Before the drought hit, Ghislain had sent a brief letter to Marquis Branford. [Given the hot weather, a drought seems imminent. I suggest you start stockpiling food now. If you neglect this advice and regret it later, don’t come complaining to me.] It was simple and straightforward, lacking any formal greetings or excess wording—it was more like a note than a letter. Naturally, Marquis Branford’s reaction was as blunt as the message itself. “...Is this boy losing his mind?” Out of nowhere, he’s urging him to stockpile food, citing nothing more than the weather being hot. Who would take such a suggestion at face value? Such a person would be fortunate not to get scammed. ‘What scheme is this boy up to now?’ Shaking Ghislain’s letter, Marquis Branford questioned his butler. “Did he send this letter to any other nobles?” “As far as we know, he also sent one to Count Ailesbury’s estate.” “And how did they respond?” “Count Ailesbury ignored it, but the countess is personally using her funds to gather food supplies.” “Hm... So, does she trust Baron Fenris that much?” The marquis fell into deeper contemplation. Lady Mariel was no ordinary noblewoman. The fact that she was taking action was a sign he couldn’t overlook. Still, following Ghislain’s advice was a risky decision. If he stockpiled food only to find nothing happened, he’d not only incur a significant loss but also become the subject of ridicule. If anyone else had sent this message, he would have dismissed it without a second thought. But coming from Ghislain—a young man notorious for having an odd wealth of knowledge—it was difficult to ignore completely. “...Prepare a meeting. I want to hear everyone’s thoughts.” The butler raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. Marquis Branford rarely called meetings unless there was a serious issue. It was a testament to his confidence in his own judgment, which had been right in most cases. Yet when it involved Baron Fenris, he found himself plagued with endless headaches. Like it or not, that young man was no ordinary figure. When the vassals gathered in the meeting room and learned of the situation, most responded with doubt. “There are no signs of a drought. The harvest season is just around the corner. Surely, nothing major will happen before then.” “Precisely. It’s just a warm spell, nothing worth worrying about.” “Baron Fenris is clearly overreacting out of sheer paranoia.” Negative responses poured in, causing Marquis Branford’s mind to lean strongly against the idea. Preparing for a drought would require an enormous stockpile of food. Buying food now, just before prices were expected to drop, would mean taking a major risk if Ghislain turned out to be wrong. ‘But dismissing it outright... feels uneasy somehow....’ As the marquis struggled to make a decision, Rosalyn, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “I believe we should buy the food.” “Why is that?” “Baron Fenris may be an odd character, but he’s not the type to play a cruel prank to embarrass us. There must be a reason he’s saying this.” “There’s a high chance he’s just spouting nonsense. Predicting the weather with such precision is nearly impossible.” “But this is the same person who cured my illness and created remarkable products. That’s why Countess Ailesbury is trusting him and stockpiling food as well.” “I don’t like making decisions based on mere intuition.” “...I won’t argue with that. But father, you’re uneasy about ignoring him, aren’t you? He’s as unpredictable as the weather itself.” She had a point. Ghislain was far from someone anyone could call ordinary. After a pause, Marquis Branford spoke again. “If we buy at current prices, we could face significant losses.” “I’ll use funds from my own trading company. That way, if he’s wrong, your reputation remains intact. And I’ll secure additional reserves from the royal stockpile, just in case.” “You would do that?” “Yes, with the capital from recent investments.” Rosalyn smiled confidently. She had already recouped the 300,000 gold she had previously lent Ghislain by selling a share of the cosmetic profits for the next ten years to nobles. With new shops opening near the capital, sales were skyrocketing. It was a solid, profitable venture without any risk of failure. Backed by the Branford family and an extremely popular product, countless nobles had eagerly invested. Within a short span, Rosalyn had not only recovered her initial investment but also reinvested the remaining funds for even greater profit. The vassals praised her financial acumen and deferred to her judgment on all money-related matters. In a