Restart:Untalented Man

Chapter 367 Hold the Grain!

BAM!—

The sudden noise echoed through the luxurious room, where dim light filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting long shadows on ornate furniture and gilded accents.

The room was adorned with oil paintings and elegant tapestries, creating an air of luxury.

Albert Ferron stood in the centre of this opulent chamber, his face flushed with anger. His face contorted with a furious shade of red, as though the very blood in his veins had ignited with anger. The veins in his temples pulsed rhythmically, visible signs of his escalating rage.

His once impeccably groomed hair was nowhere to be seen. A few dishevelled strands broke free from the usual order. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch a breath and his eyes seething with frustration and rage.

He grasped a crumpled newspaper that lay scattered on the floor. His fingers were white-knuckled around the crumpled newspaper. The newspaper itself bore the brunt of his fury, creased and wrinkled.

The newspaper, now in his hand, contained another shocking decree, a decree that once again shook the very foundations of the business world and left him in a state of disbelief.

Every fibre of his being screamed with indignation as he still struggled to regain his composure.

"That brat!" Albert hissed through clenched teeth, his tone laced with venomous anger.

Albert had been hopelessly optimistic, believing that the king, often seen as a humble and approachable ruler, would entertain his proposal.

Unfortunately, he had overestimated the extent of Riz's amiability. It was now painfully evident that the king had never intended to consider his suggestion in the first place.

"Of course, the king wouldn't," he muttered bitterly. "Why I even put hope in the first place?"

In his long experience as a merchant, he had met with a lot of local rulers. However, he couldn't recall a single ruler who had ever looked favourably upon merchants.

The waves of frustration and betrayal coursed through Albert's body. His mind raced, contemplating his next move in this high-stakes game of power and pride.

.cοm "Fine! If this how you gonna react..." He muttered under his breath.

Since the king chose to turn a deaf ear to their request, he was determined to escalate the circumstances.

Driven by anger and frustration, Albert rushed to his imposing desk. With a quick yet controlled motion, he retrieved a quill and a pot of ink with a purpose that almost seemed vindictive.

The quill's nib, soaked in dark ink, moved with a controlled intensity as he began to write several letters.

Each stroke of the quill was precise, reflecting the anger that fueled his words.

In the dimly lit room, the scratching of the quill against the paper was the only sound echoing. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he meticulously penned each letter.

Albert's expression remained locked in a scowl as he sealed each envelope with a decisive press, signifying his intent to take matters into his own hands.

The letters were meant to be addressed to influential individuals and figures across the kingdom.

"Send these letters, and do it quickly!" his voice was sharp and commanding as he called out to his servant.

The servant, taken aback by his master's sudden fury, hurriedly responded, "Y-yes, sir." With a deep bow, he took the sealed letters and rushed out of the room, eager to fulfil his master's urgent command.

....

City of Portsbury, Portsbury Province.

A letter from Rafoldrod arrives at the desks of a prominent individual living in the city.

As a successful merchant, receiving several letters on a daily basis was normal thing.

He had grown accustomed to the routine. Most of the letters were filled with unnecessary pleasantries and requests, and he often chose to delay his responses.

However, on this particular day, the seal on one of the letters caught his attention.

The sender of the letter he held in his hands was someone he couldn't ignore. Between them was a family bond tied through marriage.

With a sense of curiosity mingled with concern, he carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

His eyes scanned the content, and a subtle frown creased his brow as he read the words on the paper.

"Is this old man serious?" he muttered aloud, his disbelief evident in the furrowed lines on his forehead.

It was clear, from this message to him that the sender had abandoned the current method and chosen to strike boldly.

Setting the letter down on his desk, he leaned back in his chair and let out a weary sigh. His fingers absently tapped on the polished wooden surface.

It is not like he can't understand the reasons behind this drastic action. His gaze shifted to the newspaper that lay open on the table nearby, its headlines echoing the same concerns and uncertainties that now filled his thoughts.

He called out to his servant, "Do you need anything, Mr. Steel?"

"Call all the grain producers in Portsbury. Tell them to abandon whatever they are doing and come here immediately," he instructed with a stern and strict tone.

The servant promptly bowed and retreated to carry out the orders.

Shortly thereafter, multiple new faces began to assemble in front of him, their expressions reflecting a mixture of curiosity and concern.

He surveyed each of their faces, his expression grave, before opening his mouth to address the gathered grain producers. "A new order has arrived, so listen carefully."

They all straightened their backs, their attention fully on him.

"Hold the grain you possess from entering the market," he said firmly.

His words were met with widened eyes of surprise. One of the producers, unable to contain his concern, voiced it hesitantly, "But, sir, that would drive the price higher. The people will be more angry than they are now."

Steel's eyes bore into the concerned producer. "That's the point," he retorted sharply. "Let them be angry. The anger won't be directed at us anyway. This is for our future interests. Just take the money we offered and do as you're told."

The producers hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

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