Chương 77: Treaty

Three more days passed quietly in the Frost-Grip valley. On the afternoon of the third day, a stranger arrived at the southern perimeter of the fief. He was a young man, perhaps eighteen years old, with sharp blue eyes and neatly trimmed brown hair. He wore the immaculate, tailored robes of a Holy Church apprentice—white fabric lined with deep blue embroidery. The village guards, recently appointed and trained by Giles, immediately crossed their spears to block the stranger's path ahead.

"Halt," one of the guards said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"State your name and your business in the Frost-Grip valley." The young man offered a polite smile.

"Peace be with you. I am an apprentice of the Church. I have come at the request of Lord John Frost-Grip, sent on behalf of Inquisitor Silas Thorne." The guards exchanged a wide-eyed look, quickly lowering their spears and bowing in apology. Giles, who had just returned from overseeing the logging camp in the woods, hurried over to de-escalate the situation. Recognizing the Church uniform, Giles respectfully escorted the young mage up the path to the stone castle, leaving him at the castle's doors to be announced.

A few minutes later, Jack received the guest in a newly renovated meeting room. While the Great Hall was meant to be intimidating, this room was designed for comfortable diplomacy. The servants had scrubbed the stone floor spotless, laid down a modest woolen rug, and set up a polished wooden table. Two maids quietly entered, setting down cups of fresh water, a steaming pot of herbal forest tea, and a small plate of dried fruit snacks before bowing and slipping out.

The young mage remained standing until Jack gestured for him to take a seat.

"My name is Marcus Mitchell," the boy introduced himself, his voice firm and professional.

"But you may simply call me Marcus, Lord Frost-Grip."

"Just call me Jack," he replied smoothly, pouring a cup of the herbal tea and pushing it across the table.

"There is no need to be overly formal behind closed doors." Marcus nodded in appreciation, taking a sip of the hot tea.

"Lord Silas instructed me to visit on his behalf, as he has been called away on urgent Church matters. He informed me that you and Lord Alaric Vance are preparing to sign a territorial treaty, and you requested a neutral witness."

"Correct," Jack nodded, leaning back in his chair.

"When two lords make an agreement of this magnitude, memories tend to conveniently fade. To avoid any future conflicts, accusations of coercion, or breaches of contract, an overseer is required. And who better to guarantee the truth than a mage from the Holy Church?" Marcus smiled, clearly flattered.

"An excellent choice, my lord. The Church frequently oversees treaties to maintain stability in the continent. However, such oversight is usually reserved for major merchant guilds or high-ranking nobility. What exactly are you and Lord Vance signing over?" Jack spent the next twenty minutes outlining the core details of the agreement. He answered all of Marcus's clarifying questions honestly, ensuring the young mage understood the administrative transfer of power.

Satisfied that no illegal magic or heresy was involved, Marcus agreed to validate the document.

"I will serve as your witness, Lord Jack. But I must ask that we proceed quickly. I have several other tasks in the northern region to attend to before the week ends."

"Of course," Jack said. He immediately called for Giles and dispatched someone fast to the Vance fief, summoning Lord Alaric for the signing. They didn't have to wait long. Just as the sun began its descent toward the western peaks, casting long shadows across the valley, Alaric Vance's extravagant carriage rolled into the castle courtyard. The courtyard had been prepared for a public spectacle.

Jack had specifically instructed Giles to gather the villagers and the newly integrated laborers, as they were also now the part of the village, to witness the event. Transparency, Jack knew, was a powerful tool for building trust with his people. However, one specific individual was entirely absent. Before Marcus had even entered the castle, Jack had quietly commanded Elias to go down into the underground crypt and stay absolutely motionless. Marcus was a real mage.

Jack wasn't going to risk the boy's magical senses picking up the aura of a reanimated corpse, even though he had fooled Silas but he didn't wanted to take any chances. Alaric stepped out of his carriage, flanked by four heavily armed guards whose faces Jack didn't recognize. Alaric wore a smug, self-satisfied grin, looking entirely too happy for a man who was handing over the keys to his fief. Three identical copies of the parchment treaty sat on a wooden table in the center of the courtyard.

Jack and Alaric stepped forward, taking quill pens and signing their names at the bottom of all three documents. Jack picked up his copy, his eyes scanning the ink one last time to ensure Vance hadn't tried to slip in a forged clause. Alaric did the same. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Finally, Marcus stepped up to the table. He picked up the third copy, turning to face the gathered crowd of villagers and guards.

"I, Marcus Mitchell," the boy's voice echoed loudly, amplified by a subtle use of mana, "Apprentice to Inquisitor Silas Thorne and a Layer Two Bronze Core mage of the holy Church, stand here as the official witness to this binding covenant." Jack felt a sudden, sharp sting of inadequacy hit his chest. Layer Two Bronze Core. This boy was younger than Jack, yet his magical core was an entire realm higher than Jack's Layer One Iron Core.

It was a harsh reminder of how weak Jack truly was in the grand hierarchy of this world. He desperately needed to accelerate his own growth. Marcus unrolled the scroll and read the terms aloud in a clear voice.

"This treaty dictates that for the next two consecutive years, Lord John Frost-Grip shall possess absolute administrative control over the fiefdom of Lord Alaric Vance. Lord Frost-Grip will manage all welfare, labor, and economic decisions, and will provide the necessary financial investments to sustain the territory. During this period, Lord Vance cannot reject or veto any administrative decisions." A low murmur rippled through the Frost-Grip villagers. They exchanged bewildered looks.

