Reborn As A Beastman With A System

Despite the tantalizing allure of immense profits, Logan felt powerless against the complexities of his business. He let out a hollow laugh, "Haha!"

"Don't let the idea of huge profits make you envious," Fisher replied, sensing Logan's mixed emotions. "Believe it or not, thirty percent of those profits slip into other hands before we even see a coin. After all the costs are deducted, we're lucky to keep half."

"Only half?" Logan responded, his tone laced with skepticism. His experience had taught him that few businessmen were entirely truthful, and he wasn't one to be easily fooled.

Fisher, realizing the need for transparency, straightened up. "With our relationship, there's no benefit in me lying to you."

"Consider the journey from here to the nearest human country, it spans thousands of kilometers. Do you know how many toll camps lie along that route?"

"These camps are controlled by local powers. Each caravan passing through must pay a toll based on their cargo's value. Between here and our destination, there are thirty or forty such camps. Just the tolls alone can cost tens of thousands of gold coins."

"My profits aren't as easily earned as you might think," Fisher concluded with a wry smile.

"But why do we need to pay these camps?" Logan questioned, puzzled by the arrangement.

He knew his brother-in-law was influential; it baffled him why such a formidable businessman would succumb to paying tolls.

"The camps are often in cahoots with bandits," Fisher explained, sensing Logan's incredulity. "Paying the toll is essentially buying peace. It means the bandits are less likely to target us, rob us, or harass our caravans along the way."

Logan frowned, absorbing this new information. Such an arrangement seemed almost too conniving and convenient.

Fisher noticed Logan's skeptical gaze and felt a twinge of helplessness. The young man was always on guard.

"While it's true that I may earn more than I claim, the tolls are very real," Fisher admitted internally.

"So, why hire mercenaries if paying tolls ensures safety?" Logan probed further.

Fisher shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. "It's not that simple. The route is riddled with bandit groups. New ones emerge daily, only to be consumed or defeated by others tomorrow. It's chaos."

"Some bandit groups honor the toll agreements because they collude with the camps. But others don't adhere to these pacts.

Without a strong mercenary group, navigating through territories like the Cross Mountains, with its complex terrain and mix of orcs, humans, and other bandit races, would be impossible." Fisher's explanation laid bare the perilous nature of their venture, highlighting the necessity of every precaution they took.

Fisher's eyes widened in astonishment as he gazed across at Logan. With a knowing nod, Logan reached for a bottle of rye liquor, introducing a new variable into the game he was playing with Fisher and David, the only two wine merchants currently in the room.

"This isn't just about rice liquor anymore," Logan seemed to suggest with his gesture, signaling a shift in the power dynamics of their trade.

Fisher, trying to mask his surprise with a veneer of calm, inquired, "Tell me, Logan, how many different liquors are you familiar with?"

Logan, whose reputation as a connoisseur was not unknown, replied with a wry smile, "Oh, countless, my friend. Far more than you might imagine."

Fisher's eyebrows twitched, a mix of irritation and respect coloring his reaction. Logan' casual dismissal hinted at an arsenal of secrets yet to be shared. Fisher could sense that his future brother-in-law was holding back a potentially lucrative opportunity.

"And what might this particular variety be called?" Fisher asked, smoothing his features into a smile that belied his eager curiosity.

"Rye liquor," Logan declared simply, the name hanging in the air like a tantalizing promise.

"Rye? A liquor brewed from rye grains?" Fisher repeated, nodding thoughtfully. "Keep producing this liquor and sugar. In a month or two, we'll have amassed enough to ship in bulk, which will be far more cost-effective."

Logan laughed softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Cost-effective, you say? I've learned from our associate, David, that even a modest shipment can fetch a small fortune in the human world, a few gold coins per kilogram, easily."

The revelation was staggering. Fisher knew the figures well; his previous shipments of rice liquor had netted him a fortune. But the profits from this new venture could dwarf those numbers.

As Logan shared more about the vast potential of their trade, Fisher realized just how much was at stake. The rye liquor was not just a new product; it was a game changer.

Meanwhile, Logan contemplated the broader implications. The Silver Mane Tribe, to which he belonged, had no caravan of its own and relied on perilous routes to transport their goods. Despite the high returns, the risks were immense, with threats lurking along every mile between Canyon City and the bustling markets of the human world.

Their conversation marked a pivotal moment. As brothers-in-law and business partners, they were on the brink of something monumental, bound not just by family ties but by the golden threads of commerce woven through their dealings.

As they plotted their next moves, the air between them was charged with the electric thrill of impending fortune and the weighty challenge of transporting their precious cargo safely through treacherous lands.

Logan furrowed his brow in concern as he turned to Fisher. "So, are the small merchants doomed to failure?"

Fisher shook his head, a glimmer of strategy in his eyes. "Not necessarily. Many of these smaller traders have banded together to form joint caravans. Near the Cross Mountains, they hire mercenaries for protection. It's costly, but when the expense is shared, it's more bearable."

Logan nodded slowly, digesting the complexities of their situation. "I see. In a lawless land like this, strength dictates order. It's a harsh reality."

"It's unrealistic for the Silver Mane Tribe to attempt forming a caravan alone," Fisher continued, his voice a mixture of realism and regret. "For now, focus on your production. Keep brewing and making sugar. When the eldest brother returns, he'll set things right."

He leaned in closer, his tone dropping to a more serious note. "And Logan, if the big wine merchants approach you, stay low. Avoid direct contact to prevent any rash decisions driven by their greed. Remember, the tribe's safety is at stake."

Logan's eyes softened. "I understand, Fisher. Thank you."

With a brotherly clasp of the shoulder, Fisher prepared to leave. Logan escorted him out, handing him a 20-jin barrel of rye liquor as a parting gift.

No sooner had Fisher disappeared down the path than David, the lion-man wine merchant, appeared as if on cue, the midday sun casting his shadow sharply on the ground.

"Do you think it unwise for me to collaborate with them as well?" Logan inquired, motioning for David to take the seat Fisher had just vacated.

David settled in, his expression earnest. "Master Logan, since I am here, I'll speak plainly. If my words seem off, please forgive me."

Logan nodded, curious about David's perspective.

David leaned forward, his voice low but intense. "As a small merchant, I never stood a chance until you showed up. You've given me a vision of rising beyond my current station, of perhaps becoming a top merchant. But if you align with the larger players, that vision crumbles for me."

Logan raised an eyebrow, surprised by the simplicity and directness of David's plea. "Is that your main concern?"

David nodded emphatically, and despite the naïveté of the statement, Logan couldn't help but find a certain charm in his straightforwardness.

Logan laughed gently. "David, while your concern might not top my list of reasons to reject their offers, it's refreshing to hear such honesty. Let's discuss how we can ensure both our futures in this trade."

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