I Became A Black Merchant In Another World-Chapter 385: The Merchant of Death, Fabio (8)

Humans are the kind of beings who can shake hands with their mortal enemies for the sake of greater profit.

Different ideologies, opposing goals, even completely divergent visions of the world—it doesn't matter.

The power to join hands despite all that is what separates man from beast.

Animals only see the enemy they want to kill.

Humans? They can look their enemies in the eye and still figure out why they must cooperate, suppressing instinct for reason.

“To achieve greater dreams and greater profit, people sometimes join hands with their ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ enemies. There is nothing shameful about that.

What is shameful, I believe, is letting the chance slip by, failing to grasp it, and later pounding the ground in regret for missing the opportunity.”

“Hmph. Not an unreasonable argument.”

“Your Majesty, if I may be so bold—I imagine even the Prophet himself must have joined hands with his enemies more than once in his mission to spread Allah’s teachings.

Were it not for that wisdom, the Sultanate would not exist as it does today.”

“You’re presumptuous—but not wrong.

When the Prophet first rose up in the holy city of Mecca, he made peace with the city’s chief, a man who worshipped Deus.

Granted, the man later converted after witnessing the glory of Allah through the Prophet.”

There’s not a single successful ruler or politician in history who never shook hands with former enemies.

That’s what politics is—bringing even your enemies into your camp.

I didn’t believe in Allah.

But I knew a powerful ruler and religious leader like the Sultan had once made alliances with former foes.

And I was right.

Even more reassuring—despite me mentioning the Prophet, who to them is sacred beyond life itself,

he didn’t explode.

He actually responded well.

Almost there.

“Lower your weapons.”

The spears and muskets pointed at me dropped.

“What is it the Emperor of Toscani wants?”

“To split the Holy Empire exactly in half—and eat it. If the Holy Empire is divided into East and West, the Western half will become part of your realm.”

For just a moment, the Sultan’s expression shifted—his eyes narrowing like a rat’s, a subtle smile creeping up his face.

That smile—rotten and calculating. He’s thinking the exact same thing I am.

Sure enough, his plan must be to devour the Western half first and stab us in the back afterward.

Amazing, isn’t it? How alike people can be?

This is probably why the Deus-worshippers insist that all humans carry original sin and are bound for hell.

“The Toscani Empire would like to propose a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“We’ll sell you whatever supplies you need—food, weapons, gunpowder, steel, armor—all at quantities you request, and at prices slightly below market.”

If you are reading this translation anywhere other than Novelight.net or SilkRoadTL, it has been stolen.

“So even as allies, I don’t get it for free?”

“Even brothers fight over a bean, Your Majesty. When it comes to money, better to settle everything cleanly to avoid future troubles.”

“Hah! The Al-Sini family described you as a devil who sold his soul to coin, and it seems they were absolutely right.

But I like that spirit—refusing to lose even a single copper.”

When people actually trust each other, they can afford to treat each other casually—maybe even give a free meal here and there.

But if someone you just met starts feeding you for free?

No sane person would see that and not think scam.

On the other hand, if someone is meticulous with money?

They might be a bastard—but at least you know they’re not out to cheat you emotionally.

That kind of person is trustworthy in business.

“On the Emperor’s name, I swear—we will never deceive the Sultan.”

We don’t use those primitive scams like other merchants.

Like sneaking a lead weight into the bottom of a wine barrel to make up for shorted volume...

Or building musket barrels from soft iron instead of steel to save a few coins...

Those tricks are so obvious they insult the intelligence of the person you’re stealing from—and more importantly, they insult the money. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

And that’s just bad manners.

“A scam that goes undetected is just excellent business.”

“That all sounds very reasonable. But why should we trust you, of all people?”

A ruler should always be suspicious.

After all, the same loyal servant who bows at breakfast might try to skewer your neck with a fork by lunchtime.

A king who’s constantly betrayed learns to stop getting angry about it.

That’s just the standard.

And rulers?

They don't trust people who pledge loyalty without reason.

They trust those who chase profit—because that's the kind of human they've met the most in their life.

“Then let me speak plainly, with nothing to hide.”

The Sultan gestured for me to go on.

Of course, "nothing to hide" is a lie.

It's the same tone adults use when they say, “I’m saying this for your own good,”

or when a manager says, “I’m fine with it, but other departments might have a problem.”

They pretend to care about you—when in reality, they’re just setting you up.

Still, people like the Sultan?

They’ll believe me.

Because I speak the way their world has taught them people should.

“Even if the Toscani Empire uses its full strength, I doubt we could swallow more than half of the Holy Empire.

So I thought: why not form an alliance with the Sultan and cleanly split the prey down the middle? That way, we both benefit.”

“Hmph. Brutally honest, aren’t you? Did it never occur to you that I might be offended?”

“If I have offended, I ask your forgiveness.”

“I’m the one who said to speak freely, and I don’t take back my word.

Besides... what you said makes sense. If you can only take half, it’s smarter to fight only that half.”

With a hearty laugh, the Sultan approached and held out his hand to lift me up.

“I accept the Emperor of Toscani’s offer of alliance.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Let’s put aside heavy talks for tonight. We have a guest from far away—it’s time for a banquet.

And in honor of that guest, we shall bring out the strong wine.”

Later that night, after Fabio had collapsed from rare drunkenness, the Chancellor met privately with the Sultan.

“Sultan... do you truly intend to trust that man Rothschild?”

The Sultan smiled faintly at the question.

Almost mockingly.

“Trust Viscount Rothschild? I’d sooner believe a woman could become Sultan.”

“I agree. That man must not be trusted. Among the infidels, they say he’s a devil in human skin.”

“Indeed. But his greed—that I can trust.

Every man is full of desire.”

“Very true.”

“Today he eats barley matzah. Tomorrow, he’ll want wheat.

Today he beds a plain woman. Tomorrow, he’ll chase one more beautiful.

Even if he marries the most stunning woman on earth, he’ll still eye a stranger on the street.

That is the nature of man.

Politics, to me, is all about how you use that desire.”

He was right.

It was a fundamental truth of history.

Humans first learned to make fire not because of some divine enlightenment—but because they remembered how good roasted meat tasted the last time lightning struck a tree.

Invention comes from dissatisfaction.

And the Sultan understood that instinctively.

“As long as he’s pursuing profit, he’ll never betray us.

Through this alliance with Toscani, we’ll gain a decisive advantage in the holy war.”

“So we use him... until we can’t.”

“Just like sugarcane—you toss it once the sweetness is gone.

That man plans to use us to swallow half the Holy Empire. But—”

The Sultan ground his teeth once, hard.

“How dare that infidel think to use us? Let him try. In a few years, once the sweetness is gone, we’ll drive the Toscani dogs out of the Holy Empire—our new territory.”

Then he reached for a white cloth, sliced his palm with a dagger, and wrote with his own blood in the script of the Mahbad Sultanate:

“Jihad. Praise Allah.”

“Prepare for jihad.

We will be the ones who win in the end.”