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Commerce Emperor Chapter 30: Seeds of Tomorrow
🕑 Added 2023-10-31 08:00:57 +0000 UTC----------
The tree gracefully lowered its branch and poured steaming water into my teacup.
I watched the scene in silent fascination. The oak was remarkably young and petite enough to fit inside the lodge where Mr. Fronan hosted us. Its roots danced on the floor as it graciously proceeded to serve Marika next. My friend studied the tree with a puzzled expression. No doubt the same questions entered both of our minds.
I had bought enough forestry-related skills to know that an oak was physically incapable of moving. Yet here it was contorting its branches in a way that should have wreaked havoc on its bark. Its roots somehow managed to support its shifting weight without earth in which to anchor themselves.
Mr. Fronan’s lodge hosted an entire vegetal ballet. The daub-and-wattle hall, built with thick logs and roofed with sod, housed a vibrant menagerie of rose bushes, chamomile flowers, and young pines. Some engaged in the meticulous task of dusting corners, while others waged war against cobwebs that adorned the windows. A few even gathered coal to fuel the fireplace; a spectacle which I found positively absurd.
At least one of us isn’t too bothered. I glanced at Soraseo, who seemed completely unfazed by this bizarre scenery. She had traded her sword for her biwa and started playing a slow-paced melody. From what I gathered, it was customary to perform a musical performance during tea ceremonies in her homeland. I wonder if we could get a beech tree to play the drum.
“How is this possible?” Marika asked Mr. Fronan once the tree waiter finished its service. Her eyes sparkled with fascination. “Is this your class’ work?”
“The Druid class grants me the ability to commune with and exert control over plant life.” Mr. Fronan briefly paused to sip his tea. “Furthermore, it bestows upon me the power to imbue them with essence through physical contact. This endows these flowers and trees with a few hours' worth of autonomy.”
“So there is a little part of you in each of these plants?” I asked, my gaze shifting towards the window where remnants of the shattered golem lay ensnared in vines and ivy. “Does your class also accelerate their growth too? I find it hard to believe that your predecessor could have vanquished the golem otherwise.”
“You possess keen insight, Mr. Waybright. However, I do not provide the essence myself.” Mr. Fronan laid a hand on the closest rosebush to showcase his ability. My magical sight picked up essence moving from his mark to the plant, which resulted in five new flowers blooming among its thorns. “According to Mrs. Belarra, my mark channels essence from prayers addressed to the Heroes. An almost inexhaustible source of energy.”
“Makes sense,” Marika murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Providing the essence yourself would have left you on death’s door by now.”
“Unfortunately, I am nowhere near as proficient with the mark as Stefan was,” Mr. Fronan admitted with a weary sigh. “That man could raise the forest itself against his enemies, whereas I find myself challenged with the task of directing mere shrubbery. I can only speculate as to why the Druid class chose to bestow its favor upon me, but I do question its wisdom.”
“We all struggled with the same question once,” I replied while sipping my tea. I immediately recognized the peppermint-laced flavor of the Stonelands. Strange, I hadn’t expected a man of Marwen Fronan’s stature to prefer this over the more luxurious Seukaian teas, like Mersie. “Would you mind sharing how Stefan died with us?”
Mr. Fronan gently placed his teacup back onto the table. “As I’ve told you before, the class originally selected Stefan, this lumber yard’s woodmaster. A just and benevolent soul. I hired him to oversee the growth and planting of new trees—a role in which he excelled.”
“I hav—I am surprised,” Soraseo said, her fingers pinching her biwa’s strings the moment she caught her own grammar mistake. “I would not expect a lumberjack to become the Druid.”
“Stefan opposed expanding the lumber yard long before I saw the wisdom in his stance,” Mr. Fronan explained with a nostalgic tone. “He sought to preserve this forest from overexploitation. I suppose the Druid class resonated with his noble quest.” His gaze drifted to the fireplace, his silver monocle reflecting the dancing flames. “Are you familiar with the Purple Plague?”
