Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 37: The Mayor’s Decision
Under the personal direction of the mayor himself, the week-long public security campaign—grandly named “The Wrath of White Sand City”—came to a triumphant conclusion, yielding results that could not be described as anything less than extraordinary.
More than a dozen suspected Helpha infiltrators had been arrested. Over thirty fanatical demon-worshippers were dragged from their hiding places in chains. Even the false idol of the Durel slaves—the so-called god Balto, who had stirred the flames of rebellion on the night of chaos—was discovered and denounced.
And then, as if to hammer the final nail into the coffin of unrest, the government of White Sand City swiftly launched a massive initiative: the “Rebuild White Sand City” project, an emergency program fueled by surplus military supplies purchased for pennies on the dollar.
For the citizens of White Sand City, these developments were more than enough to soothe their sky-piercing anger.
Once fury began to subside, life inevitably returned to its familiar rhythm—rice, oil, salt, and firewood; the small necessities of survival. In fact, behind closed doors, many ordinary citizens quietly considered the Durel slave uprising to be something of a blessing in disguise. For with the slaves swept away in one decisive purge, countless vacant positions had suddenly opened across the city—waiting to be filled by free men and women.
Unlike the enslaved Durels, who labored without wages, White Sand City’s citizens worked for coin, and with coin came spending. With wages in their pockets, they rushed to purchase both necessities and luxuries, sparking a surge in demand that revived the city’s weary markets. The logic was simple, yet undeniable.
Merchants thrived. Shops bustled. The air of White Sand City grew thick with the hum of trade.
But this rising tide of consumption made the factory owners restless—those same men who had once grown rich by grinding slaves to the bone, whose greed had sown the seeds of rebellion itself. Now, their factories lay in ruins, their profits diminished, and their eyes burned red with envy at the sight of prosperity slipping from their grasp.
Yet, bound by the government’s strict temporary decree—no one in White Sand City was permitted to purchase new Durel slaves until the full investigation into the uprising had been completed—their hands were tied. With no choice left, the factory owners began placing advertisements for workers, their targets none other than the ordinary citizens of White Sand City.
And thus, the cycle of prosperity deepened further.
Employment rose. Wages flowed. Trade expanded. Soon, the word of White Sand City’s revival spread beyond its borders, attracting investors and merchants from far-off lands who smelled opportunity in the city’s flourishing markets.
The government acted swiftly. Special investment policies were unveiled—tax breaks, incentives, land at reduced rates—all designed to welcome new factories and new capital. And as expected, investors flooded in like a rising tide.
So it was that with no more than 150,000 Lants worth of surplus military goods spent on rebuilding, the White Sand City government soon discovered a miracle: even after generous tax exemptions, post-disaster revenue had already surpassed the levels before the slave uprising.
“Ah—our mayor is nothing short of a genius!”
This was the whispered sentiment echoing in taverns and parlors across the city, directed toward Mayor Kachibu, who not so long ago had seemed destined to resign in disgrace.
Of course, none of them knew the truth.
When the first fiscal report after the disaster landed on his desk, Mayor Kachibu had stared at it for a long, stunned moment before bursting out:
“Ah—our little Marlon is the true genius here! Slavery… how detestable! It shackles commerce, strangles prosperity!”
For the mayor knew well enough that half—if not more—of these “brilliant” reconstruction plans had not been born from his mind, but from the quiet counsel of a teenage prodigy, the young writer Marlon.
With a sigh, Mayor Kachibu set aside the report and picked up the day’s issue of The White Sand City Morning News. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he found the familiar column of the serialized story “The Orphan of White Sand City.”
“What new misfortune will poor little Oliver Twist suffer today?” he mused with a wry smile, allowing himself a rare moment of indulgence.
But before he could finish the installment, a sharp knock-knock-knock interrupted his reading.
“Come in,” the mayor called, lowering the paper.
The door creaked open, and in stepped his aide, Decal, carrying a small wooden chest wrapped in elegant paper.
“Mayor, this has just been delivered by the Emerald Crest Publishing House,” Decal announced, placing the box carefully upon the desk.
“What is it?” The mayor’s brow furrowed in curiosity.
Decal explained, “Today marks the official release of young Marlon’s collected works—seven volumes of fairy tales and two novels. This chest contains a limited, deluxe collector’s edition. See here—” he pointed to the wax seal on the lid, “—this is the serial number. Yours is set number 010, which means, Mayor, that you hold the tenth set produced.”
“The tenth?” Kachibu frowned. “Why not number 001? Surely there can be no citizen greater than the mayor of White Sand City!”
Decal lowered his voice. “The first nine sets were sent to the capital, sir. One of them, I’m told, was gifted to Secretary of State Newvently himself.”
The mayor said nothing. Silence stretched, and only after a long pause did he speak again, his tone measured and grave:
“Decal, if anyone asks, you will say that I feel deeply honored to receive this generous cultural gift. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Decal replied without hesitation. “And I will tell them, too, that you are most fond of every story contained within.”
The aide’s knowing smile revealed he understood more than he said aloud.
“Good.” The mayor’s expression softened. His eyes swept the desk, and with one swift motion he shoved a stack of official documents aside, making room for the wooden chest with its grand title:
“The Little Prince: An Adult’s Fairy Tale”
Subtitled: Marlon’s Deluxe Collector’s Edition of Fairy Tales and Novels.
Without hesitation, he broke the wax seal, lifted the lid, and drew out one volume, printed on the finest paper money could buy.
The title The Little Prince gleamed on the cover, adorned with a whimsical illustration: a tiny boy in royal garb, scarf billowing in the wind, accompanied by a charming fox and a single crimson rose.
“Beautiful,” the mayor murmured, running his fingers across the textured surface. For all the books he had read in his lifetime, he could not deny it—the printing was exquisite, the cover enchanting, filled with childlike wonder yet brimming with warmth.
Only one thing disturbed him: the embossed price stamped into the wax seal—ninety-nine Lant for the set! An extravagance by any measure.
Still, both he and Decal found themselves gazing at the book in silent admiration.
“Tell me, Decal,” the mayor asked suddenly, “didn’t you say today is the official release day?”
“Yes, sir. The man from the publishing house said as much.”
“Then our little Marlon must surely be at the Emerald Crest offices right now, yes?”
“Most likely,” Decal nodded. “It is customary for authors to attend the first day, usually for a book-signing.”
The mayor’s eyes lit up. “Then what are we waiting for? Come, we must attend the signing!”
Decal hesitated. “But sir, you have a reconstruction meeting scheduled for this afternoon—”
“Postpone it! No—let the deputy mayor preside in my place. Decal, you still don’t understand. Some things bring prestige faster than any government decree. And today, prestige lies with that boy and his stories.”