Victor stood at the castle gates, awaiting the arrival of the count. Soldiers dispatched with messages should have returned earlier to warn of his approach, but the notification came from patrols securing exits from the barony.
According to etiquette, visiting nobles crossing another's territory were expected to slow down, giving hosts time to prepare, even if the visit was preannounced.
Otherwise, with horses like the count's, patrol riders would barely have time to notify their lord.
This rule was the only aspect of noble conduct Victor fully understood.
It dated back to wartime, when guards, mistaking visitors for enemies, accidentally granted access to opposing forces.
Currently, twenty soldiers from the barony were gathered here, and although Victor had more knights, the issue was uniform weaponry, specifically two-handed swords. Alganis paced along the row, conducting final checks to prevent errors.
He was exceptionally pleased with the training regiment imposed by their lord. The soldiers moved in perfect synchronization, their movements seamless, like a unified machine.
Positioned symmetrically on either side of the gate, they stood rigidly, left hands resting on sword hilts at their waists, right hands hanging loosely by their sides, presenting a remarkably elegant display.
Their left hands rested on swords not for show but to stabilize blades, preventing tips from touching the ground.
Due to their length, these swords were awkward to wear, but Victor insisted they greet guests with them, rehearsing movements to emphasize the count's importance.
Finally, cavalry bearing the Shermanyn coat of arms appeared, visible even from a distance.
Victor admired the horses ridden by knights, wishing his soldiers could ride such mounts. Gold could buy them, but feeding them would be problematic. Secretly, he vowed to obtain similar horses someday, or perhaps even better ones, though he had no idea if they existed.
The column of two hundred knights neared the castle gates, and the carriage escorted by the cavalcade halted as soon as it crossed the threshold.
Soldiers moved as one, stepping forward and drawing swords simultaneously, clasping handles with both hands and slamming them against chest plates.
Guards colliding produced a resonant metallic clang, drawing everyone's attention.
At that moment, Victor felt a wave of magic radiating from the knight standing by the carriage door.
He recognised this individual, Captain of the Guard, renowned for his ethereal beauty, often mistaken for a female by the previous inhabitant of this body. Seeing him now, Victor couldn't help wondering the same.
Once the magic aura, presumably Elian's precautionary scan, dissipated, he opened the carriage door, and the count emerged, fixing his gaze on the barony's soldiers.
Every soldier held their swords aloft, edges facing inward, turning their heads in unison toward the count.
Feigning ignorance, Victor approached first, bowing and formally inviting the count into the castle.
Accepting the invitation, Alexander Shermanyn strolled between soldiers, flanked by four knights, who executed precise maneuvers as he passed each soldier, flipping their swords flat, like doors opening, and tilting their heads toward the guest. The movement was minor but effective, accentuated by the metallic sounds.
The count smiled approvingly, impressed by this unprecedented greeting. Typically, soldiers played no role in welcoming nobility; at best, knights would assemble for ducal or royal audiences.
In fact, the count, observing his son's castle, was displeased, but not with Victor, rather with those who constructed it. In his view, this structure resembled a barn rather than a fortress.
Castles built on conquered or colonized lands were funded by settlers. This territory originally belonged to the county before transferring ownership to Victor, meaning its construction was financed by the county.
However, what he saw now did not match his expectations. Built roughly thirty years ago under the supervision of Alexander's deceased father, it appeared incomplete, likely due to embezzlement by officials.
Stopping at the castle entrance, where servants were arranged, he turned to his captain.
— Old friend, what's your opinion on this castle? — he asked cryptically, confusing everyone, including Victor, and nearly inducing cardiac arrest in the poor butler, who'd worked tirelessly to spruce up the place.
— Perhaps we should consult those who built it, or their descendants, — Elian replied playfully, summoning two guards and issuing a low whisper, inaudible to others, sending eight knights galloping away.
After this interlude, everyone entered the castle, and the count was conducted to the drawing room, where a welcoming luncheon was laid out. Victor deferred his seat to the guest, taking a place to his right. Usually, precedence at tables was reserved for dukes or kings, but this case was exceptional: the count was both Victor's superior and his father, legitimizing this exception.
Joining them at the table were Linea and Elian, who, unlike Alganis, had earned the privilege to sit here.
Alganis' situation was trickier due to the count's higher rank, which prevented a regular knight from sharing the table without express permission.
Servants began serving courses, and it was time to surprise the count again, as today's menu featured Victor's experimental recipes. Soups similar to borshch graced the table, though he had to adapt local ingredients to recreate it.
