Unorthodox Farming: Chapter 24 (Patreon)

Chapter 24

Franchising

Emily didn't like, trust, or want to work with Rina any more than she already did. Rina was manipulative, egotistical, underhanded, but most of all cunningly intelligent. Her upbringing had turned her into a truly horrible person, and Emily didn't believe anything good could come from working with a woman like that, no matter how binding her oath was. To prove her point, Emily had taken me back to her place and shown me the letters from their correspondence. If I still had any delusions that there was a decent human being hidden away somewhere, those letters had cured me of it.

Was Rina's advice helpful?

Yes.

Was Rina's advice factually correct?

Yes.

Was Rina's advice the sort of thing a decent human being might lynch her for?

Also, yes.

Emily and I shared a long conversation about what she was getting out of their correspondence and why she kept writing to her. It turned out Emily wasn't taking lessons from Rina's playbook. She was learning how these lessons could be used against her. She wanted to understand how Rina would approach her problems, so she could insulate herself from being taken advantage of by people like her.

Emily's decision not to work with Rina left me with one less thing on my plate, so as days turned into weeks, the list of things I needed to do shrank, and I found myself with some free time. There was only one thing I wanted to do with it. I wanted to share the music of my old world with my new one. I also wanted to learn what was required to be a professional bard, not just a guy who pulled out his guitar when he got bored.

However, performing at Orlana's restaurant was a privilege few bards received, and it was almost unheard of for anyone without the class. Thankfully, I was a close friend of the owner's husband. Otherwise, I never would have been allowed to audition.

Orlana listened to me play and then promptly turned me down. I'd turned to Torvac, and Torvac had given her a wounded puppy look on my behalf. Orlana had rolled her eyes and given me another chance to impress her, but only in my native tongue.

The uniqueness of hearing a song sung in a language spoken by only one person was something she felt might make up for my lacklustre performance. My show would be a cultural event rather than a musical one. Having listened to the quality of bards who performed at her restaurant, I wasn't insulted. I really was imposing on her goodwill because of my friendship with Torvac.

Orlana rejected country music, pop songs, rock 'n' roll, blues, rap, hip-hop, jazz, and reggae. She wanted her business filled with beautiful music, and while what I was playing was fun and upbeat, it was not beautiful.

Finally understanding what she was looking for, I played "Let It Be." Orlana loved it. I played Hallelujah. She loved it more. I played every beautiful song I thought would interest her before realising she cared more about the atmosphere I was creating than the words of the songs I was playing, which opened up some hilarious possibilities, and the lineup of songs I played drastically changed.

The day before unveiling my franchise, I sat in the middle of Orlana's restaurant, blowing off some steam.

As my music faded, taking with it the mournful melody I'd bathed the diners in, I felt the room stir as if woken from a dream. Orlana catered to the wealthy, making them a hard audience to impress and a valuable opportunity to improve my stage presence.

I lifted my head, my expression downcast, like the song had taken something from me. My posture screams about loss and suffering. The audience saw a broken man with a broken story they couldn't understand. The emotion I'd instilled in my voice and music had hopefully created a bittersweet experience.

The elderly gentleman directly ahead lifted his napkin and dried his eyes before mouthing the words, "That was wonderful."

Internally, I was trying not to laugh.

Externally, I gave a sorrowful nod.

He had just witnessed what could quite possibly have been the slowest, most beautiful rendition of Big Booty Bitches ever performed before a live audience. Keeping a sombre expression on my face was taking every last bit of charisma I had. He wasn't the only one in tears. The song had become a crowd favourite and a great way to close out my set. Some even tried to sing along.

You wouldn't believe how hard it is to keep your face straight when you hear a heavily accented version of Big Booty Bitches sung slowly. I needed to get off the stage before I cracked and ruined the atmosphere I'd created. If I erupted in laughter, Orlana might catch on to what I was doing in her restaurant.

Thankfully, Fitz was waiting for me upstairs.

I stood up and bowed to the diners before putting my guitar away. I picked up the case and headed for the stairs, taking slow, trudging steps, like I was emotionally wrought.

The moment I closed the door to the private dining room, I broke down, laughing uncontrollably.

What had started as a joke had become a valuable experience, teaching me how tone and pace affected an audience's mood and reactions, but it didn't detract from how funny it was to mess with people who couldn't understand English.

Fitz knew what I was doing, so he didn't comment on my laughter. However, he gave a brief chuckle when he saw me enter, remembering my misunderstanding about the meaning of the term scholars' party. The hilarity of the misunderstanding remained. However, the uncontrollably laughter had finally died down after more than a month of exposure. Adoya had been right about my Incarnate title making the situation funnier, but even it seemed to have its limits. I expected everything would go back to normal in another month or so.

