Chương 79: Alaric's Fief

The next morning. Jack stood in the castle courtyard. Before him was the newly purchased horse carriage. It wasn't a grand, gilded thing meant to intimidate, but rather a sturdy, practical transport built of solid wood and reinforced iron. Four people could sit comfortably within its covered cabin, with a wide bench at the front for two drivers. Jack turned his collar up against the chill and looked at the people gathered around him: Karen, Old Miller, Barnaby, Giles, and three other men chosen by Banarby.

"Old Miller," Jack said.

"I want you to head down to the village today. I need you to speak with every single slave we brought. Ask them questions—specifically, what they used to do for a living before they were thrown into this mess." The Old Miller frowned, scratching at his grey beard.

"Why is that, My Lord?"

"I was going over the village ledgers a few days ago," Jack explained.

"We are severely lacking in specialized labor. Not many of our current villagers have refined skills. But these people didn't just spawn from the ether—most of them fell into servitude because of debts. That means they used to have lives, professions, and trades. If we can put their actual skills to use, it benefits the valley, and we can offer them some benefits in return."

"I see, My Lord," the Old Miller nodded slowly, piecing the logic together.

"May I ask what sort of benefits they will be getting?" Jack waved a hand dismissively.

"We will discuss the specifics of their compensation after my return. Just get the information for now." The Old Miller seemed to chew on the thought for a moment before bowing his head.

"Then I will head down right away, My Lord. I'll get to work."

"Good." Jack gave him a curt nod before turning his attention to Barnaby and Giles.

"How long is the journey to Lord Alaric Vance's fief from here?"

"By carriage, My Lord? About two hours," Giles replied. Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Two hours? When we signed the treaty, you sent a runner on foot to fetch Alaric, and he arrived in just a few hours. How does a carriage take just as long?"

"Ah, well, that's because the scout took the shortcut through the deep woods, My Lord," Giles explained with a wry smile.

"A man on foot can scramble up the ridges and cut through the brush. The carriage, however, has to stick to the main roads and take the long way around the hills."

"Understood. Then we mustn't waste any time," Jack said, turning toward Karen. She stood quietly off to the side, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

"Karen, I'll be returning by evening. Take care of the castle while I'm gone." Karen offered a polite, practiced nod.

"Of course, My Lord." Jack climbed into the carriage cabin, followed by Giles, Barnaby, and one of the other men. The remaining two men climbed up to the driver's bench and took the reins. Barnaby had specifically chosen these two; they used to drive carriages years ago, long before the fief's situation had deteriorated into poverty. It showed in their steady, practiced handling of the horses. With a crack of the reins, the carriage rolled out of the courtyard.

It rattled past the village and eventually left the valley behind. As the carriage swayed along the dirt road, Jack leaned back against the wooden siding, his mind already racing with a dozen different problems. He thought of the deep ravine on the northern side of his fief. It was a massive geographical hurdle, practically cutting off that entire section of land, but there had to be a way to utilize it. Then there was the valley's future.

Once he had the Miller's report on the slaves' skills, he could properly integrate them. That tied directly into the new salary system he was designing. The math wasn't difficult for him—he already had a working model drafted in his head—but he needed to see the conditions of Alaric's people before finalizing it, just in case he needed to adjust some of the variables. Jack rubbed his temples. This year, and the next, are going to be exhausting, he thought.

An hour and a half of bumpy roads later, the carriage passed the boundary markers of Lord Alaric Vance's territory. Jack ordered the drivers to bypass the village for now and take them directly to the castle. The carriage pulled up to the stone gates, and Jack stepped out, stretching his legs. He sent Giles ahead to the gate guards to announce his arrival and request a meeting with Alaric. Giles returned a few moments later, looking deeply annoyed.

"They say he's eating his lunch, My Lord. We're to wait." Stolen story; please report. Jack sighed, crossing his arms. He didn't let the insult show on his face, though Barnaby looked ready to spit on the walls. They stood by the carriage for a full thirty minutes, simply because Alaric refused to interrupt his meal. Finally, the gates opened, and Alaric strolled out, wiping his mouth with a linen cloth. He wore a lazy, satisfied smirk.

They exchanged brief, hollow pleasantries before Jack suggested they walk down to the village. As they descended, Jack immediately went to work, his eyes scanning everything. The houses here were structurally sound, certainly not as robust as the new cabins Jack had built in his own fief, but undeniably better than the rotting shacks Jack had first inherited. The density was also striking. Alaric's fief was significantly smaller than the Frost Grip lands in terms of acreage, yet the village was packed.

Over two hundred people lived here from what he knew. As they neared the village center, Alaric snapped his fingers at one of his guards.

