Trends always flow from the top down.

Since Arina began carrying Arad's bag everywhere she went, it was only natural that her circle would be influenced by her example.

Starting with Arina, the maids and noblewomen of High Castle began wearing or carrying similar-looking bags on their waists or in their hands.

Before long, the trend swept across the entire North.

Of course, these imitation bags resembled the original in appearance only, with no magical properties to speak of.

Even so, the simple design was enough to captivate the hearts of the Northerners.

“Arad’s Devotion seems to be everywhere now,” Arina remarked, glancing around as she continued her inspection tour.

Indeed, as she noted, even the officials and knights accompanying her were wearing bags with designs similar to the one she carried.

The trend wasn’t limited to her immediate circle. Ordinary citizens walking around High Castle also sported hastily made imitations of Arina’s bag.

Naturally, the imitations only mimicked the appearance. The texture and sheen of the leather, the precise craftsmanship, and the clean finish of the original were leagues apart. Most importantly, the magical effects remained unique to Arina’s bag.

“It seems the North’s leather artisans have found a newfound excitement,” she said with a faint smile.

Where the North once only bore the hues of survival and warfare, Arad’s Salt had added a splash of vitality, and now, fashion brought yet another color.

“If it displeases you, I can issue a ban,” an official cautiously suggested. His own waist was adorned with one of the counterfeit versions of Arad’s Devotion, a detail not missed by Arina.

“No, it’s fine. How could I not be pleased to see even a little liveliness return to our land?” she said, shaking her head firmly.

“But speaking of which, where is Arad Jin, and what is he up to?”

Turning her attention to the Northern talent responsible for this burgeoning trend, Arina inquired about Arad’s whereabouts.

“He is… currently at the southwestern outskirts, working with the witches,” High Knight Eothe replied, his voice measured, his expression unreadable.

“With the witches?”

As expected, Arina’s elegant brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing out.

‘Now that I think about it… even the old woman hasn’t shown herself today,’ she thought, her mind briefly wandering.

“Is Isabelle with him as well?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Hm…”

Knowing Isabelle was present eased Arina’s mind somewhat.

“And do you know what they’re doing?” she asked.

“From what I’ve heard, they’re measuring the land’s mana flow…” Eothe replied cautiously.

“Lead me there.”

Without hesitation, Arina decided her next destination would be the southwestern outskirts where Arad and the witches were. She quickened her pace, her retinue following in step.

***

The North is cold.

Farming here is under the worst conditions imaginable.

Wheat could only be cultivated in the greenhouses of High Castle and in a few select lands near the Empire’s borders.

Even root crops like potatoes were sparsely grown and harvested on limited plots of land.

Most of the remaining land was overrun with weeds.

“Arad, thanks to you, the North is coming back to life,” said Isabelle, the Spring Witch.

“It certainly seems that way,” I replied with a faint smile.

“…? Oh-ho-ho-ho! Such confidence, I like it.”

“Haha, excessive humility isn’t good for anyone, is it?”

Outside Renslet Castle, further to the southwest, Isabelle and the witches of the North strolled across a field overgrown with white weeds, laughing brightly.

“You’re absolutely right, Arad. The salt you created is nothing short of salvation. It’s the lifeline for countless wandering Northerners,” Isabelle said.

“I’m glad to hear my recipe has been so helpful,” I responded calmly to yet another round of her praises.

Incidentally, at the waists of Isabelle and the witches hung bags similar in design to the one I had gifted Arina.

‘Their handiwork isn’t bad at all.’

Of course, these weren’t bags I had made; the witches had crafted them themselves.

They were impressively well-finished, with a level of craftsmanship and polish that rivaled my own work. I couldn’t help but nod in approval.

‘I wish I could teach them mana stone engineering and magic circuitry sooner rather than later…’

However, none of the witches’ bags bore any signs of subspace enchantments.

That stagnation felt all the more regrettable.

‘Couldn’t I transfer my knowledge to the witches while maintaining security? After all, they have nowhere else to go beyond this land. Why do they avoid learning from me every time I try to teach them something?’

I found myself pondering the overly cautious attitudes of the witches I had observed so far.

“Look over there—see those people gathering weeds in the fields? Without Arad Salt, those people would have been starving wanderers, labeled as the lowest adventurers, drifting aimlessly.”

While my gaze lingered on the witches’ bags, Isabelle continued speaking.

Her words drew my attention to the people in the fields, busily harvesting weeds.

Their clothing was ragged, and their lives clearly hard, but their expressions were bright, lit with hope.

“Do you think Her Grace foresaw all of this when she decided to freely share the recipe for Arad Salt?”