“All too well,” I replied, my teeth clenching on their own. That ghost would haunt me forever.
“Then you must know that it spares the animal kingdom from its depredation. As war and disease wreaked havoc across the land, locals began to discard their dead near the forest.”
Soraseo swiftly grasped the grim implications. “Beasts that feed on man will forget to fear them.”
“We encountered signs of a Dreadwolf preying on travelers along the nearby road,” I informed Mr. Fronan. “I assume these two events are connected?”
“Partly.” Mr. Fronan’s jaw briefly clenched on its own. I sensed something bothered him, but he thought it best not to mention it. “In the final months of his life, Stefan devoted himself to safeguarding the neighboring villages from similar attacks, only to discover that the escalating number of disappearances surpassed what the local beasts could perpetrate. From my understanding, he learned that a group abducted refugees transiting through the border.”
“The Knots,” I deduced swiftly. “They figured out that they could operate undetected here, since locals would blame the disappearances on monsters.”
Mr. Fronan confirmed my suspicions with a grave nod. “The kidnappers brought their victims to a clandestine forge deep within the woods. Many people entered through its doors, and a scarce few left its premises.”
Marika's expression darkened, her gaze fixed intently upon her tea. The evidence so far pointed to her ex-husband being the responsible party. Those poor refugees probably ended up sacrificed to animate golems.
“I am not privy to every detail of the ensuing events,” Mr. Fronan continued, his hand coiling into a fist. “I arrived right before tragedy struck and I only witnessed its conclusion. Trees do not make for astute observers.”
“Observers?” I repeated before remembering Soraseo’s earlier warning: that the trees were watching us. “Wait, how can plants see?”
“While plants do not perceive the world as we humans do, they can indeed detect fluctuations in light, air pressure, and scents. Some have even evolved to visualize essence as effectively as any witchcrafter.”
“So that’s how you sensed our approach.” I would never feel safe walking through the woods ever again. “How far does your mental control of plants extend?”
“It stretches no farther than the reach of my voice,” Mr. Fronan answered, his lips curving into a smile. “Plants do not communicate through words, but aromas, pollen, and other signals beyond human perception. The trees along the road simply informed their kindred of your arrival, who then relayed the news back to me.”
The potential of his class left me awe-struck. Mr. Fronan could easily become a terrifying spymaster or assassin if he so desired, even in cities with limited vegetation. I could see his class’ limits too, especially compared to the Ranger to which it answered. Unlike animals, plants required constant essence infusions to move around and their strange senses provided only fragmentary intelligence. I doubt an oak would be as effective as a bear in a fight either.
“One fateful night, Stefan rallied the local militias and raided the clandestine forge under the cover of the darkness. I supposed he thought his power would let him deal with whatever threat it hid in its depths.” Mr. Fronan's voice grew heavy with sorrow. “Regrettably, he was mistaken.”
“The Knots unleashed the golems they built at the forge,” I guessed. Unfortunately, I could picture the raid’s outcome. A single golem was a formidable adversary on its lonesome, and our enemies probably stored an entire squadron's worth of them at their base at least.
“They possessed six of them in total,” Mr. Fronan confirmed. The number caused me to tense up. “Stefan suffered a lethal wound during the clash. Survivors quickly evacuated him so he could receive emergency treatment, but one of the golems relentlessly pursued them all the way to the lumber yard.”
“Golems don’t quit,” Marika said, her eyes glaring at the machine outside the window. A similar construct chased after her even after losing its head. “Their kind does not stop until their target is dead.”
“Stefan managed to neutralize it, but succumbed to his injuries shortly after.” Mr. Fronan set his empty cup aside. “His mark then returned to Lady Alexios before promptly choosing me as its next bearer.”
“What happened to the rest of the Knots?” I pressed. “Since your camp still stands, I assume they didn’t give chase.”