"You there. Ring the bell. Call everyone to the square." While the guard ran off, Jack's attention drifted to the riverbank outside the village borders at some distance. It was the same river that eventually snaked down into Jack's own valley. Along the banks grew dense, tall patches of unfamiliar crops. Jack nudged Giles and lowered his voice.

"What are those growing by the water?" Giles squinted at the green stalks.

"Fiber crops, My Lord. When they ripen, they produce a grain. It's edible, though it tastes like dust and ash. But the real value is in the stems. If you treat them right, you can strip them into strong fibers. Takes a massive amount of water and some specific skills to process, though." Jack fell into deep thought, his eyes continuing to sweep the village as the locals began to emerge from their homes, gathering in the central dirt square. His gaze caught on a long, communal-looking house.

Suspended from wooden racks outside were dozens of thick ropes and rough-spun sacks, laid out to dry in the midday sun. Further down, outside another set of homes, he spotted rows of clay goods baking in the heat—pots, plates, wide bowls, and even two or three intricately carved decorative pieces. Are they weaving those ropes and sacks out of the fiber crops? Jack wondered. And pottery, too. By now, nearly all the villagers had formed a large semi-circle in the square.

They looked at Jack with a mix of curiosity and dread. Alaric stepped forward, puffing out his chest. He didn't bother with warm greetings.

"Listen up!" he barked.

"I am introducing you to Lord John Frost Grip. We have signed a treaty. For the next two years, Lord John will be making all the decisions for this village. You are to obey his every word. Anyone who defies him will face severe punishment. Is that understood?" The villagers flinched, casting their eyes to the dirt.

"That's enough," Jack interrupted, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. He stepped past Alaric, projecting his voice so the whole crowd could hear.

"The threat of punishment is completely unnecessary." He looked over the weary faces of the craftsmen, farmers, and mothers.

"Do not worry. You will follow my instructions because you want to follow them. I will not be implementing beatings or lashings for anyone." The crowd shifted uneasily. A man near the front, his hands stained with dried clay, narrowed his eyes.

"Then why should we even follow you at all, Lord Frost Grip?" Jack met the man's gaze head-on.

"Why should you follow my instructions? The simple answer is that you want to improve your livelihood. I guarantee that anyone here who follows my plans for the next two years will see their lifestyle greatly improved. Your income will, at the very least, be doubled from what you earn now." A low murmur rippled through the crowd. Eyes widened; neighbors whispered to one another. Doubling their income was a staggering promise.

Seeing that Jack was handling the situation without needing guards to crack skulls, Alaric quickly grew bored. He made a flimsy excuse about pressing matters at the castle and departed, leaving Jack alone with his new subjects. Jack spent the next hour and a half standing in the square, answering questions and asking plenty of his own. By the time he was done, he had a perfectly clear picture of the village's economy—its strengths and its fatal flaws. The core issue was land. This fief was geographically small.

They only had the strip of land near the river suitable for farming, and they devoted almost all of it to the fiber crops. They did this because, while the grain tasted terrible, they could process the stalks into ropes, sacks, and textiles. They sold those crafted goods in the regional market to earn some money. However, because they didn't grow real food, they were entirely dependent on buying grain and meat from the outside market, or worse, buying it directly from Alaric at whatever exorbitant price he set.

Jack couldn't help but compare it to his own territory. The Frost Grip valley was enormous. He had hundreds of acres of farming land and sprawling, thick woods for lumber. He never had to worry about running out of space or raw materials. What he lacked was exactly what this village had in abundance: skills.

During the original Jack's long illness, when the Frost Grip fief began to rot, most of the villagers who possessed a marketable skill—blacksmiths, weavers, potters—had packed up and abandoned the valley to find work elsewhere, leaving only a handful of skilled villagers behind. Jack was left with unskilled laborers. Here, however, the Vance fief was overflowing with artisans who simply lacked the raw materials and land to scale their businesses.

The synergy is perfect, Jack thought, a small smile touching his lips. Before he left, Jack stood on the steps of the town hall.

"I will return in one week," he promised the crowd.

"When I do, I will bring the first set of instructions. Prepare yourselves." As Jack and his men walked back to the carriage, he observed the villagers' expressions. They were a mixed bag. Some looked genuinely hopeful, relieved that someone was finally willing to invest in them rather than just bully them for taxes. Others watched him with deep suspicion, whispering among themselves, wondering why a rival Lord was trying to help them. None of them knew the truth.

Alaric had conveniently left out the most important clause of the treaty: if Alaric failed to pay back his massive debt, Jack would seize permanent control of the entire fief. The carriage wheels crunched against the dirt road as they began the journey home. Jack stared out the window at the passing trees. He had a very good idea of how to fix Alaric's village, but first, he needed to get his own house in order.