Having people uncontrollably laugh in my face didn't bother me anymore. It obviously wasn't their fault. However, I wasn't looking forward to returning to Blackwood. The amount of teasing was going to be worse than when everyone found out I was milking male goats.

As I finished releasing my pent-up amusement and regained control, I noticed Fitz had filled my side of the table with documents.

The property purchases had gone through, and the renovations were finished. The documents outlining what the landlords, landbarons, and landdukes would receive from buying into the franchise were long since complete. These had to be the last-minute information packages on who had already arrived for the unveiling.

I'd been practicing my presentation for weeks with my Fitz and Ranic, so everything went smoothly. We only had one chance to impress the big fish like Winslow and the leaders of the Wildland Consortium. If we failed to convince them to buy into the franchise tomorrow, then the small fish were more likely to reject my offer. It wouldn't be the end of the world if they walked away, but it would make our job much harder and force me to travel all over the world to convince people directly.

However, if the presentation worked, Blackwood would become the heart of a new industry. We wouldn't be supplying traps to everyone like I originally planned. Instead, we would be providing blueprints and the training the trapsmiths and blacksmiths needed to create the traps they would use.

Blackwood would essentially become a college town.

Those who bought into our franchise would have to use our operators. People we had trained. I had enough operators who were willing to move to other kingdoms for a few years to cover those initially needed, and enough people to train those who would come after.

It was going to be a very profitable business.

The salaries I paid my operators were high, and we were charging the franchisees more as well. Most farms didn't need high-level farmers. A slightly better corn crop wasn't always more profitable. However, the people we were going to sell the franchise to did. They all owned orchards like the one that produced the peach memory wine. Even if they sold the bottle to the system for half its base value, it turned a huge profit. The only thing holding back their production was a shortage of skilled, high-level farmers.

Crops like those were why Ranic wanted me to wait before I planted the heritage seeds. One rare variation would transform my farm from something mildly profitable to extremely profitable. The odds of that happening were low even if my luck rose. However, the price of buying a farm with access to those crops was astronomical, because they were money printers, so it was the only way I'd ever gain access.

While waiting for desert to arrive, I reached the end of the documents and glanced at Fitz. "So Winslow still hasn't responded to our invitation, then."

Winslow was the wealthiest farmer in the world. He personally owned the entire farming industry in Luna and large chunks of several other kingdoms. His family owned their land independently from him but operated under his umbrella, using his vast connections.

"No. However, enough of his family members have arrived in the city for me to believe he's hiding among their aides while gathering information. The number of bribes my people have had to turn down in the past few days has grown significantly. Many of which can be traced back to his family."

My trap method was an open secret at this point. My second visit to Longhill had gone as smoothly as the first, but Jeric mentioned that some of the farmers had been paid to count how many people we were leveling. My competition had a fairly accurate idea of how much experience my method had generated, which was partly why we were moving ahead here rather than waiting for the cull.

The other reason was my trip to Luna with Durg'un in two weeks. The experience I would gain from killing the king toad might actually make my buyers second-guess my trap method.

"Do you think he's still upset about no longer controlling access to the great boon?" I asked.

Winslow and the Wildland's Consortium and a few others were the only ones who had access to beasts that would mate within a village zone, so they were the only ones who had been able to raise enough for farmers to quickly gain the great boon through killing them. There were other methods for gaining it, but they were far more expensive, requiring a farm to be willing to cripple its productivity.

"Undoubtedly," Fitz replied. "However, that won't stop him from accepting your offer. He wouldn't be where he is if he weren't able to change with the times."

***

The headquarters for my trap franchise now resided in what had previously been the Radian Agriculture Commodities Futures Trading House. The owner was from Lunar, where market volatility was common due to King Toad migrations, but outside of orc famines or mistimed culls, there was no market volatility in Radian for anyone to make a profit. The business had been a disaster, and the owner had been looking for a buyer for years, but no one was willing to pay the price he wanted. My offer wasn't what he wanted either, but he had a cousin who would pay him what he wanted for the great boon, so now I owned it.

Fitz's assistants rushed around the reception hall, checking and double-checking everything, while our guests arrived. Every member of my farmer network was in the hall along with dozens of my best operators. They were all mingling with the guests, giving firsthand accounts of what they had experienced. Ranic was speaking with one of the heads of the Consortium, while Adoya spoke with another. Jeric had returned from Longhill and was speaking with three others, still in a bad mood over missing his son's birth. Rina was entertaining several prominent landbarons in the corner while her allies spoke with others.

I had close to one hundred of my people here, and that number didn't include Fitz's assistants. "The scale of this event is a little intimidating."