“Criminals like them are a cowardly lot,” Mr. Fronan replied with disdain. “The rest of them did not attack the camp, no. I assume they opted for caution once their hideout was compromised and elected to flee instead.”
“Flee where?” I probed further.
“They split into two factions from what I can tell; one fled west toward the Walbourg border and the other took the eastern road. I dispatched warning missives to the closest cities, but these fiends eluded notice by sticking to the wilderness.”
The second group was almost certainly the one who fought us under Dolganov’s command. They must have linked up with the Regent’s army. The fact another Knot warband settled in Walbourg alarmed me greatly.
“We buried Stefan and the fallen after this confrontation,” Mr. Fronan concluded his tale. “Mrs. Belarra arrived to assess the situation a few hours later. She recorded my account of the event, gave me suggestions on how to use my Class, and then recommended I wait until other Heroes arrived to help reinforce me.”
It was quite a sad tale; and a somber reminder that we Heroes could fall in battle too. The fact Eris arrived after the disaster at least pointed to her innocence at least.
I exchanged glances with Marika and Soraseo. We’d all noted the same worrying detail.
“Six golems,” Soraseo said once her song reached its conclusion. “We destroyed two and the former Druid destroyed one. Three more remain.”
“Three too many,” I muttered. I didn’t like the thought of the Knots fielding three more walking siege engines against us.
“Was there a redhead at the forge?” Marika asked sharply.
Mr. Fronan’s brow furrowed in bewilderment. “A redhead?”
“A blacksmith. The golem-maker.” Marika’s tight jaw barely concealed her burgeoning rage. “One-eyed.”
“I… I cannot say,” Mr. Fronan apologized. “As I said, I was not present on-site and the few survivors provided incomplete statements. It was a tumultuous time.”
His answer didn’t placate Marika. “Then can you lead me to the golem forge?”
“You will find nothing of value there,” Mr. Fronan warned her. “We scoured the place after the battle. The kidnappers stripped it of everything of value and then quickly vanished into the night.” He shook his head. “They only left corpses behind.”
“I insist.” Marika’s hand clenched into a fist. She would not relent on the matter. “I am a weapon exorcist. I might notice details that escaped you.”
Mr. Fronan did not argue any further. “Very well, I shall arrange for Thorn to guide you there.”
“You and Soraseo should go investigate the site, see if the Knots left any useful intelligence behind,” I suggested to Marika. “I would like to discuss the political situation with Mr. Fronan a bit further.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Marika replied as she arose from her seat, her eyes burning with determination. “We won't take long.”
“I shall be your shadow,” Soraseo promised.
I watched them depart with some apprehension. I couldn’t blame Marika for wanting to put her past to rest—in more ways than one—but I couldn’t shake the feeling she might act too impulsively. We couldn’t prove too cautious when facing demons.
“What do you know of the Priest’s upcoming visit to Walbourg?” I questioned Mr. Fronan once we were alone with his plant companions.
“Not much besides what I have already shared with you,” Mr. Fronan admitted. “Walbourg and the Arcadian Freeholds have long been a stronghold of Reformist sentiments. Recent rumors that the current Priest shares their doctrine emboldened the movement. I usually abstain from commenting on politics, but we might soon witness the western branch of the Arcane Abbey seceding from the same body.”
“A situation fraught with peril.” While I sympathized with Reformist ideals, religious conflicts had a notorious tendency to escalate into the bloody kind. Another war would only serve to empower Belgoroth further.
I would bet my entire company that the Knots infiltrated the Reformist movement, either directly or through sleeper agents. Mersie already warned me that the Knot of Pride specialized in subverting authorities from within. It would make sense for them to encourage any initiative that would weaken the Arcane Abbey.
Which meant the Priest’s life was very much in danger.
“When will the Priest visit Walbourg?” I asked Mr. Fronan.
“I do not know. She might very well be there as we speak.”
“Then we have no time to waste.” Knowing the Knots, they would probably take a shot at her or thwart any attempts at a diplomatic resolution to the Reformist schism. “What do you plan to do, Mr. Fronan?”
