Warhammer Fantasy: The Magus of Iron and Steam(Fantasy /Kingdom Build)

[Mrcheshire]

Edmund could feel someone calling him.

"My lord, please wake up…"

He looked away, but the sounds he had heard did not disappear. Instead, they grew even louder. Then, he felt someone gently tugging at his sleeve.

"My lord!"

Edmund's eyes snapped open. His familiar surroundings had disappeared, his desk was gone, and the walls covered in sticky notes were nowhere to be seen. Everything had been replaced by a strange landscape. A circular public square, surrounded by small brick houses, with a gallows erected in the center, now dominated his field of vision. He himself was sitting at a table on the other side of the hall. There was no comfortable office swivel chair beneath him, but a cold, hard iron chair. A group of people accompanied him, watching him attentively. Several of them were dressed like medieval lords and ladies from those Western movies, and they were trying to suppress their laughter.

"My lord?" asked the cautious double of Gandalf.

Edmund looked at the old man. Well, the old man was not actually named Gandalf, despite his appearance. His real name was Barov, and he was the finance minister who had served Edmund's father and helped him govern the territory.

The identity of the man everyone was waiting for was Edmund Lusignan, the second son of the Graymont barony, who had inherited the title after a series of misfortunes. The inhabitants of this frontier town lived from mining and hunting, and depended on a few trade routes to obtain food, tools, and materials they could not produce themselves.

In short, it was a desolate place that his father had left in an even worse condition after taking power; thinking about all of this had given Edmund a headache, and it had all happened on the first day he arrived in the city.

Edmund had once again had that dream in which he felt as though he were still living his previous life, with a normal and civilized existence. The change in scenery and the barbaric sight of the city left him momentarily confused, but he then accepted reality, as he had already done several years ago. However, he still remembered the questions he had asked himself at first: was it possible that this was not a dream? Had he really reincarnated into the Middle Ages and become Edmund? Had he gone from being a pathetic mechanical engineer with his nose buried in paperwork to a nobleman overnight?

However, this was not the first time he had awakened with those memories. Edmund was a reincarnated person. Over the years, he had learned to hide his knowledge and slowly understand the rules of this world. Magic existed and was dangerous, but very few people had the talent to use it, so it was often viewed as a curse, and strict rules accompanied those who could use it, which calmed the minds of ordinary people.

But in these lands, anyone who had the "curse" was nothing more than trouble and danger.

This territory, which seemed so barren and backward, was located in the Border Principalities, a name he had never seen in his history books. The place was nothing more than a land filled with baronies and mercenaries constantly fighting to seize power, not to mention that it was the playground of hundreds of monstrous creatures that delighted in human flesh.

He took the written orders Barov was holding, threw them to the ground, and slowly said, "I feel tired. I'll listen to the rest of the report another day."

Edmund knew he could not afford to be reckless with his situation, but he was suffering from an immense headache because of the mess his incompetent father had left on his shoulders.

The nobles accompanying him remained calm at his unexpected declaration, but a tall man in armor stood up and exclaimed:

"My lord, this is no joke! The territory has been plagued by greenskin skirmishes for days, not to mention the terrible famine ravaging the common people." John, that handsome man, was actually his knight commander.

Edmund frowned and said, "The situation won't change even if I hear about every problem today."

His voice was filled with blatant mockery, and it was not only because of the bad memories he had of some of the people around him, but also because he was still debating whether to take responsibility; if he continued listening to the situation, he would only become involved before he had a chance to set it aside and abandon everything related to this place.

Seeing him remain silent, Edmund waved his hand to call his personal guards and left. John hesitated for a moment before descending and catching up with the troops walking alongside the new baron. The other nobles stood and paid their respects to their lord, but Edmund could perceive open contempt in the eyes of the crowd because of the brooch he wore on his chest, the insignia that marked him as a cursed mage.

Back at the fortress, located south of the frontier city, he dismissed the anxious minister Barov, who was standing outside the door to his chambers, finally allowing himself to breathe a sigh of relief now that he was alone.

