After exchanging goodnights with a blushing Nora—but not actually withdrawing his consciousness—Ron lay on the bed, enjoying the warmth of the young girl's embrace while reviewing everything that had happened since he entered the Royal Capital.
Now, the outline of events was becoming clear.
The Church of the God of War, and the Church of the God of Life likely simply didn't want him, a Chosen One of the Goddess of Harvest, to have an easy time. That was why they had been making small moves behind the scenes.
Sending assassins.
Spreading rumors.
Snatching up shopfronts.
Meanwhile, a group of others stood nearby, watching the spectacle while fanning the flames, wondering if they could profit from the chaos.
Count Hodge had leveraged his daughter's advantage and become the first to "eat the crab."
Unfortunately, this crab—Ron—claimed he wasn't familiar with him and waved a claw, saying, "Come back when I'm fully cooked."
At one point, he had even wanted to use that crab claw to chop off a few of Count Hodge's fingers.
But that wouldn't solve anything.
So he endured it.
When Eileen had shown that apologetic expression at the gate, she had truly been apologizing.
Because Count Hodge's ambition was enormous.
Among the conditions he proposed, the forty percent profit share was actually trivial.
The crucial part was the latter condition—the decision-making authority over who could purchase the flower shop's plants.
That was an extremely significant power.
Given the current influence of the Nether Orchid, Crimson-Gold Chrysanthemum, and Scalevine, the energy behind that authority was immense.
It was only when Count Hodge made that demand that Ron suddenly realized just how great an advantage he held.
The Nether Orchid improved a mage's meditation efficiency, and now a new meditation potion had even been developed with it as the primary ingredient.
The Crimson-Gold Chrysanthemum increased a warrior's success rate in condensing a Battle Aura Vortex. It also acted as a stabilizing agent in explosive potions—the new explosive potion that had shone brilliantly in the northern campaign relied on it.
Scalevine's effects were decent for most humans, but not irreplaceable. However, for the elves, it was an exceptionally powerful defensive measure—its influence had already spread beyond the human race.
Count Hodge had set his sights on exactly these points. That was why he had moved so eagerly, hoping to seize this portion of the benefits into his own hands.
And he was confident.
After all, behind him stood the entire power of the Eastern Territory duke.
In his view, the resources he could offer were absolutely worth the so-called "price" Ron would pay.
Oh, right.
It was called "sharing."
When Ron had heard that word, he had truly wanted to flip the hotpot over the man's head.
Tsk.
Calm down. Calm down.
After Nora had fallen asleep, Ron secretly controlled the puppet to nuzzle lightly against her soft little belly. Only then did his mood improve slightly.
Lying on the bed, he thought for a while longer. Gradually, an idea took shape. In the end, he sighed, closed his eyes, and prepared to enter meditation, muttering to himself:
Originally, I planned to open the shop, handle a few matters, and then leave.
But since you've made things like this—
Then I just won't leave.
Let's see who can outlast whom.
…
The next morning.
Sylvie arrived early at Ron's courtyard. Seeing him doing his morning training, she stood quietly to the side and waited.
When Ron finished and retracted the golden battle aura back into the vortex at his lower abdomen, Sylvie stepped forward.
"The Archbishop has heard about what happened yesterday. If Your Highness intends to open a branch of Ron's Wonderful Flower Shop, he said he can allocate a shop to you."
"Mm." Ron wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked toward the house. "Tell the Archbishop I appreciate the kindness. Have him hold onto the shop for now. We'll talk about it later."
Sylvie watched his back thoughtfully before nodding. "Understood."
Ron remained in the convent the entire morning.
And the events of that morning once again confirmed his speculation from the night before.
"Your Highness Ron, this is a letter from Marquis Taylor."
"Your Highness Ron, this is a letter from the Grain and Medicine Merchant Alliance."
"Your Highness Ron, this is a letter from the Northern Confederation."
"Your Highness Ron…"
In just one morning, letter after letter arrived, eventually piling high on his desk.
In addition, many factions had sent representatives to invite him as a guest.
Some viscounts had even come personally to request an audience.
He declined them all.
If he truly wanted to find a backer, the Christine family would undoubtedly be one of the best choices.
But the way these people ate was too ugly.
After Count Hodge had approached him yesterday, the factions that had previously been watching from the sidelines could no longer sit still. One by one, they rushed to his door, afraid he might agree too quickly and become someone else's pet dog.
Ron sat at the desk, opening the letters one by one.
The list the Archbishop had given him earlier lay beside him. He compared the senders on the envelopes against the names on the list.
To be honest—
In this situation, relying solely on himself or solely on the Church of the Goddess of Harvest was unrealistic.
One person—or one faction alone—could not withstand such turbulent forces.
He had to find the individual or power capable of helping him break the deadlock—without surrendering control of the flower shop.
That required careful consideration.
It wasn't until noon, when a nun brought lunch into his room, that Ron finally lifted his head from the pile of letters.
All the envelopes were moved aside.
Only four remained on the table—
One from the Royal Capital Magic Academy.
One from the Royal Capital First Military Academy.
And two from the military—one from the Magic Division and one from the Elite Division.
Ron placed the four letters beside him and began eating lunch.
As he ate, he pondered.
After finishing, he stroked his chin. He placed the two letters from the military into a drawer and tucked the ones from the Royal Capital Magic Academy and the Royal Capital First Military Academy into his coat.
By afternoon—
He took out 100 Nether Orchids and 100 Crimson-Gold Chrysanthemums from his backpack and handed them to Sylvie, instructing her to deliver them respectively to the Royal Capital Magic Academy and the Royal Capital First Military Academy.
After that, he ignored the matter entirely.
Leaving the convent, he went to the street and bought a reclining chair, along with a fishing rod and bait. Following Central Street of Peace Square southward, he made his way to Lake Impash.
Light snow began to fall.
Ron wandered alone along Moonview Street by Lake Impash, then stepped onto the frozen surface of the lake. Finding a sparsely populated spot, he set down the reclining chair.
Drawing his sword, he infused it with golden battle aura and carved a head-sized hole into the ice.
He set up the fishing rod, attached bait, lay back in the reclining chair, and cast the line—
Plop.
The bait landed on the ice.
Refusing to accept defeat, Ron cast a few more times. Eventually, he simply widened the hole to the size of a round table before finally managing to fling the bait cleanly into the lake.
He took out a small stove, set up a hotpot, boiled lake water, and added syrupy resin and pine needles to steep.
When a fish bit the hook, he personally cleaned it and tossed it straight into the pot.
He brought out seasoning made from Spice Pine Seed, dipped the fish meat—
Delicious.
Leaning back in the reclining chair, Ron ignored the obvious and hidden watchers around him and let out two soft chuckles.
Let's just drag this out.
Let's see who outlasts whom.