Reborn In 17th century India with Black Technology

"HAH!, pay up!" Simeon Brezhnev and Oskar Andersson were like teenage boys whose heartfelt proposal had just been accepted by their crush; they were giggling happily from ear to ear, having made the right bet and won a considerable amount of money.

Pedro Santiago, Pedro Santos, Maximilian V, Heinrich Müller, and other diplomats who had placed the wrong bets were very unhappy looking at those smug faces, but sadly there was nothing they could do. In the end, they could only reluctantly pull out their letters of intent and hand them over to the winners.

’Tsk, lucky bastards,’ some began to curse inwardly, but overall, the atmosphere was lively.

Suddenly, an announcement was made by the announcers all across the stadium: "Ladies and gentlemen, the 100-meter sprint event will begin in another 30 minutes. Please stay tuned." Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Simeon Brezhnev grinned. "You all heard the man, so who wants to keep betting? I’ll put 2,000 Varaha on Raftaar once again. Does anyone dare to bet against me?" His words were sprinkled with sarcasm and garnished with provocation, as if he wanted to rile up his listeners.

Surprisingly, he succeeded. It was as if the diplomats had momentarily disregarded all their diplomatic skills and intelligence with the provocation of the Russian. Maybe it was because they rarely got a chance to let themselves go, as many diplomats were genuinely angry about the Russian’s provocative words and fell into the betting game once more.

"Humph! Even though I had underestimated Raftaar before, and he is indeed a superior athlete, it does not change the fact that he has just competed in the 500-meter sprint event and should most definitely be famished. Now, there are only thirty minutes before the 100-meter race. I don’t believe he’ll have the energy or the ability to pull a miracle off again or even maintain a top-three position. With that being said, I’ll bet 2,000 Varaha on Janaki Varma," Maximilian V said with a clenched fist and gritted teeth.

Read exclusive chapters at empire

When the diplomats saw how much Maximilian was putting up despite losing 2000 Varaha before, they shook their heads in disapproval, but they still agreed with the premise of Raftaar being too tired to maintain his full speed. Additionally, most of the diplomats hoped to capitalize on Simeon Brezhnev and Oskar Andersson’s overconfidence.

"It’s settled then, I’ll put 500 Varaha once again on Kiran Shastri."

"I’ll place a 500 Varaha bet too, but not for anyone winning—I’m betting on Raftaar coming in fourth place."

Everyone looked at Pedro Santos with surprise on their faces; they had not expected the Portuguese to be so scheming.

’Guessing who will win among the four fresh runners is hard, but betting that Raftaar, who had already used up all his strength, would come last or second-to-last is much easier. What a clever plan,’ Henri Lefebure thought as he looked at Pedro Santos with admiration.

"I like this way of betting. Let me join in too. I will place 500 Varaha on Raftaar coming in last," Henri said.

With this new type of betting introduced, the rest of the diplomats came up with different ways to wager, though almost none were confident Raftaar would win the 100-meter race.

---

Raftaar, who had just won the 500-meter race, simply sat down on a chair, resting his legs while Zafir massaged them with sesame oil to help him recover faster. Raftaar was still panting and hadn’t drunk any water yet, as his trainer in Baluchistan had advised him not to drink water immediately after a race and not to suddenly stop running right after. This was one reason he had jogged 500 meters before coming to a halt.

Just then, Jayamma approached Raftaar.

"Well done, son. You have proven yourself to be the fastest 500-meter sprinter in the empire," she said, stepping forward to congratulate her athlete. She was both proud and thrilled, knowing her company was gaining publicity without spending much, and she might have just found a gold mine in Raftaar. Many new ideas for using him to advertise her company crossed her mind.

Raftaar, still panting, managed to smile and replied, "Thank you, madam."

Jayamma laughed at this gesture, liking this forthright and straightforward young man more and more.

However, Zafir cautiously asked her, "Miss Jayamma, you will keep your word according to the negotiated deal, won’t you?"

The smile on Jayamma’s face quickly faded. "Hey, brat, I should be the one worried about you suddenly raising the price! Why do you look so restless, as if I’m going to take your money and run away?"

"Eh, ah, ha ha," Zafir could only laugh awkwardly, feeling a bit uneasy. According to their previous discussion, Raftaar had earned himself 3,000 Varaha from just this race alone, so even though he felt the old woman was trustworthy, he still felt a little uneasy until the matters were settled.

