Victor stood among his convoy with Géctor, awaiting their captains to receive the garrison deployment plan. As always among nobility, the procedure came with layers of formalities, granting the pair time to dine and play backgammon.
Servants cleared the dining table as the friends settled at a small side table, pouring themselves wine and starting their game.
— How did you manage to annoy the countess so much? — Victor asked, rolling the dice.
Back in his dominion, Cliosse endlessly complained about Selitas's inappropriate behavior, sparking jokes at the manor.
— Let me tell you, Victor, this woman is divine; I'd gladly die just for a glimpse into her eyes, — Géctor replied, sipping from a crystal goblet.
Seated in the open field, ensconced in comfortable leather chairs, it felt more like a picnic than a military campaign.
Between them stood a round wooden table, accommodating the gaming board and wine glasses.
Sigh, now with her "Radiance" skill, I'm afraid you'll go completely crazy in her company. The system clearly assigned it because of her extraordinary beauty and natural magnetism, the lord thought.
— Victor, did she talk about me? — Géctor inquired expectantly.
— Oh yes! Very often, — the viscount replied, declining to elaborate on what Cliosse had actually said, relishing the teasing.
He saw parallels with friends from Earth, confident despite modest looks, yet managing to win beautiful girls.
Certainly, Victor doubted Géctor had any chance with the countess, but he looked forward to the entertainment.
Their captains soon approached.
— My lord, we've received our garrison location assignments, — Hendor reported, returning with Alganis.
Géctor ordered immediate implementation; Victor simply nodded agreement.
As troops began moving, the two noblemen continued drinking and playing, paying no heed.
Victor genuinely savored this lifestyle, observing others working tirelessly.
***
Meanwhile, life in Baltas' dominion didn't halt because the lord had left.
Potato crop sowing was in full swing, facilitated by new ploughs. Few understood why the lord ordered poisonous tubers planted on almost half the wheat fields.
Yet most trusted the man who'd increased harvests from twenty to eighty kilograms per hectare in a single winter.
Serfs anticipated failure: wheat fertilized by waste would surely rot or become inedible. But surprisingly, it yielded the best results, reaching 110 kg per hectare by Victor's calculation.
True, the lad noted one flaw: in places where his method was applied, some wheat had died. He suspected insufficient ash in the fertilizer, failing to neutralize toxic elements in human waste.
Ash and drying should eliminate toxins, but apparently one step had been skipped, warranting future control measures.
However, while serfs trusted their lord, it didn't guarantee compliance.
The steward receiving reports across the dominion stood in the manor's parlor, addressing the countess, with Sylvia nearby.
— Your Grace, in some villages, serfs sabotage work and refuse to plant potatoes on designated plots, — Jinn reported.
As steward, he should've addressed the household's mistress, but Cliosse outranked Sylvia as the lord's grandmother, hence his deference.
— Do you expect me to handle this? — Cliosse sniffed indignantly, then softened. — Nevermind, I understand what you mean.
Turning to Sylvia, she contemplated further.
— Sylvia, aren't you the mistress of these lands? Isn't it your job to assist your husband?
Startled by the direct question, the girl froze.
— I... I know nothing about farming, — she demurred, admitting her ignorance.
— Who says you need to know farming? — Cliosse grinned. — Peasants don't know how to farm properly either; they just refuse to listen. What will you do?
This framing aligned with Sylvia's mindset, but a significant challenge loomed. Upbringing taught her that peasants must be punished and forced under guard to perform their duties. Repeat offenders should be executed to deter rebellion.
But this was Victor's dominion, where no whippings or punishments had been recorded, save for one execution involving a child's attacker.
Clearly understanding her relationship with her husband, she knew any misstep would strain their budding partnership.
— Prepare the carriage; I want to personally visit the site and see what's happening, — Sylvia directed. — Also, explain to me what this 'potato' is.
Jinn launched into a thorough explanation, sharing fascinating details unknown to her.
Absorbing his account, Sylvia issued instructions and awaited the carriage's readiness.
— Ha-ha, duchess, sorry, vicontess, interacting with peasants — I must see this, — Cliosse giggled delightedly, anticipating fun.
Sylvia ignored the teasing, accustomed to Cliosse's unconstrained humor, even mocking her father's habits.
Witnessing Cliosse descend to the basement kitchen herself, fetching food directly, broke taboo: Aristocrats never entered servants' areas.