"You may leave, Barov. We'll continue with the reports tomorrow as soon as I'm free."

"As you command, my lord." His tone seemed to say that he wanted to do it right now, but he backed down.

The minister bowed and walked away down the corridor. Edmund waited until his footsteps disappeared before closing the door.

Edmund could understand the anxiety of the household servants; unlike the nobles, they would lose everything if the barony fell, but they seemed unable to understand that this was a problem that had unexpectedly fallen onto his shoulders.

He had arrived at the barony after a letter had reached him in Middenheim months earlier from his mother; it spoke of how his father's health had worsened and how his elder brother had unexpectedly died while hunting goblins; his mother asked for his company, using his sisters, who would need his company to cope with what had happened.

Edmund remained seated for a few moments, going over memories from years ago, before he had fled the territory because of the pressure the house had placed on him, despite isolating him for being a mage.

He had barely lain down on the bed when he heard hurried footsteps on the other side. Two figures opened the door quickly, but when they saw Edmund in the middle of the room, they seemed to lose all their courage.

The older one was twenty years old. Her face still retained the delicacy of youth, but her eyes showed the exhaustion of someone who had been forced to mature too quickly because of the hardships that had befallen her family. Beside her was her younger sister, a sixteen-year-old girl who barely reached his chest.

For several seconds, neither of them said anything.

Then, the older one seemed to find some courage and ran toward him. "Edmund!"

The girl immediately followed her, and both approached the bed to hug him. His two younger sisters, whom he had been forced to leave when he decided to leave this place many years ago.

Edmund remained motionless for a moment. Although he would not admit it, he was afraid that neither of them would remember him because they had been so young when he left.

His arms wrapped around both sisters, pulling them against his chest as if he feared someone might take them away from him again. The girl hid her face against him, while the older one pressed her lips together to hold back her tears.

For the first time since returning, the weight of responsibility, the precarious state of the territory, and the fearful looks no longer mattered.

"We thought you would never come back," the older sister Annie whispered. She had inherited their mother's golden curls and their father's blue eyes, the beauty of the barony.

"I couldn't stay away forever," Edmund replied without releasing them from his arms. "Someone has to keep an eye on these little troublemakers."

The girl raised her head. "Will you stay with us?" It was Eliza. She looked much more like their father; not only did she have the same blue eyes, but she had also inherited his straight hair, dark as night.

Edmund looked at their faces and remembered the day the two of them had been born and how they had been the source of his happiness for many years in this life.

"Yes." The answer came without hesitation. "I'll stay."

The territory lacked food, the walls needed repairs, and most of the nobles were simply waiting for him to fail so they could liquidate their possessions and escape somewhere else where they could preserve their wealth.

Moreover, rumors about his power had already spread among the inhabitants. Some called him a monster, others a warlock, and many simply avoided getting too close to him. Edmund could not entirely blame them. The ignorance of these barbaric peasants barely allowed them to know that the sun rose in the east and then set in the west.

However, they now expected him to take power, as his cunning mother had played her cards well and manipulated not only the local nobles, but also Edmund, her only son and baron, into returning and taking control.

She was an ambitious woman and the true heir of House Lusignan, the legitimate ruler of Graymont, and, for the sake of her house, she was willing to do anything to ensure its survival. She had even taken advantage of Edmund's love for his two younger sisters and the threat that they would have to marry local barons if Edmund did not take power.

They were the only members of his family he was still willing to fight for. If they abandoned this place, they would be at the mercy of a court full of fools, the nobles, and a mother who cared only about advancing the power of House Lusignan, and although he could take them somewhere else, Edmund knew what world he was in and that in two decades the end of the world would come, ensuring that there would be nowhere that could save them.

He would not allow his sisters to pay the price for the ambitions of barbarians ignorant of the reality that would soon ravage this world.

 

[Mrcheshire]

The next morning, Edmund woke up before dawn.

