"Lloyd," Roy acknowledged, his voice flat but lacking its usual sharp edge. "Ken reported on your… training session this morning. With Fang." He paused, letting the name hang in the air. "He described the spirit's abilities as… noteworthy."
"Fang has shown significant development, Father," Lloyd confirmed calmly. "His potential appears greater than initially assessed." Understatement of the century.
"Indeed," Roy murmured, tapping his quill lightly on the desk blotter. "Much like his master, it seems." The observation was dry, almost offhand, but carried immense weight. Roy Ferrum did not offer compliments lightly, if ever. Lloyd felt a flicker of surprise, quickly suppressed.
"You requested this audience," Roy continued, getting straight to the point. "State your purpose."
This was it. Lloyd took another internal breath. Pitch time. "Father," he began, his voice steady, "I require investment capital."
Roy's eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly. "Investment? For what frivolous pursuit? More books? Fancier training equipment?" The default assumption was still that Lloyd's interests were trivial, his needs minor.
"No, Father," Lloyd countered firmly. "For a business venture. A new product. One I believe has the potential to generate significant profit for the Ferrum household."
Roy leaned back slightly, his expression shifting towards skepticism. "A business venture? You? Since when have you developed an interest in commerce beyond enduring Master Elmsworth's lectures?"
"My perspective has… broadened recently," Lloyd replied evasively. "I have identified an untapped market, a need currently unmet even among the nobility. I have conceived a product to fill that niche."
"And this revolutionary product is?" Roy prompted, his tone laced with disbelief.
"Luxury soap," Lloyd stated simply, clearly.
Silence. Roy Ferrum stared at him. The Arch Duke, ruler of vast territories, commander of armies, master of intricate political maneuvering… stared at his heir, who was apparently proposing to go into the soap business. The silence stretched, broken only by the ticking clock. Roy's expression remained unreadable, but Lloyd could almost see the internal calculations, the assessment bordering on bafflement.
"Soap," Roy repeated finally, the word flat, devoid of inflection.
"Not the harsh tallow blocks currently used, Father," Lloyd elaborated quickly, seizing the opening. "Gentle, cleansing bars crafted from fine oils – olive, perhaps others. Precisely formulated to avoid harshness, scented subtly with natural essences, perhaps even possessing moisturizing properties. A luxury good. Something that signifies refinement, comfort. A product I believe the nobility, wealthy merchants, anyone with disposable income, will readily purchase at a premium."
He outlined the basic concept, the untapped market, the potential for high profit margins due to low baseline competition and the appeal of genuine luxury. He spoke with confidence, drawing on the business acumen absorbed over his Earth life, translating marketing principles and production concepts into terms Roy would understand: profit, market share, brand prestige.
Roy listened intently, his initial skepticism slowly morphing into sharp, analytical assessment. He asked pointed questions about sourcing materials, potential guild interference, production scalability, distribution channels. Lloyd answered confidently, outlining his preliminary plans, acknowledging challenges but emphasizing the core viability of the idea. He deliberately kept the chemistry simple, focusing on the end product and market potential.
"It is… unconventional," Roy conceded finally, steepling his fingers, his gaze thoughtful. "Yet… the logic regarding the market niche is sound. Existing cleansing agents are crude." He looked directly at Lloyd again, his eyes sharp. "You believe you can produce this? Successfully? Profitably?"
"I do, Father," Lloyd affirmed without hesitation. "With the right initial investment."
"And what level of investment do you deem 'right' for this… soap enterprise?" Roy inquired, a hint of dry amusement entering his tone.
Lloyd took the plunge. "One thousand Gold Coins, Father."
Roy's eyebrows shot up. One thousand Gold. That wasn't seed money for a hobby; that was a significant sum, enough to fund a small mercenary company for a month, purchase a respectable plot of land, or bribe a minor baron. For soap?
"Explain," Roy commanded, the amusement vanishing, replaced by sharp demand.
"Materials acquisition in bulk requires capital," Lloyd explained calmly. "Olive oil, potentially imported oils, quality lye precursors, essential oil distillation or import, pigments, molds, packaging. Securing reliable suppliers isn't cheap. Initial equipment – controlled heating vats, mixing tools, drying racks – needs fabrication or purchase. Perhaps discreetly hiring one or two skilled artisans – a perfumer, maybe a chemist's apprentice – for specific tasks. Establishing initial distribution channels, even small-scale ones. Contingency funds for unforeseen issues." He broke down the anticipated costs logically, demonstrating he'd thought beyond the mere idea. "One thousand Gold provides the necessary runway to establish production, refine the product, and begin generating returns within a reasonable timeframe."