Vicount Blam departed the next day, having negotiated investments and promising to bring people to Baltes—primarily specialists like masons, carpenters, blacksmiths, tailors, and tanners.
In return, Victor provided him with wine not yet available in the kingdom, earmarked for future trade with dwarves.
As soon as outsiders were gone, Victor proceeded to finalize the final stage of implementing his brick factory project.
Another meeting with the count was scheduled, but word from his envoy indicated urgent matters had drawn him back to his own lands. Recalling the envoy's arrival, Victor suddenly remembered the duke's letter.
Over the past few days, so much had transpired that the young man had forgotten everything, while the butler, knowing the sender, assumed his master would not dismiss it as irrelevant paper.
Reading the missive, its content delivered little cheer, announcing Sylvia's arrival on his territory and specifying that the wedding ceremony would occur there.
Unquestionably, the news was unpleasant, compounded by the fact that he currently lacked suitable quarters for hosting such a dignitary.
Even his bedchamber was occupied by Linea, transferred there before he could react.
The pressing issue of constructing a residence intensified, yet his dominion refused to wait while he sorted out his predicaments.
Plenty of dilemmas loomed: the kiln was nearly completed, Baron Clint was expected the next day, wine and salt reserves were insufficient, merchants complained about inadequate lodging facilities, and a host of other quandaries demanded resolution—all exacerbated by an impending wedding.
Prioritizing, the lord first visited the brick factory, now somewhat resembling a legitimate operation. Arriving on-site, he inspected a fully functional firing kiln identical to the one envisioned in his mind.
Witnessing the loading of the first batch of ten thousand bricks, he savored the fruits of his labor, then proceeded to Rivenhall, where blacksmiths diligently prepared a new forge. Various gears and logs were ready, and the waterwheel installed, albeit much work remained. Two industrious dwarves toiled ceaselessly to implement the project.
Surveying the site, Victor journeyed to Ironwood, needing to address grievances voiced by merchants he couldn't alienate, as their faith in his territory was still nascent. His direct intervention remained imperative.
Certainly, once bricks and concrete became available, many such disputes would fade, but surviving until then was paramount.
En route to the village with Linea, dark clouds gathered overhead. Moments earlier, the sky had been clear and sunny, but abruptly transformed into a mass of gloomy, heavy clouds portending rain.
The swift change did not permit preparation. A wall of raindrops charged toward them, engulfing them within seconds.
At that moment, Victor yearned for the shelter of a carriage, as his attire was ill-prepared for inclement weather, and muddy paths rendered horseback riding hazardous.
Consequently, they dismounted and commenced walking toward the village, doubling their travel duration from one hour to four.
Still, amidst adversity, Victor sought positives. An idea dawned on him, potentially wild in this world, yet poised to generate vast returns!
Public transportation—nonexistent here—was ripe for exploitation. Pedestrians predominated, while equines were affordable only for merchants and nobles. What if he manufactured coaches seating ten to twelve passengers, hitched to teams of two horses?
"They could ferry people and cargo between villages! Moreover, I could organize postal services and cargo delivery under armed escorts. Merchants could abandon maintaining wagons, opting instead for my freight service. If priced reasonably, I could monopolize shipping!"
Simultaneously, he visualized strategically placing stations along routes, providing rest stops and horse exchanges for staff.
"And if this succeeds, I could establish an intelligence network across the kingdom," espionage never ceased gnawing at his mind. Staying abreast of pivotal developments was vital, lest he be blindsided by events orchestrated by third parties.
Two hours trudging through torrential rain left them soaked to the bone. Victor, lost in thought, neglected Lineas' condition, who shivered violently despite hiding her discomfort. Turning to assess her, he immediately detected signs of distress.
"She shouldn't react so drastically to rain, let alone frost. What's happening?"
Tracing their steps mentally, he noted her pallor and slight cyanosis of lips.
"Are you feeling unwell? Is everything okay?" he finally inquired.
"No, I'm fine, just cold," she instantly reassured him, though her voice quavered weakly.
"This makes no sense! She's clearly in dire straits!"
Two more hours to the village loomed ahead, but her deteriorating state foreshadowed grave consequences. They might not reach it alive.
Victor deliberated urgently when a thunderclap echoed behind him. Spinning around, he spotted Linea unconscious on the ground.
Discarding the reins, he lunged toward her, kneeling and raising her head to examine her pulse. Faint but irregular beats pulsed beneath his fingers, and her skin felt alarmingly cold.
Desperate to warm her, he surveyed their surroundings, spotting only their horses and featureless terrain bereft of cover. Momentarily entertaining the absurd idea of slaughtering a horse for warmth, he discarded it as irrational.
Scouring his inventory for alternatives, he found fur-lined cloaks and a strangely luminescent stone, emitting soft light. Clasping it, he felt its warmth and instinctively tucked it beneath her breastplate.
Securing Linea atop a horse and wrapping her in cloaks, he trudged toward Ironwood, arriving two hours later.
Entering the village, he hastened to the mayor's residence, bursting in unceremoniously with Linea slung over his shoulder. Inside, villagers huddled silently around a tiny fire pit fashioned from stacked stones, illuminating the dim interior.
Smoke permeated the air, reeking of carbon monoxide, but Victor recognized this method of heating homes, absent any alternative heating systems in this world.
