Ernest hopped onto the carriage followed by Hollen.

"Where are we going?"

Hollen closed the carriage door behind him.

Actually, the forge owner looked genuinely confused.

Only a few minutes ago they had been discussing supply shortages.

Now Ernest was suddenly ordering a carriage.

"To the port."

"The port?"

"Yes."

Ernest leaned back against the seat.

"If we’re talking about importing oils, then the best place to start is the people already importing them."

That made Hollen pause and it was obvious.

Yet neither of them had immediately thought of it.

The carriage soon departed from the factory grounds and joined the busy streets of Helmarte.

Traffic gradually increased as they moved closer to the commercial districts.

Merchants.

Laborers.

Horse-drawn wagons.

Delivery carts.

Street vendors.

The city was alive as always.

Nearly forty minutes later, the smell of saltwater began drifting through the open carriage window.

The roads widened.

Warehouses appeared.

Dock cranes lined portions of the waterfront.

Ships filled the horizon.

They had arrived at Helmarte Port.

Calling it a port barely did it justice.

The place resembled an entire district dedicated to commerce.

Hundreds of workers moved cargo.

Crates.

Barrels.

Timber.

Coal.

Textiles.

Food.

Everything flowed through the port.

And where merchants gathered, markets naturally followed.

Not far from the docks sat one of Helmarte’s largest bazaars.

Rows of temporary stalls stretched across a large open square.

Foreign traders displayed goods from every corner of Eldoria.

Colorful fabrics.

Spices.

Tea.

Wine.

Furniture.

Exotic fruits.

Jewelry.

The sounds of bargaining filled the air.

Hollen looked around.

Ernest had never visited this part of the city since arriving in this world.

The place fascinated him.

It felt like stepping into an international trade exhibition.

"Come on."

They began moving through the crowded market.

A trader from Lowen loudly advertised imported cheeses.

Nearby, merchants from Valoria displayed expensive wines.

Another stall sold spices whose scents filled the entire street.

Then Ernest stopped.

His eyes landed on a familiar symbol painted on a wooden sign.

An olive branch.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

He pointed.

"There."

The stall belonged to merchants from the Kingdom of Iberia.

Barrels lined the rear of the shop.

Clay bottles occupied shelves.

A middle-aged merchant stood behind the counter.

The man immediately smiled when he saw potential customers approaching.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"Welcome."

"Looking for wine? Olive oil? Preserved fruits?"

Actually, Ernest almost smiled.

Straight to the point.

He liked that.

"Olive oil."

The merchant’s smile widened.

"A fine choice."

"Imported directly from Iberia."

"Highest quality available in Helmarte."

Ernest picked up one of the sample bottles.

The oil carried a rich golden color.

"I have a question, how many liters does a Kingdom of Iberia produce annually?"

The merchant blinked.

That wasn’t the question he expected.

Most customers asked about price, or the quality, or the delivery schedules.

Not the annual production of an entire kingdom.

"You mean the Kingdom of Iberia’s olive oil industry?"

"Correct."

The merchant rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

"Nobody knows the exact number."

That was fair.

This world didn’t exactly publish national agricultural reports.

But experienced traders usually had rough estimates.

The merchant continued.

"But if I have to estimate it, I’d say it’s about several hundred thousand tons every year."

Ernest’s eyebrows rose slightly.

Several hundred thousand tons.

That’s enormous.

Iberia occupied the southern portion of the continent.

Warmer climate.

Long growing seasons.

Perfect conditions for olive cultivation.

Compared to Belfast’s colder weather, it was almost unfair.

"You see, if your country produces that much oil, then we want to know more because the two of us are the owners of the Helmarte Soap Works."

The moment Ernest revealed that, the merchant was shocked. "Wait? You two are the owner of that company? The one that makes soap?"

"That is correct," Ernest confirmed. "And oil is one of the main raw materials required to make soap. We are looking for suppliers."

"The Helmarte Soap Works?"

"The Helmarte Soap Works?"

He repeated it twice as if making sure he heard correctly.

Hollen exchanged an amused glance with Ernest.

"Yes."

"The same one."

The merchant suddenly laughed.

Not a nervous laugh.

A genuinely delighted one.

"Gods above."

"I knew I recognized the name."

Then he pointed directly at Ernest.

"You’re the young man."

"The one everyone has been talking about."

Ernest blinked.

"Everyone?"

The merchant looked almost offended.

"Of course everyone."

"You think your soap only became popular in Belfast?"

That got Ernest’s attention.

Actually, he knew exports existed.

He just never paid much attention to where the products eventually ended up.

The merchant walked behind the counter and grabbed a small wooden box.

Inside were several bars of soap.

Helmarte Soap Works soap.

The company’s own logo had been stamped onto each bar.

The merchant placed them on the counter.

"I keep these as samples."

Hollen looked surprised.

"You sell our soap?"

The merchant laughed.

"I don’t just sell it. I can barely keep it in stock."

Now that was interesting.

Very interesting.

The merchant folded his arms.

"In Iberia, imported luxury goods are popular."

"Wine from Valoria. Cloth from Lowen."

Ernest raised an eyebrow.

"Luxury?"

The merchant nodded.

"Your soap is considered premium quality." The merchant continued. "The nobles love it. The wealthy merchants love it, even commoners save money to buy it occasionally."

He picked up one of the bars.

"Especially the scented varieties."

Hollen’s eyes widened.

"You’re serious?"

"Completely."

The merchant shook his head.

"You have no idea how often customers ask me when the next shipment will arrive."

Actually, now Ernest understood why Laurent had been so interested in investing.

The market wasn’t merely local anymore.

It was international.

The merchant suddenly became much more attentive.

Much more professional.

Because the conversation had changed.

This was no longer two customers purchasing oil.

This was a potential industrial partnership.

A very large one.

"If Helmarte Soap Works requires olive oil," he said carefully, "then I believe we can help each other tremendously."

Ernest smiled.

"That’s what I was hoping to hear."

The merchant immediately pulled out another ledger.

A thicker one.

One that looked far more important than the pricing book from earlier.

"My family owns trading houses in three Iberian cities."

He flipped through several pages.

"We work directly with olive growers. If you become a long-term customer, we can negotiate annual contracts."

"Let’s talk about this somewhere private, you have a room inside?"

"Of course sir!"