Mr. Fronan smiled warmly. “I planned to return to the Arcadian Freeholds and meet with the Ranger. I have amassed quite a few contacts in Walbourg, so I might be able to assist in your diplomatic efforts as well.”
“The Ranger?” Oh right, Cortaner mentioned that they were active in the west. “They operate in the Arcadian Freeholds?”
“Her name is Alastride. She is…” Mr. Fronan’s smile strained. “Quite the formidable character. She all but controls the city of Ironpit now.”
Ironpit… If memory served, that name belonged to a large city in the Arcadian Freeholds famous for hosting Pangeal’s largest arena. Many adventurers, warriors, and monster-tamers flocked there to seek fortune and acclaim.
I also noticed an interesting pattern in how classes were assigned. The Mage was in the Stonelands, the Ranger in the Arcadian Freeholds, the Bard in the Fire Islands, the Knight would rule Archfrost, the Priest moved from Erebia to Walbourg, and according to Eris, the Rogue worked in the Everbright Empire. While Archfrost was my homeland, I also received the Merchant mark in the Riverland Federation. It seemed that the Seven Great Classes each chose a representative from a distinct major nation.
A different Demon Ancestor probably also held sway in each of these territories.
“I would be honored to travel with you, Mr. Fronan,” I said from the bottom of my heart. “I’ve always dreamed of meeting an entrepreneur of your stature.”
“Ah.” The old man smiled kindly at me. “Your words are too kind, young man. I do not warrant such praise.”
“No need for false modesty,” I chided him gently. “Your work has changed the very course of history. I wouldn’t even have learned to read without the books you distributed, and you founded one of Pangeal’s most prestigious companies. You do deserve my praise.”
Mr. Fronan shifted uneasily in his seat. “I consider myself an inventor first and a merchant second, Mr. Waybright. I never intended to become rich when I invented the printing press. I am no different from those explorers in the Stonelands who dug around and accidentally struck a vein of gold.”
“You still invested that gold wisely.” It astonished me that a man of his colossal success maintained such a humble disposition. It was a refreshing surprise. “I have noticed a very interesting detail about how you set up your lumber yard. You concentrated all steps of the woodworking process in one place, from lumber extraction to carpentry. I assume this helps you streamline expenses and sell goods on the cheap.”
“You have a keen eye for commerce. However, while cost reduction was indeed a factor, I mostly sought to reduce waste. Paper printing remains our primary business, but it does not require an entire tree. To my mind…” Mr. Fronan paused to gently scratch a nearby rose bush. I half-expected it to purr in response, and found myself disappointed when it did not. “It feels disrespectful to fell a living being and leave the remains to waste.”
This man wasted nothing and tried to make the best use of all resources available. I liked his way of thinking.
“Has Eris informed you that we opened a company to help develop Snowdrift?” I asked him. “Would you be interested in collaborating with us? Between your class and the Fronan Printing Press’ reach, we could achieve great things together. Open presses in the north, replicate Archfrost’s rare tomes for widespread distribution…”
“You are very kind, Mr. Waybright, but I must respectfully refuse.” Mr. Fronan shook his head, his expression resolute. “I have decided to retire.”
“Retire?” I gasped in shock. Of all the words I’d expected to come out of such a famous merchant’s mouth, retirement wasn’t one of them. It seemed almost anathema to our vocation. “But you seem to be in excellent shape, and your company is thriving!”
“I already have more money than I could ever spend, and found a greater cause to devote my energy to.” A scowl passed over Mr. Fronan’s face. “You said you came across signs of a Dreadwolf preying on the road. I… I must confess a degree of responsibility for these attacks.”
I frowned in confusion before quickly catching on. “Has the lumber yard disturbed the beast?”
