It was evening when Victor returned to the manor. Emma followed behind him, muttering about miracles and divine intervention the whole way. Victor simply smiled and nodded, saying nothing more. He knew he had succeeded, but this was only the first step.
"Young Master, what...what do you plan to do with these thirty silver coins?" Emma asked.
Victor thought for a moment and said, "Part of it will be used to pay taxes, and the rest to expand production."
"Taxes?" Emma was stunned. "But the Baron requires thirty silver coins plus twenty bushels of grain. We only have ten bushels, we're still short twenty."
Victor frowned. "Twenty bushels of grain...how much will that cost?"
"At least eighty silver coins," Emma said, "but there's a grain shortage on the market right now, and prices are still rising."
Victor's heart sank. He had earned thirty silver coins today, but he was still far from eighty. And that was just the cost of the grain, not including the thirty silver coins in taxes.
"What can we do then?" Victor asked.
"We can only...we can only ask the Baron," Emma said. "Hopefully he can give us some more time."
Victor fell silent. In this world, asking for favors is never easy. Especially asking a nobleman of a higher rank—it's even more difficult.
"I'll go to the Baron's mansion tomorrow," Victor said. "I'll try to persuade him."
Emma looked at him, a hint of worry in her eyes: "Young Master, the Baron has a bad temper, you...you must be careful."
Victor nodded: "I know."
The next morning, Victor put on his best clothes—a slightly worn velvet coat, coarse cloth trousers, and a pair of worn but clean leather shoes. He stood in front of the mirror, straightening his collar. He looked thin and pale in the mirror, but his eyes shone with determination.
"Young Master, are you ready?" Emma asked from outside the door.
"Yes," Victor opened the door and went out.
He rode an old horse—the only one left on the estate, their only means of transportation. Emma sat behind him, supporting his back. Together they walked towards the Baron's manor.
The Baron's manor, located north of town, was a magnificent stone fortress. High walls, a wide moat, and two guard towers. In comparison, the Reinhardt family manor looked like a dilapidated shack.
Victor stopped at the city gate and presented his calling card to the guard. The guard glanced at it and frowned. "The Reinhardt family's bastard son? What brings you here?"
"I have business with His Excellency the Baron," Victor said.
The guard sneered, "The Baron is too busy to see you."
Victor took a deep breath and said, "It concerns taxes; please inform him."
The guard hesitated for a moment, then finally nodded, "Wait."
About an hour later, the guard returned, "Go in; the Baron is in his study."
Victor dismounted, leaving Emma outside, and entered the castle alone. The corridors were wide and luxurious, the walls adorned with tapestries and weapons. Servants came and went, giving Victor disdainful looks. But Victor paid them no heed, going straight to the study door.
"Come in," a aged but powerful voice called from inside.
Victor pushed open the door and saw a middle-aged man sitting in the study. He was dressed in magnificent noble attire, and the table was piled high with documents and ledgers. This was Baron Robert Hogg, the master of this land.
"A bastard son of the Reinhardt family?" The Baron looked up, his eyes devoid of any respect. "What are you doing here?"
Victor walked to the table and bowed. "Your Excellency, I've come to discuss taxes."
"Taxes?" The Baron sneered. "Your family hasn't paid all your taxes for this year. Are you here to ask for an extension?"
Victor nodded. "Yes, Your Excellency. This year's harvest was poor; we only managed to collect ten bushels of grain, we're short twenty."
"And what about the thirty silver coins?" the Baron asked.
"We'll gather the money as soon as possible," Victor said, "but it will take some time."
The Baron shook his head. "No. I've given you enough time. If the taxes aren't paid by the end of the month, I'll take back the estate."
Victor took a deep breath and said, "Your Excellency, I beg you for a three-month extension. I will pay all the taxes within three months."
The Baron laughed, a mocking laugh. "Three months? What makes you think you can do that?"
Victor looked up, meeting the Baron's eyes. At that moment, he suddenly felt a strange power surging within him—a power capable of insight, analysis, and persuasion.
This power told him that the Baron was not a ruthless exploiter, but a pragmatic ruler. He cared about his own interests, but was also willing to give loyal subjects a chance. The key was to prove that giving him an extension would be profitable.
Viktor took a deep breath and said, "Baron, I know you're worried we'll default on our debts. But I assure you, the Reinhardt family has always been loyal. If you grant us a three-month grace period, we will not only pay our taxes in full, but we'll also give you extra profits."
The Baron raised an eyebrow. "Extra profits? What profits?"
Viktor smiled. "I've developed a new product—soap. It's cleaner and cheaper than the soaps on the market. I've already sold a batch in town, and the feedback has been excellent. If you give us a three-month grace period, I will expand production and sell the soap to more towns. Then, I will not only pay our taxes in full, but I will also give you 10% of the sales revenue as a bonus."
The Baron was stunned. He looked at Viktor, for the first time truly acknowledging this young bastard son.
"Soap?" the Baron asked. "Are you sure this can make money?"
"Of course," Victor said. "The cost is thirty copper coins, and it can sell for two copper coins a bar. That's a 33% profit margin. If I expand production, I can produce a hundred bars a month, which would be a profit of thirty silver coins. Three of those silver coins will be yours."
The Baron's eyes lit up. He was a businessman by trade and knew what that profit meant. But he also had concerns: "Can you guarantee a stable supply?"
"Of course," Victor said. "I will personally supervise production to ensure quality. And I'll give you twenty bars of soap as samples so you can try them."
The Baron fell silent. He was weighing the pros and cons—the risks of a three-month grace period versus the potential gains. Finally, he nodded: "Alright, I'll give you three months. But if you can't pay your taxes after three months, the manor will be mine."
Victor bowed: "Thank you, Your Excellency. I won't let you down."
The Baron waved him away. Victor turned and walked out of the study, a sense of relief washing over him. He knew he had succeeded. But more importantly, he discovered a special ability—a talent for eloquence.
This talent allowed him to see into people's hearts, analyze situations, and persuade others. If used properly, this talent would be the foundation of his success in this strange world.
"Young Master, how did it go?" Emma approached, asking anxiously.
Victor smiled: "It was a success. The Baron agreed to grant a three-month extension."
Emma gasped, then hugged Victor tightly, tears streaming down her face: "Thank you, Young Master! Thank you!"
Victor gently patted her back, saying, "Don't thank me. It's what we should do."
He looked up at the sky; the rain had stopped, the dark clouds had dispersed, and some sunlight was shining through. He knew this was just the beginning. Next, he would expand production, sell more soap, and earn more money.
And ultimately, he would restore the Reinhardt family to its former glory.