For a few seconds, he remained motionless, looking at the wooden ceiling of his chambers. The silence of the fortress was barely interrupted by the distant sound of boots on the stone floor and by the murmur of the servants beginning their work.

In his previous life, that hour would have been too early to get up after a night of work. In Graymont, however, the day began long before the sun appeared over the mountains.

Edmund sat up and approached the window.

The fortress was located on an elevation south of the city. From there he could observe part of the walls, the rooftops of the houses and, beyond them, the lands that stretched toward the forest.

At first glance, Graymont seemed like a territory forgotten by the gods.

The walls needed repairs. Some houses had been abandoned. The roads were full of mud and stones, and barely any carts could be seen traveling along them. Even from that distance, it could be distinguished that the city had known better times.

Decades ago, long before his father took power or his mother was born, it was said that it was a city on the way to a chain of dwarven fortresses in the mountain range, but they had all fallen because of the sieges of the greenskins, or so it was said.

Edmund moved away from the window when he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Barov entered accompanied by a servant carrying a tray with breakfast. The old man seemed to have slept as little as he had. He had several folders under his arm and an expression that made it clear that he had spent a good part of the night organizing the reports that Edmund had rejected the previous day.

"My lord." Barov had to pause to wipe his forehead; he seemed nervous even while looking at Edmund's brooch on his chest.

"Barov."

The minister bowed as a greeting.

"I have prepared the reports you requested."

Edmund looked at the folders that Barov's assistant was holding.

"I don't remember requesting them."

Barov remained motionless for a moment before answering:

"Yesterday you said that you wanted to hear them today."

"I said I would listen to the rest of the report when I had time."

"Yes, my lord, that is why I decided to bring them as soon as possible and deal with the problems that require greater urgency."

Edmund sighed.

"Leave them on the table. We'll have breakfast while we talk."

The servant placed the tray and the folders on the table near the window. There was dark bread, cheese, a few slices of salted meat, and a small jug of milk. Even in the food, one could see how serious the situation was.

Edmund took a piece of bread while Barov remained standing in front of him.

"Sit down. It makes me uncomfortable that you remain there as if you were waiting for me to condemn you."

The old man hesitated before taking the chair on the other side of the table.

"As you command, my lord."

Edmund opened the first folder.

"Let's start with the most important thing. How much money does Graymont have?"

Barov blinked.

"Do you want to know the annual income or the current reserves?"

"Both," Edmund replied.

The minister adjusted his glasses.

"The available reserves amount to about one hundred and eighty gold crowns, although that figure does not include the outstanding payments to the merchants, the soldiers' wages, or the urgent repairs to the walls."

Edmund stopped chewing.

"Two months at most will give us that petty cash."

Barov lowered his gaze toward his documents, ignoring Edmund's accurate comment.

"This year's income will also be lower than usual, and we believe it will be around eighty crowns after debts. Mining production has decreased, and the last harvest was particularly bad. In addition, the greenskin raids have forced several settlements to abandon their lands and have increased the number of mouths we will have to feed this winter."

Edmund leaned back in his chair.

"And how much do we owe?"

"Approximately four hundred and twenty gold crowns in confirmed debts. Not counting some private loans whose interest is still being negotiated with the local nobles." His tone of voice seemed to contain intense anger toward the nobles.

Edmund closed his eyes for a moment.

His father had achieved an incredible feat, even for an incompetent nobleman: leaving a frontier barony on the verge of bankruptcy while being surrounded by enemies.

"What did he spend so much money on?" Edmund could imagine a few reasons, such as parties or galas; the man was predictable in his tastes.

Barov took a little while to answer, perhaps hesitating about how to say it without speaking badly of his former lord.

"Most of it was spent maintaining the troops, repairing the fortifications after the latest raids, and acquiring food. There were also some expenses related to the expansion of the former baron's residence."

Edmund ignored the first things; in the end, they were only the words of a loyal man defending the honor of his former lord, but the last thing did interest him.

"Residence?"

"The art wing, my lord."

"Of course, the idiot believed that the duty of the nobility was chivalry and art."

