A month had passed since the launch of brick production and the resolution of the issue with Baron Clint.
That morning, Victor woke up with his teeth chattering from the cold, tormented by nightmares. Opening his eyes, he was relieved to find it was just a dream, for the visions had been horrific.
Scenes replayed in his mind: prisoners suspended from ceilings, their flesh stripped off, while he hung helplessly from an adjacent hook.
Relieved it was a nightmare, he calmed down, only to sink into despondency moments later. The chill in his room was bitter, not far from sleeping outdoors.
Snowflakes occasionally drifted through his small window, signifying winter's onset, leaving him with little time. The lord knew that soon, messages from across the kingdom would flood in, repeating the same tale.
All his efforts had proven futile. Despite his best attempts, he hadn't erected new homes for residents or supplied them with proper clothing. Food purchases, drained from incoming revenue, could sustain them only through a brief winter; if it extended, disaster loomed.
Days blended into monotony, and today promised no exception. Departing his room, however, he encountered Jinn, who announced the arrival of a caravan from Vicount Blam—indicating the promised experts had arrived.
Skipping breakfast and training, the lord rushed to Ironwood to inspect the caravan. Within an hour, he stood before a throng of people and over thirty loaded wagons.
Scanning the crowd, Victor quickly spotted the vicount's carriage and moved toward it.
Standing before it, however, he did not find the vicount but a tall, slender woman concealed behind a veil.
Captivated by her azure eyes, Victor wondered if they were truly exceptional or accentuated by the veil, much like cat-like pupils.
Golden locks cascading over her face added charm, enhancing her mystique.
Oddly, he found wearing a veil curious. Even princesses and royal wives eschewed face-covering garments.
Carefully studying her, he discerned a voluptuous figure wrapped in luxurious white furs, failing to obscure her striking attributes.
— Who are you? — he finally inquired.
— Sent by Vicount Blam, — she melodiously replied. — He mentioned you needed educated individuals.
"Nolla, clever chap, sending me an attractive spy masquerading as an assistant."
Anyone could deduce why it was a woman—and one so stunning.
— True, but you haven't introduced yourself, — Victor persisted.
— Apologies, my lord. I am Shona Mirin, — she formally introduced herself, but her surname betrayed her commoner roots.
Uninterested in further questioning, he focused on the arrivals and cargo.
Shona retrieved a parchment detailing numbers and skills of the newcomers.
Surprisingly, several rolls listed everything meticulously, including age and literacy levels.
Eight hundred thirty-six people had arrived, comprising two blacksmiths, fifty-seven tanners, thirty tailors, forty-one masons, and their dependents.
The total was suspiciously large to be credible. Specialists couldn't simply migrate en masse to a remote region, especially on the eve of winter, and these professions seldom experienced economic downturns.
— Shona, where did all these people originate? — he queried.
— My lord, they're refugees from Vicount Kirmar's territory, devastated by demonic creatures, — she explained.
Kirmar's domain lay westward, distanced from Demon Mountains, historically untouched by attacks—until recently. These refugees were survivors purchased by Vicount Blam.
— What became of Vicount Kirmar? Why didn't he reintegrate his citizens? — Victor pursued.
— Kirmar abandoned his lands, abandoning his people, resulting in the king stripping him of his title and seizing his domain.
"No surprise... One of the few rules where the king doesn't need nobility council approval to depose a peer."
In this world, kings could not tolerate unauthorized flight by nobles fleeing danger, as it jeopardized the kingdom.
Establishing precedents was problematic. Once tolerated, it would proliferate unchecked.
— Are there still inhabitants on his lands? — His interest extended beyond artisans to include farmers, as his territory lacked sufficient workforce.
— None remain. Refugees were dispersed across various regions; these are leftovers Blam could purchase, — Shona clarified.
Her responses were concise, precise, and collected, traits the lord appreciated, as few interacted with nobles calmly and succinctly.
— You'll receive an escort. Head to the castle and await assignments, — he instructed, proceeding to the market.
Today marked the conclusion of sowing season, releasing fieldworkers to prepare for winter. The market should hum with usual activity.