“Indeed.” Mr. Fronan removed his monocle and meticulously cleaned it with a handkerchief. “When I invented the printing press, the world’s appetite for wood grew exponentially. There were barely eight million books in circulation before I opened the Fronan Printing Press. Two decades later, that number has increased to two hundred million. We should reach a billion by the next century. And these are books alone. Newspapers spread like wildfire.”
His dilemma became apparent to me. To make paper, one needed to fell trees in great numbers. The primeval and monster-infested forests of Archfrost and the Arcadian Freeholds provided plenty of it. Supply struggled to meet ever-increasing demand.
“Any moderately skilled witchcrafter can create their own automated press now, but much like forges require metal, these machines require a steady supply of resources to sustain their output,” Mr. Fronan explained. “Paper has moved from a scarce luxury to an abundant commodity. Before I knew it, I had turned the forests near my home into barren wastelands.”
“And by destroying these forests, you dislodged its original inhabitants,” I guessed. “Monsters with shrinking territories started to encroach on human settlements to find food.”
“At first, I paid it little heed. I was bringing the torch of knowledge to millions, so who cared about the woods? It was only when I noticed a direct correlation between monster attacks on frontier settlements and my lumber yards’ expansion that I realized I’d blood on my hands.”
“You couldn’t anticipate it, Mr. Fronan,” I countered. “I doubt anyone could imagine the impact of the printing press.”
“Mayhaps, but I ought to have noticed the trend sooner. The absence of malice does not excuse a lack of foresight.” Mr. Fronan put his monocle back on. “The truth is, young man, I came to this site to curtail its growth. The Fronan Printing Press will not open more lumber yards. Instead, I plan to reinvest its profits in the acquisition and restoration of forestlands, safeguarding the wilderness from those who would strip it bare.”
“That is a laudable goal, Mr. Fronan, but you cannot cure a disease by only treating its symptoms,” I argued. “Even if you stop the Fronan Printing Press’ activities, so long as demand for paper remains high, other companies will supply it. Planting trees and protecting certain forests might blunt the wood industry’s excesses, but it won’t halt them.”
His intentions were praiseworthy, yet his approach struck me as awfully naive. Money was the lever that moved the world. So long as there was profit to make in cutting down trees, someone would wield the ax.
“Your best bet is to design a substitute for paper,” I suggested. “A cheaper or more useful book material that would compel companies to make the switch.”
“We think along the same lines.” Mr. Fronan rose from his seat and beckoned me to follow. “Come with me, young man.”
I dutifully followed Mr. Fronan to the back of the hall. We then climbed down exquisitely carved ladders leading to an underground cellar. The place immediately reminded me of Colmar’s laboratory. An acrid metallic smell hung in the air and oily stains marred the polished parquet. Bookcases rested along the walls alongside a slate board covered in chalk-scribed notes. A pair of work tables covered in witchcrafter equipment occupied most of the room alongside shelves filled to the brim with runestones, powder, and oil lamps providing a measure of light.
I couldn’t suppress my curiosity. Few men ever had the privilege of stepping into one of Marwen Fronan’s laboratories, and I immediately exploited the opportunity to look around. The Druid’s trinket collection included runestones charged with all elemental affinities, tin horns, a water-powered music box, and various drums collected from cultures as varied as the Fire Islands or the Shinkoku.
My curiosity drew a chuckle from Mr. Fronan. “I’ve always had countless ideas running through my mind since my distant childhood,” he shared. “Now that I am wealthy, I can afford the material to bring them to life.”
I began to notice a pattern among Mr. Fronan’s collection. A cursory glance at the notes scribbled on the slate board confirmed my suspicions.
“You are trying to isolate specific sounds from wind essence,” I said with palpable fascination. “How to isolate specific vibrations in the air.”
Mr. Fronan’s brows arose ever so slightly. “Impressive deduction. You are a man of many talents, Mr. Waybright.”
“I have many customers and Marika’s witchcrafter training to thank for that.” None of the skills I’d picked up yet could match the depths of Mr. Fronan’s knowledge, but they at least allowed me to understand his work. “I think I’m getting the hang of it. You seek to capture sound as an alternative to recording information in written form.”
