Mindful of the imminent arrival of a whole group of ladies, Victor dashed out of his office and ran into the courtyard.
In the castle yard, soldiers and medics bustled about—some returning from drills, others scattering to attend to various duties.
Arthur, anticipating his lord's departure, brought a horse, as he knew that if the lord left the castle, it usually meant he was setting off on another errand.
Victor wanted to take the boy with him, but he remembered Arthur's rigorous training schedule and refrained from disturbing him further. The lad's youth meant he would eventually join his lord on the battlefield, and strengthening him was paramount.
When the vicomte voiced his refusal to take Arthur to war, Alganis strongly objected, interpreting it as an insult to the squire's honor.
Victor still struggled to grasp the intricate customs of this world. Public executions attended by women and children, minors drafted into wars, and general disregard for childhood shocked him.
Regrettably, he resigned himself to accepting Arthur's eventual participation, yet wished fervently for the boy to mature further. Ideally, he hoped Arthur would become his follower, though he had no idea how to achieve this goal. Meeting Nalita, his first follower, to clarify the procedure was impossible due to his overwhelming responsibilities.
From dawn till dusk, the lord raced across his lands, attempting to mitigate the looming disaster of the refugee crisis. Thus far, he had managed to assist approximately two thousand people. Unfortunately, habitable locations were exhausted.
Eight hundred laborers toiled in the lumberyard, seventy of them designated as woodcutters. More recruits could join, but tool shortages hindered expansion. Blacksmiths were already stretched thin.
Twenty apprentices augmented the smithy workforce, assisting and learning from their mentors. Yet even here, iron supplies posed a bottleneck.
Ordinary implements required any grade of iron, but weapon-grade metals were challenging to refine, yielding significant waste.
Ironically, Victor's primary motivation for rushing to Rivenhall was the completion of a blast furnace, wherein dwarven brothers had recently forged forty gleaming gladiuses and matching tower shields.
Were it not for his other obligations, he would have visited immediately. Regrettable, history lacks hypothetical scenarios.
Change was imperative, and a rejuvenated Victor galloped westward.
Along the way, he reflected on his fortunate rebirth in this world, blessed with noble lineage and elevated rank. His knowledge allowed him to anticipate outcomes, granting him predictive advantages.
Surveying his domain, he marvelled at every detail—each blade of grass, every inch of soil belonged exclusively to him. Absolute sovereignty stirred a rush of power, tempting him to declare himself king.
Even now, as he crossed Ironwood en route to Rivenhall, he admired the scenery. Blinding white snow illuminated by the hanging sun cast a spellbinding beauty. Every cultivated field inspired awe in a city-dweller used to concrete structures and crowded streets.
Passing through Ironwood, he observed merchants clearing pathways, warning others of the lord's approach. Children happily circled his horse, screaming greetings.
A woman's voice pierced the air.
Turning, Victor saw a tall woman in a white fur coat, accompanied by Selisa.
Dismounting, he strode toward Shona, mesmerized by her elegance. Thoughts of romantic pursuits surfaced, urging him to act.
Throughout his previous life, women graced his companionship, but here, freedom for aristocratic libertinism remained theoretical. Time constraints impeded his social life, leaving him sleepless and lonely.
According to tradition, he could accumulate lovers proportional to his financial capacity, but thus far slept solitary, craving female affection. Particularly, Shona's physique fueled his fantasies.
— How may I serve you, Shona? Perhaps we can drop formalities, calling me simply Victor, — he suggested, inviting intimacy.
Blushing slightly, Shona gracefully inclined her head, exposing cleavage beneath her fur.
— Victor, I require new warehouses; a caravan from Nolla is inbound, — she announced, embracing his informal tone.
— What caravan? — he inquired, bemused.
— He has learned of your predicament and dispatched supplies from the capital, — she clarified, smiling subtly.
Victor guessed correctly that Shona engineered this assistance, intending to extract compensation. Preempting his inquiry, she revealed more.
— He will arrive personally and requests you know he possesses intelligence regarding the instigator of this provocation, — she added, stressing the sensitivity of the disclosure.
"Ignorance or cunning? Most likely, he sees profit. Typical of this world—nothing comes free."
Prudence governed his response.
— Very well, I'll commission carpenters to prepare storage for the caravan, — he consented, distracted by Shona's physical attributes.
Shona repeated a courteous nod and glided toward the market, swaying provocatively.
Victor lingered, entranced by her retreat, before climbing back onto his horse and directing it toward Rivenhall.
Hours later, he reached the site of the massive blast furnace, towering five meters aboveground and emitting smoke. Evidently, the blacksmiths warmed it but lacked understanding of its operation.
Inside the smithy, however, Victor discovered forty polished gladiuses and matching tower shields stacked neatly.
Craftsmanship exceeded his expectations. Each item bore artistic touches chosen by the dwarven brothers, reflecting their pride in workmanship.
Grasping a gladius from a wooden rack, he tested its balance, confirming rumors of dwarven precision.
Paired with the ornate shield depicting a fiery phoenix, he felt transported into battle.
Impressed, he restored the items to their places and ordered the guard to transport all weapons to the castle.
— Reward yourselves, perhaps with wine? — he offered the dwarven siblings.
Glancing at each other, they agreed.
— We seek mastery of this furnace technology, — Geldor declared, pointing to the blast furnace.
— Why would you need it? Your mountain-forges suffice, — Victor countered.
— Our mountains restrict us... Access to this tech grants independence and scalability, besides, — Geldor conceded, — the mountain-forge offers limited output.
Victor deliberated. Their contributions warranted consideration, but surrendering such vital knowledge seemed imprudent.
— Two conditions: Technology stays secret, and you commit to ten more years of service, — he stipulated.
— Done! — they chorused.
"Aha! Tricked! Dwarves live centuries; ten years mean nothing! I gifted them precious technology!"
Incensed, Victor observed the pair, refraining from argument. Weapon production hinged on their skills, and time before the campaign ticked away.
— Double your monthly output of weapons and shields, — he commanded, expecting complaints to leverage concessions.
— Simple, just deliver more ore, and we'll comply, — Baldor grinned.
"How dare they? Capable of more but deliberately slacking? These dwarves mock me!"
Defeated on all fronts, Victor stormed out silently, leaving the laughter of the dwarves echoing behind him.
Deceived at every turn, he seethed. Gifted technology and ridicule completed their treachery. Anger festered within him, directed equally at them and himself.
Arrogant in this world, he underestimated two scheming dwarves renowned for straightforwardness.
Calm returned only upon reaching his nascent manor grounds.
Work progressed steadily, but foundation excavation lagged behind. Thousands toiled simultaneously, flattening earth and digging foundations.
Concrete mixed with gravel would fill the trenches, a compromise preserving structural integrity while conserving material.
Construction, delayed by concrete drying, would span three months optimistically. Advisor Nirta proposed alchemists to accelerate curing, potentially completing the project within a month.
Cost and feasibility remained unknown.
Builders practiced new methods in Ironwood, where prototype walls showcased impressive alignment. Local masons achieved precision unmatched in this era.
Originally, they employed primitive leveling techniques—ramrods and string lines—to guide bricklaying. Advanced measuring tools introduced by Victor enhanced accuracy.
Notwithstanding, their traditional methods sufficed for castle construction.
Interrupted by a soldier's summons, Victor abandoned his reflections.
— My lord, the countess commands your immediate presence at the castle, — the soldier informed him.
"What? They've arrived early? Worse, she dares command me on my own lands!"
Indignant, he retrieved his horse and rode back to the castle.