Escorted by Linea, he neared the market, distancing himself from the crowd, when prayer murmurs assailed him from all directions, akin to sounds in a crowded square.
Energy within him spiraled out of control, suggesting imminent elevation in rank.
Hastily mounting his steed, he galloped away from the village, avoiding detection, but energy surged ferociously, halting his escape roughly two kilometers from Ironwood.
Dislodging himself, he grappled with the overflowing currents, like lava escaping fractured earth.
Invoking his armor, he sank to his knees, casting aside his shield and clutching his hammer vertically, concentrating solely on it to avoid distractions.
Linea, observing helplessly, could not fathom the spectacle unfolding before her.
She glimpsed the energy waves signifying rank advancement, yet the magnitude felt abnormal.
Victor ignored her, fixated on stabilizing himself, lest he explode, as every fiber screamed implosion.
People's prayers intensified, converging from all corners of his territory.
Suddenly, a woman's voice pierced the chaos.
— Goddess Iris, I pray to you, — she recited, only for the prayer to partially bounce back.
Devoid of clarity, he couldn't focus, as the situation worsened by the second. Paladin's control slipped entirely, witnessing his journal materialize from his inventory.
A small book floated before him, transforming within seconds into colossal golden gates, stretching one hundred meters high.
Mesmerized, Victor forgot his crisis, captivated by the gates swinging open, emitting a blinding flash.
Vision restored, he found himself floating in cosmic void.
— Where am I? — he asked, scanning his surroundings.
— Paladin, you stand in the realm of gods, — a female voice echoed omnipresently.
"Gods' realm? Are gods real?"
— Am I speaking to a goddess? — he queried, panicked.
— I am the echo of goddess Iris. All gods in this world are dead, and only paladins can resurrect us, — the voice intoned.
"Why should I revive gods? How do I accomplish this?"
— It is your calling, paladin. Without us, this world faces annihilation, — Iris answered his thoughts.
Fearing exposure, he curtailed mental discourse, redirecting focus elsewhere.
Goddesses heard prayers: some faintly, others strongly. War god Baltair, Iris inferred, received more frequent invocations. Reasons eluded her, but only paladins could "open the path," enabling prayers to reach gods, replenishing their energies and facilitating revival.
Victor never learned how to open this pathway, as Iris exhausted her energy summoning him here and transmitting the message.
Space began contracting, ejecting him... Soon, he knelt again, clutching his hammer, watching the gates close and the journal retreat into inventory.
Emerging from his trance, he realized he was not where he remembered, but inside a tent.
Hands stiffened, he released the hammer, gazing around to find guards and Linea, alongside Alganis, staring at him.
— How long was I in this state? — he queried, noticing their expressions.
— Three days, my lord. Immobilized, we couldn't move you, forcing us to pitch camp here, — Alganis informed him.
"Three days? I stood here statue-still for three whole days?!"
Struggling to rise, he leaned on guards for support, collapsing into a chair by the tent wall.
— Congratulations, my lord, on advancing to the silver rank, — Alganis announced, eliciting shock.
Though his progress had been consistent—training propelled him to middle-bronze tier—this leap advanced him two ranks, landing him at silver in just three days, astounding him.
"Given my recent conversation with a goddess and subsequent rebirth, maybe this isn't so surprising," he mused sardonically, shifting focus to updates from his domain.
Unexpectedly, he received gratifying news. Shona had integrated into Ironwood administration, managing trade efficiently. Jinn allocated arriving masters, reserving brick factories and vineyards for himself.
Initial shipments of limestone arrived, initiating trials for baking processes. Victor lacked specific knowledge on processing, relying on pre-planned experiment protocols for Jinn to follow.
Dwarves completed two furnaces and a hydraulic system, launching preliminary tests, though the smithy and blast furnace remained incomplete. They could commence armor and weapon production.
Best of all, Vikont Larik's connection surfaced. It turned out his father was accountable for constructing the defective castle on Baltes territory, referenced in conversations between Count Shermanyn and Eilian.
Penalties imposed a thousand-gold fine, half of which accrued to Victor, already deposited in the form of provisions, iron ore, and other essentials.
"This day aims to be the best of my life!" Victor grinned, reveling in unexpected blessings.