The trading caravan was moving along a bumpy road leading to the territory of Baron Viktor Baltes. At some point, the wagons began rolling much smoother, creating an impression that they had come to a halt.
Vorkat peered out from his carriage and saw something incredible for himself: about a hundred people were building a road wide enough for four carriages side by side. Serfs leveled the ground with shovels and compacted it using massive logs. They would stand one log vertically, grab onto its horizontal attachment, lift it up, then pound it into the earth with all their might.
He had been engaged in trade for twenty years, traveling through every nearby kingdom and visiting hundreds of estates belonging to other nobles, but he had never seen anything like this before.
When Vorkat glanced at the roadside, he noticed that alongside the entire length of the new road ran a drainage ditch designed to divert water away so heavy rains wouldn't wash it out.
These workers weren't just constructing a road; they also felled trees on both sides, clearing fifty meters of open space. This could help travelers spot monsters early or prevent bandits from setting ambushes against caravans.
Felled trees were immediately cut down right there, and fences made from them lined the entire route.
Vorkat drew the curtain back over the window of his carriage, leaned back in his seat, and fell deep in thought.
Rumors circulated that the son of Count Shermainin turned out useless as a mage and was exiled to worthless lands. Among aristocrats, such stories weren't uncommon; if he had lower rank, he might have simply been banished or even killed. But what Vorkat witnessed now suggested that the count's son hadn't resigned himself to obscurity.
Here he came because he'd heard rumors that a new wine was being produced here, which among aristocrats already sold for five gold coins per jug, while according to gossip, baron's price was only seventy gold coins per barrel.
Considering that a single barrel contained fifty jugs, potential profits seemed astronomical.
This wine gained recognition at Count Shermannin's banquet, and since then, Vorkat searched tirelessly for its maker. He understood he wouldn't be alone in finding the producer, but hoped to secure a deal first, which would enrich him beyond measure.
Victor sat in his study when one of the guards posted outside informed him of a messenger arriving from soldiers guarding serfs working on the road construction.
— A caravan? — Victor asked the kneeling soldier.
— Yes, sir, three wagons loaded with goods and a coach without any heraldry. The merchant is named Vorkat, they'll arrive within four hours, — reported the soldier.
Dismissing the messenger, he sat in his chair contemplating what he'd just learned. The nobleman anticipated merchants wouldn't miss such an opportunity, yet didn't expect them to arrive so quickly.
Victor hadn't prepared all the goods intended for sale. Only wine and salt were ready, but another product he experimented with wasn't close to completion.
On his orders, a soap factory had been constructed, though it bore that name loosely. After two days of research, he still couldn't produce usable soap bars.
It either ended up too greasy, leaving hands feeling oily, or irritated skin even on bronze knights' hands.
In this world, the lord couldn't find ordinary soap, making daily hygiene difficult for someone accustomed to washing hands and taking showers with soap.
However, he merely knew how to make it theoretically. Unlike salt production, where the process was clear, he lacked knowledge of soap-making techniques, relying solely on ingredients. Thus, he instructed serfs to discover the proper balance themselves, specifying his expectations.
Even animal fat had to be purchased from neighbors, as his estate housed only cattle bought for labor purposes rather than slaughter.
Contemplating next steps, Victor headed off to training. Daily workouts had become habitual, especially since he needed little more effort to enhance armor proficiency.
Upon reaching the practice yard, he encountered Alganis waiting for him with a pleased smile.
They took positions when suddenly a maid rushed in panic, announcing demonic animals attacked the village.
Victor looked sharply at the knight and instantly ordered troops assembled.
Within minutes, six soldiers stood in the castle courtyard, mounting horses behind their lord and galloping toward the northern village across the river from Dark Forest.
Soldiers claimed monsters rarely assaulted villages during summer; typically, they sought food only in winter when forest supplies dwindled.
But this information offered no practical use, as currently his concern lay in whether he could handle the situation.
Demonic creatures are regular animals mutated under demonic energy influence. Fortunately, not all animals can mutate; usually, this energy kills them outright. However, those who do transform go mad, becoming far deadlier.
An hour later, the squad arrived at the village, confronting a gruesome scene. Bodies littered the streets, while others huddled around wounded villagers.
A village elder hurried towards them, reporting that the animals had fled. Three deaths occurred, with six injured.
Victor dismounted and approached the wounded. Most suffered minor injuries, except for one man whose leg displayed a severe gash. From appearances, he would die from blood loss soon.
"In my world, we would stitch this wound, give tetanus shots, and discharge him from hospital within a week," Victor mused.
— Bring warm boiled water, — he commanded, looking at the victim.
People nearby failed to grasp what their master meant until the knight bellowed, prompting action. Beside the wounded man remained only a crying woman seated on the ground, comforted by a small girl aged around five stroking her head. Evidently, she was married to the injured man, and the child belonged to them.
While everyone searched for water, he removed his jacket and rolled it tightly, pressing it against the wound. Instructing the woman to hold the jacket in place, he detached his laird pin from his chest.
The pin featured the family crest. His own pin was copper-colored, signifying his status as a baron, displaying a shield entwined with thorns. This simplified version served only to announce his identity as a landowner.
His full coat of arms included a shield depicting a griffin holding a snake, encircled by thorns. The griffin and snake represented House Shermannin, the shield indicated defense of borders, and the thorns symbolized personal emblem. If he lost his domain, he retained only the vine of thorns.
