NOVEL SIMPLE Book 6: Chapter 1
Spring.
Three summers had passed since the crown prince had been appointed regent of the Kingdom of Natra.
The days had been rocky. Ever since the death of the Emperor of Earthworld, the ruler of Eastern Varno, trouble had crashed into Natra like waves.
Future historians would certainly be rendered slack-jawed by the never-ending trials and tribulations targeting the kingdom.
In the next breath, they would praise Natra for knocking back each one.
Natra overcame. Once the subject of ridicule, the poor runt of a kingdom had managed to blow back every challenge to come its way.
The one who led the people during the era termed the Great War of Kings was Wein Salema Arbalest, fated to be remembered by historians.
Sensible internal policies. The proactive eagerness to step into the battlefield as needed. The devilish cunning to toy with neighboring nations. The benevolence to put his people first.
He was the perfect prince.
The prince was the key to Natra’s future. Bathed in the warm spring sun, the citizens were certain of this fact.
However…the sky was bound to cloud over, even in the most blessed of lands.
In fact, a spring storm was brewing in Willeron Palace in the Kingdom of Natra.
“Nghhhhhh.”
Currently sulking; approach at your own risk, warned the look on a girl’s face as she sat on the bed with a big pout.
Falanya Elk Arbalest. Wein’s younger sister and the crown princess of Natra.
Though she’d been young when Wein ascended to the post of regent, she’d recently started acting like a real adult, maturing in mind and body…
…Except now. She was in the middle of a childish tantrum.
“How much longer are you going to sulk, Falanya?”
A boy with red eyes and a head of white hair—a Flahm—sighed loudly.
His name was Nanaki Ralei, and he was Falanya’s appointed servant. His attitude toward the crown princess might be considered rude to some, but as they were childhood friends, it didn’t bother either of them.
“…I’m not sulking.” Falanya turned the other way with a huff.
“You are.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“AM! NOT!” Falanya snapped back, but that didn’t seem to faze Nanaki.
“Throw a fit—see if I care—but you need to pull yourself together when you’re in public. You’re worrying the officials.”
“Gulp.” He’d gotten her weak spot. She knew what he was talking about.
From some topographic, cultural, or national influence, the royal family was generally imperturbable. The current crop of rulers was no exception: King Owen, Prince Wein, Princess Falanya, even the dearly departed queen.
It was extremely rare for any of them to lash out at the officials in sadness or anger.
This was exactly why the officials were thrown for a loop when one of them did have a bad day. Without much experience with mood swings, they didn’t have the skills to weather the storm.
Wein can usually smooth things over.
Whenever Falanya’s mood went south, it became Wein’s responsibility to calm her. As the little sister, Falanya had no choice but to lay down her arms when her beloved brother admonished her.
This, unfortunately, wasn’t an option for them right now.
Wein was absent from the palace—which was, coincidentally, the exact reason for her mood.
“It’s not uncommon for Wein to leave for long stretches of time. Are you still having trouble adjusting?”
“No! That’s not why I’m upset!”
So she was upset. Nanaki knew pointing that out wouldn’t do him any favors.
“Then what’s getting under your skin?”
“Isn’t it obvious?!” Falanya snapped back, raising her voice. “Because he went off to a tropical island with Princess Tolcheila—of all people!”
It had all started in early autumn of the previous year. Two neighboring kingdoms—Natra and Soljest—had waged war on each other. Wein had formulated a strategy to topple the enemy army and capture King Gruyere. Natra had been granted partial rights to the port in Soljest, along with a hefty ransom and reparations.
“—Maritime trade has been lucrative for as long as it’s been around.”
Speaking in a low voice was Prince Wein, sitting in his office.
“But our climate means our access to the sea is frozen over for most of the year. Which makes it hard for us to benefit from maritime products,” he continued.
His aide Ninym stood at attention by his side. She had the characteristic white hair and red eyes of the Flahm. Maintaining her silence, she listened to her sovereign.
“Meanwhile, the port of Soljest is usable all year round. We might be able to use this opportunity to open trade channels with other countries. That’ll help explode our economy.”
Wein’s statement made total sense. The basic strategy of business was buying local products cheaply and selling them for high prices in faraway lands. Overseas trade meant raking in some serious profits.
“So…” Wein turned to Ninym. “What did other countries say about trading with us?”
“A resounding no.”
“Nooooooo!” Wein landed a disappointed backflip. “That’s just plain weird! No one?! Not a single one?! We’ve got Imperial goods! Isn’t there a demand for those?! Come on! They know they want them! Please want them! Please!”
Even with the new trade route, the kingdom had no real industries, and none of their offerings had caught the attention of other countries. That was why Wein had been planning on buying up goods from the Empire to trade with nations in the West.