He turned a page.

"How many soldiers do we have?"

"One hundred and forty-six men in the main garrison. Another thirty-two serve at the guard posts of the mines and the roads. However…" Barov said, pausing and not seeming sure how to continue.

"However?"

"Not all of them are fit to fight."

Edmund raised his gaze; it was obvious that he was only going to receive bad news about this place, but even so, it did not reduce his headache.

"How many?"

"Perhaps one hundred and thirty men can fight effectively. Some are sick, others are too old, and several have been wounded in the latest skirmishes; five of them may not survive."

"And the knights?"

"Eleven sworn knights, counting Commander Jhon. Although only seven are currently in Graymont."

Edmund nodded slowly.

One hundred and thirty effective soldiers to defend a frontier city, its mines, its villages, and its roads. It might sound possible, but Edmund knew that calling these men soldiers was a joke. They knew how to fight and had surely had experience against greenskins, but they lacked training as a group and had the discipline of barbarians.

"What kind of enemies do we have exactly?"

Barov frowned.

"Do you mean the greenskin tribes?"

"I mean all of them, Barov, even the town thief, if possible."

The minister watched him for a few seconds before opening another folder.

"The main problems are the goblins and orcs that descend from the mountains. The raids have increased in recent months. There are also bandits on the eastern roads and…"

"I want to know even the rumors about ghosts, Barov; I don't want surprises later."

"It is said that there is an increase in troops in the neighboring territories," said the assistant minister, shaking his head.

Edmund frowned and asked:

"Mercenaries?"

Barov nodded at the question.

"The wars between the Border Principalities have intensified again." Some lords are gathering troops; Commander Jhon believes that we still have time before the claims reach Graymont.

Edmund left the bread on his plate.

"What would they want to claim from this place and who?"

"The northern mines, mainly. There are also disputes over two villages near the river. With House Gastonne, they believe that by securing the area, they can do so in their war against Ortega."

Houses Gastonne and Ortega were part of the twelve great houses of the Border Princess region; it was said that they had centuries of history and had fought in the Wars of Settra.

"And what did my father do about it?"

Barov simply remained silent.

Edmund ran a hand over his face.

"Fine. Let's leave my father out of this. What do we have to produce income?"

The minister seemed to regain some confidence when approaching a subject he knew well.

"The iron mines are our main source of income. We also extract small quantities of copper and silver, although the silver veins are not very productive. Hunting provides hides and meat, and some merchants buy wood and raw minerals."

"Are all the mines owned by the barony?"

"Most of them. There are two private concessions granted years ago to noble families."

Edmund raised an eyebrow.

"Under what conditions?"

"They pay a fixed part of the production and a tax for each shipment."

"And who supervises how much they produce?"

Barov did not answer immediately.

Edmund looked at him.

"Barov."

"The mine administrators submit their records every quarter."

"That was not what I asked."

The old man sighed.

"We do not have enough inspectors to verify every record, my lord."

Edmund let out a dry laugh.

"Then we don't know how much they produce."

"We have estimates."

"Estimates are what one uses when one does not have information."

Barov did not seem offended. In fact, his expression became somewhat more serious.

"My lord, Graymont does not have the necessary resources to maintain an administration like the one you seem to be imagining."

Edmund raised his gaze.

"And what am I imagining?"

"I don't know. But yesterday you requested population, production, taxes, arable land, mines, and troop records. Now you are asking about inspectors, contracts, and concessions."

Barov intertwined his hands on the table.

"If you allow me to say so, it seems that you are trying to understand the integral functioning of the territory."

Edmund held his gaze for a few seconds.

"And that seems strange to you?"

"It seems… ambitious, with all due respect, my lord. The kind of things you are asking for is something that would require a lot of manpower that we cannot afford."

"I just inherited a barony in debt, surrounded by enemies, and with the walls about to fall. I think understanding how it works is the least I can do."

Barov lowered his gaze.

"Yes, my lord."

The numbers were worse than he had imagined.