“Revitalizing this land has been a long-cherished wish since the time of the first Grand Duke,” Isabelle said wistfully.

In the North, inheritance followed the principle of primogeniture.

This was a necessity given the limited arable land and the medieval reality of nearly nonexistent contraceptive methods, which led to an abundance of children.

While daughters could be married off, younger sons had to confront the harsh reality of survival as soon as they reached adolescence.

By the time they were fourteen or fifteen, many were practically forced out to make their own way.

If they were fortunate, they might become soldiers, servants to noble families, or workers for merchant guilds.

But more often than not, they became low-tier adventurers, little better than vagrants.

Some, unable to even manage that, ended up as mercenaries in the Empire, enduring discrimination and scorn.

Ironically, this fate often suited the Northerners’ nature.

Thanks to their diluted druidic bloodline, they were inherently resilient, capable of withstanding cold and surviving harsh conditions.

“Better to share the recipe quickly and provide food for the people than let it leak out eventually. That’s what Her Grace desired,” Isabelle said, her tone resolute.

And indeed, Arad Salt had turned the lives of many Northerners around overnight.

“All of Arcadia, including the Empire, wants Arad Salt now. It’s becoming as valuable as Eastern spices—perhaps even more,” Isabelle declared in an almost euphoric tone.

“And unlike mana stones, which can be found across the continent, the primary ingredient for Arad Salt is still exclusive to the North,” she added.

I humored her enthusiasm with a nod.

“Exactly. I’ve heard Northern merchants now carry themselves proudly when dealing with Imperial traders,” I replied.

The Northerners, who previously had few sources of income, now roamed the forests, snowy plains, and mountains to gather the key weeds used in Arad Salt.

Local merchant guilds in the North bought the harvested weeds, processed them into Arad Salt, and sold the product throughout the continent, including the Empire.

“Still, don’t you think you’ve practically given Arad Salt away for free?” Isabelle remarked, a hint of regret in her voice.

Her words echoed my own thoughts.

I understood the Grand Duchess’s intentions, but it felt like we had been too generous.

“The more Arad Salt sells, the higher the merchant guilds’ profits. That, in turn, increases the taxes they pay to High Castle. We gain honor, public favor, and additional tax revenue—it’s not a loss at all,” Isabelle countered, brushing off my concerns.

“Do the merchant guilds really pay their taxes willingly?”

In a world without centralized accounting systems, tax evasion and bribery were likely rampant. A one-time special salt tax might have been a more practical solution, I thought.

“Tax evasion is punishable by death in the North.”

“Even so, would merchants really pay taxes without trying to cheat the system?”

“In the North, the cold and the dangers of the wild are ever-present. Merchants need escorts—Northern knights, mercenaries, or adventurers—for their trade routes. To hire those escorts, they must pay taxes,” Isabelle explained.

I nodded, realizing the connection between protection fees and taxes.

“Besides, the North’s tax rates are not as high as those in the Empire or other kingdoms. For merchants, paying a small tax is preferable to the risks of evasion,” she added.

“By the way, there is one group that doesn’t pay any taxes at all,” Isabelle remarked, her tone shifting.

“No taxes at all?” I repeated, my interest piqued.

“Yes. Those who become a Renslet-endorsed merchant guild are exempt. They can even hire High Castle’s senior knights as escorts,” Isabelle said with a sly smile.

“!!”

Tax-free trade, plus access to elite escorts? In the North, that was essentially invincibility.

‘I need to establish a merchant guild. My wish should be to become an endorsed guild!’

The idea had crossed my mind before, but Isabelle’s words cemented my resolve.

‘Tax-free business—what a dream for any merchant!’

“Of course, there are conditions,” Isabelle continued, her tone sobering.

“The guild’s nominal owner must be Her Grace herself, and strict qualifications apply. Above all, such guilds function as the Grand Duchess’s private treasury. They must provide funds and resources whenever she demands, no questions asked.”

“I see,” I said, digesting the terms.

It wasn’t free, but for someone who planned to leave this world one day, the conditions didn’t seem bad.

Given Arina’s character, it didn’t seem likely she would abuse the privilege.

‘Let’s set aside idle chatter for now.’

Having satisfied most of my curiosity, I decided it was time to pivot the conversation.

“So, what’s the real reason you called me here? Can I find out now?”

Though our conversation had covered everything from Arad Salt to the North’s tax system, the main topic had yet to be addressed.

So far, it had felt like an elaborate warm-up.

‘Is this about asking me to make another bag like the one for Arina?’

At my direct question, Isabelle merely smiled mischievously.

“Didn’t you notice anything while we’ve been walking and talking?”