As Ninym pointed out, that was looking like a no-go.
“Why?!” Wein writhed in agony.
Ninym seemed defeated. “It has nothing to do with the merchandise. They’re wary of you.”
“Excuse you? They’re wary of me? Why? All I did was lie that Imperial products were made in Natra, incite internal conflict in an already unstable nation, topple the leader of Levetia, and earn some huge winnings! What’s wrong with that?!”
“If I were a politician, I would want nothing to do with you…”
He was an actual danger to society.
“Gaaaaah!” Wein clutched at his head, slamming it down. “This is bad news! We’ve already squandered our winnings to pay for our war efforts. As if that isn’t bad enough, Levetia is keeping us at arm’s length ever since we waged war on one of their Holy Elites!”
“If we don’t do anything, we’re going to keep bleeding money…”
“And listen to this! Gruyere was all like…”
“Hmm? You have no boats to use in our port? Ha-ha-ha. You know I’m on your side. I’ll gladly let you use some…for a fee.”
“Hmm? You have no sailors to employ on our boats in our port? Ha-ha-ha. You know I’m on your side. I’ll gladly let you use some…for a fee.”
“Hmm? You have no one to trade with, even though you have our sailors and boats? You want to borrow them after you’ve secured a trading partner?
“Ha-ha-ha. Hold fast, my prince. My sailors are busy men, and my ships tightly scheduled. You might miss a business opportunity if you dawdle too long. I’m certain you’ll find a business partner in no time… By the way, we should form a long-term contract that can’t be terminated early. Might be cheaper that way.”
“—And I actually agreed to it! That pig knew I wouldn’t find anyone to trade with!”
“He certainly got you good…”
“At this rate, we’ll have nothing coming in, while our maintenance costs keep rising…! This isn’t good…!”
It was critical that Wein find a trading partner as soon as possible.
“This would have been the perfect time to talk to government leaders—when they’re staying put in their home countries…!”
“If we let this opportunity pass us by, it might be difficult to have a discussion even in a conference setting. After all, once the Gathering of the Chosen is rescheduled, they’ll have their hands full.”
The Gathering of the Chosen. Hosted once a year by the biggest religion of the Western continent, it was attended by Levetia’s leaders, known as Holy Elites, and normally held in spring during the Festival of the Spirit. Many of the Holy Elites were political figures such as kings and dukes, and it wasn’t uncommon for the event to be postponed if their schedules didn’t line up.
That said, the Holy Elites couldn’t exactly go into the new year without hosting the conference. There had never been one later than fall. Not that Wein could kick back just because it was still spring. If he didn’t take this seriously, Levetia might settle on a date for the Gathering of the Chosen, which would postpone any discussions about trade.
“So they’re scared of you and refuse to negotiate. What about trading with the East, where the Empire is?” Ninym asked.
“Yeah, except our best products are from the Empire.”
Natra still didn’t have any industries to speak of. If he sold its bad products to the Empire, he would make the kingdom pennies, and Natra would be the butt of its own joke. Likewise if he sold the Empire back its own products.
“Maybe we could sell stuff from Soljest to the Empire… No… I can totally see Gruyere using that chance to charge me up the wazoo…!”
That settled it. Their best option was to sell Imperial goods to Western nations. For better or for worse, Wein had become a household name…which meant it wouldn’t be easy to form relations with other Western nations.
In short, it would take time to trade with other countries under current circumstances. And time was money. A negative feedback loop was ready to suck in Wein—one where he’d cry bloody murder whenever he bled more cash. He had to break the cycle somehow.
“Pardon me! Coming through!”
The door slammed open.
“Princess Tolcheila! What brings you here?” Wein asked, quickly correcting his posture.
Younger than Wein, Tolcheila was the crown princess of Soljest, which made her King Gruyere’s daughter.
“I received word from my father that you may be in trouble, Prince Wein.”
Ever since the war ended between Natra and Soljest, Tolcheila had been “studying abroad” in the kingdom. Basically, she was being held hostage.
That said, there was nothing hostage-like in her behavior. In fact, her brazen attitude was reminiscent of her father, King Gruyere.
“I heard tell you’re anxious because you’re left with no one to trade with, even though you’ve finally acquired the port. I have come to you with a proposal.”
“A proposal?”
It went without saying that Tolcheila was an ally to neither Wein nor Natra. She and her homeland came first.
Both parties were aware of her priorities. Tolcheila must know Wein would spurn any proposal that served Soljest. If she was coming to him with an idea, it must have some benefit to them both.
“…All right, I’ll hear you out. What do you have in mind?”
“Are you familiar with a kingdom called Patura, Prince?”
Wein nodded, screwing up his face a little. “An island nation at the farthest southern tip of the continent, right?”