Mining production had decreased by almost a third in the last five years. Taxes were collected irregularly. The more distant villages had begun paying tribute to bands of bandits to avoid being raided. Merchants demanded increasingly higher prices for food, and the grain reserves would barely last a few weeks if the next harvest failed.

And, to make matters worse, the garrison was not only poorly equipped, but some of its members showed signs of malnutrition.

Edmund closed the folder that evidenced the inefficiency of this world of barbarians.

Edmund stood up and picked up his plate, passing it to the servant waiting beside him.

"Today I want to tour the fortress and the city. See the walls, the warehouses, the workshops, and the mines. I want to observe the territory with my own eyes."

Barov frowned slightly.

"The mines are several hours away."

"Then what luck that we just had breakfast; ready the horses."

 

[Mrcheshire]

Barov opened his mouth, probably to remind him that there were still pending matters, but ended up closing it. After a brief bow, he left the chambers to carry out the order.

Edmund did not take long to get ready.

He left behind the formal clothes he had worn the previous day and chose the clothes he had arrived in: a coat and trousers that allowed him greater mobility in close combat.

Under the coat, he wore a belt with a holster for his revolver. The rifle, meanwhile, was secured in a leather cover. Both weapons were strange to most of the inhabitants of Graymont, but no one had dared to ask too many questions about them.

His rapier would remain behind, along with his other belongings, sealed by a spell; a life in the wilderness had taught Edmund not to trust anyone.

When he arrived at the fortress courtyard, he found Jhon waiting for him alongside two other knights. The commander wore light armor and a sword at his side. The other men, both of a similar age, wore chainmail beneath their cloaks and carried short spears.

"My lord," John greeted him. "These are Ser Aldren and Ser Mathis. They will accompany us during the tour."

Edmund nodded. "Good. Do both of you know the mines?"

"They have served there on different occasions," Jhon replied. "They know the roads and the guard posts."

"Then you can tell me if the reports I have received are true."

Jhon seemed confused. "Is there any reason to doubt them?"

"There are many reasons to doubt anything in this place." Edmund mounted his horse. "Let's go."

The journey through the fortress was brief. Edmund observed the walls from the inside, the warehouses with their deteriorated doors, and the workshops where some craftsmen had already begun working. He did not need to stop for long to understand that the problem was not only the lack of money.

Everything seemed to function out of habit or intuition.

The warehouses received goods without a uniform record. The workshops used worn-out and excessively repaired tools. The carts piled up near the gates because no one had properly organized the movement of goods and there was no designated unloading area.

The city was a mess, in which everyone did what was necessary to survive the day.

It still made no sense to start giving orders if there were no people who understood the intentions behind them and who were observing their implementation.

For now, he would see the only possibility of saving this territory: the mines that had been the reason for this city.

The road to the north crossed an area of low hills and scattered forests. As they advanced, the terrain became more irregular and the signs of human activity more frequent. Small cabins, wooden warehouses, smelting furnaces, and secondary roads leading to different extraction points began to appear.

However, the activity was lower than Edmund expected. Few carts were loaded with ore, and too many workers waited beside the tunnel entrances.

"Is there always so little activity?" Edmund asked.

Ser Aldren looked toward the facilities. "No. A few years ago there were more workers, and the carts came and went all day. Now many tunnels are closed."

"Why?"

"Some stopped being profitable. Others flooded after the rains. There were also collapses during last year's earthquake."

Edmund frowned. "And they simply abandoned them?"

"We did not have the money to repair them, my lord."

It was clear that in Graymont, when part of the system stopped working, no one seemed to ask how to recover it. They simply adapted to the loss and continued working with what remained.

Edmund dismounted in front of the main entrance to the mine.

The administrator, a broad-shouldered man named Harlan, approached, accompanied by two supervisors. His clothes were covered in dust, and he had the expression of someone who had not received important visitors in a long time. The man, unlike yesterday, when he had presented himself to his new lord, had a disheveled and dirty appearance that blended in with that of the other mine workers.

