**EDWARD'S MANOR – NEXT DAY**
Alfred knocked on my office door at dawn. "My lord, you summoned me?"
"Yes. I need you to prepare for a territory-wide census." I slid a document across the desk. "Everyone aged five and up must report to their village square from Friday morning through Monday evening. Each person who attends receives one silver coin, one loaf of bread, and half a kilogram of rice."
Alfred's eyes widened as he read. "My lord, we don't have enough bread and rice to—"
"Get it from the guild. Use our credit from the mana cure sales."
"But my lord, why are we—"
"Medical camp," I explained. "Full census of the territory. I want to know exactly who lives here, what their skills are, their ages, their health conditions. More importantly, I want mana testing for anyone with magical potential. We're going to identify every person in this barony who can be trained as a mage, a soldier, or a craftsman."
Alfred's expression shifted from confusion to understanding. "A complete assessment of our human resources."
"Exactly. Also post recruitment notices alongside the census announcement. Soldiers wanted, men and women both are welcome, age twelve and up. Five silver coins per month salary."
Alfred choked. "FIVE SILVER COINS? My lord, the average commoner makes eight copper coins monthly! You'll bankrupt yourself!"
"I have plenty of money. And I need loyal soldiers fast. Money buys loyalty, at least initially. People who are well-paid don't take bribes from my enemies."
"But—"
"And make absolutely certain no information leaves this territory," I continued, cutting off his protest. "I don't want neighboring lords knowing what we're doing until it's too late. Station guards at every road, stop every merchant caravan leaving and block transaction for 2 months. If they don't want to accept kick them out and remind everyone that sharing military information carries the death penalty."
Alfred looked overwhelmed but nodded. "Yes, my lord. I'll have the notices posted by this afternoon and coordinate with the guild for supplies."
"Good. Now send in the designers and the dwarves. They should be waiting in the hall."
---
In the hall, I found five designers standing nervously beside ten dwarves. My eyes immediately went to the dwarves' bound hands and defeated expressions.
"Are they slaves?" I asked Alfred, though I already knew the answer.
"Yes, my lord. The best available. Master craftsmen all—"
"I see."
I felt something twist in my gut. In my past life, I'd killed human traffickers. I'd dismantled slave rings, freed captives, executed the men who profited from human misery. It had been one of the few things that made me feel almost… righteous.
And now I was buying slaves because it was legal here and I needed their skills.
The game hadn't prepared me for this. Pixels on a screen were one thing. Real people in chains, with real fear and real suffering in their eyes, were entirely different.
*I need to create my own world soon,* I thought grimly. *One where this isn't normal.*
I pushed the thought aside and handed the documents to the designers. "Clothing designs. Pants with zippers, shirts with buttons, practical cuts. Study these patterns carefully. I need samples within three days."
The lead designer, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes, studied the drawings with growing excitement. "My lord, these are… revolutionary. The zipper mechanism alone would change everything about how we—"
"Three days," I repeated, my tone making it clear this wasn't a discussion. "Take my measurements and get started. If you succeed, you'll receive a bonus of ten gold coins each and exclusive rights to produce these designs for the civilian market. Fail, and I'll find designers who won't waste my time."
The woman's excitement turned to nervous determination. "We won't fail, my lord."
"See that you don't."
They bowed and left quickly, already discussing the designs in hushed, excited tones.
Which left me with the dwarves.
---
The dwarves stood in chains, eyes on the floor, radiating hopelessness. I recognized that look—I'd seen it in my old world, in the eyes of people who'd been broken by systems too large to fight.
"The rest of you can leave," I told Alfred and the guards. "I want to speak with them alone."
Alfred hesitated. "My lord, are you certain—"
"I'll be fine. Go."
Once we were alone, I didn't soften my expression or my tone. I needed them to understand I was in control, that this wasn't charity—it was an exchange.
"Sit," I ordered.
They remained standing, confused and wary.
"I said sit." My voice was cold, commanding. "I'm offering you something valuable, and you'll listen properly while I explain it."
Slowly, they lowered themselves to the floor, chains clinking.