Detaching the crest from the pin, he undid his garment string, obtaining a thin thread-like material. With bronze-knight strength, he bent the pin around the thread, fashioning something resembling a sewing needle. Then he squeezed the pin further, attempting to sharpen it as finely as possible.
All these actions unfolded under astonished gazes. Their lord knelt beside a serf, sacrificing his clothing to save him.
Five minutes later, a runner returned carrying boiling-hot water.
Plunging the needle and thread into the scalding liquid, he tore fabric from his shirt but couldn't cleanse the wound with boiling water.
— We need cooler water, — muttered the lord softly.
— I'll take care of it, — said the silent knight.
Touching the water, Alganis cooled it, neither freezing nor retaining heat.
Once the lord received suitable water, he rinsed the wound thoroughly before beginning to sew muscles slipping like worms beneath his fingers, preventing proper closure.
At the sight, the woman fainted, followed swiftly by two others. Two soldiers vomited upon witnessing the spectacle.
Their master ignored everything, despite nausea from handling warm flesh. He continued stitching terribly ineptly due to his inexperience. Luckily, the wound wasn't large.
Twenty minutes passed before the wound closed, appearing horribly uneven but sufficient to stop bleeding.
— Send soldiers to fetch a priest from neighboring territories and bring him here, — ordered the lord.
Priests blessed by holy light possessed healing skills capable of treating patients. Although he stitched the wound, infection worried him, as did blood loss combined with an open injury potentially leading to death.
Afterward, he rose and returned to his horse.
— My lord, you shouldn't act thus; your reputation may suffer, — cautioned Alganis.
He refrained from speaking earlier, respecting his master's focus, but now felt compelled to voice concerns privately.
In this realm, touching serfs was considered shameful, let alone saving lives and donating clothes.
— Take soldiers and investigate what's happened to those animals, — commanded Victor, avoiding debate.
As the knight departed with soldiers, Victor rode back to the castle.
Lulu greeted him at the entrance, bursting into tears again after seeing him covered in blood.
She rushed forward to inspect him thoroughly, calming only once assured he was safe.
Accompanied by a maid, he proceeded to the bathhouse. Though calling a hot-water tub a bathroom stretched reality.
— The traders have arrived and wish to purchase wine, — announced the entering butler.
— Tell them I'll meet personally, — replied Victor, submerged neck-deep in the wooden tub.
The elderly butler watched him hesitantly, refusing to leave.
— My lord, I cannot allow this; meeting with traders diminishes a nobleman's dignity, —protested the butler eventually.
Free traders occupied society's lowest rung, despised more than serfs.
Being caught in bed with a serf woman caused less scandal than personally meeting a trader.
Yet Victor refused negotiation via servants, recognizing traders as sources of profit and valuable insights about the world.
They observed events throughout the kingdom and neighboring regions, providing advantages for commerce and warfare alike.
— Do as I say, — ordered Victor firmly.
The butler turned and left without further argument, acknowledging even one objection was excessive.
Outside, he invited the traders inside the castle.
Traders hesitated, however, fearing repercussions. Meeting even the butler of a nobleman was rare.
Typically, acting as representatives of houses, they avoided behaviors harmful to nobility. Personal meetings with traders were deemed detrimental.
Now offered entry into the castle, the outcome for them could prove dire.
Any rule violation within would justify execution. Refusing to follow the butler risked whipping, confiscation of goods, and expulsion from the territory. Vorkat faced a choice, neither option appealing.
Ultimately, he left companions outside and decided to enter alone.
Victor sat near the fireplace in the dining hall conversing with Lulu standing beside his armchair trying to explain something.
Jin disapproved, having accepted long ago that his master differed from typical noblemen.
— Lord, this is Vorkat, a trader, — introduced the butler formally.
The lord straightened and gestured for the maid to depart, instructing the trader to approach closer.
Before him stood a thirty-year-old man of average height, slightly plump, sporting neatly trimmed beard. His face appeared ordinary, nose bulbous, eyes darting blue.
— You've come to buy wine, — stated Victor plainly, omitting questions. He preferred clarity instead of playing games.
— Yes, my lord, I've heard there's wine produced here and hastened here directly, — responded the trader promptly, keeping his gaze lowered.
Victor paused briefly before ordering a glass of wine brought to the trader. Within moments, wine filled a wooden cup handed to Vorkat.
Jin would never permit crystal goblets crafted by alchemists used for mere traders. Each cost upwards of two hundred gold coins, often passed down generations.
Vorkat wavered uncertainly. Aware of the drink's value, even the portion in his mug could reach ten gold coins among aristocrats. Meanwhile, his annual income last year totaled eleven gold coins.
Nonetheless, he sipped cautiously. Wine burned throat and stomach initially, yielding a subtle fruity aroma afterward. Surprised, he inspected the bottom of the transparent liquid-filled cup. Unlike local murky wines.
— I want you to represent house Baltes as our official trader, — declared Victor, uninterested in simple transactions. He desired his own caravan.
Nobility's traders were typically house servants functioning as agents, flying flags bearing their master's crests. These agents fundamentally differed from free traders.
The man collapsed to his knees expressing gratitude. No doubts arose; none would decline such honorable position, offering substantial benefits.
Access granted to other nobles and household products awaited the new representative. All required obedience to his master's commands. In return, he enjoyed protection under his master, ensuring any harm befell him became his master's responsibility.
Victor stared curiously at the prostrate figure. Unlike the trader, he didn't comprehend these customs fully. Offering this role specifically to Vorkat demonstrated sound judgment. A person able to react rapidly and decide decisively must possess luck or vision—qualities highly valued by him.