Though dubbed borshch, it bore little resemblance to the original, lacking essential components. Still, the flavour was superb, and the inclusion of cooked meat, not just fried, delighted him.
He also contributed recipes for stews and braised chicken, all of which were served, intriguing the count.
After lunch, they relocated to the fireplace, where the count lit something resembling cigars, more medicinal than recreational. Crafted for knights, they were infused with alchemist-made potions.
Alexander Shermanyn was not an outstanding knight in the family lineage; his strength lagged far behind other counts. Some whispered that his peers had attained diamond-level prowess, while others surpassed even that.
Whether true or false, nobles tended to believe the worst, which elevated Elian Forests' role as both captain and crutch for the territory until Andreas came of age.
Seated comfortably, the count finally broached the topic, requesting lessons for his cooks in the dishes sampled at lunch.
— Simple enough, Father. Jin will handle it, — Victor replied, relishing this small victory. — May I ask when we'll proceed to the mine?
Unlike local nobles prone to stretching tasks indefinitely, he was unusually impatient.
— Tell me first, what do you seek in exchange for this mine? — the count deflected.
Victor already had a price in mind for such a vein. Despite its remote location and challenges in defending it, it was legally his property, immune even to royal claims.
— Father, I want two iron mines, — he declared.
Silence descended on the room. What he requested was no trivial matter. Mythril was invaluable, but the county boasted only seven iron mines, three of which were nearly depleted. Requesting two viable ones would cripple the county's resources.
Unexpectedly, the count showed no reaction, remaining composed.
— You won't get that many, — he stated curtly. — I'll grant you the title of Viscount and one mine.
Barons normally did not ascend titles so quickly, making this proposition scandalous, but what followed was even more outrageous.
— I don't need a title; I need iron, — Victor insisted, sipping wine with utmost calm.
— That boy takes after you more than your spoiled cousin, — Elian chuckled, observing the exchange. — Are you sure you didn't appoint the wrong heir?
Jin nearly fainted from the shock of such provocative remarks uttered in front of servants, a gross violation of decorum.
Even the count shot a glance at the speaking elf but returned to discussing terms with his son.
— Why are you so fixated on iron mines? — he inquired.
— I have ambitious plans that require iron, not a title, — Victor countered.
— Have you already selected specific mines?
Answering indirectly, he signaled Jin, who promptly produced a parchment map of the county.
Spreading it on a coffee table before his father, Victor pointed to two locations.
— These two.
Marked on the general map were all existing mines, and he indicated the closest to his territory. One was newly operational, the other nearly depleted.
But "exhausted" applied only to locals employing primitive methods and outdated tools. Unlike them, Victor possessed advanced knowledge of ore extraction, prioritizing proximity. Their positions maximized accessibility.
Acknowledging his son's firm resolve, the count finally acquiesced to these terms, mentioning after another glass of wine that soldiers would depart tomorrow. He added that he required serfs for constructing a fort at the mythril mine.
Obviously, this posed no difficulty, partially arranged in advance.
Once the fort was erected and garrisoned by the count's troops, the north would be secure. Hoisting the count's banner over the fort would signify an attack on it as an assault on the entire county, rallying support from fellow nobles.
In one stroke, he resolved two issues, marking this as an ideal solution.
Retiring to his assigned bedroom—formerly Victor's, vacated by Linea—the count left the lord buoyant with success, proceeding outdoors toward Rivenhall. Secure in obtaining iron, he now focused on developing a new industry: metalworking.
Initially, this would involve foundries, evolving into full-scale factories later.
However, as he and Linea approached the exit, the count's voice rang out.
— Incidentally, I brought you a personal letter from the duke, — he announced. — I'll send it later.
Victor's mood soured instantly, having temporarily forgotten this affair and not wanting to remember it.
Linea, ever-present by the baron's side, noticed his shift in demeanor, though she couldn't identify its cause.
Composing himself, he exited the castle and strode toward the village, seeking distraction from his thoughts and clues to increasing his strength.
Opening his system menu, he discovered no significant changes except for a new skill titled "Fanaticism."
"This must be what I used last time. Odd name, but the effect was overwhelming."
Reviewing his menu, he decided to try reading the paladin diary again, surreptitiously withdrawing it from his inventory.
Exerting maximum effort, the journal remained stubbornly closed, but new runes surfaced, morphing into coherent phrases.
"The door opens when believers find the path."
Victor stared blankly at the diary, completely mystified.
"Believers — who are they? Is there a door? Am I supposed to be worshipped?"
Happy to receive fresh information, he nonetheless failed to decipher its meaning.