Their young lord was taking over another territory?

"Following the conclusion of these two years," Marcus continued, "Lord Vance must repay Lord Frost-Grip three-and-a-half times the total amount invested, to be paid over the subsequent three years. If Lord Vance fails to meet this debt, Lord Frost-Grip shall assume permanent, total ownership of the Vance fief." Marcus paused, looking up from the parchment.

"I must state for the record that while the Church validates the financial debt, the clause regarding the permanent transfer of noble lands must be reviewed and legally ratified by the higher Church authorities at a later date." Alaric Vance merely chuckled, waving his hand dismissively.

"Furthermore," Marcus read the final, heavy clause.

"If, during these two years of control, Lord Frost-Grip fails to double the total production and economic income of the Vance fief, Lord Frost-Grip must pay Lord Vance a penalty compensation of ten million Gold." The courtyard erupted into shocked gasps. Ten million gold? To the peasants, it was an unfathomable, mythical number. The villagers looked at Jack with panic in their eyes. Jack remained still, his expression a mask of calm confidence. Internally, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him.

He had intentionally conceded the 5x repayment down to 3. 5x and accepted this massive penalty clause to get Alaric to sign without a fight. Jack knew exactly what Alaric was thinking. The older lord thought Jack was an arrogant child who would inevitably fail. Alaric believed he was getting two years of free labor, free investments, and a guaranteed ten million gold payout at the end of it, all without lifting a finger. But Jack had also did few calculations himself.

He was already planning to triple the economic output of his own fief; doubling Alaric's stagnant, poorly managed territory would be difficult, but not impossible. Jack wanted the political leverage, the expanded workforce, and the dual income. With the reading concluded, Alaric Vance didn't linger. He gave Jack a mock-respectful bow, climbed back into his lavish carriage, and departed the valley before the sun even touched the horizon. Jack turned to Marcus.

"Will you stay the night? We have guest rooms prepared."

"I appreciate the offer, Lord Jack, but I must decline," Marcus said, rolling up the Church's copy of the treaty and slipping it into a leather tube at his hip.

"I have pressing matters to attend to. I will inform you via messenger when the higher-ups make a ruling on the land-transfer clause."

"Before you go," Jack said, his tone shifting back to business.

"Do you have any connections with the merchant guilds that travel these northern routes in autumn?" Marcus paused, thinking.

"I do have some dealings with few of them. Why?"

"I need you to send a message to them," Jack requested.

"Ask them to send a representative to this valley ahead of their main caravan. I have custom bulk orders I need fulfilled before autumn arrives, and I am willing to pay a premium for early delivery." Marcus nodded.

"Consider it done. May the Light guide your path, Lord Frost-Grip." With that, the young mage departed, walking briskly down the mountain path. Jack turned to the anxious crowd of villagers in the courtyard.

"Return to your homes and rest. The future of this fief is secure." As the crowd dispersed, Jack called Giles and Barnaby over.

"Barnaby, select three of your most capable, level-headed men," Jack ordered.

"Giles, take this." He pulled a heavy pouch from his coat and dropped it into Giles's hands. It clinked with the distinct sound of gold coins.

"Fifty gold pieces," Jack said.

"Travel to the nearest regional market at first light tomorrow. Purchase a sturdy, reliable horse carriage and a pair of strong draft horses. Do not buy anything flashy, just something built for endurance. Bring it back immediately."

"A carriage, My Lord?" Giles asked, securing the heavy pouch to his belt.

"Where are we going?"

"The day after tomorrow, we are traveling to Lord Vance's fief," Jack said coldly.

"It is time to audit our new property." After dismissing his men, Jack retreated into the castle. He walked to his study, pulled out a small iron key, and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. He placed his copy of the treaty inside alongside his other vital documents, locking it securely again. As the lock clicked into place, a sudden realization struck him. He had asked Giles to install a lock on this drawer a few days ago.

But Giles, being a simple villager, didn't know the first thing about locksmithing even Banarby didn't knew much. Giles had outsourced the task to one of the slaves Jack had purchased from the merchant Vane. Slaves, Jack thought, his eyes narrowing in the dim candlelight. Most of those people aren't prisoners of war; they were sold into slavery because they couldn't pay their debts in the cities. If a man accrued enough debt to be enslaved, it meant he likely had a life, a business, or a trade beforehand.

The man who built this lock must have been an artisan or a tinkerer. How many other highly skilled professionals—accountants, blacksmiths, stonemasons, or tailors—was Jack currently forcing to swing pickaxes in a dark coal mine? He was wasting massive potential. He needed to audit the skills of his laborers immediately. Later that evening, Jack sat in the dining room, sharing a quiet, completely normal dinner with Karen.

He spoke to her about the weather and the upcoming trip, completely unaware of the horrifying truth he had realized just nights prior on his balcony. When the castle finally fell silent, Jack locked his bedroom door. He closed his eyes and cast his consciousness down into the deep mines. Far below his room, twenty-one skeletons swung their pickaxes in unison, their bone hands chipping away at the rock to extract raw gemstones. It was a slow process, but Jack's mind was already elsewhere.

He had finally devised a theoretical method to use the skeletons to force a breakthrough in his magical core without exposing his necromancy to the world. But it would require a significant amount of preparation before he could attempt it.