"My lord. We did not expect your arrival."

"Relax, Harlan," Edmund replied while observing the facilities. "I want to know the real state of the mine."

Harlan bowed. "Of course. If you accompany me, we can show you the production records."

"Later. First, I want to see it."

The administrator hesitated.

"There are some areas that are not safe."

"Just get me an experienced guide. John is responsible for ensuring my safety."

Edmund pointed toward the main entrance.

"I want to see the active tunnels, the abandoned ones, and those that are causing problems. I want to know what is being extracted, how much is being extracted, and what prevents us from extracting more."

Harlan exchanged looks with his supervisors before nodding.

"As you command, my lord."

The tour began with the active tunnels. Edmund descended accompanied by John, the two knights, and several workers carrying oil lamps, along with Harlan himself, who had offered to serve as a guide out of fear that something might happen to him. The air became more humid as they advanced, and the sound of picks striking the rock echoed through the tunnels.

The mine was larger than Edmund had imagined, as well as much more primitive.

The workers used picks, shovels, and small wooden carts. Ventilation depended on rudimentary ducts and several vertical shafts. In certain places, water accumulated in small depressions in the ground, forcing the miners to go around them and spend more time excavating.

Not to mention the support beams.

Some were crooked; on others, moisture and mold were even visible. You didn't need to be a mining expert to see they were waiting for an accident before repairing the structures.

They continued until they reached an area where a layer of dark water covered the ground.

"This is one of the flooded tunnels," Harlan explained. "The water began leaking from a lower vein approximately two years ago. We tried to drain it, but the drainage shafts were not enough."

Edmund crouched near the edge and observed the water.

The problem was not necessarily impossible to solve with a steam-powered pump; this area could be recovered.

But doing so would come at an absurd price. Above all, it made no sense to build complex machinery without first knowing the amount of ore that could be extracted from that tunnel.

"What was down there?" he asked.

"Iron. The vein was quite good before it flooded."

"Quite good?"

Harlan nodded.

"According to the old records, yes."

Edmund looked at the water again.

That could be an opportunity, but it could also become a black hole in which Graymont's scarce reserves were wasted.

"I want the records for that tunnel," he said. "Including the drainage expenses and the amount of ore extracted before it was abandoned." Edmund thought that he would have to make a gamble and trust his ancestors; he could not ask anyone to go in and verify the information; no ordinary person would survive that.

"I will prepare them, my lord," Harlan said.

After inspecting the flooded area, they returned to the surface and headed toward an older excavation located on a nearby slope.

The surface was covered with fragments of reddish and gray rock. Several workers separated the ore with hammers, but they discarded large quantities of material and piled it into mounds beside the road.

"What is happening here?" Edmund asked.

"The vein still produces, but the ore is impure. It has too much rock mixed in, and the iron we obtain is low quality. Buyers pay less for it, so it is barely profitable to continue." Harlan replied.

Edmund took one of the fragments the administrator offered him.

He turned it between his fingers, looking at the ore that seemed to contain mixtures of sulfur and phosphorus. At a glance, it looked like an ordinary stone with metallic veins. In his previous life, it would have required a chemical or mineralogical analysis to determine its composition precisely.

Here, however, he had another possibility.

His element of magic, Cahmon.

Edmund closed his fingers around the fragment and allowed his power to slowly spread through the rock.

It was not an explosive or spectacular transformation. There was no flash that illuminated the mountain. He only felt the structure of the mineral become clear to him: the iron, the rock, the impurities, and the elements he did not need.

Edmund focused his will, and the world responded.

The stone dissolved into small particles that fell to the ground, while the iron gathered in his hand, taking on a compact and dark form. In a few seconds, what had previously looked like mediocre rock had become a small piece of almost pure metal.

Jhon took a step forward, his hand near his sword, fearing that a demon was going to be summoned, according to the rumors.

Edmund ignored their reactions.

The magic was simple in appearance, but the effort caused a sharp pressure behind his eyes. His breathing grew heavier, and he felt his concentration begin to wear him down.

