Reincarnation of a Hunter Chapter 35 - The Diocese of Marseille

 

 

⚔️ 

 

After finishing my work safely, I returned to my territory.

 

I asked Diego if anything noteworthy had happened during the ten or so days I was away. He had been acting as the temporary lord along with the magistrate Ricardo and the knight commander Axel.

 

“Diego, report if anything unusual happened.”

 

“Neither the administration nor the knight order had anything significant to report.”

 

“How are the people of the territory doing?”

 

“The reclamation and settlement of the pioneer villages are progressing smoothly. Also, we received word from the witch Winnie that she has completed the anti-diarrheal medicine.”

 

I had taught Winnie the recipe for the anti-diarrheal remedy. I heard she was conducting clinical trials with prisoners, and it seems she already has results.

 

“Send an attendant to summon Winnie here.”

 

Since I had just returned, there was much to do, so I called her over. Though it felt a little awkward ordering around a 185-year-old grandmother.

 

A couple of hours later.

 

The witch Winnie arrived at my office.

 

“Lord, seeing you in good health puts my mind at ease.”

 

“Suddenly? You’re worried about my health?”

 

“You’re the major shareholder of the company, after all. And you still have to teach me how to make other things.”

 

“Ah, it was about money.”

 

Winnie giggled, looking like a mischievous grandmother who had regressed into childhood.

 

“How were the clinical trial results?”

 

“It stopped diarrhea without any major side effects.”

 

“What side effects did occur?”

 

“Constipation.”

 

My silent condolences to the prisoners who underwent the trials.

 

“Well, it can’t be helped. Anyway, request protection from the pharmaceutical guild and pay the registration and protection fees. Sales are approved immediately.”

 

But Winnie hesitated. It seemed she had something else to say.

 

“What is it? Speak.”

 

“It’s about the price. You haven’t told me how to set it.”

 

I hadn’t thought about it.

 

“How much can you produce?”

 

“Since the recipe is so simple, we can make a tremendous amount. If we build more factories, we could cover the entire Kingdom of France even if everyone had diarrhea.”

 

At Winnie’s words, the scene involuntarily formed in my mind. 

 

Imagining millions of people simultaneously suffering from diarrhea was slightly horrifying.

 

“Besides, the residue produced while extracting the tree sap also has good market value.”

 

“Then, the price of the Digestive Pill can be cheap in Marseille and expensive in other territories. Offer discounts during epidemics. Would that work?”

 

Winnie grinned. She seemed to like the idea of ‘expensive in other territories.’

 

“Thank you, my lord. I will begin sales immediately.”

 

Selling these two products—the Digestive Pill and charcoal—would greatly benefit the territory’s finances.

 

However, at the time, I had no idea just how much the Digestive Pill would sell. Nor did I realize the ripple effects of leaving its name unstandardized.

 

Southern Continent, the city of Alexandria, home to a massive trading port.

 

Hans, a sugarcane plantation owner, had been troubled lately.

 

The slaves were suffering from diarrhea.

 

In this hot and humid climate, food spoiled easily, and many slaves fell ill with diarrhea. But this year, the frequency had sharply increased. 

 

As a result, the plantation’s productivity had plummeted. He frowned as he looked up at the overcast sky.

 

“Is it because of the heavy rains? Why are they all having diarrhea so much?”

 

Grumbling, Hans went to meet a friend. He wanted to share his troubles over drinks and a meal.

 

“Hey! Hans, the big plantation owner! Long time no see!”

 

“Big plantation owner? Don’t even joke about it.”

 

“What’s wrong? Something bothering you?”

 

“The slaves… No, let’s eat first.”

 

As they drank and ate, Hans and his friend discussed all sorts of social issues. They had covered everything except the military and soccer when—

 

“Ugh! My stomach…”

 

Hans clutched his stomach in pain.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Stomachache. Feels like diarrhea’s coming.”

 

“Tsk tsk. You should’ve stuck to the food you’re used to.”

 

“Firewood’s been expensive lately. Ugh!”

 

Seeing Hans break into a cold sweat, his friend pulled out a medicine bottle from his bag.

 

“Hey, Hans. Take this medicine, quick.”

 

“Is that poison? Trying to kill me and steal my wife?”

 

“Hahaha! Enough jokes, just take it. It’s for stomach pain. Four or five pills should do.”

 

“Really? Hand it over.”

 

Hans poured out five pills. They smelled strong, but since it was medicine, he swallowed them.

 

About 10 to 20 minutes later…

 

Hans realized the pain had completely vanished. He was amazed by the medicine’s effect.

 

“This stuff really works. My stomachache’s gone.”

 

“Impressive, right? When I first took it, I thought an angel had descended.”

 

“Where’d you get this? The slaves on my farm complain about stomachaches all the time.”

 

“Check the bottle.”

 

Hans looked at the label.

 

Written in the Northern Continent’s common language was, [Eric Marseille’s Diarrhea Medicine.]

 

“Eric Marseille? Who’s that?”

 

“A noble from the France Kingdom. He made medicine for scurvy. This time, he developed this anti-diarrheal remedy.”

 

“Ah, I think I’ve heard of him. But if it’s too expensive, I can’t give it to my slaves.”

 

“It’s cheaper than you think. Next time I dock in Catalonia, want me to grab a few bottles?”

 

Hans waved his hands dismissively.

 

“Not just a few—get me a mountain of them. I’ve got 2,000 slaves. I need a lot.”

 

“Goodness. I’ll have to dock in Marseille, then. Heard it’s cheaper there.”

 

Hans came up with an idea.

 

“I’ll talk to other farm owners about a bulk purchase. You head to Marseille and buy the medicine.”

