Victor rode to the seashore, intent on delivering new directives and checking on the progress of ongoing tasks.
Just an hour later, he arrived at the site, escorted by Algynis, who had remained silent throughout the journey and, ever since hearing his lord's queries, appeared lost in thought and somewhat distressed.
No sooner had the lord appeared on the shore than the village headman rushed over, looking increasingly robust each day.
Having welcomed his master, the headman guided him to the salt ponds, where a sizeable mound of salt had accumulated. From here, it was transported to the village, washed, and refined, gaining its distinctive white hue. However, there lay certain challenges in this process.
Salt absorbed moisture intensely, making long-term storage problematic, especially by the sea, as it risked petrifying into rock. Hence, it was conveyed to the village for treatment, packed into barrels pre-dried over open flames, then coated with tar from native trees. While imperfect, this procedure bought sufficient time for transport.
— Six more ponds must be excavated, repeating the same process; we'll need more salt, — Victor ordered.
— Yes, my lord, — responded the headman, delighted, hurrying off to carry out the instruction.
Staring at the sea, Victor longed to discover fishing methods, but could think of little besides fishing rods and nets. As for constructing a rod or identifying edible fish species, he had no clue whatsoever.
Contemplating this dilemma, he returned to his mount and galloped back to the castle. He harbored several proclamations aimed at his domain, wondering whether he was acting prematurely, given that the decrees might appear excessively drastic.
On the way, the knight silently shadowing the baron finally shook off his reverie and resolved to clarify what Victor meant by his query about knighthood.
— Algynis, have you ever reflected on the distinction between nobles and commoners? — he countered.
— My lord, everyone knows. Their magic is feeble, their minds dull; there's simply no basis for comparison, — retorted the knight.
"Of course, their thinking is impaired because they've been chronically malnourished since birth, impairing bodily growth and cognitive function. Lacking vital nutrients, even nobles don't differ substantially."
— Then what sets apart my exalted bloodline, and why did my magic disappear? Perhaps I'm not actually a noble? By sheer fortune, I acquired magic. Despite not sharing specifics, I assume you're already aware of this.
— My lord, I beg you, refrain from voicing such sacrilegious thoughts. You are the son of a count and descendent of one of history's greatest heroes! — interjected the knight abruptly.
Victor, unfamiliar with any tales tying him to legendary forebears, delved into the memories of his borrowed body, uncovering fragments.
A legend circulated that thousands of years ago, Shermannin's ancestor fought alongside nine others, defeating a dragon ravaging these lands.
Initially, three counts, two viscounts, and four barons from Armandell united forces to kill the dragon ruling present-day Lanteris. According to lore, they succeeded, elevating the three counts to dukes and granting titles of count to the viscounts and barons.
Five centuries later, they broke ties with weakened Armandell, founding their own realm. Thus arose the first King of Lanteris, flanked by two dukes and six counts.
At that point, marquis rank hadn't materialized, nor did anyone anticipate its emergence. One royal heir inherited a title that later became associated with opposition to the crown. For the last two hundred thirty years, all marquises aligned themselves against the throne.
While uncertain of the tale's veracity, it didn't matter; everyone believed it.
— Algynis, there's indeed a disparity between us, but it doesn't favor nobility. Were all nobles to vanish from this world, commoners would continue their existence. New nobles would emerge, declaring themselves superior, perpetuating the cycle, — Victor mused melancholically. — Conversely, should commoners cease to exist, nobles would perish from starvation. They can neither cultivate land nor prepare meals.
Plunged deeper into confusion, the knight grappled internally. His upbringing urged him to object vehemently, yet he lacked coherent arguments.
Preoccupied with these contradictory notions, they approached the castle gate, where Arthur dashed forth, taking hold of the horses' reins and guiding them toward the entrance.
Scarcely had they dismounted when Jinne approached, announcing the arrival of a messenger from Count Clint whose lands lay southward.
— My lord, the messenger awaits and inquired whether you'll dispatch a response immediately, — the steward queried.
Unhurried, Victor adapted to something peculiar in this realm: patience. Seemingly trivial affairs, like replying to letters, could wait several days, even reading unnecessary unless sent by a count or monarch.
— Inform him I'll decide once acquainted with the letter, — he declared, heading to the dining hall, ordering dinner en route.
Having composed himself, the baron seated himself at the laid table, pleasantly startled when served a novel dish reminiscent of salmon, surprisingly delectable. Ecstatic, Victor devoured two portions, quaffing wine brewed locally.
Apparently, Vorcat brought it from his latest voyage, specially preserved for his master.
Instantly inspired, Viktor conceived an idea. Refrigerators nonexistent in this world, nitrate extraction tediously arduous, yet he possessed salt. This allowed salting fish for distant shipment. Though he lacked suitable fishing grounds, spreading the technique promised to boost salt sales manifold.
True, this plan awaited future implementation, as current supplies couldn't meet demand. Per Vorcat's report, demand exceeded availability tenfold, with ample scope for expansion, considering they hadn't fully penetrated even a third of the kingdom.