It was not like lifting a stone or lighting a flame; besides, he had left his sword, which served as a focus for concentration, in his room.

Separating the impurities required identifying each component and maintaining control over them while altering the material's structure. The greater the quantity, the greater the difficulty.

He had eliminated the impurities, but the result did not justify the effort. If he needed to concentrate like that to purify a small amount of ore, it would be impossible to use his magic to process tons of iron.

He would not only end up exhausted.

He would also be wasting an ability that could have much more important uses.

"What have you done?" Harlan asked in a trembling voice.

Edmund raised his gaze. "I separated the iron from the rock." Edmund handed it to him.

The administrator looked at the small metallic fragment as if he were contemplating a sacred relic, despite the fear of magic that everyone felt. Harlan was certain that he had never seen purer iron than what he held in his hands.

"This proves that the ore contains usable iron. We only have to figure out how to remove them without resorting to magic," Edmund said while trying to recover his energy without anyone noticing anything; the only advantage he had was being a mage, and no one knew the extent of his abilities, so they feared and respected him.

Harlan blinked. "But… if you could do it with all the ore…"

"Don't be foolish. Even if I had been the best mage in the class, something at this level could only be done by a mage in the world."

Edmund also did not want everyone to expect that, with his magic, he could solve all the problems of the territory.

Jhon observed the fragment with a mixture of caution and curiosity. "Then, why do it?"

Edmund looked at the mounds of discarded sulfur and phosphorus, pleased by Jhon's question, which he had expected from the others.

"To confirm that the problem is not the absence of iron, but the way we are extracting and processing it."

Harlan frowned. "Do you think we can make better use of it and do it another way?"

"I think so, but we need to improve the furnaces to be able to do it, and it would be a much more effective use of my magic."

 

[Mrcheshire]

Days had passed since his inspection of the mines, and his responsibilities only seemed to be increasing. Edmund had met with all the city's officials to understand how everything worked, but it was the same old story: foolish loyalty to tradition, or incompetence and corruption within the system.

If Edmund wanted to properly develop his territory, he had to put down deep roots in that place. Although the land was a wasteland, it could be restored with ease. If the territory proved too small, he could always expand. The problem was not just a lack of labor or insufficient income; he would have to build a system from scratch so he wouldn't try to fix something already broken and bleeding the treasury dry.

After the assistant minister left and they confirmed that the local nobles were concealing the amount of iron being produced, Edmund called for Commander Jhon and ordered him:

"Gather your men and look for a few more trustworthy guards. They must have combat experience and be in good health."

After the knight saluted and left, Edmund rubbed his forehead while continuing to examine the data collected by Minister Barov.

The frontier city's main exports came from mining and hunting, while most of its imports were food. Everything was transported directly along the Tana Dante River, which passed through the territory of the Kingdom of Khypris, the local kingdom attempting to expand its lands in Border Princess.

The city's mineral exports included all kinds of minerals: iron, copper, sulfur, and, with luck, some precious stones such as sapphires and rubies…

The city did not pay for its mineral exports with gold, but with food from outside. One would expect that, given that gems were considered highly valuable luxury goods, the frontier city would have accumulated a considerable surplus of grain over the past five years.

But that had not been the case.

Wasteful spending on unnecessary art and knightly festivals had bled the house's treasury dry.

Edmund would have to secure enough funds to begin the changes he wanted to make. Otherwise, he could be left with half-executed plans that would only worsen the situation.

All of this was based on the premise that he could defend himself against all the enemies surrounding him, but to do that, he needed a capable force.

Jhon acted quickly. The next day, he gathered thirty of his trusted men alongside two knights, the same ones who had accompanied us during the inspection of the mines: Ser Aldren and Ser Mathis.

Worn armor, spears or swords that had seen better days. Some looked too thin for the equipment they carried, while others displayed old scars and the rigid posture of men who had spent too many years surviving with insufficient resources.

Edmund observed them in silence.

