Chapter 9: A Fair Wage
After a grueling day of work, Rose let himself collapse beside Gunther, sharing a skin of wine while wiping the sweat from his forehead with his own clothes.
Not because he cared about his tunic—he hated the damned thing. It was terribly cumbersome.
As they drank and caught their breath, Rose suddenly remembered the other reason he had come to the fields.
Although advancing the agricultural reform was important, he had an entirely different mission that he had nearly forgotten… mostly because he'd gotten carried away leading by example.
"Hey, Gunther, do you have about a pound of lard I can buy from you?" he asked out of nowhere.
Well—out of nowhere for Gunther.
For Rose, it made perfect sense.
The progress of the new farming system would take years, maybe even decades, to fully establish.
But he needed the lard now to make a hair pomade that would restore some shine to his lifeless hair.
He also needed to convince some farmers to start practicing beekeeping…
and figure out how the hell beekeeping even worked.
Not necessarily in that order.
Sure, his family had lard in the castle kitchens, but the cooks were notoriously stingy with anything he wanted to take "just because." And if he started taking lard regularly, sooner or later he'd have to explain to his father that he was using it to make a kind of medieval hair conditioner—
a conversation he preferred never to have.
Gunther struggled to understand the young lord's behavior.
Even after helping him plow and sow the fields all day—practically half-dead—Rose was now asking to buy lard instead of simply confiscating it.
"My lord, all this land belongs to your family. Everything I produce belongs to—" the farmer attempted to say, but Rose lifted a hand to stop him.
"I firmly believe that every person deserves fair pay for their work. So tell me—how much do you think the lard you worked so hard to make is worth? I'll pay for it," Rose said simply.
After all, it wasn't as if he had many other things to spend money on… for now.
Again, Gunther stared at Rose in utter disbelief. In all his life, he had never known a noble who behaved like this.
"One day, when I rule these lands, I'll pay every man the true value of his labor—no matter if he was born a humble farmer," Rose declared with such sincerity that Gunther wondered if this was all some sort of dream.
Even so, tears welled up in the farmer's eyes.
If the young lord were an ordinary noble, he would not have believed a single word.
But he had watched Rose work the entire day by his side, enduring real pain just to show that he trusted the four-field system would work.
He had demanded nothing in return…
and now he was even willing to pay him for something that had taken so much effort to produce.
"Three pfennigs," Gunther said at last.
After a moment of thought, Rose decided it was more than fair.
He reached into his tunic, pulled out a small pouch with several white coins, and took three of them between his fingers, handing them over without hesitation.
Gunther stared at the coins like a madman.
When he said three pfennigs, he meant copper pfennigs—
not the white ones, which were at least half silver and worth more than triple what he had asked for.
Probably even more than that.
He stared at Rose in absolute shock for several long seconds before finally reacting and thrusting the coins back into his hands.
"M-my lord… when I said three pfennigs, I meant the copper ones, not the white ones…"
And it was at that moment that several things inside Rose's mind clicked into place.
To begin with, while sifting through the memories of his predecessor, he realized that every coin he had ever seen had been white— which meant he had no idea there were multiple types of pfennigs with the same name but vastly different value.
That was when he remembered how his father and Uncle Zeref had taken several years—even after the Grand Tournament—to standardize the empire's currency.
His father had often told him how, before the Empire and even during its early years, hundreds of different coins existed, some of which didn't even have real value. And now, discovering that this world suffered the same problem—likely on an even larger scale—made Rose feel the beginnings of a migraine.
Now he would need to figure out a way to create a functional monetary system in a feudal society.
Damn it. That was going to be a nightmare. Especially because he had absolutely no formal knowledge of economics and had no one around who could teach him.
Truth be told, if his father hadn't had Gilgamesh and Hades, he probably would have crashed the empire's economy beyond repair.
Fortunately, Rose still had plenty of time. He had no intention of becoming Baron of Kufstein anytime soon. In fact, he wanted his father to live a long, happy life and even meet a few grandchildren before Rose was forced to inherit the barony.
That would give him more than enough time to find someone who could teach him economics. And in the worst case… he would summon Mammon.