"You're slaves. You know what that means—you're property, tools to be used and discarded when broken. But I'm not interested in breaking you. Broken tools are worthless, and I don't waste resources." I let that sink in, watching their faces. "I'm going to offer you a deal. Not out of kindness, but because it serves my interests."
The eldest—a gray-bearded dwarf with a scar across his face where an eye should have been—looked up, suspicion burning in his one good eye.
"Work for me for the next ten years. Forge the weapons and tools I need, train any apprentices I assign to you, and keep your skills sharp. Do this, and after ten years, I'll grant you freedom. Full manumission, documented and legally binding."
Ten heads snapped up, eyes wide with shock. Then, almost immediately, that shock turned to anger and suspicion.
The scarred elder spat on the ground. "Don't give us false hope, human. We'll do whatever work you command. There's no need to torture us with lies."
"You think I'm lying?" I leaned forward, meeting his gaze directly. "Then you're a fool. Lies are for the weak who can't enforce their will. I don't need to lie to you—I already own you. You'll work whether I promise freedom or not."
A younger dwarf, missing three fingers on his left hand, spoke bitterly: "We've heard these promises before. 'Work hard and earn your freedom.' 'Prove your value and be rewarded.' Always lies. Always tricks to keep us obedient while you break us down piece by piece."
"Then those masters were idiots," I said flatly. "Broken slaves produce inferior work. Fearful slaves hide their knowledge and sabotage when they can. But slaves with hope, with something to work toward? They excel and innovate. They become invested in their work's success because it's tied to their own future."
A dwarf woman with burn scars covering half her face spoke softly: "My master promised me freedom if I completed a cathedral in five years. I finished in four. He sold me the next day for profit."
"Your master was a short-sighted fool who valued immediate gold over long-term productivity. I'm not." I stood, looking down at them. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to forge weapons and tools for me. First, wooden practice weapons for training. Then real blades for my soldiers. And then—" I pulled out a rolled parchment and tossed it to the eldest dwarf "—you're going to create something this world has never seen."
He unrolled it with his bound hands, studying the design with widening eyes. "What… what is this?"
"A GUN. A weapon and you will find how to use it later. The designs are complete, but the engineering required is complex. You'll need to work out the metallurgy, the barrel rifling, the chamber pressure tolerances."
The dwarves leaned in, examining the designs. Despite their suspicion, despite their chains, I saw it—that spark of professional interest, the craftsman's instinct to solve an interesting problem.
"This is… impossible," one murmured. But his tone said he wanted to try anyway.
"Nothing is impossible. It's just expensive and difficult." I let them study the designs for another moment. "You have the skills I need. I have the resources and the vision. Work with me, produce results, and in ten years you'll walk away free with enough gold to start your own country wherever you choose."
"And if we refuse?" the scarred elder asked, though we both knew he wouldn't.
"Then you'll work anyway, without the promise of freedom, and I'll find other dwarves who are smarter than you." I shrugged. "Your choice. But I'd prefer willing cooperation. The work will be better, faster, and you'll actually have something to look forward to."
Silence stretched between us. They didn't trust me—I could see it in their faces. But I'd given them something more valuable than trust: rational self-interest.
"We'll see, human lord," the elder finally said. "We'll do the work you command. And we'll wait to see if your words are lies or truth."
"That's all I ask." I called for Alfred. "Take them to the physician. Get their injuries treated, give them proper food, and assign them quarters in the craftsmen's wing. Then show them the forge. I want the first wooden practice weapons completed within five days."
As Alfred led them away, I heard the dwarves murmuring to each other in their own language. I caught fragments: "strange human… different maybe… that weapon design though…"
One of them asked loudly, "What's a gun?"
"Did you not look at the designs?" another snapped back. "It's like a crossbow but—"
"But impossible! The forces involved would—"
"That's why he needs us, you idiot. To make the impossible work."
Their voices faded down the corridor, but I caught the tone—professional interest overcoming suspicion. Engineers couldn't resist an interesting problem.
It wasn't trust. But it was a start.
---
**THAT EVENING**
I summoned both Alfred and Commander Cecil to my office. Cecil arrived first, a grizzled veteran with more scars than smooth skin.
"My lord, you called for me?"
"Yes. How many permanent soldiers do we currently have?"
