Reincarnated Into The Middle Ages

Norn felt like his lungs were about to burst. His young heart pounded away, and his tired body craved oxygen with every fiber. It was sheer willpower that kept him moving forward. Sweat dripped from his brow, unheeded, onto the yellow sand, and all he could hear was his own heavy breathing.

Finally, after finishing the long run, Norn came to a halt, gasping for air like a man starved. Adile and Sasan, standing by his side, quickly handed him a towel to wipe the sweat off.

Norn waved them off, taking the towel for himself. "I used to play the game "CrossFire" all the time and never felt this exhausted. Why am I half-dead after just running a kilometer?" he muttered under his breath.

After a good while, Norn finally got his breathing under control. He handed the towel to Adile, signaling her to step back, but kept Sasan there.

"Did you find out what you needed to know?" Norn asked.

"The steward belongs to a textile merchant named Haps," Sasan whispered into Norn's ear, her head bowed low. "Even though the original Hashashin records have all been destroyed, there's no direct evidence that he hired the assassin this time."

"However, in the five years since he made his fortune, seven of his competitors have had various accidents, some of which were our doing."

"And I found out that two months ago, the steward went out for a week under the guise of buying salt, but what he brought back was wool from the mountains."

"So, it's very likely that he's behind this," Norn's voice turned very serious.

Sasan nodded. "If you give the order, I can take his life for you tonight."

Norn sighed. "Let's not resort to violence so quickly. Since we don't have solid proof, I won't order his death."

"Since he's a merchant, let's deal with him using merchant tactics!" Norn smiled contentedly and called Sasan over to whisper in her ear.

In the afternoon, at the textile guild.

"Guildmaster, don't you think there are a bit too many textile merchants in the city?" a handsome young man asked with a smile, taking the wine glass handed to him by the guildmaster.

"Steward, every member of the guild is approved by everyone, each with their own exquisite craftsmanship, and willing to adhere to the guild's unified standards," the guildmaster replied.

"Is that so? I heard that a textile merchant named Haps has had his competitors either catch fire or have their goods robbed by bandits on the road these past few years."

The steward drained his wine glass in one go, then gently set it down. "Rumors from the marketplace, not to be taken seriously," the guildmaster waved his hand dismissively.

"My lord Norn has been very pleased with his cooperation with the guildmaster and hopes to maintain it long-term. However," the steward paused, carefully choosing his words, "Haps sent someone to my lord privately before. Although I, in my humble position, couldn't know the content of the conversation, it was clear that my lord was very unhappy."

"Haps might have just made a mistake. If there's anything he's offended, please put in a good word for him," the guildmaster bowed his head and refilled the steward's wine glass with red wine.

"How dare I trouble Guildmaster with such matters," the steward emphasized the word "guildmaster."

After a while, the steward slowly spoke again: "There's also this: my lord, out of pity for the pilgrims in the Holy City, wants to provide the guildmaster with a batch of cheap woolen yarn to help the pilgrims have affordable clothes to keep warm."

"What's the price?" the guildmaster looked over eagerly.

The steward kept his eyes on the wine glass, not looking up. "Ten copper pennies per pound. Of course, we also hope that the guildmaster will be merciful and help the people of the Holy City have cheaper clothes."

"Arbitrarily lowering prices goes against the rules," the guildmaster said with difficulty.

"My lord said that all textile merchants who sign an agreement with him will receive such sponsorship. Of course, yours will be the largest. Most people will support your decision."

"And I believe many poor people will praise your mercy. Maybe some bankrupt weavers will come to you for shelter."

The guildmaster's eyes flickered with hesitation for a long time. Finally, he said, "The people of the Holy City will surely be grateful to Lord Norn, but..."

"My lord doesn't need the people's gratitude. He just heard that there's an estate in the southern part of the city. The sheep there are particularly fine. My lord wants to borrow them for research."

"Well, in that case, I'll contact my friends in the guild right away to help Lord Norn with his concerns."

The steward and the guildmaster shared a smile. The deal was done, and both tacitly avoided mentioning the fate of certain individuals.

The next day, as Norn was playing with Anna, Sasan found him.

"My lord, the matter is settled. The guildmaster agreed to our request."

"Excellent! Next, we cut off his supply of raw materials."