Finishing supper, he proceeded to his study, finding a missive from the count.
Rather than opening it, he toyed idly with the envelope, contemplating his decrees. Returning to focus, he unsealed the letter, disclosing the count's intention to visit and requesting confirmation of a convenient date.
Broadly aware of the meeting's purpose—and expecting similar engagements ahead—Victor nonetheless valued this particular connection. Freeing himself from dependence on Hector, he wished to avoid being exploited via trade routes.
Although collusion against him was possible, confronting two adversaries offered greater advantage than facing one alone.
Pausing briefly, he penned a reply inviting the count anytime, assuring hospitality on Baltas territory.
Summoning Lulu, he entrusted her with the missive and resumed composing regulations.
By noon next day, a soldier marched through every village, summoning villagers to hear strange announcements from their lord.
Effective immediately, falling to one's knees before the lord was forbidden, wasting valuable peasant labor time best utilized working.
Framing it thus ensured their lord appeared greedy, reluctant to lose income—otherwise explaining such leniency would prove impossible, even to his own subjects, let alone fellow nobles.
Frankly, Victor despised waiting interminably for them to conclude ceremonial displays before addressing business.
Secondly, recruitment commenced for one hundred young men aged fourteen to eighteen into the lord's guard.
Simply put, such service enjoyed great prestige and profit. Mentioning wages was unnecessary; he expected multitudes to volunteer.
Lastly, the decree was strangest of all: twenty women under thirty, childless, were requested.
By mid-day, Vorcat arrived at the castle, preparing again for travel and keen to submit a personal account. Truthfully, he merely desired audience with his lord, relishing the opportunity to boast before other commoners.
Contrary to popular belief, nobles weren't omnipresent; serfs and commoners might live lifetimes without encountering theirs. An encounter granted memorable anecdotes for generations.
Aware of this dynamic, Victor received him cordially, albeit with intentions beyond mere courtesy. Hoping to teach the merchant decorum fitting for noble society, he sought to instill moderation in his conduct.
— My lord, demand for boxed salt is skyrocketing; I have orders for one-hundred-twenty-eight boxes, — reported Vorcat.
Surprised, Victor anticipated no more than fifty requests, yet he declined satisfying their needs.
— Take fifty and sell exclusively to highest-ranking nobles, informing others they might purchase salt on our territory if they send caravans here, — he directed the merchant.
Bewildered, Vorcat struggled to comprehend why his lord preferred fostering competition rather than monopolizing sales at higher prices. Dare he disagree, though, he dared not voice objections, bowing respectfully before setting off.
All parties reasoned similarly in this realm. Some nobles outright banned foreign traders, dispatching their own caravans to buy goods abroad and retail domestically at inflated rates. A foolish policy, Victor vowed never to emulate.
Mass distribution at lower cost yielded broader profits than individual sales at extortionate prices.
Post-conference, he faced no immediate duties, returning to the drawing-room, poring over a book on races indigenous to this world. Reading about dragons kindled curiosity, spurring him to investigate further. Provided the text wasn't pure fiction, one might encounter creatures ranging from gargoyles to harpies. Mermaids alone remained undocumented.
What Victor couldn't fathom was the origin of these magical beings, known solely through Earthly fairytales. Had there perhaps been a traveler from this world? Otherwise, how else could humans gain awareness of such entities?
Absorbed in study, occasionally strolling the rear yard, he passed another mundane day in this world.
Life here proved far drearier than anticipated. Amused by the prospect of romance, he even empathized with nobles driven mad by boredom, scrambling for diversions.
— Stop! Why did I delay so long? — illumination suddenly struck him.
"The simplest entertainments here are cards, checkers, backgammon, chess. Nothing simpler exists!"
Summoning the steward, he demanded a carpenter's attendance, rushing upstairs to sketch chess pieces.
Once finished, descending downstairs, the steward announced four carpenters waiting outside. Ignoring their number, Victor dismissed protests from Jinne and ventured out to greet them.
The carpenters gathered in the central courtyard, before the main entrance. Upon spotting their lord, they attempted to kneel, halted by his reminder of recent ordinances. Exchanging glances nervously, feet trembling beneath them, they ultimately maintained posture, watching expectantly as their lord displayed blueprints.
Using his hand for scale, Victor demonstrated dimensions of each figure, sketching boards onto whole cloth segments for easy wood transfer.
When workers dispersed, he returned to the castle, gratified by accomplishment. Within his mind stirred an explosive notion, poised to disrupt this dull realm and measureless nobility.
Cruelly ingenious, he feared himself momentarily. For even in his homeland, gambling establishments were restricted or confined to designated zones—casinos!
In a world where monotony drove individuals insane, and nobles lacked self-control, he might strip bare royalty itself.
He deferred execution indefinitely, resolving to erect a luxurious venue upon securing adequate protection, welcoming even imperial visitors.
These meditations occupied him as he retired to sleep, anticipating tomorrow's arrivals: newly recruited soldiers and women slated for specialized training, roles unprecedented in this realm.