Fifteen minutes later, Jinn announced the carriage ready. Escorting the women, he handed them over to the waiting guard contingent.
Cliosse needed no guard, but etiquette demanded noblewomen travel with protection.
Boarding the coach, they headed to Akiron Village, arriving half an hour later.
Roads, though not concreted, had been prepared for eventual paving, reducing travel time. Earlier, trips took an hour or more.
Per Victor's directive, the roadbed was excavated a meter deep and widened to twelve meters. Half-filled with sand, the remaining half with river gravel, forming a stable foundation for future concrete overlay.
Unsure of road engineering, Victor improvised based on memories of Earth's road-building techniques.
Yet even this basic work yielded impressive results: the road, impervious to rain erosion, now served traffic far better than previously.
Approaching the village, even Cliosse praised the road quality, eyeing Victor's initiative.
The carriage halted in the village center, drawing attention from locals.
Serfs rushed out, falling to their knees, conditioned to kneel before any visiting nobility, except their own lord.
Initially, they faltered, but Victor's tolerance for their knee-drops reassured them.
— Tell them to rise, — Sylvia instructed a nearby soldier.
The knight relayed the order, and villagers rose cautiously, heads bowed, awaiting further instruction.
Victor's arrival had diminished fear of nobility, but seeing two women escorted by twenty soldiers unsettled them.
Normally, their lord visited solo or with one knight; today's sight terrified them.
As the women chatted and toured the village, servants busied themselves, retrieving items from the carriage. Thirty minutes later, a stove was lit, boiling water in a pot.
Waiting serfs, frozen in place, watched silently as the women relaxed in portable chairs, sipping tea, prohibiting villagers from leaving the street.
This display of aristocratic caprice amused them: If peasants stood till nightfall, what did it matter? Better than beatings or executions.
Soon, the cook announced the dish was ready—a boiled jacket potato.
Sylvia took the bowl, walking to the peasants, and demonstratively split the potato with a fork, eating it before their eyes. The cooked tuber was distributed among the serfs, ordering them to eat.
Boiled thus, peasants knew what they were eating, confirming it wasn't deadly.
Two women pleaded in terror, begging not to consume it.
Raw potatoes posed no fatal risks, perhaps slight stomach upset, but rumors exaggerated dangers, rendering the vegetable taboo.
Compelled by threats, peasants ate, reactions shifting rapidly. Seasoned lightly, the potato proved delicious, transforming reluctant nibbles into voracious bites.
Forest-grown potatoes, raw or cooked, were indeed flavorful, validating Victor's judgment.
Seeing swift acceptance, Sylvia glowed with pride. Inspiration struck when Jinn explained potatoes as a frequent side dish in the manor.
With success evident, the territory's mistress, clad in a fitted turquoise dress with a high collar, regarded the peasants sternly.
Pacing among them, now viewing her with approval, she resolved to assert authority.
— Your lord found a way to feed you, producing triple annual yields! Instead of trusting him and following orders, you decided to defy him!
Where others might lie, here truth prevailed, flowing effortlessly from her tongue.
— As the lord's wife and mistress of these lands, I had to personally intervene to convince you.
Pausing, she raised her chin, surveying the crowd.
— Who do you think you are?! Who gave you the audacity to disobey your lord?! — Magic intensified her melodious voice, echoing across the village.
Peasants dropped to their knees, pleading forgiveness.
Unlike Victor, Sylvia doubted their pleas, confident that leniency would encourage repetition.
— The village elder will receive five lashes! — she decreed, turning to leave.
Five strokes seemed merciful compared to earlier alternatives, ensuring minimal physical harm.
Promptly afterward, both women returned to the carriage, continuing to other villages, completing their tour late into the night.
***
— That's how it all played out, my lord, do you have any orders? — the soldier inquired.
Victor listened to the report from his follower, one of fifty-six soldiers among eighty stationed in his dominion. All guards accompanying Sylvia and Cliosse, plus those securing the manor, were his followers, diligently updating him on domestic affairs.
— No, you're dismissed, — he replied lazily from his tent cot.
So, you're now the mistress of my lands, eh? Suit yourself. Smirking, he conceded.
Impressed by her solution, he endorsed her stewardship.
Given her status as his wife, accepting her role as mistress was obligatory, but Victor didn't resent it, pleased to have someone competent managing his estates.