In the Tuscan Empire, the administrative process for establishing a merchant guild is surprisingly simple.

    All you need to do is fill out a permit application.

    Of course, you have to grease the wheels with some “gifts” to make things run smoothly.

    In our empire, if you’re of low status, you even have to pay death taxes and bribes to the government when you die.

    That’s the reality here, and you just have to accept it.

    “Young Master Medici, Sub-Baron Raviolle will see you now.”

    If this were Korea, I’d have to submit the paperwork and then wait for weeks.

    But in the Tuscan Empire, since centralization and record-keeping aren’t as developed, procedures like background checks are done quickly.

    So, as soon as you submit the papers and give a little gift, approval comes through in no time.

    “I’m going in.”

    I knocked and entered to find the director sitting with a somewhat annoyed expression.

    It seems that even nobles can’t manage a cheerful face while working.

    In that way, he’s no different from a 21st-century Korean office worker.

    “This might take a while, so have a seat.”

    In our empire, setting up a merchant guild usually requires only a single sheet of paper.

    But if he plans to scrutinize it in depth, something feels off.

    Sub-Baron Raviolle studied my document as if he were dismantling each word.

    “Hmm, you wrote ‘by the will of the Just Deus’ instead of ‘by the will of the Holy Deus’ at the beginning. With such an oversight, I’m afraid I can’t accept it...”

    When writing any official contract in our empire, you must praise Deus or swear by him.

    Yet, to nitpick over such a minor deviation in praising Deus?

    Clearly, he’s already hinting for a bribe.

    I might as well pay him—it’s filthy but necessary.

    I handed him a pouch of gold coins with a respectful bow.

    “A small token of appreciation for your dedicated service to the empire, Sub-Baron.”

    “No need for such gifts. Put it away.”

    His insistence on not needing it is as trustworthy as an elderly parent claiming they’re ready to die, only to take their medicine right after.

    Having lived in Korea, I know that the same person who says they’re ready to die will be taking herbal supplements five minutes later.

    Without the bribe, everyone knows my merchant guild application would be buried.

    “This is just a gesture of my sincere gratitude.”

    The sub-baron opened the pouch and smiled contentedly.

    “Well, such minor mistakes are common, even among imperial officials. We can let it slide.”

    With the bribe accepted, his tone softened considerably.

    “Upon closer inspection, there are no major issues with your application.”

    “Thank you. Does that mean you’ll approve the establishment of my guild?”

    Sub-Baron Raviolle shook his head.

    They’re probably worried that I’ll grow big enough to threaten their livelihoods.

    So, rather than fume over it, I prefer to think of it this way:

    ‘I must be quite impressive now.’

    “Quite right, sir.”

    “And do I look like a pushover who’ll just sit back and take it?”

    Being denied a guild license is a trivial matter.

    They didn’t exactly come at me with swords to steal anything.

    But in human relationships, especially in politics, ignoring a seemingly minor issue can sometimes lead to huge losses.

    Trash who mistake kindness for entitlement.

    Hyenas in the political sphere who think they can keep feasting on you as long as you don’t fight back.

    These are the types of vermin you find everywhere.

    “Since they’re making such a fuss over a minor issue like this, someone must be supporting the sub-baron.”

    A noble with a title likely isn’t backing him.

    Such high-ranking individuals have nothing to gain from messing with me.

    ‘I’m not at that level yet.’

    Though I’m rising quickly, I’m not yet a match for barons who own entire cities.

    “Whoever is backing him must be offering enough benefit to make this hostility worthwhile.”

    “First, I need to find out exactly who my enemy is.”

    Whatever I do, understanding the situation is key.

    Only by knowing where I stand can I make meaningful moves.

    Doctors always diagnose the patient’s illness first, regardless of the era.

    “I was planning to give the guild staff a bonus and a meal, but plans changed, Sebastian.”

    “That’s unfortunate.”

    “I’ll take my guards and head to the back alleys. Take Chloe and go home.”

    The backstreets of the Tuscan Empire are hardly a sight for Chloe, who’s lived her life as a serf.

    They’re full of beggars missing limbs, the moans of low-end prostitutes, and frequent stabbings.

    But as long as I don’t provoke them, they’ll likely leave me alone.

    “Isn’t it too dangerous?”

    “Look at my guards’ armor and tell me.”

    I’m practically the master of steel.

    I had custom plate armor made for my mercenaries at a third of the usual cost.

    So, my guards all look like true knights in their armor.

    A trained, well-equipped knight can take on twenty regular men alone.

    “...Take care, then.”

    The slums, the back alleys.

    A place nobles turn to for dirty work, and I wonder what sort of neighborhood it’ll be.