"150, my lord. The late Baron used temporary war slaves during conflicts, but our standing force is—"
"Not enough." I cut him off. "I need five hundred more. Permanent soldiers."
Cecil's jaw dropped. "Five hundred?! My lord, that's—"
"We're going to war soon, Commander. Territorial war. I want them trained and ready before the enemy even realizes we're preparing."
Alfred, who had just entered, looked pale. "My lord, the cost of maintaining five hundred soldiers—"
"Is irrelevant. We have the money from the mana cure sales, and we'll have more soon. Cecil, I want a mix: buy war slaves aged thirty to sixty who have combat experience. Men who've actually fought, not boys who've only held a spear for harvest festivals."
"My lord, we don't have space to house or train five hundred—"
"Then immediately prepare facilities for the rest. Build new barracks if necessary. Expand the training grounds. Whatever it takes." I looked between them. "And keep this absolutely quiet. No one outside this territory can know we're building an army."
Cecil saluted, still looking stunned. "Yes, my lord. I'll… I'll coordinate with the slave markets in the neighboring territories."
"Not the neighboring territories," I corrected. "Too close. Send buyers to the Malakor Kingdom or the southern ports. Spread the purchases across multiple markets so no one realizes we're building up forces. Make it look like we're buying labor for the mines or the forests."
Alfred made notes frantically. "The logistics of feeding, housing, and equipping five hundred additional soldiers—"
"Start as soon as we buy them. We'll scale up as the infrastructure develops. Cecil, I want training schedules prepared. These men will drill every day. I want them combat-ready within 2 weeks."
"2 weeks?!" Cecil looked incredulous. "My lord, proper soldier training takes at least six months, usually a year—"
"Then we'll do intensive training. That's why we are buying seasoned soldiers. Double drills, practical combat exercises, real weapons sparring. These men have combat experience already—we're not teaching them from scratch, we're sharpening existing skills and teaching them to fight as a unit."
I pulled out another document. "Also, start training programs for the recruits we'll get from the census. Young men and women, twelve and up. They'll be the next generation of soldiers. Pay them three silver coins monthly during training, five once they're combat-ready."
Alfred and Cecil exchanged glances.
"My lord," Alfred said carefully, "you're planning for a prolonged conflict."
"I'm planning for survival," I corrected. "Olivia has sent me a report, Baron Lupe will attack within a month. I intend to, not only survive but crush him so thoroughly that no other neighbor will dare try the same. And that requires soldiers—lots of them, well-trained and well-paid."
Cecil's expression shifted from shock to grim determination. "Understood, my lord. I'll begin immediately."
"Good. Alfred, coordinate the funding and logistics. Cecil, give him lists of everything you need."
They both bowed and left, already discussing details.
Alone in my office, I looked at the map of my territory spread across the desk. One hundred fifty soldiers currently. Five hundred more coming. Maybe another two or three hundred from recruitment and training.
Against Baron Lupe's fifty knights, five hundred soldiers, one hundred archers, and twenty battle mages.
The numbers were still against me.
But numbers weren't everything. I had something Lupe didn't: knowledge of what was coming, the ability to prepare, and weapons this world had never seen before.
The game was accelerating.
And I intended to be ready.
---
**NEXT DAY – THE VILLAGES**
The notices went up at dawn. Within hours, the villages were buzzing with speculation.
"Did our lord become rich overnight?"
"Why's he calling everyone? Even children?"
"Free food and SILVER? This has to be a trap!"
"Maybe an angel fell from the sky and made him generous!"
"He executed all those criminals—maybe he found their stolen gold?"
But despite the suspicion, everyone knew they'd attend. One silver coin was a fortune for people used to living on the edge of starvation. And the implied threat of imprisonment for not attending helped too. But the mercenary were feeling unpleasant about it.
The news spread like wildfire through the territory, but—thanks to Alfred's precautions and the general gratitude from the tax reduction—nobody told outsiders. The guards at the borders turned away merchants who asked too many questions, and the villagers kept their mouths shut.
Their new lord was strange, violent, and possibly insane.
But he'd reduced their taxes, executed the corrupt officials who'd been bleeding them dry, and was now literally giving away silver.
They'd protect his secrets.
At least for now.
To be continued...