“Seek?” Mr. Fronan grabbed a green runestone off his work table. “I have already found a way.”
I paid a closer look to Mr. Fronan’s trinket. My magical sight immediately picked up the highly-refined wind essence suffusing it, alongside barely discernible inscriptions adorning its surface.
“Windstones are among the most common elemental runestones,” Mr. Fronan explained. “Armies use them to empower their war horns or their weapons. City leaders do the same with their voices during public addresses. Shipping companies that can afford them conjure a breeze to push their sails forward.”
“And sound is no more than the movement of air, like the wind.” My eyes widened. “Mr. Fronan, did you–”
“Precisely.” Mr. Fronan started channeling essence from his fingertips directly into the windstone. “Watch and listen.”
I did so, and to my surprise, Mr. Fronan’s voice echoed from inside the runestone.
“I have discovered a new application for this material,” the voice said, while the real Druid remained silent. “I have pioneered a technique that will permanently record voices and sounds inside a windstone. I shall christen it… the soundstone.”
Mr. Fronan stopped channeling essence through the stone, instantly causing it to fall dormant. “By altering a windstone, I have found a way to both record one’s words inside it and cause the runestone to articulate them,” he explained. “A witchcrafter’s intervention is necessary to activate the runestone, but I am currently developing a mechanical alternative.”
“Absolutely captivating,” I muttered, utterly mesmerized. This invention was a major landmark in runestone research. “Can it store a book’s worth of information?”
“A book and an entire library,” Mr. Fronan said with warm laughter. “Do not become too enthusiastic, young man. This prototype has many flaws.”
“Can you listen back to the beginning?” I asked as a myriad of questions flooded my mind. “Can you isolate a piece of information from the rest? Does it possess its own table of contents?”
“Once a soundstone is activated, you must let the entire content run its course,” Mr. Fronan said, much to my disappointment. “I can add new voices and words to its content, but I confess tracking down a specific record is currently impossible.”
“Well, like all new inventions, it will take time to refine it.” The first thought that crossed my mind when confronted with limits was how I could overcome them. “This remains an amazing invention.”
“I admire your optimism,” Mr. Fronan said, his voice wavering. “I thought these soundstones could become a substitute for paper too, once.”
“Thought?” I frowned upon noting his use of past tense.
“I have encountered even more practical difficulties.”
I stroked my chin as I considered this new technology’s groundbreaking implications. Besides the flaws Mr. Fronan already mentioned earlier, I could see a few barriers on its way to mass production. “You need both runestones and a talented witchcrafter capable of infusing them with wind essence to create a soundstone.”
“Which substantially inflates the production costs.” Mr. Fronan set his soundstone back on his work table. “Market price for raw runestones has recently settled at a silver coin per pound. However, employing a witchcrafter skilled enough to instill the requisite essence escalates the soundstone's production cost to a gold coin.”
And that was without taking the cost of recording particular information, since the merchant would need to hire storytellers to relay a book’s contents to the soundstone. I quickly ran the numbers in my head.
“Which means that to make a profit, you’ll need to sell your soundstone at a minimum of two gold coins after taking other expenses into account,” I noted. “That’s quite pricey.”
“And exorbitantly expensive when pitted against books,” Mr. Fronan confirmed. “The use of windstones is mostly reserved for our society’s elites, and it is the general populace that propels the demand for paper. My invention simply cannot compete with the old one where it matters most.”
“Not immediately,” I conceded, “But in the long run, your invention will greatly decrease book demand.”
Mr. Fronan adopted a posture of contemplation, crossing his arms. “In what way?”
“As a specific product becomes popular and profitable, more and more companies will start to enter its market,” I said. “As competition increases, suppliers must start to cut down prices to remain attractive. If your soundstones become popular, it’ll grow cheaper and eventually compete with books.”
There was also another compelling limit to book sales: not everyone could read.
