episode_0043
by fnovelpia
43. The Growing Talent
Water contained in a basin made of pristine white marble.
I scooped the clear, transparent, yet icy water into my hands and washed my face.
The cold sensation against my skin jolted my leisurely spinning mind awake.
“It’s already been two weeks since returning from the imperial palace.”
I gazed at the semi-transparent mirror.
Reflected in it was a face hailed as one of the empire’s most adorable and beautiful.
So many marriage proposals had come because of this face that just thinking about it made my head ache.
Back when I had no interest in men, I often wished I had been an ugly hag instead.
But now, things were different.
My average daily sleep was barely three hours.
Perhaps because of that, the dark circles under my eyes stood out irritatingly.
Covering the area beneath my eyes with my fingers, I tilted my face this way and that in the mirror, trying to groom my appearance.
Though, as usual, I didn’t bother with makeup…
“Ugh… What a headache.”
I cursed my past self, who had cared not a whit for grooming.
At the same time, I resented the man who had turned me into this maiden-like mess.
A man who tries to approach me with a wagging tail but runs away if I get close, then slyly shortens the distance again when I pull back—that kind of man.
On top of that, the increasing workload lately had brought many headaches.
But…
Yes, but.
“It’s so much fun.”
Why is it fun?
With a stifled laugh, I opened the washroom door and stepped out.
As if waiting for me, people stood outside holding documents.
No—my subordinates, my exceptional talents.
Particularly the fox at the front, holding documents while radiating reluctance.
Whether it was love-blindness or not, even this behavior struck me as unbearably cute.
But I was the mistress of these fine talents.
Forcing a blank expression, I issued orders to the group waiting in the hallway.
“No time. Report while walking.”
I led the way down the corridor toward my office, trailed by subordinates who diligently followed, delivering their reports one by one.
Lucarion Ruzellan and the three talents he had brought with him took turns reporting.
“The nobles of the Redmain region are showing more hostility than expected. It seems they fear your growth, my lady.”
“I’ve received similar reports. Particularly, the regions known as Redmain’s breadbasket are refusing to sell grain to the capital.”
“With our capital, Freesia, drawing funds through exports, it appears regional cash flow has dwindled.”
“Adding to that, the migration of people to the capital must be further unsettling them.”
Talents who excelled in handling miscellaneous affairs across other regions.
Once their reports concluded, Lucarion turned his sharp, age-defying eyes to me with a question.
“What do you intend to do, my lady?”
“What would you suggest?”
Lucarion, the eldest among them, offered seasoned advice.
“Either bow and appease them with tactful inclusion…”
“Or?”
“…or crush them with overwhelming force, as I’ve advised.”
Lucarion’s words weren’t merely about war.
Flexing military might was one option, but power wasn’t limited to that.
Dominant technology, capital, food production, or population—all were viable means.
And the latter approach was clear-cut, the one that suited me best.
“I like that.”
As Lucarion’s group finished, Alice’s report began.
The talent who had secured Lucarion’s recruitment, granting me minimal administrative capability.
Alongside our fox, Alice was highly regarded as one of Erica Grace’s twin pillars.
Though not as seasoned as Lucarion, Alice possessed exceptional passion and skill.
She managed central administration, handling public sentiment, land affairs, and more.
Adjusting her glasses, Alice began her report.
“First, regarding farmland. After importing guano fertilizer, we planted seeds across all fields without fallow rotation…”
What exactly is fallow rotation?
Land possesses fertility—the power to grow crops.
Repeatedly planting crops in the same area turns it into dead soil, incapable of sprouting.
Thus, dividing land into sections and letting it rest to restore fertility is called fallow rotation.
But our fox had claimed guano fertilizer would solve everything.
A risky gamble that could’ve rendered the land barren for nearly five years.
Yet, never one to be wrong, our fox had farmers plant across all fields—and the results spilled from Alice’s mouth.
“Despite only two weeks passing, sprouts have already emerged.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. Hard to believe, but the wheat, rice, and barley sprouts are reportedly exceptionally sturdy—about 35% faster growth than without guano.
Farmers are practically worshiping Cain as the god of agriculture.”
“Haha! I knew it would work!”
I couldn’t help but dance a little.
Most fallow systems divide farmland into four rotating sections.
But thanks to guano, crops now grow without fallow, quadrupling production at a conservative estimate.
And that’s not all.
“If Cain’s bold claim holds, fruit yields and harvest quantities should increase by 1.5 to 2 times…”
I trust our fox.
Surely, without issue, harvests will rise by 1.5 to 2 times.
Meaning, my capital’s crop production will increase by at least six to eight times.
So unbearably adorable I could just bite his cheeks.
Alice’s report continued.
Perhaps the staggering revelation of up to an eightfold crop increase had numbed me.
None of the subsequent reports struck as deeply.
“With Adel’s help, we’ve apprehended those diverting crops midway within the capital…”
“Good. This harvest should be worth anticipating.”
“That concludes my report.”
Yet, true to her reputation as one of my twin pillars, her competence was exceptional.
Especially in administrative matters—none surpassed her.
While our fox astounds the world with inventions, Alice strategically deploys them alongside domestic affairs for maximum gain.
An ideal scenario, no?
Lost in thought, I abruptly stopped walking.
My trailing subordinates paused in place without question.
Why?
