13: Chapter 13 Have you ever heard of "equity"?

Only Levi, Evelyn, Morey, and the old steward Klaus, who had rushed over upon hearing the news, remained in the warehouse.

The clamor outside grew louder—the shouts of the guard assembling, the uneasy whispers of the refugees. Panic spread like a plague through the castle, which had just begun to establish a semblance of order.

Worry was etched deeply on Klaus's aged face. He opened his mouth several times, unsure of what to say, and could only cast a pleading look toward Levi.

Yet Levi remained calm. He merely walked to the warehouse door, squinted at the dust rising from the distant mountain path, then turned and instructed Klaus, "Klaus, have the kitchen reduce today's dinner rations by half. For everyone except the guard, black bread rations are halved. Cancel the meat broth and replace it with plain water."

"My lord, this..." Klaus paled in shock. "This will cause even greater unrest!"

"Then have Evelyn explain it." Levi's gaze fell upon the succubus. "Tell everyone that due to Gam's foolish actions, the quarry has been shut down and today's production quota cannot be met. According to the 'Work Points Reward and Punishment Regulations' we announced yesterday, everyone's benefits will be affected. Make them understand that Gam and his accomplices didn't just smash tools; they smashed the meat broth from their own bowls."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile curled at the corner of Evelyn's lips as she bowed slightly. "A very effective... reframing of the issue. I would be delighted to convey your will, my master."

She turned and left, her graceful figure disappearing through the doorway, leaving behind only a softly spoken sentence: "Incidentally, I will help you identify those 'clever' individuals among the refugees who are fanning the flames and attempting to collaborate from within."

Levi nodded, then finally turned his gaze to Morey, who was still reeling in shock. "Director Morey, your assembly-line enchantment was a success. Now, I need you to return immediately with your three apprentices and work through the night. By dawn tomorrow, I want to see at least twenty enchanted shields."

"Twenty?" Morey snapped back to reality and instinctively opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips as he met Levi's unfathomable eyes.

He remembered the assembly line that had overturned his understanding, remembered the rough yet effective shield, and ultimately just nodded with difficulty. "...I'll do my best."

"Not 'do your best.' It must be done," Levi corrected. "If you're short on hands, select more. If you're short on materials, have Klaus approve them. This is an order."

With that, he paid no further attention to the others and turned to enter the castle's study.

Klaus had already tidied it up thoroughly. On a large oak desk lay a thick stack of parchment—the territory's inventory list that Klaus had just compiled overnight.

Levi sat down, picked up the list, and began flipping through it page by page.

His finger traced each line of writing, but his brow furrowed tighter and tighter.

Timber: Mostly poor-quality pine, common in the Blackstone Ridge mountains, loose-grained and largely useless.

Stone: The quarry produced only fragile shale, barely suitable for patching the city walls, too brittle even for catapult stones.

Ironware: Pitifully scarce. Aside from the rusted weapons confiscated from the bandits, there were only a few farming tools.

These resources were barely enough to maintain basic territory construction, let alone equip an army capable of fighting tough battles.

The seventy-plus captive bandits were like a pack of wolves with their teeth and claws pulled, temporarily corralled.

But once they realized their master's stick was nothing but rotten wood, they would turn on him at any moment.

"Young master." Klaus had appeared beside the desk at some point. Seeing Levi's grave expression, his aged voice carried a hint of helplessness. "The poverty of the Blackstone Territory far exceeds your imagination. We... we have almost nothing."

Levi set down the list and rubbed his temples.

He knew it was poor, but he hadn't expected it to be this destitute.

Without resources, all his management knowledge and business models were castles in the air.

It was like a top-tier CEO taking over a shell company that didn't even have a desk.

"Iron. We need iron," he said, tapping his fingers on the desk with a dull thud. "Within the territory's bounds, or nearby—is there an iron mine?"

A complex emotion flickered in Klaus's cloudy eyes. He hesitated for a moment before lowering his voice. "There is... there is one. West of the territory, past the Weeping Ridge, there's an abandoned iron mine. They say, before the Byron Family was enfeoffed here, that mine once produced high-quality refined iron."

Levi's eyes instantly lit up, the feeling akin to spotting an oasis in the desert.

"Abandoned? Why?"

"Because..." Klaus sighed, the wrinkles on his face deepening. "Decades ago, a group of Grey Dwarves occupied it. They are a subterranean race, hot-tempered, extremely xenophobic, viewing any surface-dwelling creature as an enemy. The previous lord—your grandfather—organized two expeditions. Both resulted in heavy losses and returned empty-handed. Since then, the area west of the Weeping Ridge has become a forbidden zone."

