Chapter 83: The Stark Reality

At the upper camp stood a delicately crafted wooden villa, the residence of Victor. The villa was two stories high, and at this moment, Victor was in the upstairs study, drawing a map. The black charcoal pencil moved incessantly across the large white board, gradually bringing clarity to the crude outlines of the map.

Victor compared it with the parchment scroll in his hand and added a few more strokes to the map—this was the iron ore vein that Jack had surveyed, where Victor intended to build his iron mining village.

These days, Jack had been continuously sending geographical information about the territory via alchemical crows, so Victor was gradually gaining a general understanding of the natural resources within his domain.

According to the delineations in the exchange agreement, Victor’s territory bordered Baron Eskri’s lands to the north, touched upon the Viscount Buryat’s domain in the northeast, was adjacent to Count Chibman’s lands in the east, and extended south past the hill camp for another twenty kilometers—a total area of about 12,000 square kilometers, though in truth it was much larger. The western side of the territory was unclaimed land without any defined boundary—a vast stretch of barren mountains which, if crossed, led to the great marshes. Should the hill camp push a further forty kilometers south, it would reach the majestic Goldenwater River.

By the laws of lords, all unclaimed lands were considered undeveloped territory that Victor had the right to claim, on the condition that he constructed at least three castles to assert his sovereignty. Victor, however, could not achieve this at present—he couldn’t even afford to build a single castle. In reality, the area controlled by the hill camp, Lake Plain Village, and the Chibman family’s camp amounted to just over 7,000 square kilometers.

Within this region, Victor had already identified two mithril mines, one iron mine, one secret silver mine, two lakes, a vast field of sisal, and a small patch of flax. Victor planned to first make use of these resources to strengthen himself before expanding further.

Once Brick Kiln Village was on track, Victor intended to establish Flax Village and Carpenter Village, leaving Blacksmith Village for last. Partly, this was a matter of biding his time and keeping a low profile. More importantly, Victor still lacked two crucial resources for the large forge he wished to build: oilwood and red crystal.

This world had no coal or petroleum; using only firewood as fuel, the forge simply couldn’t reach the temperatures needed to smelt alloys. That was why a resin-rich wood called oilwood was necessary as fuel.

Victor had seen oilwood before. When he lived at the marquis’s estate, the fireplaces burned oil palm wood, though it was known as oil palm timber there. Oil palm wood was costly but still available for purchase. However, Victor had no idea what red crystal was.

Busso had told Victor that, to forge top-quality alloy equipment, one had to set red crystals into the forge to raise the furnace temperature. Thus, Victor decided to postpone building Blacksmith Village. If he could find red crystals later, so much the better; if not, then he would settle for producing standard-grade mithril equipment.

A light, nimble footfall came from outside the door. Victor knew, even before she knocked, that Lilia had arrived. Sure enough, moments later, he heard a gentle knock.

“Come in,” Victor called over his shoulder.

Lilia entered, carrying a fragrant cup of coffee. In a sweet, coy voice, she said, “Victor, your coffee.”

Did I ask for coffee? Victor was beginning to doubt his memory when Lilia, with her round and perky figure, settled herself right onto his lap.

Only then did Victor notice that Lilia was wearing a low-cut, cinched-waist maid’s dress. Her long hair was loose and damp, and there was a delicate fragrance about her—she had clearly just bathed. At this moment, she was gazing at Victor with luminous, expectant eyes.

Lilia’s alluring appearance stirred something within Victor. He slid his hand beneath her skirt to grasp a soft, warm curve.

This little enchantress is becoming more and more skilled at seduction—life as a noble is truly decadent! A contented smile played at the corners of Victor’s mouth.

Nobles’ attendants or maids were usually the children of their vassals. The vassals would try every means to send their non-inheriting sons and daughters into the lord’s castle to serve as servants.

Despite the seeming lowliness of such positions, competition was fierce. The vassals’ younger sons and daughters had no titles, but once within a castle, they gained the chance for an education. If a squire earned a noble’s favor, he might become the family steward, a retainer, or even a soldier. As for maids blessed with beauty, they could easily become objects of their lord’s desire. Even if not chosen as a personal attendant, if one became pregnant, it was considered a meteoric rise—many vassals would be eager to take her as a wife.

Back when Victor lived at the marquis’s estate, he had many beautiful maids waiting on him, but none dared covet his bloodline, for Victor was the nominal husband of the lady marquis and, in truth, her young male companion. All those maids knew who truly ruled the estate.

After his rebirth, Victor’s circumstances were even more pitiful. Though he bore the title of baron, he had no one to serve him; he lived alone in his villa, forced to handle everything himself, the loneliness all but unbearable.

Now, with the lovely and charming Lilia moving in to live with him, the villa finally felt like a home, and Victor naturally doted on her.

Lilia, flushed and breathless from Victor’s caresses, was also inwardly pleased. This was her first time wearing a long dress, one specially tailored for her by a seamstress at Linda’s request. Linda had told Lilia that now she was a lord’s personal maid, and it was crucial, while she was still young and beautiful, to win as much favor as possible—only then could she bear a child with noble blood.