 

“Getting serious now? You’ll cut me in, right?”

 

“Of course!”

 

The two men shook on it.

 

And so, the sweet remedy spread through the sugarcane farms of Alexandria.

 

⚔️ 

 

Port of Marseille.

 

I was looking down at the port from my office when I noticed an unusually high number of merchant ships and came here.

 

Just then, I spotted Captain Adrienne and called him over to ask.

 

“Adrienne Asel! What’s with all these merchant ships? There must be twice as many as usual.”

 

“Ah, my lord. They’re here to buy Canadian and Emam.”

 

Canadian (maple syrup) being popular made sense, but I was curious about what he meant by Emam.

 

“They’re coming by ship just to buy Emam?”

 

“It’s cheaper here, isn’t it? They must be buying in bulk to resell elsewhere.”

 

“Even with shipping costs, there shouldn’t be much difference.”

 

“No. The amount of Emam they’re buying is enormous. They must be making a profit through bulk trading.”

 

Just how much were they buying to warrant the term ‘bulk trading’?

 

Then, I saw a merchant who didn’t speak the common language of the northern continent shouting at the top of his lungs.

 

“Eric! Diarrhea! Eric! Diarrhea!”

 

What the hell?

 

“Hey, Adrienne. Why is he shouting my name along with ‘diarrhea’?”

 

“Huh? You didn’t know? The name of the Emam is ‘Eric Marseille’s Anti-Diarrhea Medicine.’ Over there, they shorten it to ‘Eric—Diarrhea.’“

 

“…”

 

Suddenly, I wanted to see the witch Winnie. I should meet her with a sword in hand.

 

Maybe my face twisted in frustration, because Adrienne gave me a sympathetic look.

 

“It’s just your reputation spreading, my lord. Don’t think too much about it. Haha!”

 

That was no comfort at all. I understood why Winnie had named the medicine that way.

 

Since ‘Eric Marseille’s Sailor’s Remedy’ was already famous, she must have branded it as ‘Eric Marseille’s Anti-Diarrhea Medicine’ for marketing.

 

The name was so intuitive that it would be more accessible.

 

“Eric! Diarrhea! Eric! Diarrhea!”

 

“…Adrienne, shut that merchant up right now.”

 

“Hahaha! Understood.”

 

Adrienne led the merchant to the warehouse where large quantities of holy water were stacked.

 

My gaze followed them, and there, the witch Winnie was directing workers inside the warehouse.

 

For a moment, I considered rushing over to scold Winnie, but in the end, I just returned to the lord’s manor.

 

‘Hold back. It’s not Winnie’s fault. I should’ve given her a proper name sooner. Ugh, I feel like kicking myself.’

 

But it would be much later before I realized that I was the only one bothered by the name ‘Eric—Diarrhea.’

 

Thanks to the thriving sales of holy water in Canada syrup, the territory’s financial situation improved rapidly.

 

Diego, the chief economic advisor, delivered the good news with a bright expression.

 

“My lord, at this rate, we’ll be able to maintain the budget without issuing bonds starting the year after next. Also, with so many people employed at the holy water factory, unemployment has dropped significantly.”

 

“That’s great news. Then we can afford to start a new venture.”

 

“Huh? What are you planning to do?”

 

“We need to buy slaves.”

 

A shadow crossed Diego’s face.

 

After all the effort to tighten the budget, this lord was already thinking of spending money again—no wonder he looked displeased.

 

“Diego, don’t worry too much. Even if it’s a project that requires immediate budget allocation, it’ll bring long-term profits.”

 

“I suppose so.”

 

Diego’s reply was listless. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand my intentions. He was just tired of squeezing the budget dry.

 

Regaining his composure, Diego asked, “Do you plan to have the slaves grow wheat?”

 

“No. They’ll work on a different kind of farming. We’ll also raise cattle.”

 

“Cattle? Not sheep?”

 

In the northern continent, it’s common for farmers to raise sheep alongside wheat cultivation.

 

While many focus solely on wheat farming, most live in large family units, so at least some family members usually raise sheep.

 

The cows here are not crossbred, so they’re on the lean side, and grain has to be mixed into their feed.

 

That’s why unless they’re work cattle for farming, people don’t raise many of them. We barely had enough grain to feed ourselves, let alone livestock.

 

“Right. There should be people raising cows.”

 

“If you raise them in large numbers, feed becomes a problem.”

 

“There’s a solution. Ever heard of fodder beets?”

 

“Fodder beets? I’ve heard they’re grown in large quantities in the southern continent.”

 

The southern continent is a warmer region, so they raise more cows and goats than sheep.

 

Fodder beets are a type of beet, and I’ve heard they’re cultivated in massive quantities, piled up like mountains, to feed livestock.

 

Of course, on Earth, they’re not called ‘fodder beets’ but something else.

 

“Exactly. We’ll import and cultivate those fodder beets.”

 

“There must be a reason they’re not grown in the northern continent.”

 

“I already looked into it back in Westphalia. It’s simply a matter of profit. In the northern continent, anyone who can farm grows wheat. Because that’s what brings in the most money.”

 

Diego’s expression darkened further.

 

It was as if he was thinking, Then why not just grow wheat?

 

“Let me explain. There are two reasons I want to grow fodder beets. First, to make something out of the beets themselves. Second, to raise cows and make something out of them.”

 

“So you’re planning two new products, then.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Could you at least give me a hint as to what they are?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“…”

 

This wasn’t because I didn’t trust Diego, but because I wanted him to think and speculate on his own.

 

Simply being told this is how it isn’t as good as figuring it out