Grey Dwarves?

Immediately, descriptions of this race from games and novels in his previous life surfaced in Levi's mind: stocky, greedy, stubborn, master craftsmen, and... utterly devoted to alcohol.

Just as he was deep in thought, the study door was knocked upon urgently.

"My lord! A merchant has arrived outside the castle, seeking your protection!" a guard reported loudly from outside.

"A merchant?" Levi and Klaus exchanged a glance, both seeing confusion in the other's eyes.

What merchant would pass through this godforsaken place?

"Bring him in."

Moments later, a middle-aged man in tattered clothes and covered in wounds was brought in.

Upon seeing Levi, he threw himself to the floor with a thud, tears and snot streaming down his face. "Lord! Please, grant me justice! My goods... all my worldly possessions... they're ruined!"

Levi gestured for a guard to bring him a chair and had Klaus pour him a cup of water.

Only after the merchant, who introduced himself as Rog, had calmed down somewhat did Levi ask, "Take your time. What happened?"

Rog drained the water before panting and haltingly recounting his ordeal.

He was a small-time traveling merchant who, believing rumors that the Blackstone Territory had a new lord and thus business opportunities, had loaded a cart with ale and cloth to try his luck.

Unexpectedly, just after crossing the Weeping Ridge, he encountered a group of warriors who were unusually short and had skin as gray as stone.

"Their leader—a fellow with a beard braided into over a dozen plaits and fingers as black as charcoal—without a word, smashed my cart of fine linen cloth to pieces with a warhammer bigger than my head!" Rog lamented, gesturing the hammer's size. "He roared at me, saying our human goods were nothing but flashy, worthless trash, utterly unworthy of his forge!"

Levi's eyebrow twitched slightly, and his fingers unconsciously tapped lightly on the desk.

Black fingers... He was almost certain that was the Grey Dwarf leader Klaus had mentioned.

Instead of comforting Rog about his losses, he asked a seemingly unrelated question: "They smashed all your goods?"

"Not all..." Rog recalled, a look of confusion crossing his face. "The cloth, pots, pans—all smashed. But... but those few barrels of cheap ale I'd brought for my own journey, they took them all."

"Oh?" Levi's interest grew. "They took the ale? That leader... what did you call him?"

"I... I didn't dare address him, but his subordinates called him 'Lord Blackfinger,'" Rog said, struggling to recall the details, his voice still trembling. "I remember clearly. That Blackfinger... he grabbed a barrel of ale, pried it open, took a huge gulp, then spat it all out with a 'Pah!' Cursing, he said, 'Human horse piss dares to be called ale?' But... but after cursing, he clung to that barrel and wouldn't let go, and had his men carry the rest back to their cave."

Hearing this, Levi couldn't suppress the corners of his mouth from curling upward into a smile that sent a chill down the spines of both Rog and Klaus.

A Grey Dwarf leader who despised human goods but, despite his protests, still seized cheap ale.

This wasn't a robbery; it was practically a delivered business proposal.

He stood up and paced back and forth in the study, his thoughts racing.

Use military force to attack a dwarf mine that had been entrenched for decades, held advantageous terrain, and where every citizen was a soldier?

That was the foolishness his hot-headed grandfather would have attempted.

War is the continuation of politics, and commerce is the war with the lowest cost.

"Klaus," Levi stopped pacing, his eyes gleaming with something called 'business opportunity.' "Go to the cellar. Bring out all the barrels of the highest-quality strong ale we have in stock and load them onto a cart."

"Young master, you intend to..." Klaus was utterly baffled.

"Rog," Levi turned to the pitiful merchant. "I will compensate you for your losses later. Right now, I need you to be my guide and take me back to that place one more time."

"What?!" Rog nearly fell off his chair in fright. "M-my lord, that place is not to be visited! Those dwarves are madmen!"

"Don't worry, we're not going to fight." Levi patted his shoulder, his smile as gentle as an envoy preparing to sign a peace treaty. "We're going to conduct some business."

An hour later, a solitary cart, guided by a terrified Rog, creaked its way toward the Weeping Ridge.

On the cart, Levi sat leisurely. Beside him was Evelyn, her expressionless face a form of intangible deterrence in itself.

Inside the cart, the rich aroma of ale was almost overflowing.

The cart finally stopped before the entrance to the mine.

It was a massive, pitch-black opening, like a giant maw opened by the mountain.

On the rocks flanking the entrance stood over a dozen Grey Dwarf warriors armed with heavy crossbows. Their cold arrowheads gleamed menacingly in the dim light, all aimed squarely at them.

