Chapter 141: Could You Spare Me Some Face?

In the stillness of the night, within the fragrant room of the young girl, it was time for some private, whispered conversations.

“What!? How can this be? So you’re actually going to help that dumpling-maker Hartoli with negotiations tomorrow?”

The one speaking loudly was Yuna. She was in a foul mood, frustrated that their seemingly magnanimous boss—who had accepted her suggestion to abandon the large-scale waste production—was secretly looking for a blacksmith to replace her.

Was all that humility, eagerness for talent, and heartfelt sincerity just a lie? They had only just begun this venture, yet already she was being replaced?

The feeling was like entrusting one’s life to a beloved, only to discover in shock that they had someone else on the side.

To put it more precisely, it was like preparing to marry someone, only to be stunned by the revelation that they were a master of time management!

“Oh, don’t be so tense!” Anguran sat down beside her, taking her warm hand and adopting the demeanor of a close confidante.

“The boss just worries you’ll overthink things, so he told me to explain it to you first tonight. You’re one of us—not like outsiders! Besides, Hartoli has his own shop, and you sleep next to me!”

“Most importantly, you specialize in forging armor, and with the elves joining, you’ll focus on swordsmithing. There’s really no conflict there. The captain doesn’t expect you to force yourself to do things you don’t want to.”

“And if Ebhal dared to reject him as fiercely as you do, Vik would definitely make him suffer. Don’t be fooled by his constant smile—our captain has a small heart.”

“You say he holds grudges, yet you tell me to boldly refuse his unreasonable demands. Aren’t you just setting me up?” Yuna turned her head, the thick golden braid falling over her chest.

“Tsk tsk,” Anguran said with a teasing tone, “What I’m about to tell you is kind of bruising to the ego, so I’ll say it just once. In the captain’s world, men and women are two different species, as you surely know; those under eighteen and those over eighteen are also different species, as I’ve mentioned before.”

“But most importantly... when faced with broad-minded or humble women, he has two different attitudes. So you almost never need to worry about the captain being mad at you.”

Anguran’s words were subtle, but her accompanying gestures were both blatant and lewd, utterly indecent—so much so that even Yuna, a straightforward tomboy, found it hard to bear. Angered, she pounced and started tickling her.

This was a natural phenomenon: when girls talk privately and start joking bawdily, sometimes it’s even more terrifying than boys doing the same.

Amid their laughter and tussling, Katherine quietly reminded them that there was some noise outside. Hearing this, the young girl craned her neck to peek out the window… unsurprisingly, it was the night-walking youth again.

...

Regarding Ebhal Hartoli, a former swordsmith who had switched to selling dumplings due to ruthless competition—after all, one must earn a living.

The one who put the elves out of work was their well-backed competitor, Mr. Ernst von Hume. He sought to monopolize the swordsmithing industry on a small scale by cutting off Hartoli’s supply of materials.

Of course, they didn’t do this overtly—Novigrad encouraged open markets—but all sword-forging materials had to pass through him. Soon, the elves were unable to continue.

As a non-human, Hartoli was at a disadvantage, forced into silent closure. The curious part was that Hartoli dared not provoke the human Ernst, but Ernst’s backers were the Butcher Klyver gang, who were also non-humans. It was said Ernst often played cards with the Butcher.

The turning point came when some underlings of the Beggar King began supplying ore materials, offering blacksmiths alternative sources and breaking Ernst’s monopoly.

But Hartoli was timid and didn’t dare negotiate with the gang alone—until he realized a frequent dumpling customer, who seemed approachable, was actually a formidable figure able to chat casually with gang enforcers.

...

At dusk, just after the sun had set, with a light drizzle falling, the elf blacksmith walked through the streets of the harbor district. He hadn’t felt this safe in a long time; the Phantom Brigade accompanied him, both masked with black scarves and clad in fully armed mercenary gear.

After brushing off a flirtatious street singer once again, Victor asked, “What did you say that Beggar King’s underling’s name was?”

“Tinboy. A new figure recently appeared with about a dozen followers, specializing in selling quality iron ore.”

“What do you know about his personality?”

“Temperamental, so be careful. We need him more than he needs us.”

The sea breeze blew sharply through the harbor. Passing through several secret doors and past a few campfires, the Phantom Brigade plus the blacksmith faced six people who had come for negotiations in an open space surrounded by houses.

Tinboy’s crew wore diamond-patterned bandanas. The leader’s voice was rough and coarse: “Hey! What’s this? Didn’t we say you’d come alone? Who are these two?”

The voice sounded familiar. Victor stepped forward, shielding Hartoli behind him.

“Good evening, Tinboy. I’m Mr. Hartoli’s lawyer. Since he’s not good at speaking, I represent him in negotiations.”

He gestured to introduce Anguran. “This is my assistant; we’re both expert negotiators.”

Victor’s confident tone subdued their aggressive attitude. Tinboy hesitated, then spoke more politely, “Uh... in that case, alright. Here’s the deal: if our boss and the Butcher are going to fight, there has to be a price. We’ve set our rates; no room for negotiation.”