After all, as Lucifer's nephew, demons had no claim to his soul—and the Lord of Avarice would certainly know how to build a proper monetary system.
For now, though, he just needed to deal with the situation he had stumbled into for failing to research properly. So he took Gunther's hand, closed the farmer's fingers around the coins, and gave him a small smile.
"To me, three pfennigs are three pfennigs—no matter what they're made of. And when I come into power, I'll create my own currency so its value is much clearer."
Yes—he had just indirectly admitted he had no idea how the current monetary system worked. And while that might earn him a few scams in the future, he was confident he wouldn't lose too much money if he managed to secure the villagers' loyalty.
Even so, it took quite a while to convince Gunther to accept such a ridiculous payment. Nearly two hours, during which Rose eventually had to use his authority to force him to take the money. At long last, Gunther relented and handed him the lard—packed neatly inside a ceramic jar.
Naturally, the farmer couldn't help but wonder what on earth the young lord needed an entire pound of lard for, considering the castle kitchens surely had plenty. And of course, he asked. This time he only flinched a little; he already knew Rose was far more patient and even-tempered than most nobles.
"You'll find out next time we meet."
With that, Rose stored the jar in one of the saddlebags and mounted his horse.
"I'll see you in a few days, my friend. For now, I need to rest."
He very consciously avoided mentioning that he needed to recover from the physical strain his still-weak body wasn't prepared for.
He nudged the horse forward and began the trip back to the castle. By the time he arrived, the beautiful orange sunset lighting the sky was already fading away with the last of the daylight. And of course, his first order upon returning was to bathe as soon as possible.
But fate had other plans, because the moment he stepped inside, his little sister Henrietta launched herself into his arms—rubbing her face against his sweat-soaked torso and smearing dirt all over her cheeks. Not that the girl minded in the slightest. She just pouted at him.
"You're late… and dirty," she said in what she believed was a cold, disapproving tone—accompanied by a look meant to chastise her big brother.
After all, it wasn't like him to return so late. In fact, it wasn't like him to leave the castle at all, let alone come back this filthy. So her imagination filled with increasingly wild scenarios of what he might have been doing.
Rose, for his part, had to swallow the pain in his battered muscles and hide it behind a strange laugh as he gently patted his little sister's head.
"I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. I just had a few matters to take care of," he said, mentally cursing the weakness of his body, his own stupidity for doing such exhausting physical labor after his morning workout… and several other things.
Henrietta, of course, stared at him for a few seconds, her eyes shining with curiosity before shrugging and assuming he was just being weird again.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the ceramic jar in her brother's hands.
A change of subject Rose was more than happy to accept. He simply answered with a small smile:
"Lard."
The girl pressed a finger to her lips, thinking intensely for a few moments. She was certain she had heard that word before, but had no idea where or in what context.
"Pig fat," her brother clarified, realizing she had absolutely no idea what lard was.
And at that precise moment—when understanding finally dawned—Henrietta's face scrunched up before she recoiled from him dramatically.
"That's disgusting!" she yelped, running away from her older brother.
Rose simply watched her for a few seconds. He had expected her to ask what he wanted it for, and he had planned to explain that he intended to turn it into a hair conditioner and bathing soap.
Then he remembered the way she had jumped on him earlier, smearing her face all over his dirt-covered chest.
"Henrietta, clean your face. You've got dirt all over it."
With that said, Rose only had to wait a few more hours for his nightly bath. After all, his sister's health and well-being took priority over everything else. So he headed back to his room—
—and that was when his fight-or-die instincts flared back to life.
He felt the same sensation as when his father had hundreds of guards watching everything around them. But unlike the comforting protection he associated with his overprotective father's soldiers, this time he sensed intense hostility behind that gaze.
However, he was exhausted and didn't even possess a tenth of his true strength. So he merely dragged himself to his bedroom. He would deal with the spy when he regained all his power.
For now, he just needed a bath and sleep. If Henrietta couldn't sleep, then she could crawl into his bed. He was far too tired to get up again if she asked for another story.
End of Chapter.