After the episode with Lulu, Victor spent the rest of the day in his study, buried in paperwork, while simultaneously pondering things he might have overlooked. Indeed, he bore no guilt for this, as since arriving in this world, he had consistently lacked spare time.
He was an aristocrat, yet not a single day had he lived as one. Furthermore, the young man believed he wasn't doing enough, given how much needed to be accomplished, and of all his undertakings, only a handful had materialized.
All his ideas—or rather, not ideas but knowledge he'd brought from his former world—hadn't progressed to logical completion. Had this world not been so backward, these innovations would have already been widespread.
For example, he wondered why there was no elementary plow here, an invention dating back at least five thousand years on Earth.
According to his assumption, chronic malnutrition and the absence of schools for lower classes meant serfs lagged behind cognitively, while aristocrats cared little about crop cultivation and harvesting methods.
Why would an aristocrat or merchant worry about increasing yields? If there was no harvest, serfs were simply lazy, and taxes should be hiked to ninety or even one hundred percent to teach them discipline.
Due to this mindset, Limai's culinary offerings were incredibly limited, with variety sustained by imported spices from ogre territory and herbs from the Eternal Forest, as humans grew and harvested nothing besides grains and legumes.
These seemingly minor obstacles to progress went unaddressed, as no one could tackle them. Even basic fireplaces in serf dwellings were rudimentary, resembling fireplaces with no ventilation, relying on holes in the ceiling instead of chimneys. Building a chimney required a mason, whose services were exorbitantly expensive, and no serf could afford it financially, while lords showed no concern.
The issue wasn't hatred toward their people but complete indifference—as if they didn't exist. Aristocrats believed they survived thanks to serfdom, not vice versa, and partly, this was true.
Monsters invaded borders, and someone had to protect them, while serfs paid for this with their labor, which resembled extortion.
Initially, Victor hadn't given much thought to these dynamics, viewing them simplistically, but the longer he stayed in this world, the better he understood its mechanisms.
He didn't excuse aristocrats but gained insight into their motivations, ceasing to label them all idiots, as there were pragmatic examples like Count Shermanyn, Count Lisoto, Duke Lemoville, and others he collaborated with or encountered.
***
Early the next morning, he finally regained composure, shaking off the aftermath of his level-up.
Today's schedule was equally busy, as usual, but his workload diminished considerably since he had gained an assistant, Shona, whom he hadn't seen much of, despite her living in the castle.
Since dawn, she traveled to Ironwood, managing traders and village affairs, returning late at night, especially when the lord suddenly "disappeared."
Victor planned to meet her in the village but first had business to attend to, starting with a trip to Rivenhall, accompanied by Linea.
Along the way, he habitually surveyed his lands, familiar with every bush, while engaging in conversation with the girl, who had become more chatty and friendly.
She now initiated conversations herself and occasionally cracked jokes, surprising Victor, who had regarded her as an "icy block."
The only irritation was the roads, reduced to slippery mud by snow, making movement difficult for horses.
He badly wanted to construct roads across his estates to foster development, but that remained a dream.
Complaining about those who built roads and the vicount who placed the castle so far from villages, the lord finally reached Rivenhall and headed straight to the smithy.
Hammer strikes rang clearly from a hundred yards away, indicating at least a dozen smiths were hard at work, but upon closer inspection, they found two hydraulic hammers and five human smiths, energetically shaping metal.
Noticing the lord, everyone except the dwarves paused to greet him. One smith even knelt, attracting attention, but before Victor could react, Karram nudged him, explaining that kneeling was reserved for nobles, not lords.
The forty-year-old man glanced incredulously at the smith, then at the baron, and, seeing no objection, slowly rose.
"It's strange; the smith appears to be a serf, typically free men unless indebted or captured in war."
This thought flickered briefly in Victor's mind, but he deferred it, instead asking everyone to assemble. Predictably, only humans complied, while dwarves ignored him, continuing their work, compelling him to patiently wait until they finished.
Finally, when everyone gathered around him, the young man produced three parchments with varying schematics, beginning with one depicting an iron barrel-like object.
— What is this? Another weapon? — Geldor asked, wiping sweat from his brow and neck with a dirty cloth.
