In the Florence Blacksmith Guild, harsh words and curses were flying.

"Does this make any sense? Which madman is selling steel at this kind of price?!"

The guild master slammed his desk, repeatedly and with such force that it was surprising he didn’t seem to feel any pain. His fury was palpable.

"I get it! You can toss some cheap scrap metal into a blast furnace and run the waterwheel, but to make steel, you still need to hammer it until your arms give out! So how can this price be real?"

The guild master felt like he was about to explode.

Even while monopolizing steel for military supplies like weapons and armor, and cornering the market on tools, they’d barely managed to scrape by.

Now, with the advantage of monopolizing steel shattered, life was only going to get harder.

No doubt the competition would start undercutting them, desperate to push them out.

"At this rate, we're all dead! Completely doomed!"

The old tradition of appeasing those above them while making a living was officially over.

"Sub-Master, can’t we submit a petition to Duke Sforza or even the imperial court? Ask them to help, since the guild's rights that have been built over hundreds of years are being trampled?"

In this world, where nobles engaged in politics and merchants handled trade, the two were inextricably linked.

So, if the merchants suffered, it meant the pockets of the highborn would be affected as well.

And since they knew that their financial state was tied to their power, it was typical for the nobility to protect merchants as if they were extensions of themselves.

But…

"Master, the product in question is steel. Steel makes up most of the cost of weapons. What noble is going to intervene to keep steel prices high? Even if you raised the issue at the city council, it’s bound to be blocked."

For high-ranking nobles like barons, the price of a single suit of armor or a horse was not much of a burden.

In fact, some high-ranking nobles ordered custom armor that cost as much as a castle.

But even a baron might have dozens of knights or heavy cavalry under their command.

These knights, struggling to afford armor themselves, would likely push back.

No noble is going to ignore the plight of their retainers just to save a blacksmith’s business.

"Damn it, curse that Visconti duke! If it were anything else, we could claim guild rights were infringed."

The guild master clutched his head.

He could feel the throbbing pain as he sighed heavily.

"What’s the actual damage amount?"

"Roughly 1,758 gold coins. And that’s just an estimate—if this continues, the losses will only grow."

"Ten percent of our revenue, gone. Oh, God."

Even though it was technically just ten percent, the ripple effect would be much greater.

With steel flooding the market at 30% less than the standard price, most of the nobles, who were the primary consumers, would quietly buy the Visconti duke’s steel.

With lower-priced stock on hand, they’d sever any unnecessary transactions.

If only they were selling at our price, this wouldn’t have happened...

"Moreover, starting this month, fifteen noble families, including the Count of Boban, have notified us that they’ll no longer be purchasing steel or related arms and armor. They’ve even requested refunds on the deposits they paid."

In large transactions, the guild required a deposit of 20-30% to cover costs for materials, tools, and production.

So, this money was already fully spent the moment the deal was struck.

Now, they expect a refund just because they’ve had a change of heart?

"Tell them to get lost! We anticipated this and had it written into the contracts with the city administrators—there are no refunds on deposits! Damn it!"

They could protect against deposit withdrawals.

But if money stopped coming in, paying employees would become difficult, and they’d struggle to repay the debts incurred in setting up workshops.

If this situation dragged on, bankruptcy was a real possibility.

"Is there really no clear solution?"

"We have no direct means of counteraction."

"Damn it, what do we do about these bastards..."

In the midst of his pondering, a brilliant idea struck the guild master.

"Even if Duke Visconti is backing them, the steel they’re dealing in is still an illegal trade without imperial sanction, right?"

Technically, it’s illegal and in defiance of the imperial decree.

But in a society where the hierarchy was more important than judicial righteousness, what good was it if the nobility turned a blind eye?

"What good is it if the nobles ignore it?"

"Think about it—if those who break the imperial decree are robbed, who are they going to complain to?"

Though secretly backed by the Duke of Visconti, steel trading was not an authorized economic activity.