Jayamma shook her head in exasperation. "Here, this is an IOU that I have written for 3,000 Varaha. I’ve stamped it with my company seal and my sign as proof of authority."

"This should ease your mind. As for the actual money, I can’t exactly bring such a large amount to the stadium, can I? So, meet me after the event, and I’ll help you create an account at the Raya Royal Bank, where I’ll transfer the money to your account." Seeing Zafir’s clueless expression, Jayamma realized he didn’t know anything about the bank, so she explained, "The bank was established by His Majesty, the Emperor. It’s a place where you can store your money without worrying about its security. Once you open an account with Raya Royal Bank and deposit money, you can withdraw it from any branch of the bank across the empire."

"I heard that branches of Raya Royal Bank are opening soon in Gwadar, Ormara, and Chabahar Bay, so you don’t need to worry about accessing your money In Balochistan."

"So, I suggest you deposit all your earnings into this account. That way, you won’t have to worry about securing the money, and you can withdraw it whenever necessary—even if you go back to Baluchistan."

Zafir was surprised by the existence of such a convenient service. Although he hadn’t yet verified it personally, which was a wise precaution at any occasion, currently he had neither the time nor the luxury to do so. Given that the old lady had no reason to deceive them, he chose to trust her once more, sensing that her suggestion made sense and brought them a lot of benefits. Without this option, the trouble of arranging a few bodyguards to escort them, along with all the money back to Balochistan would have stressed Zafir out. Besides, the old woman had been kind and honest throughout their cooperation, and she was the reason they were able to make extra money in the first place. If, by chance, everything was a lie, it would be a poorly thought-out one, easy to expose, and unlikely to be used by this clever old woman who had managed to become one of the richest in the empire.

"Ok, Madam, we’ll follow your arrangements," Zafir replied.

Jayamma was relieved but suddenly put on a hurried expression. "Alright, now that this is settled, tell me your price for Raftaar to mention our company in an interview—and do it quickly! I think he’ll be interviewed any minute now."

Zafir snapped out of his thoughts and immediately shouted out a number. "4,000 Varaha and he’ll talk about your company."

Jayamma shook her head. "2,000 Varaha."

Zafir immediately shook his head. "No, that’s too little; we might as well not make this deal. But since you helped us a lot by showing us the way to earn this kind of money, I’ll relent and offer 3,000 Varaha. I won’t go any lower—this is my bottom line."

Jayamma felt annoyed again, inwardly scolding herself for being so generous. "Alright, brat, you win. I’ll give you 3,000 Varaha."

Jayamma turned away with an annoyed expression while Zafir looked smug. Raftaar, who had witnessed the negotiation up close, felt dizzy—he realized that running another race would be easier than negotiating a deal. He once again understood how wise he was to rely on his friend.

Jayamma quickly called an employee. "Gita, bring the pickle quickly."

Gita, an employee at Jayamma Pickles & Co., hurried over with a jar of pickles in her hands.

Jayamma urgently handed the jar of pickles to Raftaar. "Here you go. It’s best to show this jar during the interview and say a few nice words about it. With this, you would have Successfully fulfilled your obligations according to the negotiation."

Raftaar was stunned as he held the pickle jar, which contained a few pieces of pickle and a lot of pickle juice. But understanding the objective, he nodded with a determined expression on his face.

Zafir watched from the side and didn’t say anything, his only worry was whether Raftaar could handle the interview.

A few minutes passed, and, as expected, reporters from the Bharatham Daily newspaper arrived.

"Hello, I am reporter Jayalalithaa from Bharatham Daily. Could you please answer a few of my questions, Mr. Raftaar?"

Raftaar suddenly felt nervous when the beautiful reporter approached him. He knew they would come, as both Zafir and Jayamma had informed him, but being his first time, he was still a little unused to it.

He wanted to get up to greet the reporter, but Zafir pushed him down. "Madam Reporter, Brother Raftaar still has one more race to participate in, and the time for it isn’t far off, so could you please allow him to rest while he talks?"

Jayalalithaa was taken aback, as she hadn’t met anyone who wouldn’t follow formal etiquette during an interview. But considering the current circumstances, she didn’t mind. "Most definitely, sir. I wouldn’t want to affect Mr. Raftaar’s performance."

Raftaar, sitting down, felt grateful that Zafir had covered for him.