episode_0046
by fnovelpia
46. I Am Not Cain.
Hair as radiant as golden silk thread.
Eyes as luminous and sparkling as if crafted by an artisan from pure gold.
A visage that seems as though the concept of beauty itself was carved by the gods.
A voluptuous figure that would stir desire in any man.
Cecilia Lachsia, the half-ruler of Arcadia.
She was currently plagued by an immense dilemma.
The reason stood right before her—
A commoner woman kneeling, demonstrating the utmost etiquette.
“My skills are but a trivial gift, merely decent hands for minor talents.”
“Could you create something similar to this item?”
Seated atop an ornately decorated throne-like chair, Cecilia looked down at the woman.
The commoner, enduring the weight of that gaze, carefully examined the stove placed before her.
The claim of her craftsmanship seemed genuine, as she inspected and operated it several times before displaying a stunned expression.
“This is incredible….”
“So, is it possible?”
“I apologize. I haven’t fully grasped even the principles yet—recreating it would be far beyond me.”
Cecilia heaved a sigh, unable to hide her blatant disappointment.
But she neither scolded nor struck the commoner before her.
Why was she yearning so desperately for Cain—no, even a cheap imitation of him?
If gold were as common as pebbles underfoot, it would lose all value—she accepted that.
Moreover, the commoner woman before her had utterly deflated upon dismantling the stove’s interior.
Seeing her pitiful, defeated expression, as if facing an insurmountable wall, made Cecilia feel too guilty to even be angry.
“Enough… Take some coins and leave carefully.”
“You are too gracious.”
The woman trudged out, shoulders slumped in defeat.
After that, Cecilia summoned anyone rumored to have talent—commoner or noble alike.
Some, upon seeing her, composed songs praising her beauty in one breath.
Others included renowned scholars who had written books she’d once read.
But not a single one resembled Cain.
“Why don’t I have such talent under me….”
Disappointed, Cecilia furrowed her brow.
There was a reason she was carving out precious time from her struggles with her half-brother to search for talent.
It was because of a report from a spy exactly one week ago.
No matter how strong their alliance, Erica would eventually become an enemy.
Especially since their territories bordered each other, Cecilia planted spies to gather information.
And those spies brought back bizarre tales, one after another.
“Thanks to factories producing pencils and stoves, commoners earn money even outside harvest seasons.
This has boosted currency circulation, revitalized markets, and increased public satisfaction.”
“What… How are they earning money? Even for a wealthy house like Grace, money doesn’t grow on trees.”
“‘Corporatization,’ they call it… Selling factory-made goods to the people or exporting them to other regions. Then using that money to pay workers weekly wages.”
Corporatization.
A method of rolling money to make more money.
A clever yet simple idea—why hadn’t she thought of it?
It must’ve been Erica’s idea—or perhaps that man, Cain.
No, if she’d had talent like Cain, she’d have conceived an even better method.
This corporatization only works with confidence that products will keep selling.
“They’ve developed ‘canned goods,’ reducing supply issues. Especially for perishables like meat—preserving them longer…”
“They’ve succeeded in mass poultry farming with ‘chicken coops.’ If fully operational, chicken supply will skyrocket, improving nutrition…”
“They’ve created a strange fertilizer, drastically boosting crop yields.”
“Many have migrated to Prezia, the Redmain capital. Numbers have risen roughly 1.5 times compared to two months ago…”
The more she heard, the more stunned she became.
Could one person alone achieve all this?
Swallowing her pride, Cecilia searched relentlessly for talent, ignoring class.
Just to find someone—even a fraction—as capable as Cain.
But, of course, she came up empty.
Next, she visited her team of elite researchers.
Geniuses raised since childhood, surrounded by knowledge from noble families.
Yet, none delivered the results she’d hoped for.
“We’ve developed a farming method, but clearly…”
“If fields are structured like that, heavy rain will cause flooding.”
“Stone barriers could prevent overflow!”
“Are you incapable of basic arithmetic?! The cost to build each irrigation ditch would be astronomical—returns minuscule!”
This was their year-long “achievement.”
A research team of so-called geniuses, costing 10 gold coins monthly.
A farming method riddled with obvious flaws.
Focusing on trees but missing the forest entirely.
“Please, can’t you make something that will impress me?”
Inside, flames of frustration raged.
If Cain were hers, if he’d done even half for her what he’d done for Erica…
She’d have long overthrown that dim-witted, blue-blooded Cedric—ruled Arcadia outright.
But her researchers, oblivious to her anguish, offered only hollow words.
“We just need more time and funding…”
“Cain created things alone in a workshop—without funding! In under three months!!”
Frustration stripped away her decorum—she snapped.
For prideful nobles who’d devoted lifetimes to study, being outdone by a commoner was humiliating.
Yet, instead of anger, the noble before her merely sighed in resigned defeat.