Like criminals who couldn’t report their misfortune to the authorities, Duke Visconti couldn’t openly use his power to enforce justice if the illegal steel trades were looted.

"Unless he wants to openly advertise that he's breaking imperial law, it’s not going to happen."

If it were just a one-on-one between Duke Visconti and the Blacksmith Guild, the duke could get away with just about anything.

Even if he assaulted the guild master’s daughter, the judge would take the duke’s side.

And if he were to do that, it’d be changed from "rape" to "consensual relations."

That’s the beautiful justice system of the empire.

And anyone who speaks out against it would be labeled a troublemaker and traitor.

But if the imperial law was openly violated, Duke Sforza wouldn’t sit idly by.

"We might lose our heads if this comes to light, but Duke Sforza will never let Duke Visconti go unpunished."

In other words, Duke Visconti couldn’t even report his losses if the steel was looted.

Everyone in the room immediately agreed with the guild master’s crazy idea.

"To keep this under wraps, we’ll have Tony lead the operation. Promise him we’ll set up a workshop for him with guild funds as a reward for carrying it out, and he’ll wag his tail."

Setting up a small workshop would cost at least 50 gold coins.

Even if a head artisan earned a lot, it would take ten years of unspent wages to save that much.

It’s more than enough to risk one’s life.

And if things go well, they can claim credit; if they fail, they’ll have someone else to blame.

Truly wicked.

"Start by reaching out to the bandits."

Our steel mill continues to flourish.

Now producing 20 tons a day, with plans to reach 40 tons in a few months.

Steel is flying off the shelves, yielding a 600% profit with every sale.

While I’m pocketing most of the money, the duke hasn’t asked me to cough up a single coin.

He must be gaining tremendous political influence by discreetly slipping this strategic resource into the hands of other nobles.

I’m not interested in politics yet, so it doesn’t concern me.

In fact, I’d prefer the duke to thrive politically because it’ll raise my own value.

"If only things could stay like this."

When I return home, my father, now a former baron, will probably pester me to find a wife and buy a knight title so I can join the nobility.

I still have some unfinished business, so I can’t go back just yet.

Actually, if I went back now, I’d probably be stabbed by someone sent by the Blacksmith Guild, harboring a grudge.

As I leisurely enjoy my inspection…

"This work is insane. Should’ve just stayed a serf."

"What’s the point of making so much money if we have no time to spend it?"

Hearing this, an older artisan raised his hammer.

The apprentice artisans, who were formerly serfs, quieted down.

"Back in my day, you didn’t get paid while learning a trade! You’re now free citizens, getting steady wages. What’re you whining about?"

In the Tosca Empire, and across the continent of Almania, it’s standard not to get paid while learning a trade.

Yet, here, they’re paid a silver coin for every month they work.

"You brats must be slacking off if you’ve got the energy to complain."

"Forgive us, we won’t complain anymore."

"Hah, the world’s gotten too soft. You kids are dead meat today."

The younger artisans were dragged off by the older ones, probably to stir molten metal in the reverberatory furnace until they nearly dropped.

"Even the former serfs are blending in quickly; work is so intense that they don’t have time to be ostracized."

At any other workshop, former serfs would likely be bullied far worse than in a 21st-century schoolyard.

Here, though, there’s no time to treat them as outcasts.

Those boys will suffer through hell today, but tomorrow their senior will probably buy them a beer, and they’ll bond.

Turns out a hard grind and decent wages can solve discrimination.

"If these former serfs get just a bit more experienced, we can aim for 40 tons daily."

Even if profit per kilogram decreases as volume increases, overall profit will surely rise.

"Time to call it a day?"

Just as I was about to enjoy an early finish, a servant of the duke approached me.

Judging by his attire, he was a proper noble with a knight’s title. What could this high-ranking man want?

"Trouble, sir! A shipment of steel has been robbed by bandits!"

...... That sucks, man.

"The duke urgently requests your presence."

For a man like the duke, finding a solution shouldn’t be difficult. Why is he calling me?