Lilia, however, was far less calculating; she merely wanted to please her beloved. Thus, she put on this alluring gown, and the results were evidently quite satisfactory.

“Victor, what are you thinking about?” Lilia’s voice was soft and sulky when she saw Victor making no further move.

“I’m wondering if Nelson and the others have reached Blackcastle Town by now, and how much profit they might bring me this time.”

Ten days earlier, Nelson had set out for Blackcastle Town with seven wagons laden with purple cane wine, twenty pounds of coffee, and five hundred pounds of cane sugar. This was Victor’s first attempt at selling cane sugar and coffee outside his territory. He had instructed Nelson that the price of cane sugar must not fall below one gold sol per pound, and coffee no less than fifteen gold sol per pound.

Victor was optimistic about selling these two products. At present, daily sugar production was steady at about a hundred pounds, while coffee output was much lower—around two pounds a day. If all went well, monthly income should be around 4,500 gold sol. That would allow Victor to produce three alchemical militia per month, and in time, his castle could begin construction.

“My lord!” Lilia protested playfully. She had gone to such lengths, yet Victor’s mind was on business—this left the girl a little disgruntled.

Victor smiled gently, unfastening Lilia’s snowy-white dress with a deft motion, revealing the delicate, rosy figure in his arms. He scooped her up by the waist and carried her straight to the bedroom.

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Inside the Goat Inn, the fat on Boss Wedge’s cheeks quivered nervously. Nelson’s deathly stare made his heart quake, but he still said resolutely, “Cane sugar, twenty copper sol per pound. Coffee, two silver per pound. Sir, that’s the highest price I can offer.”

“You greedy scoundrel! Just now you said cane sugar tastes better than honey! Are you playing games with me?” Nelson lifted the three-hundred-pound Wedge into the air with one hand and roared.

Wedge’s face went pale, sweat pouring down his brow. He pleaded, “Sir, I’m already taking a huge risk at this price—I can’t go any higher. The price you’re asking just isn’t possible, please believe me.”

Nelson let Wedge down with a heavy sigh; he knew Wedge wasn’t lying.

Nelson had arrived in Blackcastle Town two days ago and sold all fifty barrels of purple cane wine to the York family, earning two hundred gold sol—just enough to buy grain. This time, however, he also needed to purchase ten sets of equipment, ten warhorses, twenty pack mules, and fifteen oxen. Victor’s territory was in dire need of more transport and mobility to support trade and logistics.

Though the funds were clearly insufficient, Nelson wasn’t worried—he still had coffee and cane sugar to sell, and was confident that money wouldn’t be a problem.

Following Victor’s instructions to be wary of the York family, Nelson didn’t try to sell the sugar and coffee to them. Instead, he went straight to the Goat Inn. Old John had already invited several shopkeepers to inspect the goods, without even needing the help of the “Monkey” to find buyers.

Cane sugar and coffee won over everyone; the shopkeepers all expressed interest in buying the entire stock and even proposed long-term cooperation. Yet, the prices they offered were absurdly low. In anger, Nelson had driven them all out—only the plump Wedge stubbornly remained, finally biting the bullet and offering his highest price, the one just quoted.

“Wedge, what price do you pay for honey?” Nelson asked in a low voice.

“Sir, our buying price for honey is four gold sol per pound—that’s the market rate these days,” Wedge replied, mopping sweat from his brow.

“Ha! So cane sugar, which is far better, you offer only twenty copper sol? Even salt fetches twenty-two copper sol a pound!” Nelson laughed bitterly in his frustration.

Wedge wrung his plump hands in distress. He was extremely reluctant to give up on cane sugar and coffee; his instincts told him that these goods could make him rich, but the people before him were complete novices in business. Wedge truly didn’t know how to persuade them.

“Sir, the products are excellent, but good things don’t always fetch a high price. Cane sugar and coffee haven’t yet won the nobles’ approval, and you want to sell at noble prices—that’s impossible. I’m the only one willing to take the risk, and my offer is truly sincere. I promise you, once the market opens up, I’ll raise the price.”

“How much?” Nelson asked, hopeful.

“I’ll double it! No, wait—triple it!” Seeing Nelson’s face darken, Wedge quickly corrected himself.

“Can you tell me why?” Nelson fixed Wedge with an icy glare, a menacing aura rising—he was convinced there was foul play at work.

“Sir, we small traders survive on the caravans. If I offer the caravans a higher price, they’ll cut me off, and I’ll be ruined. Please understand!”

“Caravans? The caravans have never seen cane sugar or coffee—how can they set the price? Do you take me for a fool?” Nelson sneered.

“Sir, with all new goods, the price is pressed to the minimum—sugar can’t be higher than salt, tea can’t be higher than pine nut powder. That’s standard practice for the caravans.”

Nelson said nothing; he still couldn’t believe that such fine goods were valued less than salt.

“Go,” Nelson ordered after a long pause.

“Sir, please reconsider! Please!” The fat Wedge was shoved out by Old John, just as before.

The Goat Inn fell silent. After a while, Old John asked in a strained voice, “Nelson, what shall we do?”

“Use the Blood-Eyed Crow—send a message to the lord.”