Chapter 187
“Because it’s a trade secret, Your Majesty.”
“Hmph?”
Lloyd’s reply was crisp.
It wasn’t rude in the slightest. His voice was steady, his expression utterly earnest, and the look he gave the Sultan was almost heartbreaking.
Those damp eyes made the Sultan feel, all of a sudden, as if he could read his thoughts.
[I really, really want to tell you, but if I carelessly reveal it here, my trade secrets will be exposed, and I’ll be broke for the rest of my life, so please, just this once, be generous, my esteemed customer.]
…Was that the right way to describe it? A gaze that practically pleaded?
“Haha, hahahaha!”
The Sultan burst into laughter.
It was too absurd. This madman of a boy was looking at him like that, yet the answer itself—so bold, so shameless—was completely out of proportion to the humble expression on his face.
‘Where did such a brazen fellow even come from?’
The Sultan clicked his tongue inwardly.
He had ability. He knew he had it. He knew how to wield it at the right moment, too.
Yet he didn’t act recklessly just because he trusted his own talent. No—he drew the line with chilling precision. He knew how to be bold without crossing into offense, how to present himself without provoking the powerful.
Today’s meeting, and that answer just now, had made that much clear.
A covetous light settled in the desert ruler’s eyes.
‘That’s why I want him even more.’
He found himself newly jealous of Her Majesty the Queen of Magentano, Alicia, for having a man like this under her command.
If possible, he wanted to take him. Keep him. Watch the look on Queen Alicia’s face when she realized she’d lost such a talent.
“So, a trade secret, eh? Haha, hahahaha!”
A smile lingered on the Sultan’s lips as he looked down at Lloyd, as though watching the antics of a clever grandson.
“Then are you saying you won’t reveal the method to solve the drought until I accept your conditions?”
“I am sorry and presumptuous, but that is indeed the case, Your Great and Almighty Sultan.”
“Hmm. Truly presumptuous. Truly audacious. Are you not afraid I might take offense and have your head cut off?”
“Why would I not be afraid? I am sufficiently afraid.”
“Then how do you dare say such things?”
“Because I have complete faith in the boundless generosity of the Great and Almighty Sultan.”
“Haha. Now you’re flattering the ruler of an enemy nation.”
“It is not flattery, but sincerity.”
“Why?”
“How could words spoken at the risk of one’s life be mere flattery?”
It was true.
This was a gamble. A gamble made after calculating that it would work, but a gamble all the same—bold enough to be dangerous.
‘The one desperate about the drought isn’t me. It’s him.’
The Sultan spoke as if war could solve it, as if it were a problem that would naturally vanish once attention was turned outward.
But what did he really feel?
‘Despite what he says, there’s no way he can be relaxed.’
He must be agonizing every night—over how to solve it, over whether a fundamental solution even existed, instead of a stopgap like war.
He must have spent day after day searching for an answer and finding none.
‘That’s why he’s trying to divert the issue with war.’
That was why Lloyd was certain the Sultan would react to the promise of solving the drought.
And Lloyd truly did have a way to solve it.
“…Very well. I am grateful that you see me that way. Then I will agree to your conditions.”
“Does that mean…?”
“Lloyd Frontera, if you solve the drought, I will personally grant your request.”
“Is that a promise that you will engage in negotiations with the Magentano envoy?”
“Yes. Of course, I cannot guarantee the outcome of the negotiations.”
“I would not dare to hope for that much.”
Negotiations were between the envoy and the Sultan. Lloyd could only create the opportunity for them to happen. He had no intention of coveting anything beyond that.
“Then you can tell me now, can’t you? That trade secret of yours.”
“Of course.”
Lloyd bowed deeply.
He had been entrusted with solving the drought. From this moment on, the Sultan was his client—a customer more precious than a king.
Armed with that service spirit, Lloyd spoke.
“I have heard that the Kandahar region of the Sultanate has few usable oases, so the groundwater dries up easily when nearby rainfall drops even slightly. Is that correct?”
“Indeed. Then by what method do you intend to solve the drought?”
“My answer is Qanat.”
“Qanat?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a name I’ve never heard. Explain.”
“A Qanat is a water-supply facility used by various ancient desert kingdoms since time immemorial.”
“Various ancient desert kingdoms?”
“Yes.”
Lloyd’s explanation flowed smoothly.
“The ancient kingdom of Persia called it ‘Qanat.’ In nearby regions like Pakistan and Afghanistan, it was called ‘Karez.’ In Morocco, ‘Lettara.’ In North Africa, ‘Foggara.’ The names differ, but the function is the same.”
His explanation continued without pause.
“The principle is simple. Deserts are hot and dry, so water that flows on the surface evaporates before it can reach villages or cities. To deliver water effectively, it must travel through the cool underground.”
“That may be so. But there are limits to groundwater.”
“Of course.”
Truly, of course.
Desert groundwater was unreliable. Even oases, which people clung to as the desert’s hope, held only small amounts of water, and the water itself could be filthy. Oases were not only a source of life for humans, but for countless other organisms as well.
On top of that, desert groundwater often carried too much salt to be considered normal fresh water.
In other words, it was not water that could be safely drunk unless it was treated.
“That is why the underground channels of a Qanat must never touch existing aquifers. This prevents contaminated or salty groundwater from mixing with the Qanat’s clean water.”
“The Qanat’s clean water. Then if it isn’t groundwater, where does it come from?”
“The foothills of distant mountains.”
“The foothills?”
“Yes.”
Lloyd nodded.
