episode_0062

62. The Supermarket

Three weeks later.

With the help of medieval equivalents of Leonardo da Vinci and Gauss, I completed an excellent architectural blueprint.

Since it was the first construction project, I participated directly at the site, supervising the process.

We leveled the solid ground and carved it straight to prevent tilting like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

After that, wooden planks were used to set up formwork and wall molds, and steel bars were embedded to firmly secure the structure.

Then, well-mixed concrete was poured inside.

“Pack it tight so there are no gaps inside. If air bubbles form, it’ll be a disaster!”

After quite some time of dutifully overseeing the construction…

Thankfully, thanks to the mages who had helped build factories in the past, additional cranes were unnecessary.

“Mages are impressive. But why don’t they participate in wars?”

“Hmph, those lazy-butt scholars wouldn’t join a war, would they?”

“They’re too prideful… no one likes dealing with them.”

From what I gathered about mages…

Using mana to enhance their bodies like Liliana or Athena is relatively easy.

But manipulating and converting it into actual spells requires far more mental effort, study, and talent than one might think.

Thus, they consider themselves intellectuals and quasi-nobles, with most falling into the category of magical elitists.

Plus, they’re not as overwhelmingly strong as one might expect… Hmm…

If I had to compare, maybe around the level of wizards from *Harry PoXter*?

Techniques like Explosion, which casually unleash explosions on par with Tsar Bomba-level blasts, are practically impossible here.

If asked why, from a mage’s perspective, it’d be like…

Asking a professional martial artist if they can train hard enough to beat a bear barehanded.

That said, they can still levitate heavy objects (as long as no human is riding them).

Or demonstrate crushing magic that would normally require modern industrial machinery… Teleportation spells also exist, so they’re undoubtedly remarkable beings.

Their offensive power may pale compared to warriors, but their utility is astonishing—would that be the right description?

Just as I was reconciling this, Brook spoke up.

“Ever seen priests join wars?”

“…No.”

Come to think of it, there were no priests during the war with Penrose.

When I was struck by an arrow in the shoulder, it was field medics who handled the emergency healing with potions, not clergy.

And there was even a doctor named ‘Sana’ investigating something akin to ‘germs,’ right?

“There are three noble classes in this world.

The born-superior aristocrats… the mages who flaunt their intellect… and the high priests who serve the gods.

Those bastards refuse to use divine power in wars where humans slaughter each other.”

“Makes sense.”

“Ha…! Their real motive is filthy—waiting until after the war to rake in money by healing the wounded.”

Just like how medieval times had plenty of corrupt priests no different from thieving monks, huh?

Seems this world is similar.

Anyway, I spent my time supervising the apartment construction.

Of course, I’m no architect.

All I could contribute was my mathematical ability to calculate variables and knowledge of materials like concrete.

With actual architects like Mr. Antré and Ordre-Bleu on-site, I mostly handled mid-process inspections and stepped back afterward.

Not that I spent all that free time idling around…

“Here, sign this.”

“…What is this?”

“A contract.”

Adel had urgently summoned me.

The contents of the contract were…

“The Mega Mart Project?”

“Yep.”

Adel began reciting the identical parchment document penned in ink—introducing a concept not far removed from modern supermarkets.

“With the apartment construction underway, population density is about to skyrocket.

Until now, people farmed their own food and only traded for goods they lacked, like meat or veggies.

But soon, fewer will farm, while more will earn money.

Meaning demand for diverse goods—even luxuries—will rise drastically.”

“Agreed.”

“Hence, we’ll build a structure to centralize sales for all those products.”

True genius beyond mere intelligence.

Struggling to cross my thick arms, I asked Adel a question.

“Will you quit the moneylending business?”

“No. I’ll keep my main trade. Once better apartments are built, plenty will borrow money just to move in.”

“…Hmm.”

“Eh? Don’t believe me? Real estate brings fortune, y’know?”

It’s not that I distrust Adel.

If anything, she’s *too* accurate—chillingly so.

Unaware of my thoughts, Adel pinched my cheek and smirked.

“Listen to this *noona* and invest in property. Guaranteed, you’ll line your pockets handsomely.”

“…I don’t really need money.”

Honestly, I don’t care much for wealth.

Before being dragged into Erica’s army, I was already making steady income from Yuljeon bulbs…

And frankly, medieval money couldn’t buy titles and barely had uses anyway.