“So, your offer?”

Taking a step forward and puffing out his chest, he said, “We supply you with steady iron ore in exchange for 50% of the profits.”

Victor crossed his arms. “Impossible. No legitimate business splits profits by half... How about 25%?”

“Who do you think you are, ordering the Beggar King around? 35%, no less.” He gestured emphatically.

“25% is the maximum, but you’ll get discounts on weapons purchased in-store.” The youth replied calmly.

“Ha! You must be crazy. Fine, we’re leaving!” Tinboy turned to signal his men to leave.

Hartoli panicked and tried to speak up, but Anguran swiftly struck him in the stomach with her sword sheath, silencing him.

Though their mouths were covered, thanks to Lance Mit’s shared experience and their opponents’ inexperience, Victor easily read the lack of confidence in Tinboy’s eyes.

“What a pity. I thought you wanted to break Ernst’s monopoly. Few blacksmith shops are willing to buy from you.”

Not far away, Tinboy stopped, then turned back with his men.

“Alright, friend, you’re a skilled negotiator. 25% it is, and don’t forget the discount.”

“Wait, your voice sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard you and spoken to you somewhere... You’re... Tony?”

Tinboy was stunned. “You really know me?”

Victor smiled and pulled down his mask. “Oh! Long time no see, Tony. Allow me to reintroduce myself—Victor Corleone, Mr. Ebhal Hartoli’s lawyer.”

Seeing that unforgettable face and the four scars, Tinboy—once Tony—was reminded of that tragic afternoon: one of the three greats of Novigrad congratulating the opening of the blacksmith shop, and the bag of crowns he earned after doing a handstand.

Since that day, he understood what a true big shot was like—they didn’t shout threats in the street or bar; when they thought about killing someone, their hands were already in motion.

So he switched sides, joining the Beggar King’s organization, using his expertise in forging materials to import iron sand from Temoria and open new revenue streams.

Now, standing before the very boss who had guided him down a dark path, he was momentarily choked up, his legs weak. But in this world, you can’t lose face. His men hadn’t been involved in that day’s events, so they respected him greatly.

“Yes... yes, long time no see. I’m Tinboy now.”

Seeing through his act, Victor smiled and rewrapped his scarf. “Tinboy? That’s a good name. I’m sure everyone knows you by that. Surely you’ll show me some respect and give me a better discount—15%, how about that?”

Both sides were bluffing, but after the last encounter, the youth’s psychological advantage was much greater than Tony’s.

“I’m honored to see you again, Mr. Victor… I... I think 15% is a very reasonable number.” After a slight hesitation, he agreed.

“Deal.” The youth extended a hand, pulling the startled elf blacksmith forward to shake hands with Tinboy.

“Then the deal’s done. You can sort out the details yourselves.”

After shaking Hartoli’s hand, Tinboy looked at Victor seriously.

“I can supply steadily, but Ernst won’t let this go. He’s backed by the Butcher Klyver. Your blacksmith shops might need bodyguards.”

“Are you offering security services?” Victor asked.

“No, I’m done with that life. Not my scene anymore. Just a warning: those fierce dwarves don’t joke around.”

“I’ll talk to Umutai. He’ll owe me a favor.” Victor patted Tinboy’s arm. “Seeing you turn over a new leaf and do honest business makes me glad.”

...

The uneventful negotiation ended just like that. Back at the dumpling shop, the elf blacksmith still felt it all seemed unreal.

Noticing Hartoli zoning out, Victor said, “Ebhal, don’t worry about Ernst. I’ll talk to Umutai tomorrow and ask for his favor.

“Now, let’s talk about my order. I need you to forge a sword that can slay all under heaven. I haven’t decided whether to call it the Dragon-Slayer or the Destroyer. I’ll need your expert advice.”

Hearing this, the blacksmith scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“Actually, sorry, I didn’t expect things to go so smoothly. I’m eager to make the sword, but there’s a small technical problem.”

Victor narrowed his eyes but didn’t get angry. Though details escaped him, he had the impression this elf master was unreliable, repeatedly complicating tasks.

Since Hartoli was now half one of their own, the ever-bored Anguran took the chance to get familiar and slipped into the kitchen to start boiling dumplings.

“Alright, can you tell me what the technical problem is?”

“When the smithy closed, Ernst bought up all the forging tools and now refuses to sell them. I was thinking maybe we could borrow some privately...”

The youth held his forehead. “Enough, Ebhal. Your ‘borrowing’ is really just stealing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be so petty. This is easy to handle. I trust Umutai will do me this favor. At the latest by the evening after tomorrow, Ernst will personally deliver your forging tools.”

...

In the kitchen, Anguran was eating dumplings when she overheard Hartoli explaining to Victor.

“...No, based on the length and weight you want, the sword would be unusable. It would fly out of your hand with just one swing, unless you have the blood of a rock troll—dominant genes—and wear over two thousand pounds of heavy armor...”