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“I have the current shipment volumes for you, sir. As scheduled, 85 percent has been delivered, 10 percent is in storage, and the remaining 5 percent will be moved through standard trade channels.”
“Very well.” Count Chyde pressed his temples with a tired expression. A sharp migraine surged through his head, making his vision blur for a moment.
“My lord… were you not able to sleep again?”
“Don’t mind it. It’s nothing new.”
“It’s because it’s nothing new that it’s a problem,” the young butler replied in a concerned tone.
Count Chyde shook his head instead of responding. It had been quite some time since he’d last had a proper night’s rest.
‘Things weren’t like this before…’
His insomnia had started when his third son, Mit Chyde, caused trouble at the Central Academy and got suspended. Mit had always been the child he was constantly worried about. A child he couldn’t bring himself to love, yet also couldn’t bring himself to hate.
He had tried, at the very least, to fulfill his duties as a father. Nonetheless, the boy had twisted into a disgrace. While it might sound strange to say a father didn’t love his son, for Count Chyde, maintaining the current distance was the best he could do.
“That’s enough. You may go.”
“Ah… One more thing. Heins Territory reached out to ask if private trading was possible…”
“All shipments have already been dispatched. Under the treaty laws, cargo held in storage cannot be sold.”
“They’re not requesting a large amount. Couldn’t we make a slight exception…?”
“Chamberlain,” he said as he lifted his weary eyes.
“Yes, my lord…”
“There are no exceptions.”
“Sir, Heins Territory offered a significant return for a small quantity. If we simply adjust a few of our...
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