A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

As a somewhat barren city, the humble civilian district of Pelican City today plunged into a sea of jubilation.

The city's sustenance is derived from the surrounding scattered villages, where farmers are primarily summoned to cultivate the fields. Even those farmers have never witnessed such an exaggerated bounty, let alone the commoners who purchase rice from the shops.

Such a harvest brings excitement beyond anything else, with the scent of wheat wafting through the air and the dazzling golden yellow before one's eyes, unmistakably genuine.

The fertile lands of the south ensure that most of the populace does not suffer from terrible famines, yet, despite this, the civilians cannot lead lives of daily satiety.

After all, poverty is an incurable terminal illness.

However, the current spectacle has the city's civilians uncontrollably exhilarated, for the abundance of grain is so vast that farmers are even willing to grab handfuls to give away to passersby on the streets, indifferent to the wheat straw falling from their carts as they move forward.

Amidst this boiling celebratory atmosphere, James, positioned in the middle of the procession, found it hard to contain his emotions, unlike Laurel, who pushed the same cart without any sign of excitement on his face.

"So many people..." he murmured in a rough voice that becomes unpleasant when he lowered his tone.

"Laurel, we're practically heroes!"

James exclaimed excitedly, "Look at their gazes... My God, I've never been looked at like this before!"

The young man excitedly waved at the passersby, attempting to offer a large clump of wheat, but Laurel grabbed his wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" the stocky farmer gruffly asked.

"Giving-giving some to the passersby," James responded, slightly stunned, "After all, we have so much—"

"And what good will that do? Do they know how to turn wheat into flour?"

Laurel asked expressionlessly, "Are they going to let it rot in their cupboards or sell it for money?"

"It's the thought that counts, to some extent..."

"What thought? What does the wheat we grow have to do with them?"

The man pushed the wooden cart forcefully, looking coldly at James: "I farm to feed myself, James."

James scratched his head, saying nothing.

Laurel is right; what farmer in the empire harbors the thought of "feeding everyone"? Farming is merely a means of livelihood.

Nonetheless, James still found Laurel's lack of compassion distasteful, wondering why this fellow villager is of such a character.

He decided to inquire with his father and elder brother upon returning home; perhaps they would know.

Upon contemplating this, James became somewhat nervous, the joy in his heart even somewhat suppressed. He looked around and saw that the farmers were immersed in the happiness of a bountiful harvest before he lowered his voice to Laurel:

"Laurel, you mentioned selling this grain outside of Pelican City... How exactly should we go about doing that?"

Laurel's suggestion was simple, but James, with his limited experience, couldn't figure out how to sell so much grain elsewhere.

Laurel glanced at James: "Why should we be the ones to sell it?"

"…Ah?"

"This city may not seem very wealthy, but no matter what, there must be rich merchants."

Laurel gripped the handle of the cart tightly, his rough and hoarse voice unable to hide his eagerness: "I don't believe that no one could think of what even a farmer like me has thought of."

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James also realized, "You mean... find a merchant to help us sell? But—"

He had no fondness for the grain merchants, those miserly and cunning people who always tried to depress the price and exploit them. The thought of dealing with them made James feel uncomfortable.

"But if we deal with them," the young man said somewhat urgently, "those damned people would suck our blood dry if they could!"

"…No."

Laurel looked up towards the highest point of Pelican City, towards the castle of the lord of the city.

This farmer, nearing forty, muttered to himself:

"This time, it might be different."

*

Reginald sat in his office, puffing on a cigar.

As the wealthiest merchant in Pelican City, his influence in the city was immense.

"…That's all the news about that large piece of farmland outside the city, and those farmers." "Hmm..."

Reginald, with a cigar in his mouth, exhaled a thick cloud of smoke: "Can you find out the origin of that field, those potions?"

"Sorry, lord, we haven't been able... to find it," the subordinate reporting to him said with his head lowered, looking very nervous.

The robust middle-aged man narrowed his eyes slightly: "It's been seven days already, and you still can't find it? Not a single clue."

The subordinate, with his head still lowered, answered in a panic: "It's... it's our negligence, we will definitely—"

"That's enough," he waved his hand, "you may leave, it's not your fault."

The subordinate left the office as if granted amnesty, while the shrewd businessman capable of becoming the wealthiest in the city stroked his chin, pondering thoughtfully, "It seems a personage of considerable importance has chosen our Pelican City as a testing ground."

A week ago, the inexplicable warning from city lord Leonard had already put Reginald on alert, and seven days later, the grand harvest, unbelievable even to him, along with the perpetually elusive news no matter how much he probed, confirmed his suspicions about the current situation.

"Must transactions only adhere to 'the rules'...?"

The man frowned, tapping on his desk, "Such a waste of a splendid opportunity."

Leonard had issued instructions to all the wealthy and powerful of Pelican City, forbidding the use of underhanded tactics… even the most basic act of price suppression was considered excessive.

For a businessman, this was a bitter pill to swallow.

He was dealing with a group of utterly foolish, short-sighted farmers who had become overnight millionaires. If he could employ all his strategies... Reginald believed he could make the biggest fortune of his life at this moment.

However, Leonard's almost threatening seriousness during their conversation, along with the inscrutable and formidable pressure from the significant figures, dissuaded Reginald from taking any rash risks.

"Let Mila make contact with those farmers... Heh, they've probably never seen a real woman in their lives."

Reginald leaned back in his chair, his tone wistful, "Though I won't earn the amount I originally could have, I cannot simply watch these gold coins slip through my fingers..."

Knock, knock, knock—

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