"Humans! Get out of Blackfinger's territory! Or we'll turn you into pincushions!" a hoarse roar came from deep within the cave.

Following that, the dwarf leader described by Rog—'Blackfinger,' with his charred-black fingers and unkempt beard—strode out, holding a massive warhammer.

His hostile gaze swept over the cart. When he saw the trembling Rog, a contemptuous, savage grin spread across his face.

"What? The trash I smashed last time wasn't enough, so you've brought another cart?" Blackfinger struck the ground heavily with the butt of his warhammer, producing a dull thud.

Rog was so scared he nearly wet himself, unable to utter a word.

Levi, however, acted as if he didn't see the crossbows aimed at him. He calmly jumped off the cart, even wearing a polite smile.

Ignoring Blackfinger's threat, he merely tilted his head toward Rog and commanded in a calm tone, "Roll our 'sample' over."

With trembling hands and feet, Rog pushed a barrel of ale, exuding a mellow and rich aroma, off the cart and, mustering all his strength, rolled it into the empty space between the two groups.

The sound of the rolling barrel was especially clear in the silent valley.

Blackfinger narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He sniffed the air, catching a scent utterly different from last time—intense, enticing, and alluring. His Adam's apple bobbed unconsciously.

He waved a hand. A dwarf warrior immediately stepped forward, probed the ale with a silver needle he carried, then cautiously took a small sip himself. After confirming it wasn't poisoned, he carried the barrel back to Blackfinger.

Blackfinger snatched the barrel, roughly pulled out the wooden stopper, and tilted his head back to take a huge gulp.

"Gulp... gulp..."

The expected stream of curses did not come.

Blackfinger froze. His large, bell-like eyes widened as if struck by lightning.

Thick ale dripped down his beard, but he seemed oblivious.

After a long moment, he finally let out a sigh of utter satisfaction, his eyes gleaming as he stared at Levi.

"Boy! This ale is good!" He pointed his hammer handle at the cart, his tone overbearing and leaving no room for argument. "Leave the rest of the ale, then take your people and get out!"

The smile on Levi's face didn't waver in the slightest. He shook his head, the crisp refusal stunning all the dwarves.

"Chief Blackfinger, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

Under Blackfinger's gaze, which was on the verge of erupting in fury, Levi unhurriedly took out a scroll of fine parchment from his robe and slowly unrolled it before him.

The parchment rustled lightly in the mountain wind.

"I am not here today to deliver ale, nor to seize your mine," Levi's voice carried clearly to every dwarf's ears. "I am here to invite you, and the great Grey Dwarf tribe behind you, to partner with me—Levi Byron, Lord of the Blackstone Territory—in establishing a company."

"A company?" Blackfinger's brow furrowed tightly. This unfamiliar term filled him with extreme confusion and a hint of anger at being toyed with. "What nonsense are you spouting?"

"It's simple," Levi explained in the most straightforward terms. "You Grey Dwarves possess the most exquisite mining and forging techniques on the continent of Terram, but you lack sales channels and access to better food and fine ale. I, on the other hand, possess broad market channels and ample logistical support. We can cooperate."

He pointed at Blackfinger and the mine behind him. "You will be responsible for mining ore and forging weapons and tools. This is your 'technical equity contribution.'"

Then he pointed at himself and the cart behind him. "I will be responsible for providing ale ten times better than this, supplying ample grain, and ensuring that all the products you forge are sold at prices you couldn't dream of. This is my 'capital and channel equity contribution.'"

Levi extended the parchment in his hand. On it, written in both the human common tongue and corresponding Dwarven runes, was a clear title.

"And this document is the proof of our cooperation. It will grant you, Chief Blackfinger, forty-nine percent of the 'shares' in our new company—'Blackstone Mining.' From the moment it is signed, you will no longer be a mountain bandit chief, but the second-largest shareholder of this company, and its... Chief Technical Officer."

Blackfinger was utterly dumbfounded.

He and all the dwarf warriors behind him stared at Levi as if he were a monster.

They could understand each individual word, but putting them together completely exceeded the capacity of their brains, accustomed to thinking with warhammers and pickaxes.

What are shares?

What is a shareholder?

And that... Chief Technical Officer, what in the blazes is that?

Looking at Blackfinger's face, filled with 'Who am I? Where am I? What devil's language is this human speaking?', Levi knew the bait had been cast.

This greedy and stubborn big fish—the gears in his brain were already beginning to turn, driven by a new force called 'profit,' emitting a 'creak, creak' sound as they prepared to shift direction.