Fitz looked up from his clipboard, where he was marking down guests as they arrived. Winslow and his family still hadn't shown up. "You control one of the largest independent networks of great boon farmers outside of the Consortiums and Winslow's family. Most of the people here are thinking the exact same thing about you."  

Torvac gentle patted me on the shoulder. With so many powerhouses present, we had to increase my security.

"Friend Arnold, relax and look around. Is not good to show fear in front of enemies."

Fitz marked down another name. "Your friend isn't half as dense as he pretends."

"Torvac very dense. Strength highest attribute."

Fitz snorted. "Did you read the extra dossier on the Consortium and Winslow's family I had sent to you last night?"

"Cover to cover."

"Then why aren't you over there introducing yourself to Landbaron Jarbo? His father is one of the founding members of the Wildland Consortium."

I groaned.

"It's just a conversation."

"Maybe for you, but if you haven't noticed, I'm a bit of a pushover. What if I go over there, introduce myself, start talking, and find out I like him? He might be a really nice guy. If I find he's a really nice guy, I'll be more open to letting him access my method. I'm not good at remaining impartial."

Fitz looked at me and shook his head. "You really aren't suited to this."

"That's what I keep telling people."

One of Fitz's assistants rushed over and whispered something in his ear.

Fitz smiled. "Winslow just entered the building, and he's brought his entire family."

***

The reception hall was full, which was saying something because it could hold nearly one thousand people. Everyone we'd invited had brought only a single assistant, as requested, and they were all downstairs reviewing the paperwork, so we had enough space for their bosses. The more important guests were seated at the front, and the less important guests were seated at the back. None of the faces in the front row was happy. They were collectively scowling at me. Only those at the back looked excited about my presentation, which wasn't exactly a surprise. They would benefit a lot more from my method than those at the front.

I continued to wear a fake smile as I finished my presentation, letting Lowheart's Lungs do the majority of the work for me. "Are there any questions?"

One hundred hands shot up.

I ignored the front rows and pointed to a man near the back.

The richly dressed man looked surprised that I had called on him first, but stood up, straightening his suit. "What you describe sounds like a lesser version of Radian's annual orc cull. The experience gains could compete with farm breed monster operations. How much do you expect us to pay you for access to this experience-gaining method?"

It was exactly the sort of question I wanted him to ask. Fitz had suggested I ask from the back because the front rows would try something far more indirect.

"You will have to adhere to our safety standards and hiring and training practices for those who build and operate the traps, which is your biggest ongoing expense. Your assistant will have the exact numbers. Apart from these ongoing costs, there is a one-time flat fee of 500 crowns for every village you wish to use my system in. 1000 crowns for each town and 2,500 crowns for every city. Additionally, there is a fee of 1000 crowns for each great boon my method produces."

That was just a fraction of what everyone here charged for the boon.

The man still scowled. "And how much of the experience do you expect on top of that?"

"5%."

The man stopped scowling as pure shock replaced his indignation. He quickly snapped out of it. "Did you say 5%?"

"Is that a problem?"

The man shook his head. "No, no problem." He sat back down, fighting a grin. I could see him already trying to work out how many villages he could afford to expand into.

Everyone around him was smiling even more. None of those at the back could take my method across their kingdoms, but the price I was charging was within their means. They could use it to reach a dozen villages or towns, growing their businesses and farms quickly.

I pointed at Patriarch Winslow next.

Unlike everyone else, he was dressed in simple farmer's overalls. There was a bald patch on top of his head, and the rest of his hair was white. He had deep tanned skin and a powerful body that looked like it had spent a lot of time doing heavy labour. His features were a mix of Asian and European, and his charisma made him the personification of a wealthy yet down-to-earth old farmer. 

A wealthy yet down-to-earth old farmer who was scowling so heavily that I was quite sure he wanted to attack me. "I agree to your terms," he said, voice rich and clipped. "Send your contract. My family will be ready to take your oath the moment it's approved."

He stood up and started walking towards the door. His several hundred family members, who had all arrived when he had and were all at least as independently wealthy as those sitting at the back of the hall, rose as one and followed him out.

The heads of the Wildland Consortium all stood up as Winslow's family filed past and made similar statements. They left, but unlike the other party, only a third of their people left with them.

The fake smile I'd worn all night was replaced with a real one as I turned my attention back to the remaining half of the audience. We'd done it. We'd successfully kept control of my method without it being stolen by our competitors.

The work I'd put in, the dangers I'd faced, were all about to pay off. The heaviness I'd been carrying around for the past few years lifted from my shoulders as my smile grew.

I took a slow, steady breath and reigned in my emotions. "Are there any more questions?"

Thirty hands shot up.