After a full night's rest, which, frankly, was the most uninterrupted sleep I've had since I left Orion's viscounty, my first morning in the Elvian kingdom began the same way any good day should: with Clara handing me a cup of tea like she was bestowing holy grace.
She seemed a little brighter than usual today. Must be the new elven colleagues. Maybe she's secretly excited to compare blade polish or swap tea-leaf fermentation techniques. Who knows what maids talk about when they're not terrifyingly efficient?
Once the divine liquid hit my system, I made my way downstairs, strolled into the main hall, and flopped onto the couch like I owned the place. Technically, we're just renting, but details.
I reached for the notes Sylvia had compiled yesterday, her incredibly detailed, disgustingly neat flowcharts, and started going through them again. Nothing like sipping leftover mana in my bloodstream while trying to re-memorize economic layouts.
I was halfway through tracing a trade route arrow when Lord Orion came down the stairs, somehow looking both regal and mildly sleep-deprived. "Good morning, Lord Hugo," he greeted.
"Good morning, Lord Orion," I replied, sitting up a bit straighter to pretend I hadn't just been playing with the decorative embroidery on the page corner.
He glanced at the notes in my lap. "It seems like you've started your day with economics."
"Not exactly," I said, lifting the paper. "I was just admiring Lady Sylvia's skill to contain huge information and turn it into one elegant, digestible chart. It's an art form."
Orion smiled faintly and sat across from me. "She must have inherited that from her mother. She used to help me the same way."
There was a pause. A kind of silence you don't fill with words. He looked down, eyes darkening with something old and painful. Regret, maybe. Or maybe it was just remembering.
I cleared my throat softly. "I'm sorry, Lord Orion. I didn't mean to bring up—"
"Not at all, Lord Hugo," he cut in gently. "It's me who wandered there."
Just then, Sylvia entered the hall, saving us both from a deeper dive into melancholy. "Good morning, Father. Lord Hugo."
We returned the greeting as Clara materialized, pouring tea for both of them with her usual grace.
I held up my empty cup expectantly, but she just looked at me with an expression that said, You literally just drank tea. What am I, a tea fountain?
Rude. But fair.
Then, seizing the moment, I said, "Lady Sylvia, I was wondering… would it be possible to slightly increase the staff budget?"
She tilted her head. "Do we need that many staff?"
"No, not at the moment," I admitted. "But it's better to finalize the personnel expenditure early, get it fixed, and manage with that. Makes future adjustments cleaner. That way we won't have to dip into this category when other surprises pop up."
She blinked, like trying to imagine the budget dancing around her mental spreadsheet. Then she nodded slowly. "Let's review the numbers again today, then. Line by line."
I gave a small bow. "Much appreciated, Lady Sylvia. May the math be ever in our favor."
Just then, one of the mansion guards entered, giving us a respectful nod. "Lord Orion," he said, "a message from the envoy's mansion. The scrutiny unit has found suspicious patterns among your staff. They're requesting your presence."
Orion frowned. "Did they find the culprit?"
The guard shook his head. "They didn't say that explicitly. Only that they've found certain irregularities and would like your audience. We'll draft a formal reply if you're unable to attend."
Orion mulled over the information, then turned to me. "Lord Hugo, I may need to leave for a while. Can you two hold down the fort?"
Sir, I'm twenty-eight. I've held shareholder meetings, reorganized entire departments, and once fired a vice president over email while eating instant noodles. I'll manage.
"Of course, Lord Orion. We'll postpone any outside visits until you return."
He nodded, then turned to Sylvia for a brief, fatherly word I respectfully tuned out, and finally said, "Lord Hugo, I'll be counting on you to look after Sylvia."
I gave a small smile. "You have my word. Safe travels, Lord Orion."
And with that, he left.
A few moments later, we had breakfast. Clara had somehow managed to time everything like a mana-fueled clock, and the table looked suspiciously domestic, which was weird. Too peaceful.
After we finished, Sylvia stood, brushed invisible crumbs off her dress, and said, "Lord Hugo, shall we head to the study? If we finalize our plans before Father returns, we can proceed more efficiently."
"Ofcourse," I said, rising to my feet. The joys of productive mornings. "Lead the way, Lady Sylvia."
As we walked to the study, I couldn't help but think this was the most coordinated a temporary residence had ever felt. And that was saying something, considering half the staff didn't even know our names yet. But hey, order amid chaos. That's the Falcon style.
And we weren't even through day two.
We were seated in the mansion's study. Sunlight slipped in through the elegant Elvian lattice windows, painting floral patterns on the polished floor. Clara was brewing tea, she always did that when we were about to get serious, and Sylvia stood near the map table, arms crossed, eyes focused.