— Milord! — exclaimed the occupants, scrambling to their feet and bowing.
— Malik, run to the guard post and relay this message: fetch my carriage and send a physician from Selitas immediately. Offer him ten gold coins, urging haste. If he refuses, drag him here forcefully, — Victor commanded.
Terrified, the man stared at his lord, unsure of protocol regarding religious figures. Undoubtedly, nobles could impose no penalties, but common soldiers faced strictures. Regaining composure, he glanced at the limp figure draped over Victor's shoulders.
His father also rose, timidly suggesting she be laid on straw mattresses used as beds.
Fearful of antagonizing the lord, he feared reprisal—a realistic concern in this world, where ninety-nine percent of nobles would grow irate and possibly murder a peasant.
Fortunately, Victor acted reasonably, lifting Linea onto the mattress and inspecting her pulse again. Surprisingly, her temperature had risen, and her heartbeat quickened.
"Perhaps the stone warmed her somewhat; hopefully, the indoor warmth will suffice. Losing such a lovely girl would be tragic. Surrounding me are only men and Lulu, who's lately disappearing with Linea or other nobles."
Distractedly, he reflected on his maidservant's recent avoidance tendencies.
"I need to discover what's causing this: she's excessively timid; I might have frightened her." Propping himself against the wall beside Linea, he mused.
Lost in thought, he failed to note his drooping eyelids slipping into slumber.
Awakening to footsteps, he blinked open his eyes, confronting four soldiers, while opposite them sat the household: the mayor, his wife, and son, watching apprehensively.
— Milord, we've fetched the physician, — Alganis announced, entering with a priest.
— How long was I asleep? — Victor inquired, noticing excessive numbers of soldiers and their dry armor, indicating they'd been present for hours.
— Five hours, milord. We refrained from disturbing you, awaiting the doctor, — he explained, gesturing toward the cleric.
Merely glancing at Linea, the lord yielded judgment to the physician, stepping outside, where the absence of noise suggested either cessation or diminution of rainfall.
Eager to escape the fetid odor mingling smoke, decay, and dampness, he paused, recognizing fatigue-induced nausea, yielding yet another inspiration: improving life for his subjects.
Earth's medieval era employed brick and stone ovens with chimneys, but he conceived a simpler solution. A simple iron stove could revolutionize domestic heating overnight.
Such a device would reduce fire hazards, facilitate installation, and, coupled with upcoming iron mines, equip every home in Baltes.
None in this world would appreciate his vision, but he viewed residents as integral to his dominion, valuing them more than mere assets. Monetary gains abounded, but exploiting one's populace in current circumstances was morally bankrupt.
Charging fees for survival equated to extorting workers dependent on him.
Additionally, monthly reports indicated increased productivity among his subjects, affirming that even minor positive gestures generated rapid responses.
Pondering these insights, he lingered at the doorway, awaiting the physician's departure. Eventually, the cleric emerged, pausing beside him.
— What's her prognosis? — Victor asked, recovering awareness.
— She suffers from a congenital illness, beyond my ability to cure, — the priest lamented, sounding sincere.
Confused, Victor struggled to comprehend his diagnosis, convinced magic could heal all ailments.
— What disease is this? — he pressed.
— It's called 'Liert'. Her heart struggles to function autonomously, — the priest elaborated.
From his explanation, affected infants born with such hearts might overcome weakness upon achieving Diamond-class magic levels, enabling their secondary magical heart to compensate. However, documented cases were sparse.
Attaining Diamond class amplified heart strength, effectively duplicating the organ magically, forming the foundation of this hypothesis.
— Will she succumb? — Victor worried.
— She survives as a regular person, but all her magical powers exhaust themselves sustaining her heart, — the priest concluded sorrowfully, evidently touched by her fate.
"It explains why she seeks my tutelage, never attempting escape despite frequent opportunities. Silver Knight though she is, Alganis isn't always by her side."
— Thank you, — Victor acknowledged, directing Alganis to settle accounts with the priest and arrange his return.
Pausing mid-step...
— I want you to stay on my territory, — he addressed the cleric. — Name your price.
All around froze, perceiving this as a curse upon the holy man. Yet the priest turned calmly, replying without hesitation.
— Money holds no value. Whatever I earn goes to orphans in Selitas, — he disclosed.
"Indeed, he cares deeply for her; such kindness exists."
— Remain here, and I'll establish an orphanage supported entirely by my demesne, irrespective of the number of children you gather, — Victor declared, unable to resist the opportunity.
— Priesthood earns no income. All I earn goes to orphans in Selitas, — the priest disclosed.
"Clearly, he genuinely cares for her; such compassion does exist."
— Remain here, and I'll establish an orphanage funded entirely by my demesne, regardless of the number of children you gather, — Victor declared, unable to resist the opportunity.
Priests were literate and educated; fostering literacy among children raised by this monk would groom future literate citizens loyal to Baltes. Rejecting such an advantage was inconceivable.
Stunned, not only the priest but all witnesses stood motionless.
— Construct the orphanage first, and I'll arrive with children that same day, — the priest bowed, exiting gracefully.
Simultaneously elated and reflective, Victor absorbed the burden of caring for a delicate girl susceptible to fatal illnesses.
"Where there's a will, there's a way! We'll manage!" he shrugged dismissively. — "Whatever happens, happens!"