Norn clenched his fist. "Sasan, spread the word that, to help pilgrims have their own woolen clothes, from today on, the price of wool purchases will rise from 5 copper pennies per pound to 6 copper pennies."

"As you wish!" Sasan bowed and took her leave.

Anna, curious, leaned in with her little face. "Norn, what are you talking about?"

"It's simple! Any workshop merchant, once you cut off their supply of raw materials and squeeze their market, their workshop will collapse on its own," Norn explained the principles of trade to Anna in simple terms.

"What if he raises the price of wool and keeps producing?"

"Then he'll lose more than 5 copper pennies for every bolt of cloth he sells. And we still make a decent profit even at the current price."

Anna, like a curious child, asked again, "So there's no way for him to fight back?"

"From a business standpoint, our costs already put us in an unbeatable position," Norn patted Anna on the head and smiled.

"The rest depends on whether he'll resort to non-business means."

A week later, at Haps' trading house.

"Boss, it's bad," the steward panted as he burst into the hall.

Haps was enjoying the service of a maid, and his mood immediately soured at the sight of the flustered steward.

"What is it? Is the sky falling?"

"Many trading houses have received a batch of cheap woolen yarn from Baron Norn and have started to sell woolen cloth at a discount. Now the market is flooded with cheap woolen cloth at 15 copper pennies per pound."

Haps' brows furrowed even deeper upon hearing this.

"That old dog of the textile guild, haven't I been feeding him enough? And now he's turning on me."

"It's not just that. Baron Norn has also raised the price of wool purchases. Now the wool suppliers won't sell to us."

At this, Haps kicked the table in front of him, startling the maid into kneeling beside him.

"Prepare the sedan chair, I'm going to the textile guild."

An hour later, Haps rushed there only to be stopped by the firmly closed gates.

"The guildmaster has gone to Damascus to buy goods and won't be back for a month," the gatekeeper replied.

Haps, with a face ashen with anger, stood at the entrance like a volcano about to erupt. His servants kept their distance, not wanting to invite trouble.

"You'll pay for this," Haps thought furiously, then called over his steward.

"Notify all the bosses who haven't ordered woolen yarn. If they still want to be in the woolen yarn business, they should come to my trading house."

Half a day later, more than a dozen small merchants gathered around Haps, all talking at once in a state of anxiety.

"Boss Haps, how are we supposed to do business now?"

"Boss Haps, you have to make a decision."

Haps slammed the table. "Enough!"

"Now they're clearly trying to drive us out of business, and here we are, chattering away like a bunch of fools."

Haps leaned his hands on the table, his beady eyes scanning the crowd, instantly silencing everyone.

"If they want to lower prices, we'll play along. We can't afford to lose the market."

"But they have cheap woolen yarn. We can't compete with them," a small merchant said timidly.

"Then let's make sure they don't have any," Haps said nonchalantly.

"But they're nobility! If we do this, we'll be prosecuted by the civic court!"

"Then what? Sit here and wait to die? Watch those jackals devour our entire livelihood?" Haps emphasized his words again, then continued, "Besides, do I really need to teach you how to find a scapegoat?"

"This..."

"The choice is yours," Haps said indifferently, picking up a bunch of grapes and eating them, but then he added, "However, if you surrender now, you won't even leave a trace. But if you go through with it, at least you'll get some money to go back home."

In the end, the merchants agreed to Haps' plan.

After the steward saw off the guests and returned to the hall, he only saw a hunched figure.

"Boss, do we still have a chance?" the steward asked worriedly from behind.

Haps, who had seemed to have everything under control, now looked full of worries. He sighed deeply, "It's hard."

"A moment's carelessness, and decades of hard work are lost."

Haps remembered starting as a young apprentice, relying on his boss's favor, and fighting his way up to build his current business.

"Steward, you've been with me for eight years, right?"

"Yes, boss. I've been your apprentice since you became the shopkeeper."

"Go to the tax collector we're close with and ask for a favor. Also, order to sell our inventory of wool and cloth at a low price. Calculate the deeds and cash separately. It's time we prepared a way out for ourselves."

The steward wanted to say something more, but Haps waved him off.

Haps stood alone in front of the window, watching the last bit of twilight disappear into the darkness.

"I thought he was just a lucky noble, but he turned out to be a little lion with a bite."