way, preparing for a drought was an investment, and Rosalyn’s perspective added weight to her suggestion. After a moment’s thought, Marquis Branford nodded. “Alright, purchase food stocks at a level you find appropriate. You have my permission to use my name if necessary.” “Thank you.” “And if Ghislain’s warning turns out to be nonsense, what’s your plan for the surplus food?” “With Duke Delphine as our rival, there’s no harm in stockpiling military provisions. If there’s excess, we could distribute it to the poor to bolster the family’s reputation.” “Hm, not a bad idea... but it would still be a loss.” “Or, we could redirect it as aid to Feridium for a few years, taking over the royal and pro-royalist support funds. It might not help Feridium much to only receive food, but that’s something for Baron Fenris to manage.” Hearing his daughter’s calculated responses, Marquis Branford smiled in satisfaction. Since her illness was cured, her talents had shone even brighter. Her judgment and her plans were impeccable. Thanks to Rosalyn, the marquis’s influence was stronger than ever. It truly was fortunate that Ghislain had come to them... ‘Wait, what am I thinking?’ Shaking his head in mild horror at the thought, Marquis Branford spoke in a formal tone. “This matter is now in Rosalyn’s hands. Everyone, please be informed. Butler, relay Baron Fenris’s warning to the pro-royalist nobles. Don’t press them to act—just leave it to their discretion.” “Yes, sir.” While the information reached the pro-royalist nobles, only a few heeded the warning and began stockpiling food. Unlike the North, pro-royalist nobles rarely faced food shortages, so most didn’t take Ghislain’s warning seriously. Apart from a handful of nobles who already planned to stockpile, only Rosalyn and Mariel took action. The majority of the nobles scoffed at Ghislain’s advice—until, not long after, disaster struck. "The weather keeps acting strange." "Heatwave! The rivers are drying up!" "A drought is affecting the entire kingdom!" "The famine is certain! We need a plan!" Even the kingdom’s officials were thrown into chaos. But there was little they could do to change the weather. With lakes and rivers already drying up, they were powerless to act. With the harvest season upon them, they were left frantically scrambling, unable to find a solution. Meanwhile, the Branford family’s vassals breathed a collective sigh of relief. Had Ghislain not warned them, had Rosalyn not trusted him and made preparations, they would have suffered heavy losses. Some regretted not acting even more proactively. “How in the world did Baron Fenris foresee this?” “Even lifelong farmers didn’t see this coming. The weather changed too suddenly.” “There are rumors he’s a master of astrology—able to read the stars!” While the vassals gossiped in amazement, Marquis Branford furrowed his brow, deep in thought. Numerous mages and scholars had failed to predict this drought. The weather had shifted too drastically, too fast. ‘How did this boy... know?’ He knew Ghislain was strange, but possessing the ability to foresee the future was beyond anything he had imagined. Even as he wrestled with the disbelief, a chilling realization dawned on Marquis Branford. ‘We could have all perished.’ Had they failed to prepare, every pro-royalist estate would have been crippled by the food shortage, and the ducal faction would not have missed the chance to strike. Thanks to Ghislain, they’d gained a slight advantage in resilience. While the duke’s resources allowed them to recover quickly, the lords loyal to the duke would certainly suffer setbacks for some time. ‘We’ve bought ourselves some time to recover.’ If they could just survive this crisis, they might regain the ground they’d lost to the ducal faction. ‘I should have ordered the pro-royalist nobles to stockpile more aggressively.’ Most pro-royalist nobles ignored Ghislain’s advice, but Marquis Branford couldn’t blame them. It had been a difficult warning to believe, and even he had been skeptical. Still, with food stores amassed by the royal family, the marquis, and Countess Ailesbury, they would avoid starvation. ‘Surely... he couldn’t have foreseen all this, could he?’ Despite the regret of not fully capitalizing on the opportunity Ghislain had given, Marquis Branford felt a sense of relief. Had all the pro-royalist nobles prepared as he’d suggested, they might have equaled the ducal faction’s strength. This was a bittersweet realization. Even with Ghislain’s warning, they’d only managed this much. ‘Then again, Ghislain himself couldn’t have been certain. If he’d known for sure, he would have insisted more strongly.’ Marquis Branford let go of his regrets. The pro-royalist faction could have been completely overpowered by the duke’s forces. That they had endured was a relief in itself. With that thought, a smile crept onto his face. ‘Duke Delphine, you must be frustrated. Seems the heavens are on our side, sending us such an unusual ally.’ --- The atmosphere in the Kingdom of Ruthenia had reached an all-time low. Due to the extreme weather, crops had failed in most territories, leaving people wailing over what was deemed the worst famine in the kingdom’s history. Almost nowhere had been as well-prepared as Fenris for the drought. Food prices skyrocketed, and cries of despair echoed across the kingdom. Ghislain, reflecting on the news Lowell reported, couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. This was a time that some called a disaster, and others referred to as the Great Calamity—a period of pain that afflicted the entire continent. In his previous life, many had considered this drought to be a harbinger of the chaos to come. It wasn’t just Ruthenia; similar catastrophes were happening across the continent. While he couldn’t say for certain, there were even some areas untouched by the disaster. Reflecting on the era known as the Great Calamity sent a chill down his spine. ‘I can’t afford to let my guard down for a single day. I have to be fully prepared for when that day comes.’ From what he knew, "that day" would arrive quietly and unexpectedly in the not-too-distant future. To withstand that impact, he would need to be more thorough in his preparations than ever before. Of course, he’d also need to survive Duke Delphine in the meantime. After Lowell finished his report and left, Ghislain asked in a low voice: “How are the pro-royalist’s food reserves?” “The royal family, Marquis Branford, and Count Ailesbury managed to secure a fair amount. However, most other nobles failed to prepare adequately.” “That’s disappointing.” It was more or less what he had expected. After all, few people would blindly believe in such a severe warning. Even Ghislain himself hadn’t been confident he could convince others, so he’d kept his message brief. He’d expected at least Rosalyn and Mariel to act, given their keen sense of profit. His prediction had proven correct, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. Nonetheless, after this ordeal, other nobles would likely take his words more seriously in the future. ‘The ducal faction’s nobles will recover quickly.’ In his previous life, the pro-royalist faction had found itself in dire straits after this drought. Even though the ducal faction faced the same crisis, their vast stockpiles and swift recovery through trade with neighboring kingdoms allowed them to bounce back faster. In fact, the duke’s faction had taken advantage of the situation, pressing the pro-royalists while they were still reeling. Unable to regain stability, the pro-royalist faction’s power had dwindled rapidly. It was this drought that marked the turning point, tipping the scales in the duke’s favor. ‘But this time, the pro-royalists should be able to hold out a bit longer. The duke’s side will have to think twice before pressing an attack.’ Thanks to Ghislain, the pro-royalist faction had secured substantial food reserves, forcing the ducal faction to hold back. Now, it was a matter of who could recover first. Currently, both the ducal faction and Marquis Branford were busy distributing food to stabilize the situation, resulting in a temporary lull in their conflict. At last, the stage was set as Ghislain had intended. ‘I can’t miss this opportunity. I have to act when they least expect it.’ He had no intention of sitting idle while the enemy finished their preparations. After Lowell left, Ghislain found himself alone, a sly smile forming on his lips. Securing the iron mines and launching an attack while his enemies were distracted was certainly part of his grand strategy. But there was more to it than just strategic objectives. ‘Count Cabaldi.’ In his previous life, Duke Delphine had ordered Count Desmond to destroy Feridium. Desmond had, in turn, used other lords to conserve his own forces. One of those lords was none other than Count Cabaldi. Count Cabaldi had been among those who had sent reinforcements to Desmond to blockade Feridium’s supply of iron ore. He was one of Ghislain’s enemies from his past life and a future threat to be reckoned with. As memories of the past surfaced, Ghislain’s smile turned darker and more ruthless. "At last... it’s time for you to die." Yes, it was time to take them down, one by one.