The most important rule when hoarding goods is simple: buy cheap and sell high.
It’s an obvious principle that even a first-grader would understand, but actually putting it into practice is incredibly difficult.
It’s like saying, “If you study hard, you can get into Seoul National University.”
‘Both making money through hoarding and getting into Seoul National are hard.’
Hoarding for profit often goes wrong with just a slight misstep in timing, forcing you to sell stockpiled goods at half price—or worse, a third of the cost.
But just as you can’t catch a tiger without entering its den, to make money, you must be diligent about the fundamentals.
Even if it means deceiving others, you have to buy cheap.
As I reviewed my plan to deceive them one final time, the village chief entered the hut where I was waiting.
“Greetings, merchant sir.”
“Thank you for the warm welcome, Chief.”
The chief was technically a freeman in name, but a city-dwelling merchant like me held higher status than the representative of serfs standing before me.
Even while disguised as a mere merchant, I outranked the village chief.
But, honestly, social status doesn’t put food on the table, does it?
There was no need to flaunt my rank in a remote place like this, where no one was watching.
Feigning politeness to put the other party at ease and gain an advantage in negotiations was far more beneficial.
The chief relaxed a little, likely appreciating my courteous attitude.
“You can speak freely, sir.”
“Well, you are my esteemed guest, Chief, and a freeman at that. I should show respect to an elder.”
Until a customer acts out, treat them like royalty.
But once they cause trouble, they’re no longer a customer but a nuisance, and it’s only right to educate them with a good beating.
This mindset is essential for doing business.
Even now that I’ve achieved some success, I must never forget this principle.
“So, what brings you here today?”
“I’m here to purchase the food supplies remaining in your village.”
“If you’re willing to pay a fair price, we’d be happy to sell. What specifically are you looking to buy, and in what quantities?”
“Flour, barley flour, sausages, salted meat, cheese—anything that can be preserved for a long time. Oh, and livestock as well. I’d like to buy as much as possible.”
Even in a world where transportation has advanced to the point of trucks and airlifts, the principle remains: procure supplies locally whenever possible, except for weapons.
Even if it’s slightly more expensive than buying domestically.
‘Transportation costs and time are no joke.’
In a world without trucks or planes, it’s even more pronounced.
For instance, a pig that costs 10 silver coins in a rural village 50 kilometers away might cost 17 silver coins in a nearby city—a 70% markup.
Sure, some of that is price gouging, but the poor state of transportation also makes transport costs high.
If you can’t source food locally under such conditions,
You’ll have to pay a premium to acquire food from elsewhere and transport it over long distances.
‘The key to winning a war is making it as easy as possible for yourself while making it as hellish as possible for the enemy.’
To that end, I needed to gather as much of the remaining food in this region as possible.
Even if I paid extra here, I could still profit by selling it to the Tuscan Empire’s military later.
Buying as much as possible was the smart move.
The chief seemed a bit troubled by my request.
“I’ll need to check how much I’m authorized to sell on my own. Please wait a moment.”
He left briefly and returned with a few sheets of cheap paper, which he began reading.
Though he was technically a serf, as the manager of a community of several hundred people, he seemed to handle important matters through written records.
After reviewing the documents, he spoke.
“We can offer 50 tons of flour, 70 tons of mixed grain flour, 40 tons of beans, 500 kilograms of cheese, 150 kilograms of butter, 2 tons of salted meat, 2 tons of sausages, 12 cows, 100 chickens, and 40 pigs. Does that sound reasonable?”
If the Empire weren’t on the brink of war, I might have settled with this.
Buying more than that would mean taking the food that the villagers would need to survive the winter and spring.
To purchase more, I’d have to pay a hefty premium.
If 100 kilograms costs 10 coins, and 110 kilograms costs 20 coins per kilogram, who would buy the 110?
You’d negotiate to lower the price per kilogram for the initial 100 kilograms instead.
But in this special situation, ordinary logic didn’t apply.
‘If I don’t buy this food now, the enemy will eventually requisition it all.’
“Could you sell me a bit more?”
The chief shook his head.
“That would be difficult. What I’ve offered is already the maximum I can sell, considering the effort you made to come here in person.”
Judging by the size of the village I’d seen on my way in, it was clear that selling more would indeed be hard for them.
But in this world, unless something is truly impossible, most things can be solved with money.
“I’ll pay 1.2 times the market price.”
At the mention of 1.2 times, the chief’s eyes widened.
He hesitated, clearly tempted but still deliberating.
‘I need to clear out every last bit of surplus food, even a single grain of flour.’
Feigning desperation, I intensified my gaze, grabbed the chief’s hand, and pleaded earnestly.
“What about 1.3 times? I’ll pay 30% more. Isn’t that enough?”
A smile bloomed on the chief’s face.
If he had any idea what was going on, he might have demanded at least 50% above market price.
But even artisans and merchants, who receive news faster than serfs, wouldn’t know the war was imminent unless they were high-ranking officials.
How could a mere village chief guess that a war was about to break out?
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“With that, I can sell you 20% more than what I originally offered. Any more, and no matter how much you pay, it would be impossible. Otherwise, we might truly starve during the winter.”
It was easy to see what he was planning: use the money to buy more food or livestock from nearby villages, ensuring a comfortable winter and perhaps some savings.
But that hope wouldn’t come true.
I had already sent people to sweep up all the surplus food in every village within this county.
‘Even if we can’t buy it all, there won’t be much surplus left in this county.’
Still, for these people, selling to me was far better than having their food requisitioned.
That’s not just rationalization—it’s the truth.
When requisitioning starts, the Grand Duchy’s military will strip every village of surplus food and pay them less than 5% of its value, all while spouting nonsense about noble duty.
If they’re going to go hungry anyway, they’re better off saving money for next year.
“Thank you. I’ll calculate the payment right away. I brought gold and silver coins, so I can pay you on the spot.”
“Thank you so much. But may I ask something?”
“Of course, go ahead.”
The chief cautiously asked,
“Why are you buying food at such a high price? Did something happen?”
Even if serfs aren’t educated, it’s not as if they’re born stupid.
They may not know much, but they’d surely recognize the signs of impending disaster passed down through generations.
‘Stockpiling food is always a precursor to war.’
Trying to concoct some other reason would only make me seem more suspicious.
“Have you ever seen a merchant reveal all their trade secrets? That would only hurt me.”
With that, I concluded the deal in this village.
Determined to spend my family’s entire fortune if necessary, I began purchasing all the food I could from the serfs in this county and made my way back.
Meanwhile, the logistics command of the Grand Duchy of Milania, which had been quietly stockpiling supplies, was thrown into chaos and panic over the unexpected situation.
“Who the hell is the bastard who cleaned out even the food reserves of the serfs in Pergamo?!”