Most importantly, wealth means burdens.

Owning land? Supplying goods? Those would tie me deeper to Erica.

Meaning fewer excuses to retire.

Imagine owning *all* Gangnam’s honey apartments—could you abandon them for a rural life?

I’m no Buddha, indifferent to riches.

I’m greedy—just unattached to what I don’t possess.

And here, in a medieval world devoid of telecommunication…

Becoming a real estate mogul would chain me to Erica’s whims.

I’d burn out like Hwang Hui, the overworked chancellor.

Slapping Adel’s pinching hand away with my knuckles, I spoke bluntly.

“Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Simple. Contract to sell *all* your inventions—past and future—exclusively at my mart.”

“Exclusive?”

“Yeah. Preferably a monopoly.

That’ll draw more people to Praesia, fattening Erica-nee’s tax coffers.”

Such a sister-con.

I scribbled my signature and stood—until Adel grabbed my wrist.

“Too busy for tea, *Duke*?”

“Got more inventions to hammer out.”

“Like what this time?”

Her mocking ‘Duke’ gaze turned predatory instantly.

Given my track record, that reaction was inevitable.

Unable to resist, I flopped back into my seat.

“This one won’t be profitable though…”

“I decide what’s profitable.”

Her covetous glare pinned me down.

I sighed and answered.

“Just a military weapon. Countess Erica ordered it.”

“…And?”

“A cannon…”

Maybe lingering grad-student instincts drove me.

I enthusiastically explained cannons’ mechanics and power—but Adel seemed disinterested.

Despite holding a general’s rank, she handles defense, not innovation.

No—scratch that.

She just ignores whatever doesn’t make money.

Catching her expectant stare mid-explanation, I froze.

Her eyes practically screamed: *Nothing else to say?*

“Do you *finally* get it?”

“Uh…”

I scrambled mentally.

Did Adel expect words unrelated to wealth?

Like a boyfriend hearing *”Can’t wait for February 6th!”* with zero clue what that date signifies.

“Well…”

I slowly retraced my history with Adel.

Our first meeting was at Grace Manor’s dinner, where Erica forcibly dragged me.

Back then, she showed mild interest and left it at that.

Later, during the Penrose war, she participated as a general, formally introducing herself.

Taking a keen interest in my profitable inventions, she acted warmly.

But I was too busy building pianos for the ball to spare her time, earning her pout.

Then, on the way back, she caught me with Vivian.

After heading to Scalets together, only one room remained…

“Ah…!”

“You *weren’t* ignoring this, were you?”

Adel, who’d treated me like a casual stress-relief toy, learned otherwise when my physique and Vivian-trained endurance sent her limping back home.

Problem is, I *may* have overdone it until her eyes rolled back.

“So? Nothing to say?”

Her gaze was a sultry challenge.

Right—an apology is due.

But how?

*”Sorry for knocking you out despite your S tendencies”?*

That’d be a one-way ticket to the guillotine.

*’Father, guide me!’*

I begged my seasoned, married father—likely off hunting in the countryside—for wisdom.

A fleeting vision of him surfaced, reminding me of the past.

My mother, unusually adept at mana for a commoner, once carved souvenirs engraved with *February 6th*.

*’Why a meaningless date? Should’ve used your or my birthday.’*

*’Mm… our wedding anniversary.’*

*’Oh.’*

Next dawn, Father’s face swelled twofold.

Guess men are fated to serve women, huh?

Finding no useful lessons there, I opted for brute honesty.

“That night, I—”

“Spare me the toddler-tier excuses devoid of intellect.”

…Fair.

Adel pinched my cheek again.

“I had to throw out all my toys because of you.”

“…Right.”

“I *tried* enduring… but screw it. Take responsibility.”

Sweating bullets, I asked:

“Then marriage—”

“Bullshit. You’re reserved for… *someone else*. Don’t go that far.”

Ah. Like Vivian, Adel sees no future with a commoner.

In medieval times where commoners are livestock-tier, just being treated as an equal is privilege enough.

With a resigned sigh, she flashed a bewitching smile.

“Tonight. 11 PM. My room.”

…First Vivian, now Adel. Why are Grace women so into one-night stands?

A noble’s quirk? Or just medieval norms?

Best not overthink it…

Just spare a thought for their future husbands.