves and gray dwarves range between a few hundred to a few thousand, depending on whether they're awakened or not."
A gleam of desire flickered across Rus's face.
He didn't have the money now, but one day, he would.
And when that day came—oh, what a scene it would be.
Footsteps thundered in from the hall.
Gaul burst in, drenched in sweat.
"Lord Rus! Just as you predicted—bandits have been spotted near Eagle's Beak Mountain!"
Meanwhile, in Flashgold Town — at the "Eagle's Wing" inn...
A cloaked man dropped to one knee. "Lord Hyde, I've just received word. They've arrived."
Hyde asked, "Their strength?"
"Two Awakened. Six first-tier beast mounts. Sixteen veteran killers. Last year, they wiped out a twenty-man squad under Baron John's command—led by a second-tier knight."
"Excellent." Hyde's lips curled into a wicked grin.
"Tell them: hold nothing back. Just leave Rus alive."
"If he won't take the five thousand gold…"
"Then I'll bury him under it!"