I Became A Black Merchant In Another World

If you receive something, it’s only natural that you must work proportionally for it.

That’s why, when the Emperor gives me an order, I usually comply.

Of course, I’m not a machine—I’m a modern individual with free will. So, in the process of completing said tasks, I might use tactics like "expense processing" or "falsifying records with average market rates."

Sometimes, I even conceal revenue entirely to reduce taxes.

Still, by the standards of the Emperor and the Dukes, who are clueless about what happens on the ground, I’m providing reasonable prices with maximum service.

I pocket a bit more cash for myself, while they save money compared to hiring someone else. Everyone wins.

Isn’t this the spirit of love and peace, a pursuit of happiness for all?

The Baron Ducat, dressed in ceremonial military attire, tapped me on the shoulder.

“Are you feeling unwell? When I was your age, I didn’t even catch a cold. See? That’s why men need military service to stay healthy.”

What nonsense are you spouting, Baron Ducat?

If I wanted exercise, it’d be far better to take Kris and Chloe for nightly "workouts" than running drills in the military.

Add a well-balanced diet with protein, carbs, and fat, and you’ve got perfection.

“I’m perfectly fine physically. It’s just that after the wedding, my body is fine, but my mind feels exhausted...”

“Well, that makes sense. After my wedding, when I returned to my military duties, the battalion commander gave me a week off from all duties, including night watch.”

If the weddings I knew were like sprinting 100 meters, a wedding in the Tuscan Empire felt like running four consecutive marathons.

Other nobles probably suffered similar mental exhaustion after their weddings.

I’ve thought this countless times: If I ever have to go through a wedding twice, I’m not human.

“That aside, congratulations on your marriage, Baron Rothschild. Here, this is my gift to you.”

Baron Ducat handed me a pistol.

The grip was covered in peculiar liquid stains.

‘Judging by the wear, he must have cracked quite a few enemy skulls with this thing.’

I’ve never been to war, but officers and knights usually charge in with their lances, fire a pistol shot, and then—

After firing, they draw their swords, and in chaotic close combat where even swords break—

They use the weighted grip of their pistols to bash enemies’ heads in.

For an officer and a noble, such a weapon is a symbol of honor and bloody combat, often passed down as a family heirloom.

“When I was a captain, we went to war against those wicked northerners from the Empire above. With this, I smashed the heads of three soldiers. Even after all that use, it’s still in perfect condition and fully functional.”

“Are you sure it’s alright to give me such a valuable item?”

“It’s your wedding gift. What’s mine is yours. After all, what kind of relationship do we have?”

A standard superior-subordinate relationship, isn’t it?

But I couldn’t exactly refuse when someone offered me a treasure like this.

To decline a gift as symbolic as an award or a medal would be tantamount to a declaration of war.

“I wouldn’t have become a baronet if not for your help, sir.”

“Haha, stop it. You’re making me blush.”

Strictly speaking, I became a baronet because I cut off one of the Pereira Trading Company’s arms and used money to fill the gaps.

But there’s no harm in sweetening my words when my actual achievements remain intact, is there?

“The reason I’ve come here today is to deliver a message from His Majesty.”

A direct message from the Emperor, delivered personally by Baron Ducat?

I didn’t need to hear the full content to know where this was going.

It’s probably His Majesty’s “kind gesture,” asking me to join the war against the Grand Duchy of Milania to rack up military achievements.

Ah, as dependable as the sun rising on a Sunday morning.

“His Majesty has not forgotten your efforts in rebuilding the battered 1st Division, nor the personal funds you used in the process.”

“It was my duty as a noble of the Empire.”

Thanks to the Emperor assigning me the 1st Division’s military supply contracts, I managed to secure deals for two divisions.

This arrangement has been quite lucrative.

While it doesn’t compare to extracting gold from the Ifriqiya continent, the annual net profit exceeds 10,000 gold coins.

The capital I initially invested was recouped long ago.

If I want to maintain favorable transactions with my esteemed clients, I have to make concessions now and then.

“His Majesty highly values your contributions in rebuilding the 1st Division and improving logistical efficiency. As such, he has promoted your honorary rank from major to lieutenant colonel.”

Honorary rank, huh? Normally, the only perk of having an honorary rank is being called “Lieutenant Colonel” during visits to military units.

But in the Tuscan Empire, honorary ranks like major or lieutenant colonel mean you can be activated for service at the Emperor’s discretion, like a reservist officer.

“An honorary promotion to lieutenant colonel at your age—congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Additionally, His Majesty has ordered your participation in the upcoming war against the Grand Duchy of Milania. As of now, you are officially a lieutenant colonel in the Tuscan Imperial Army.”

Seriously, when I eventually rise to the rank of count, I swear I’ll abolish this rotten system.

How can a benevolent civilian noble like me be conscripted at the Emperor’s whim?

All I wanted was to peacefully teach the Ifriqiya people a little “imperialism,” collect some lecture fees, and spread modern knowledge across the continent.

Why do I have to sweat in military uniform and march into war?

But in society, even when you’re upset, you have to smile.

I suppressed my emotions and accepted the orders.

“I will carry out His Majesty’s commands.”

“As you may have guessed, your assignment is with the 1st Division, specifically the logistics staff.”

Logistics staff? Does this mean I’ll handle supplies again and get my military achievements on a silver platter?

Logistics is one of the toughest roles in the military, but for me, it’s relatively easy.

I might not be skilled with a sword, but I know how to plan transport routes and manage goods, like in my trading company.

If I set my mind to it, I can manage.

“The logistics staff’s chief is a retiring colonel. Do you understand what this means?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, no one can know everything, can they?” Baron Ducat smirked and pointed at me.

“It’s a bit sad, but the abundance of staff officers in the Tuscan Army is simply to provide more positions for officers. Thus, except for personnel or operations roles, staff officers rarely get promoted to general.”

Whether in the military or any organization, those nearing retirement often hold significant sway.

Just as a senior high schooler after exams feels free to skip classes and eat snacks during lectures, retiring colonels live unshackled lives.

“Since the logistics chief is retiring after this war, most of his authority is effectively handed down to you.”

“So, I’ll be fully in charge of the 1st Division’s logistics and supplies?”

“Precisely.”

Baron Ducat grinned at me.

“Of course, His Majesty has arranged capable people to assist you in case you can’t handle it. While you’re highly capable, it’s too risky to entrust such critical tasks without backup.”

While it stung to hear he accounted for my potential failure, I couldn’t argue.

The lives of thousands, even tens of thousands, depended on logistics.

‘In a way, this arrangement works out for the best.’

I could leverage my knowledge from this era to outperform expectations.

“I understand everything.”

“Good. Then do your best to meet His Majesty’s expectations.”

With those words, the Baron rose and left.

Once alone, I pondered my next steps.

The logistics aspect seemed manageable, especially with capable subordinates to consult.

“What’s the best way to rake in as much money as possible?”

Throughout history, wartime logistics has been a goldmine.

I should get a piece of that pie too.