— It's a stove, a simple household stove, — Victor chuckled, proceeding to explain the drawings, focusing on human smiths, as they would handle this relatively simple project.
Illustrating functionality, the lord presented another similar design: a stackable stove consisting of four rings, each twenty centimeters wide, designed to nest together when disassembled. Although the design was more intricate than standard models, only ten units were required.
This collapsible stove type he intended for campaigns, as he didn't want to endure harsh nights himself or subject his soldiers to them.
After thoroughly explaining the situation, he turned to the dwarves, who awaited instructions, naturally having something for them as well.
The lord displayed a schematic of a Roman legionnaire's shield—scutum—to be used by his soldiers. Unlike Romans, who crafted wooden shields reinforced with iron or bronze, his shields would be entirely metallic, incorporating mithril.
— You want to add mithril to the shields of ordinary soldiers? — Geldor griped, gripping his hammer as if ready to strike Victor for such sacrilege.
Dwarves regularly used shields but never contemplated adding mithril, as they preferred simply thickening the shield for durability.
However, Victor understood that, unlike dwarves, humans lacked extraordinary physical strength and endurance.
Even an iron knight would struggle to wield a dwarf-made shield, let alone fight with it.
Moreover, the shield had to withstand blows from at least a bronze-tier knight's sword, necessitating the inclusion of mithril.
Of course, the shields would weigh heavily, and on Earth, few soldiers could lift them, but designed for iron-tier warriors, weight shouldn't pose an issue. At least in theory, as Victor had no means to test it.
Currently, his soldiers practiced formations and commands with homemade wooden shields.
— Yes, and I need a hundred of them, — Victor grinned, noting the dwarf's reaction.
— And what's this sword supposed to be? — Baltor pointed his grimy finger at the second parchment, ignoring Geldor's frustration.
— This sword complements the shield well due to its compact size, — Victor explained, already envisioning his soldiers wielding them in battle.
— Looks like an elven 'skelt,' — Baltor commented, studying the drawing.
Victor's curiosity peaked; anything relating to elves fascinated him. He hoped to meet an elf soon and confirm their legendary beauty.
— Can you sketch one? — he asked Baltor.
— Why bother? We can't replicate it anyway. Without knowing the alloy composition, it would only look similar. Unless you plan to use all the mithril in the county, — the dwarf quipped.
Despite this, Victor insisted on seeing the design of an elven sword.
Geldor sighed in annoyance and, grabbing a pen, sketched blades that indeed bore some similarity. Elf swords were aesthetically superior, but the lord favored his modified gladius.
Unlike the original, he replaced the circular handle with a flat one to prevent twisting in the user's grip.
This adjustment stemmed from a vocational school memory, where a friend working at a meat-processing plant recounted slicing himself deeply with a knife that rotated in his bloody hand.
Realizing that blood would inevitably stain handles in combat, especially in wet conditions, he didn't want his soldiers struggling with unwieldy weapons, thus rectifying this flaw early.
Impressed by the designs, the dwarves informed him they could produce one set per day, but armor production would be postponed indefinitely; Victor understood, as he saw no viable alternative apart from importing from elsewhere.
— Work on what you can, but I need the shields and swords before the military campaign, — Victor ordered, turning to leave the smithy.
The dwarves watched the departing lord, lingering until he cleared the smithy perimeter.
— He keeps inventing stuff… — Baltor mumbled. — What's this shield about? It's too cumbersome. How can you fight with something like that? Especially with mithril added?
Geldor stood pensively, not focused on the shield but on the smithy itself. This facility seemed optimized for mass production, and they hadn't even finished it when the lord appeared, issuing orders for a hundred swords and shields.
"He thought this through beforehand and prepared for arming himself," Geldor muttered quietly. "Anyone else would search for more smiths or distribute orders across towns, but he invented a new smithy to manufacture weapons."
This approach struck him as odd, lacking logic initially, as even in the dwarven capital, no one would undertake such an endeavor, despite producing weapons for the entire continent.
— Let's get back to work; we have plenty to do, — Geldor finally shook off his stupor, ignoring Baltor's queries, and walked toward the forge.
Baltor lifted his hand to stop his brother but reconsidered and trudged after him.
The rhythmic clang of hammers resumed, echoing throughout the district, as five men returned to what they did best—crafting metals.