“Besides, a large part of mankind remains illiterate,” I pointed out. The printing press helped spread knowledge to the merchant and urban classes, but most of the peasant population couldn’t tell a written word from another. “Your soundstones would help spread knowledge to these unfortunate souls.”
“That’s a compelling argument, yet I find it flawed in two ways.” Mr. Fronan held up a finger to emphasize his point. “First of all, there is currently no known method to either produce synthetic runestones or infuse them with wind essence without resorting to the exorbitant services of expensive witchcrafters. There is a ceiling to how much optimization can achieve.”
“Producing a book once used to take years of work by an expert copyist,” I countered. “I’m sure most people thought the best way to cut down prices was to bring in more manpower. The idea of a printing press probably never entered their minds, and yet you proved them wrong.”
“Ah!” Mr. Fronan let out a chuckle. “So, you are suggesting that mankind simply hasn’t stumbled upon a cheap way to extract and refine soundstones yet? Quite the interesting approach to my problem, I must concede.”
“There’s no problem too great for the human mind to overcome.” I remained convinced of it. “Your invention holds more potential than you imagine, Mr. Fronan.”
“While a method to quickly produce windstones for a low cost may exist, it has yet to be discovered,” Mr. Fronan replied before raising another finger. “Which brings me to my second issue with your reasoning. Namely, there are no incentives to produce cheaper soundstones when books can fulfill the same function with more economical and readily available materials.”
“Then you should start by developing soundstone applications that a book cannot replicate.” I could already think of many. “Can a book hold a song? You can note a partition that an experienced musician might replicate, but can the common man play it in his head? Can a book instantly record a statement from a famous savant’s own mouth? Take the example of newspapers. What if instead of buying a paper piece individually, a voice disclosed the same information to a crowd?”
“I have no doubt that a shrewd merchant like yourself could profit from marketing my invention,” Mr. Fronan said, his smile tinged with amusement. “However, I do not want a product that will entertain the wealthy. I want a product that can reduce mankind’s dependency on wood and paper.”
“I say your invention can do both,” I fervently insisted. The more we discussed it, the more I could smell the scent of commerce in the air. This invention held such promise it would be criminal to let it gather dust in a basement. “Mr. Fronan… would you sell me the licensing rights to your soundstones?”
Curiosity and skepticism warred in Mr. Fronan’s wise gaze. “Licensing rights?”
“You may not believe in your own invention, but I do.” The number of potential applications boggled the mind. “I’m sure I can make it a marketable product that will eventually compete with books. It could change the world the way your printing press did.”
“I am not certain you could call that an argument in its favor,” Mr. Fronan pondered.
“But you are proud of the good your printing press accomplished,” I pointed out. “You said it yourself, you didn’t invent the printing press to get rich. You invented it to further the cause of human knowledge. You more than succeeded in your quest… and soundstones will let us push the bounds of human ingenuity even farther.”
At no point did Mr. Fronan complain about inventing the printing press; only in how the greed and appetite of man caused forests to shrink because of his invention. He sought to amend his legacy, not to completely deny it.
Mr. Fronan’s eyes narrowed slightly. I could tell that he was meticulously considering all the possible outcomes of my offer; pondering whether I could fulfill my promise, discerning if I was merely an opportunist coveting more money, and contemplating if soundstones might produce their own unforeseen complications. So far I had given him a good first impression and I knew he wouldn’t think much of outsourcing a project he’d intended to shelve anyway. I only needed to show my willingness to write down a fair deal to secure his agreement.
“How about we use part of the invention’s profits to fund your forest conservation efforts?” I proposed to clinch the deal, and then swiftly delivered the final blow. “You need money to buy woodland patches. At least these funds wouldn’t come from the very industry that encourages their exploitation.”
Mr. Fronan chuckled. “Fair point.”
I’ve got this.
“I remain skeptical that the soundstone can compete with books, and I believe you are overlooking many details,” Mr. Fronan said after some thoughtful consideration. “However… only a fool would bet against the Merchant when it comes to matters of commerce.”