“I am not Cain…”
His words snapped her back to her senses—she exhaled deeply.
When had life ever been easy for her?
Born a bastard to low-born parents—she rose through sheer competence alone.
She steeled herself, resolving to focus not on what she lacked, but what she had.
“Can we reverse-engineer the stolen goods?”
“…Yes.”
“What of the fertilizer Redmain uses?”
“Thanks to our spies, we know the ingredients.”
Ordering them to proceed, she returned to her quarters.
Suppressing a throbbing headache, she sat and pondered deeply.
Mimicking Erica’s footsteps via spies was possible.
But Erica had Cain—a genius who churned out inventions like breathing.
No matter how hard she imitated, that gap would remain insurmountable.
“Think positively… At least my prideful researchers finally bowed their heads.”
Even the arrogant among them bent their pride upon hearing Cain’s feats.
Now, no matter how harshly she berated them, they silently accepted it.
For now, that was enough.
“Besides, geniuses like him are inherently stubborn. Controlling Cain must be exhausting even for Erica.”
Though placing talents where they excelled was a ruler’s duty…
Erica’s rapid rise owed everything to Cain.
Feeding an entire region single-handedly—Erica must be struggling to keep him.
If he resigned, she’d surely beg him to stay.
“My dear friend must be suffering too.”
Even her inferior researchers had towering pride.
How much worse would a genius like Cain be?
Somewhat reassured, she sipped her tea.
────────────────────
“I resign.”
A room thick with the mouthwatering aroma of indulgence.
Cain handed his liege a resignation letter listing myriad reasons.
“My hands are greasy—I decline.”
“Ghk…!”
Erica refused too smoothly.
And Cain, too easily, yielded.
As the two performed their familiar routine, the others resumed eating.
Among them, Brook—who’d once doubted Cain’s cooking—devoured his food the fastest.
“Well… Tastes better than ogre balls.”
“Just admit it, sis.”
“Fine, fine… It’s fucking delicious.”
What they were eating was none other than pizza.
An empire six times larger than China.
Here, ingredients like pepper, salt, and tomatoes were readily available.
A well-kneaded crust, stuffed generously with cheese.
Pricked with a spiked roller to prevent air pockets, smothered in tomato sauce.
Loaded with premium salami, shredded chicken, cheese, and olives.
Baked on a wide shovel in a hearth for two minutes—perfection.
“Pretty sure this was meant for just the three of us…”
After shopping, they’d returned to the workshop to make pizza.
Initially skeptical, the dwarf sisters conceded upon smelling it—then dug in joyfully.
Until the door burst open—Vivian strode in, holding two pizzas, cheese stretching gloriously.
“Mmm~! So good! You’re a genius at soft foods too?!”
Behind her entered Adel and Luna.
Adel sliced her pizza elegantly with fork and knife; Luna, ever the soldier, ate in precise bites.
Adel, who prioritized money second only to Erica, eyed business potential.
“Selling the recipe? This could make a killing.”
“Not the healthiest.”
“Then I’ll eat Luna’s share!”
“Hands off, Vivian. Soldiers don’t waste food.”
Efficiency-minded, Luna growled when Vivian tried to steal her slice.
Finally, drawn by the aroma and chatter, Erica entered the workshop.
Now, with more mouths to feed, Cain became a pizza-baking machine—using leftover ingredients.
Erica casually enjoyed her slice.
Then, to him—busily baking in the corner—she said:
“I’ve half a mind to fire our chef and install you in the kitchen instead.”
“Ooh, I vote yes!”
“Eep!!”
More work?!
Oblivious to his despair, Vivian cheered brightly.
But Erica, amused by his reaction, chuckled and corrected herself.
“But then your inventions would suffer. I’m no fool—to waste talent just for my palate.”
“Phew…”
“Still… Hurtful that you didn’t offer your liege the first taste.”
“Eep…!”
Erica shoved her half-eaten slice into his dough-covered mouth.
A reward? Or—
“That mouth means you’ve too much free time to develop such delicacies, no?”
“Mmph…! Mmm!”
Pizza muffled his protest.
Did she plan this?! This terrifying woman!
Then came the words he dreaded most:
“Seems you’re underworked. From now on, culinary R&D too.”
“Mmmph…!”
He pulled out a backup resignation letter—but—
“Surely you wouldn’t submit a flour-drenched document to your liege?”
Damn it—the dough-covered hands had dusted the letter.
Again, citing impeccable logic, Erica leisurely strolled out.
Floury hands and pizza-stuffed mouth left him powerless—he knelt, defeated.
Adel clicked her tongue at the sight.
“Tsk tsk. Creating more work for yourself.”
As others munched pizza, Brook muttered under her breath:
“Now I get why they call you ‘fox.’ Always wagging your tail.”
But Cain didn’t hear.
Lying prone, surrounded only by the pitiful remnants of his backup resignation letters…
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