Because it was time for our fox’s report.
Given his reputation as a “heaven-sent genius” and his tendency to drop bombshells, everyone was eagerly anticipating it.
As we awaited his report, he slid a hand into his coat.
With practiced precision, he retrieved and presented a resignation letter.
“Well, good morning to you too.”
“Tch…”
Seriously?
By now, his resignation submissions were practically morning greetings.
Alice, witnessing this for the first time, had once collapsed while clinging to the fox’s pant leg.
Now, after two weeks of routine, even she watched with detached familiarity.
Adding this to my drawer collection, I pocketed the letter just as our fox began his report.
“Uh… First, the factory equipment has been fully replaced.
Those with mana operate machines as mid-level managers, while ordinary citizens can now work too.”
“Excellent.”
Surely, this wasn’t all.
Though he radiated reluctance daily, craftsmanship was one area where our fox was uncompromising.
Once he started something, he saw it through flawlessly.
Had I lacked ambition, I might’ve resembled him.
“And canned food is now perfected.”
“Ho-ho, a meal substitute that lasts long-term? Only a heaven-sent genius could achieve this.”
“Cain is truly remarkable!”
Now this was more like it.
Though I still didn’t grasp “sterilization,” our fox had agonized over perfection.
After consulting mages, he employed “clean magic,” achieving his goal.
At the sight, I’d fawned over magic like a miracle.
Though frankly, to mages and us alike, pianos, hot-air balloons, and canned food seemed far more miraculous.
Lost in thought, the fox continued unfazed.
“The cannery is complete… but we needed food to fill the cans.”
“Right. Vegetables and cooked grains lose flavor… You said meat was most suitable.”
“Correct.”
As we know, meat is a luxury reserved for nobles and the occasional lucky commoner.
Even with my wealth, supplying armies or selling commercially strained both meat supplies and funds.
Alternatives like soups, fruits, or seafood were equally expensive ingredients.
Mass production had seemed impossible—yet another hurdle.
Come to think of it, that had been a glaring flaw.
But our fox breezed past it as if trivial.
“So, I built a poultry farm.”
“……What?”
“Um… A poultry farm is for mass-raising chickens…”
Chickens—livestock raised for eggs, eaten only after old age rendered them usable.
Only nobles occasionally enjoyed young chickens as delicacies.
Why hadn’t mass breeding been feasible?
The answer was simple: chicken feed.
Unlike pigs, which thrived on scraps, or cows grazing fresh grass, chickens required insects.
They needed balanced meat, grains, and other supplements just to survive.
Thus, free-ranging was unavoidable.
Winter brought swift death from cold, halting egg production—mass breeding was a pipe dream.
Yet, as I wondered if I’d misheard, Alice and others gaped at the fox.
Under collective scrutiny, he scratched his head, eye-exchange their reactions—had he screwed up?
Too brilliant to recognize his own impossibility-defying feats?
Sighing, I pressed for an explanation.
“Chickens freeze and stop laying eggs in cold. How’d you handle temperature?”
“Upgraded large stoves to heat the entire coop…”
Right.
The fox before me was the genius who single-handedly designed those stoves.
With Brooke and Aitheri, his metaphorical wings, modifications were child’s play.
Lucarion, unable to contain his curiosity, chimed in.
“And feed? I thought free-ranging was necessary since they scavenge insects and oddities.”
“That?
Mix leftover barley, rice, and wheat husks ground into carbs,
dry and grind fresh animal organs people avoid for protein,
add hay for fiber, lime powder, powdered bone meal, and a bit of salt.”
Carbs, protein, fiber—were we even speaking the same language?
The jargon strained comprehension.
Concerned by the complexity, Alice voiced her worry.
“But… those ingredients seem too elaborate for livestock feed…”
“Just mass-produce it. Buy bulk, mix in a giant vat—
fit a propeller-like blade at the bottom, spin it like an oil press to grind and blend.”
“Ah… That could work.”
Beyond anything imagined.
Who put this much thought into livestock feed?
Our perspectives on the world seemed fundamentally misaligned.
“Anyway, warm space and feed solved—poultry farm succeeded.
Now, no worries about meat for canning.”
The fox, pleased his workload might decrease, seemed oblivious to the revolution—
not just solving meat shortages, but arguably food security entirely.
After boosting crop yields sixfold, this seemed the final piece.
Yet his demeanor suggested mere duty completed, coolly detached.
“Do you want anything?”
“My resign…”
“Good. I’ll gift you fine words—how about choosing one together?”
“My resignation let—”
What lord pampers a subordinate so?
Dates with a beauty like me, even a horse tailored to his tastes?
Performance bonuses and rewards were a given.
Perhaps excessive privilege, yet none in the hallway objected.
All knew the absurdity of the fox’s achievements.
Some might’ve deemed the reward insufficient.
Yet the fox thought differently.
Overcome with~~ emotion, he crumpled to the floor like a terminal patient.
“Ughhk…”
“Your joy brings me joy.” ↩
What exemplary lord-vassal relations.
Now more than ever, securing absolute power felt imperative.
To marry him as my lawful spouse, not a concubine, I’d need unparalleled authority.
And swiftly ending this turbulent age would ensure our future child’s peaceful life.
Fox, just wait a little longer.
(Note: ↩ symbol denotes an intentional line break reflecting the original formatting.)
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