“What can I say? I am an optimist.” I smiled ear to ear. “Will you accept my terms?”
“We would need to sign a contract first, of course.” Mr. Fronan offered me his hand. “I’ve heard that your ability makes terms binding.”
“In a way.” I swiftly shook his hand. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”
I’d the feeling that this would be the start of a beautiful collaboration.
—
By the time Marika and Soraseo returned from their errand, Mr. Fronan and I had hashed out a five-page contract; which we recorded both in written and soundstone form for posterity’s sake.
The stipulations were clear and straightforward. The Fronan Printing Press agreed to license soundstones to the Frostfox Company, sharing their production methodology and intellectual property in return for a fifth of the profits; those would go to Fronan Printing Press’ forest conservation fund. It was a general deal insofar as my own company would support all the costs, expenses, and development efforts.
In truth, I wondered if we even needed windstones at all. Humans could produce words without it and a music box sang a song through mechanical interactions. The true breakthrough in Mr. Fronan’s work lay in his technique to record words in essence form, rather than in the runestone medium itself. I was confident we might improve on his method with my power and those of my allies.
And most importantly, I could sell this device. I knew it. It would take a long time to iron out its flaws, but deep within my bones, I felt history knocking on my door. This invention could change the world for the better.
Well, this has been a productive afternoon, I reflected as Mr. Fronan and I watched Marika and Soraseo return to the lodge. Marika’s dark scowl of fury sent a chill down my spine. I’d never seen her so furious. For all of us.
“Will was there, Robin.” The venom in Marika’s voice would frighten a viper. “I’m sure of it. His essence was all over the forge.”
The time had come to settle old scores.
“He must be with the Walbourg group then,” I said. “Knowing the Knot of Wrath, they’re probably hoping to either push Walbourg into an open conflict with Archfrost or encourage a violent schism between the Reformists and the Arcane Abbey.”
“They won’t hide for long.” Marika smiled at Mr. Fronan. “With your assistance, I am sure we can find them easily enough.”
“I will do my best to assist,” Mr. Fronan responded with courtesy. “However, my abilities are considerably more constrained in an urban environment compared to woodland regions.”
“I’m not sure we’ll even need your assistance on this particular issue,” I said. “If I had to wager a guess, I don’t think Will is hiding at all.”
“Golems are big,” Soraseo noted. “An elephant cannot hide in a bush.”
“Exactly, I find it difficult to imagine authorities missing three steel giants entering their territory without some degree of collusion,” I said. “Remember that the Regent’s army agreed to deploy golems as a countermeasure against Heroes. Since Walbourg only has the Cavalier while our side can field half a dozen classes, I would assume its leadership would seek to bolster their own forces.”
Marika frowned in disbelief. “The Cavalier stands with Walbourg. A Hero would never consent to work with demons.”
“Will probably lied about his demonic allegiances, but I’m sure he benefits from allies in the Walbourg government unaware of his true nature.” I’d already assumed the Knots infiltrated the region since the start of the civil war. “The first thing we’ll do in Walbourg is to contact the Cavalier, the Priest, and Eris, if she’s still there.”
“We are stronger together,” Soraseo agreed to my proposal. The others offered nods of assent, and our path was set.
We would soon meet friends old and new.
I could only hope we could trust them all.
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Next Chapter
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A/N: yep, Fronan is heavily based on various inventors like Gutenberg, Da Vinci, and a little bit of Tesla. it was about time the 'Commerce' part of the story started slowly crawling its way back in. I really want to write a plotline about how a prototype for a revolutionary idea goes through all the development steps to market.
Anyway, next chapter is Walbourg. Quite the change in location and a few revelations ahead ;)
Comments
Void Herald
Glad to read that. Its development was heavily inspired by the phonograph ;)
Ido Pazi
thanks for the chapter!
George R
Thanks for the chapter- love the druids power! Also really like the sound stone.