Then came the question I knew was coming.
"Lord Hugo," Sylvia began, her voice crisp, "do we go to the merchant association and present our case, requesting an opportunity to participate?"
She was so calm when she said that. Like we were just asking for a spot in a village bake sale.
I blinked at her.
"And get politically flattened like wheat on a noble's driveway?" I asked. "Absolutely not."
Sylvia raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe they'll refuse outright?"
"Oh, they won't refuse." I leaned back in my chair, clasping my hands together like I was born to deliver bad news in an elegant accent. "They'll smile, nod, say pleasant things like 'we'll consider your proposal', and then take that proposal, fold it neatly, and place it directly into the nearest incineration artifact. Politely, of course."
Because that's how politics work when you're the new guy in a foreign land with zero reputation and a cargo of salted pig. I could probably get more respect selling magic-enhanced chewing gum at this point.
Sylvia looked thoughtful. "But our deal was approved by the guild, and we possess the merchant identity. Should that not command weight?"
"Paper weight, maybe," I muttered.
Clara placed the teacups down with a grace that almost distracted me from my spiral into political cynicism.
"The problem," I said aloud, more composed now, "is not our product or permit. It's perception. Right now, we're unknown entities selling something that disrupts existing flow. The associations see that as a threat. We need to make them see it as a lifeline instead."
Sylvia sat down, her fingers steepled. "How?"
Now that was a good question.
I stood up and walked over to the map, tapping the guild emblem etched into the capital of Aeloria.
"We don't go to the association. Not directly. We do something smarter. We create a gap… a hunger. And then we fill it."
Clara tilted her head. "Create a hunger?"
"Yes," I said. "Right now, salted pork is a solution, but no one's aware that they need it. So we introduce it through the back door. Not through big merchants, but local vendors, food stalls, taverns, and inns. People with smaller purchase volume but strong local voice."
You know, the grassroots method. Very William of me. Except with less PowerPoint and more pigs.
"If people taste it, talk about it, if smaller shops start demanding it, then the association will come looking for us, not the other way around."
Sylvia's eyes lit up. "Reverse infiltration through supply."
"Exactly," I nodded. "We flood the streets, not the offices. Build demand at the bottom until the top has no choice but to look down."
Clara set her cup down. "Won't that take time?"
"Yes," I replied. "But it's less time than sitting at the association's gate like unpaid debt collectors."
"And how do we begin?" Sylvia asked.
I smiled. "We find three or four influential food stalls, and an inn or two. Give them a free batch. Let their customers become our marketers. From there, we'll start receiving purchase requests, and then we'll redirect them through a small merchant identity. Someone local. Someone with connections."
Preferably someone who doesn't ask too many questions about where the salted pork came from or why Hugo Gyrfald has a sudden obsession with charcuterie.
"By the time the association realises we've cornered a part of the market," I concluded, "we'll already be indispensable. And then we can negotiate. Not as hopefuls, but as providers of a supply they now can't function without."
Sylvia exhaled slowly, impressed. Clara looked at me with something that might have been pride or just the satisfaction that the tea hadn't gone cold during all my scheming.
"Shall I prepare the list of local stalls then, my lord?" Clara asked.
I nodded. "Please do. And get me their peak hours, their supplier names, and whether any of them are in financial trouble."
"Why the last part?" Sylvia asked.
"Because," I said, standing with a stretch, "the hungrier they are, the faster they bite."
And this, my dear readers, is how you start an empire...with pork, patience, and just a sprinkle of petty revenge on the association that thought we'd beg at their doorstep.
Let the salted conquest begin.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hello, dear readers!
I have an announcement to make...and no, it's not Hugo finally learning how to work hard. (We wish)
I'm officially starting a new novel that will be published alongside this one!
Title: Council of Gods (or as the cool kids might call it, CoG)
This story dives into the legendary past of Caelumis, Narsimha, and Sylviora before they ascended as gods in the world Hugo was reincarnated into.
Yup, you guessed it..this is a prequel to Reborn As Lazy Lord Destined to Doom (RALLDTD).
If you've ever wondered how gods think, fight, scheme, or occasionally bicker like roommates in a divine dormitory, Council of Gods will be your jam.
Thank you for sticking with me on this journey! As always, your support means the world ( and possibly several realms). Stay tuned, stay curious, and maybe, guess which god was the biggest problem child.
See you in the next chapter!
— The Lazy Lord's Definitely Not Lazy Author
Council Of Gods: https://www.webnovel.com/book/33107315500092405