“I have heard there are high mountain ranges on the outskirts of Kandahar. And I have heard that abundant water flows at the foothills from snow melting on the peaks.”
“Are you saying you will draw that water underground all the way to Kandahar?”
“That is exactly right.”
“That’s an enormous distance. Is it possible?”
“Isn’t making it possible my job?”
Lloyd answered confidently.
Wrinkles formed on the Sultan’s brow.
“I don’t know if it is possible. It would be dozens of kilometers at least. And where did you obtain such knowledge? Persia? I have never heard of a country by that name.”
“I only happened to come across it in an old, nameless book in the library.”
“An old book?”
“Yes.”
“…Hmm. I cannot say I fully trust your source. But I will trust the achievements and reputation you have built in Magentano. In the end, the construction itself will prove whether your knowledge is true.”
“Then does Your Great and Almighty Sultan mean to entrust me with the construction?”
“Yes.”
The Sultan nodded.
“As I said earlier, I want you to solve the drought in Kandahar through this Qanat. If you complete the construction excellently, as promised, I will sit at the negotiating table with the Magentano envoy.”
The Sultan’s solemn declaration fell.
Lloyd bowed deeply, as if overwhelmed with gratitude.
“Truly, Your Majesty’s grace is boundless. Then may I use paper and pen here for a moment?”
“Paper and pen?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“To draw up a construction order contract.”
“A construction order contract?”
“That is correct.”
The Sultan’s brow furrowed.
“You dare draw up a contract? Here, against me?”
“I am sorry, but yes.”
“There is no need.”
The Sultan cut him off.
“I am not ignorant of the value of contracts. But no matter how well written, a contract is meaningless paper before me. Have you forgotten where you stand? Do you not know whose land you tread?”
His solemn words continued.
“This is my palace. All the land my gaze and footsteps reach is mine. Here, a single word from me is more important and absolute than a hundred or a thousand contracts.”
“However…”
“Do you dare distrust my promise?”
“No, I do not.”
“Then why are you being stubborn?”
“Because I do not trust myself.”
“…What?”
The Sultan’s displeased frown eased slightly.
Lloyd continued.
“How could I dare distrust the Great and Almighty Sultan? I would believe the Sultan’s words even if he said he would make gold from sand, or boil water into sand. However, will the Sultan trust me that much?”
“…What are you trying to say?”
“A contract is reciprocal.”
“Reciprocal.”
“Yes. That is why it is important. If I secretly break my promise, what will you do? What if I build a Qanat that only seems to work immediately after construction, deceiving you?”
“Are you saying you would do shoddy construction?”
“That is correct. Moreover, I have the ability to do so.”
“Haha. You say such things openly.”
“I am merely stating the possibility.”
Lloyd lowered his head even further.
“If I have ill intentions, it could happen at any time. In order to achieve only the goal of securing negotiations, I could deceive the Great and Almighty Sultan with shoddy construction. In fact, I am tempted to do so. That is why.”
“You’re saying a contract would prevent it.”
“That is correct.”
That was why contracts mattered.
Lloyd had been to countless construction sites in Korea. He knew it in his bones.
‘Without a contract, nothing gets done. No—sometimes even with a contract, problems still happen.’
It really was like that.
Responsibility-shifting over design changes. Construction halting due to disputes and claims.
Even with contracts, those things happened.
So if there was no contract at all?
It was guaranteed to become chaos.
“Therefore, I dare to say that drawing up a construction order contract is essential. Not because I do not trust the Great and Almighty Sultan, but so that the Sultan may trust me and entrust me with the work.”
“Hmm.”
Lloyd remained prostrate.
Looking at his back, the Sultan wore a strange expression.
‘Truly a peculiar fellow.’
How did he manage to speak righteous words so precisely—yet never sound irritating?
The Sultan could sense the reason.
‘He’s being considerate. Daring to be considerate of me.’
A mere successor of a count’s territory from another country was being considerate of him, the ruler of the vast desert.
He could feel it in Lloyd’s careful words and measured attitude.
Like a guide patiently leading a first-time customer through an unfamiliar store—so the customer would not feel burdened, and could still make a wise choice.
He laid out facts with meticulous care.
That was both resentful and admirable.
‘To do this to me… Should I be angry, or grateful? What a thing.’
In the end, the Sultan chuckled.
He accepted Lloyd’s request.
Together, they drew up a construction order contract and personally signed it.
After Lloyd finished his business and withdrew, the Sultan fell into deep thought for a long time.
As the night deepened, he summoned one of his daughters to the main palace.
Among the dozens of daughters he had from his many wives, she was the one he had always regarded as special—bold by nature, and extraordinarily talented with the sword.
“Did you call for me, Father?”
“Yes. My daughter, Scheherazade. I wish to entrust you with one task. From now on, you will disguise yourself as a bodyguard for a man named Lloyd Frontera, who will be dispatched to Kandahar, and accompany him naturally.”
“Is it only as a bodyguard? What else must I do?”
“Make him yours.”
“…Yes?”
“You don’t have to be picky about the means. Subdue him with a sword. Find his weaknesses. However you must—make him your man, and return to Ahinsa.”
“Then, Father…”
“That is so. I am thinking of making him my son-in-law.”
Because he was an even more coveted talent than expected.
Before, it had been a vague desire—to have him.
But after meeting him in person today, that had changed.
Lloyd Frontera.
The Sultan had a feeling that the moment he brought that man under his command—no, into his family under the name of son-in-law—the future of the Sultanate itself would change.
“He must be kept by my side.”
Thinking of Lloyd, Sultan Samarkhan’s eyes bloomed with deep covetousness and longing for talent.