I Became A Black Merchant In Another World Chapter 169

The first place I visited again was the largest restaurant in Pisa City.

Being directly operated by the master of Pisa City's Culinary Guild, the restaurant was massive, bustling with an incredible number of patrons.

A place like this was akin to a well-fattened cow or pig—plenty of at to savor.

Ah, I was already salivating at the thought.

“Let’s go in.”

The mont I pushed the door open and stepped inside, all eyes turned toward us.

One distinguished figure, flanked by administrative officers carrying docunts, and soldiers in A-class military uniforms—it was the kind of group that would attract attention anywhere.

Though, not in a positive way.

To preserve the psychological peace of these good citizens, I took imdiate action.

“We’re here to conduct a hygiene inspection of this establishnt. Please continue enjoying your als.”

With hygiene inspections causing an uproar throughout the city recently, most people understood that this likely didn’t concern them directly.

As such, the citizens of Ostia cautiously resud their als, though with a faint sense of wariness.

However, for the actual subject of such inspections, having governnt officials barge in like this was akin to a nightmare—a calamity striking from out of the blue.

The manager, who’d been caught off guard, hurried over. I noticed beads of cold sweat glistening on his forehead.

Why was he so terrified? I wasn’t here to devour him alive. All I intended to do was conduct a rigorous, ticulous hygiene inspection.

“I am Andrea, the manager of The Black Gentlen. It is the honor of a lifeti to have Baron Rothschild visit our humble establishnt.”

“I’m here for work. What’s so honorable about that?”

My cold response instantly chilled the atmosphere.

As tension filled the air, I reached into my inner jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of pristine white gloves, slipping them onto my hands.

At the sight of this, the manager and all the staff gulped and fixated on my gloved hands.

They must have understood the signal—this inspection was going to be thorough.

But what could they do about it? Aside from silently praying to Deus for salvation, there was little else they could manage.

‘If this were the Visconti faction’s stronghold, things would be more amicable...’

Instead, I was here enforcing the law in enemy territory and collecting a modest fee in the process.

I was simply doing my job and claiming a rightful reward.

“B-Baron, may I offer you a al after the inspection? It would be an honor to serve you so of our finest dishes for your hard work…”

Ah, trying to curry favor by offering food and a bit of bribery, are you?

Do I look like a foolish corrupt official? Absolutely not.

With justice rivaling that of high-ranking British officials, I intended to conduct this inspection fairly and impartially.

Only then could they truly grasp the weight of my authority and willingly offer more “donations” in gratitude.

This would beco a tale of goodwill—improving public hygiene, protecting citizens’ health, enhancing my reputation across the Empire, and warming my wallet.

“Take to the kitchen.”

With that, I stepped into the kitchen.

Perhaps thanks to the public posting of hygiene inspection standards a month ago, the kitchen’s surface-level cleanliness appeared flawless.

“Hm, the kitchen seems to be well-maintained. I’m quite pleased.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Yet, just as in the military, where operations should follow regulations but often involve plenty of shortcuts, restaurants were no different. A thorough inspection could easily unearth flaws.

From what I’d heard, it wasn’t uncommon for inspectors with ulterior motives to find fault and impose business suspensions nearly anywhere.

Could a restaurant only a month into adopting hygiene practices escape scrutiny?

The Toscano Empire introducing democracy might be easier. Or Admiral Won Gyun defeating the Japanese navy, perhaps.

“In this corner, I see a dead cockroach. Over here, there’s grease and food splatter stuck to the walls.”

“My apologies.”

“And why are the buckets for soaking dishes made of wood? Wooden containers absorb food residue and rot over ti. You’ve failed to comply with the hygiene regulations.”

The manager’s face grew paler with every word I spoke.

Regardless, I continued my work.

“The at is stored separately by type, and the vegetables are properly kept. However, I detect a faint sll coming from the food waste.”

