Although he wasn’t a full guild master with an official title, or even a council member, a master was still a master.
Thus, in this slum where the dark money flows, he likely lived a life that rivaled that of a noble.
But humans are creatures that rarely find contentment in their circumstances. And someone who rose to the title of guild master in a slum likely had an overwhelming desire to climb even higher.
Could he really refuse the chance to live better?
‘If I’m right, he won’t be able to.’
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“Shall I put it more frankly? How much longer do you intend to live as a big fish in a small pond here in the slums? Though, I suppose it’s not the worst life.”
I deliberately paused, sizing up the man before me.
Even among beggars, there’s a noticeable difference between those who once thrived and retain a certain dignity in their speech and demeanor, and those who were born into squalor, whose lowly nature is plainly evident.
Like how a pointed object will inevitably pierce through the fabric when placed in a pocket, the distinction is apparent.
Although he was the guild master and the ruler of this alley, wearing fine clothing fit for nobles, he wasn’t decked out in gaudy gold, silver, or an excess of jewels typical of many upstarts.
It was obvious he cared about cleanliness and his appearance, just as Sebastian had suggested—an indicator that he was indeed the descendant of a fallen noble.
‘And not just any fallen noble, but one who fell fairly recently.’
So, perhaps a subtle jab using the words that noble-borns like him can’t stand to hear?
“You must still feel sick at the thought of artisans and lowly soldiers once daring to mock you, treating you like dirt without so much as looking you in the eye.”
People can grow oddly indifferent to scorn if they’ve faced it their entire lives.
But for someone who once lived in wealth, even the slightest disrespect is enough to make their blood boil.
The man before me glared in response to my taunt.
Had he not known I was a baron, he might have drawn his sword to threaten me.
“I’ll offer you a way out of that cursed, despised position.”
I lowered the hood of the robe I’d been wearing.
In an era without the internet or photographs, showing one’s face didn’t exactly guarantee instant recognition.
Still, I ought to let the man know who I was.
Even if most faces weren’t widely known, the name of the Rothschild family was enough to surpass many count households.
‘After all, for a young master to ascend to the title of baron within just a few years could be considered almost mythic.’
If I were to rise to the title of count, it would be deemed a legendary feat on par with the tales of Dangun during my lifetime.
“I am Fabio de Rothschild, Baron of the Rothschild family.”
It’s only been three days since I officially adopted the Rothschild name.
The office of our trading company still bore the name “Medici Trading” on its sign.
Thus, most people still think of me as the “Medici Baron.”
Naturally, information guilds and those deeply involved in intelligence likely knew the truth.
To confirm my suspicion, I heard gasps around us.
“Why would the famous Baron Rothschild come to a place like this?”
“He’s now a baron, so perhaps he’s here to hire us?”
“Maybe he wants us to take someone for a one-way trip to the riverbed.”
The man before me widened his eyes, unable to hide his shock.
“Until three days ago, I was the Medici Baron.”
Before coming here, I had to make the rounds, introducing myself to numerous nobles with my newly adopted family name.
And, of course, I brought ample “friendship funds.”
“So, what brings the illustrious Baron Rothschild to this humble place?”
“I’ll get straight to the point. Serve me.”
Most noble families merely hire information guilds.
Even when competent, these guilds are typically hired on a contract basis.
If a noble were to take an information guild under permanent employ and elevate them as vassals, it would lead to talk, branding them as “lowly” vassals.
Existing vassals would naturally despise the idea of mingling with what they see as riffraff.
“Who likes it when a newly hired stone comes in and pushes out the old one?”
“You didn’t come just to hire us?”
“With numerous vacant vassal positions in the Rothschild household, there won’t be an issue if I grant you a prominent place.”
Ninety-nine percent of nobles earn their lands through military service and climb the ranks as they gain prestige—beginning with Baronet, then Baron, and so forth.
Most early vassals are competent officers or skilled professionals from within the noble's own circle.
‘There’s little room for commoners to enter that space.’
However, the Rothschild household has few hereditary vassals due to my personal dislike of the hereditary system.
‘In fact, besides Sebastian, I don’t really have any.’
There are some knighted retainers managing lands, but I haven’t granted them much real authority.
“And the others would be hired as vassals of the Rothschild household as well.”
As vassals, they’d be akin to civil servants or lower-level officials.
Going from destitute slum-dwellers to government servants would be a huge leap in status.
Even as others cheered at my offer, the guild master maintained his composure and asked,
“So, what exactly would we need to do? From what you’ve said, it doesn’t seem like you’re simply hiring us for standard intelligence gathering or the occasional assassination.”
He was correct; if I only needed those services, I wouldn’t bother with this entire arrangement.
After all, there’s no shortage of people in the slums to handle such tasks.
The fact that he understood my intent without further explanation was impressive.
It saved me the trouble of speaking in circles.
“Gathering information through rumors isn’t entirely useless, but the quality and quantity can be lacking.”
The greatest losses to companies, military, and state entities often come from insiders.
When an insider sells classified information to a competitor or another country, the economic damage can be in the billions.
For instance, selling semiconductor technology to China would be catastrophic.
Though my country has also caused others harm by extracting certain technologies through espionage...
Nonetheless, planting reliable people as moles would be immensely beneficial.
By detecting hints of betrayal within, we could respond with countermeasures.
“Then why not train trusted individuals and embed them within various organizations from the start?”
The guild master couldn’t hide his astonishment.
In this era, espionage primarily involves gathering rumors through paid informants or bribing the greedy for insider information.
But training operatives from scratch and embedding them within organizations to leak continuous intel?
That’s a revolutionary concept, far ahead of its time.
“It’d be possible to place countless spies within organizations, extracting bits of information while also feeding false information to confuse adversaries.”
In World War II, the Normandy landing operation used such deception.
The Allies went to extraordinary lengths to make Nazi Germany believe the real invasion would be at Calais, not Normandy.
They set up balloon tanks near Dover and even had Patton inspect the area.
They transmitted misleading radio signals to misdirect German forces.
Even British officials struggled to believe the success of the Normandy landing due to this extensive deception.
We could similarly mislead others by planting false information.
‘Although I’m no intelligence expert, I could still attempt some form of deception...’
They wouldn’t know what hit them if they fell for my makeshift plans.
“We’ll train guild members to take on roles as apprentices, servants to noble families, and staff in various companies. They’ll be compensated generously beyond their regular wages, with a substantial bonus saved for their eventual retirement.”
This bonus would be put into a “savings plan,” paid out when they leave the field or retire.
Or, part of it would go toward supporting their families within my territory.
‘Spending too lavishly would raise suspicion, after all.’
“So, will you take up the offer and change your fortunes, or will you refuse?”
If they refuse, my acquaintances—Captain Marin and his guards—will handle their “voluntary enlistment” the next day.
Of course, where they end up enlisting, even I wouldn’t know.
“We accept.”
“Good. Then, follow me. The rest of the guild members should prepare to leave here. Wrap everything up in a week. From now on, you serve the Rothschild household.”