“Indeed.”
Patura. Also known as the Patura Archipelago. It was nestled in the sea, not too far from the southern tip of Varno—a cluster of small islands known for sustaining itself through international commerce.
“I imagine you know Soljest found great riches through trade. Though we’re on opposite ends of Varno, we have connections in Patura since we’re in the same industry.”
“I see… So, in other words…”
Tolcheila nodded. “Patura is governed by the Zarif. The current head of the family, the sea guide—Ladu—is Alois Zarif. If I step in, he may grant you an audience. What say you? Will you try your luck in the Southern lands?”
Wein and Ninym exchanged looks.
They had considered trading with Patura. Its island values didn’t align with those of the East or the West, and they had heard Levetia had almost no foothold there. As proof of this, the Flahm could apparently live normal lives there.
Wein had reason to believe they wouldn’t care if he had bad blood with Levetia…but it didn’t seem realistic to trade with them. After all, Patura was so far away. Though it was common practice to send local products to distant lands, their locations on opposite ends of the continent felt needlessly far.
The other reason it seemed impossible was the products themselves.
“Patura is on the opposite side of the continent from Natra—and the same distance away from the Empire. Is there even a need for us to ship them these goods?”
“Well,” Tolcheila answered, “you ought to remember that the Empire has tried to conquer Patura as part of their imperialist agenda. The islands have managed to fend them off, but this has soured any chance of reconciliation. Meaning Imperial goods are not in wide circulation.”
Emotionally distant from the Empire and culturally divorced from Levetia. If he didn’t factor in distance, Wein could certainly see Patura as a viable option.
“If you’re still unsure, I will allow Natra to sell our goods wholesale. I am your ally, Prince, so I can offer a more-than-fair price.”
“……”
Tolcheila flashed him a mischievous grin. Wein’s mind raced.
It certainly wasn’t a bad deal. Tolcheila would act as his liaison until Wein could meet with a representative from Patura. After that, it would be up to the two kingdoms to seal the deal. It was better than wasting time running around with no solid plan.
King Gruyere must have calculated that Wein would come to this conclusion.
He’s one sneaky pig.
The king must have known Wein wouldn’t find a place to trade with so easily. And Wein wasn’t the type to let an opportunity slide, especially with this new port. The princess would gauge the perfect moment to offer him a helping hand. In the end, he’d owe her for mediating the discussion, plus Soljest would now have a place to sell its wares.
As for making him sign a contract for the boats and seamen—well, that was just plain bullying.
The most infuriating part about this whole thing was that this was an offer too good to refuse.
Next time I see him, I’m turning Gruyere into a roast pig.
He’d reached his decision.
“Thank you for your offer, Princess Tolcheila… I would appreciate your facilitation.”
“I figured. Let us send off a letter immediately.”
In the note, Tolcheila introduced Wein to the representative of Patura, and Wein penned his own message. It wasn’t long before they received a reply that essentially granted them an audience.
That was what landed Wein in the island nation of Patura.
Back to the present.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! I’ve had enough of this brother of mine! He’s so…! So…!”
Left behind in Natra, Falanya was throwing a fit with Nanaki as her audience.
“I wanted to go, too! But I’m stuck here, keeping house! How come Princess Tolcheila gets to go?! Ugh! No fair!”
Falanya flailed on the bed. This tantrum was a long one. She had a policy of not embarrassing herself in front of Nanaki, but that had totally gone out the window.
If she were a tyrant, Falanya would take out her rage on the officials. Since she was a good girl at heart, however, that would never happen. The only victim was the punched-in pillow in her bedroom.
Nanaki felt on edge whenever his master was in a mood. The officials were begging him to do something about it. He wasn’t exactly the best at comforting people, but it was worth a try.
“Falanya.”
“What?!”
“Tolcheila’s body is just as childlike as yours, so I don’t think it’ll do anything for Wein.”
His vision filled with pillow. Nanaki caught the projectile.
Falanya side-eyed him, moaning. “Hmph, I bet Wein is having a ball, under puffy white clouds and sailing over the deep blue sea! I’m going to give him a hard time as soon as he gets home!”
The window opened up to the sky.
Thinking of her brother under the same sun, she knew what she was going to do.
Meanwhile…
“—Well, then.”
Blue ocean.
White clouds.
Sunbeams poured down.
Wein stared beyond the iron bars of a jail cell.
“Well, what am I gonna do?”
It was the third spring Wein had served as regent. The Kingdom of Natra could hardly be called powerless anymore.
This welcome change for its subjects was a source of tension for other countries.
This era, which was to be coined the Great War of Kings by future historians, was entering a new stage, one in which new trials and tribulations awaited the Kingdom of Natra.