In countries where sanitation practices are rigorous, food waste might be a minor issue. But here, in a society straddling the dieval and early modern periods, leaving food waste unattended for just a few hours could attract flies.

If bacteria-infested pests infiltrate a restaurant’s kitchen, disease is inevitable.

“Who’s in charge of disposing of the food waste?”

“That would be , sir.”

“How often do you dispose of it? There’s a regulation to collect and process it daily after operations.”

“I dispose of it in a large ceramic bin about three tis a day and call waste disposal workers at night.”

The waste disposal worker seed to be doing their job properly.

However, as the manager, it was his duty to ensure more frequent disposal on warr days or when odors beca noticeable.

If I hadn’t announced my inspection a month in advance, would he have let it pile up, discarding it only once a day?

What if soone fell ill because of such negligence?

“Have all the chefs present their hands.”

Chefs mustn’t have dirt or gri on their hands. While the senior chefs passed with flying colors, the apprentice cooks—those mainly tasked with prep work—had visibly dirty hands.

It was understandable; they were inexperienced, overworked, and underpaid.

But food poisoning doesn’t care about the plight of underpaid apprentices.

“Your hands are filthy. And it’s not just one or two of you—the apprentice chefs are all in this state.”

The manager clutched the back of his neck as if about to faint.

“Based on my findings so far… Martini, what are the penalties for these violations?”

Just as I asked, soone burst into the kitchen.

Judging by his finely tailored silk suit, he must have been the owner of the restaurant and master of the Culinary Guild.

A high-ranking individual had arrived, but that wouldn’t deter from doing my job.

“For failure to adhere to sanitation regulations, including handwashing and waste disposal, the penalty is a two-month business suspension and required facility upgrades. Additionally, for failing to maintain proper hygiene, both the guild master and manager are sentenced to two months in prison.”

Two months in prison wasn’t an extre punishnt.

But for guilds, which rely on trust, this was tantamount to a death sentence.

Would people ever return to a restaurant where the chefs had been imprisoned for unsanitary practices?

‘It’s essentially a death knell for the business.’

“On top of that, fines will be imposed based on the restaurant’s revenue. The amount won’t be small.”

The guild master imdiately bowed his head.

“Please, Baron, spare us. My father, my ancestors, we’ve poured blood, sweat, and tears into building this establishnt.”

Had I been a disinterested bureaucrat, solely focused on career advancent, I could’ve dismissed him with a curt rejection.

‘No, go back. I won’t change my decision.’

However, since I intended to collect appropriate consultation fees, I decided to leave the door open.

“Hmm. A business suspension and prison sentence do seem harsh… It would indeed be cruel to tarnish the legacy of your ancestors over this.”

“I’ll do anything! Please, have rcy!”

Hearing this, I gestured for Martini to step forward.

“Martini, stay here and provide the guild master with appropriate guidance during our stay.”

“If there’s anything we’ve done wrong, we’ll correct it imdiately.”

Their reluctance to seek consultation was understandable. After all, the fees would be substantial.

Imagine being charged a fortune for advice on hygiene—your head would spin.

“Well, for now, I’ll issue a correction order. But if further violations occur, penalties will escalate. These hygiene regulations are intricate; even I can’t guarantee you’ll pass next ti.”

In the Joseon Dynasty, there was a system called gongnap—a tribute tax where local officials collected specialty goods for the king. While it appeared honorable, it was rife with corruption, as officials extorted farrs and rchants alike.

Similarly, I would exact tribute from my political rivals here.

‘Of course, I’ll go easier on commoners and small businesses.’

Sensing my underlying intentions, the guild master lowered his head once more.

“Please, teach us. We humbly seek your guidance.”

“Very well. I’ll extend my support.”

Thus, I began touring various fiefs, improving “hygiene” while collecting substantial fees.

Even in regions I didn’t visit personally, suitable “service charges” found their way into my pockets.

“This is why wisdom is indispensable.”

I soon returned to the Imperial Palace.

anwhile, Duke Sforza was grinding his teeth in frustration.