He had not expected to find elite soldiers. Graymont could barely keep its men fed and equipped, much less pay for a professional army. But he did not need to begin by teaching them how to wield a sword.

Most of these men already knew how to fight.

The problem was that each of them seemed to have learned how to do so on his own.

"Are these the best we have?" Edmund asked.

"The most reliable and the ones in the best condition," Jhon replied. "Some have served for years in the patrols around the mines and roads. Others have experience fighting bandits and greenskins."

Edmund looked again at the irregular formation before him.

"Good. Then we will begin with something simple. Starting today, all of you will begin rigorous training. It will be mandatory and will take place every day."

The reaction was immediate.

Several guards exchanged displeased looks. Some frowned, while others let out annoyed sighs. They had come expecting to receive new patrol orders or participate in some operation, not spend hours repeating basic movements under the sun.

Even the two knights seemed annoyed.

Ser Aldren crossed his arms over his chest, while Ser Mathis watched Edmund with a skeptical expression. Both had trained since childhood and considered the guards long past the training stage.

Edmund noticed their reactions but paid them no attention.

"Before you start complaining, listen carefully. Everyone who completes the training will receive a salary increase. It will not be a symbolic reward; it will be a real increase for those who follow the program."

Although Edmund did not want men who were loyal to him because of money, he was not foolish enough to believe that everyone would be loyal to him simply because he was the lord of the land. He would leave that kind of thinking to the Bretonnians.

The murmur of discontent diminished, though it did not disappear completely.

"Additionally, food will be served to all participants after every session. And whoever finishes each exercise first will receive double the normal portion."

This time, the silence was absolute.

The men looked at one another. For many of them, a double portion of food was a much more convincing incentive than any speech about honor or discipline.

Jhon observed the men and then turned his gaze back to Edmund.

"What exactly do you plan to accomplish by training simple guards?" he asked. "Some of them have barely participated in organized combat. And the knights already have their own training. What do you expect to achieve with all this?"

Edmund held his gaze.

"I need soldiers and commanders for my next battles."

Jhon frowned slightly.

"Soldiers and commanders? My lord, these men are guards. Ser Aldren and Ser Mathis are knights, not army officers."

"That is what they are now," Edmund replied. "But that does not necessarily mean it is what they have to remain."

He turned toward the men, who were listening to the conversation with growing attention.

"I do not need simple guards who know how to watch a gate or chase a thief. Nor do I need knights who only know how to fight on their own. I need men capable of standing firm in formation, obeying orders, leading others, and making decisions when the battle becomes chaotic."

Edmund allowed his words to sink in before continuing.

"Each of you must ask yourselves a question: what do you want to become?"

Some raised their heads, slightly confused by Edmund's words.

"Do you want to remain poorly paid guards, destined to patrol roads and guard mines? Do you want to become soldiers capable of defending your homes? Or do you aspire to become commanders, men whom others will follow when the time comes to fight?"

The courtyard remained silent.

Even the knights had stopped openly displaying their displeasure. Ser Mathis lowered his arms, and Ser Aldren narrowed his eyes, as if he were seriously considering Edmund's words for the first time.

"The answer will depend on how much you are willing to endure," Edmund continued. "Today, I am not going to teach you anything glorious. You will march, halt, turn, close ranks, and advance without losing formation. Afterward, you will learn to attack and retreat in turns. If anyone breaks formation without an order, everyone will repeat the exercise."

The men prepared themselves with evident reluctance, although there was now some interest in Edmund's words.

Edmund stepped aside and rejoined the three knights.

"Each of you will take command of ten men and ensure that each group is coordinated and able to fight as one."

Jhon watched as the guards began forming clumsy, irregular lines and merely shook his head, somewhat overwhelmed by the task his new lord had placed in his hands.

 

[Mrcheshire]

Edmund stood beside the furnace, watching as the flames began to stabilize. The air in the backyard was filled with smoke, charcoal, and the harsh smell of hot metal. Beside him, a middle-aged blacksmith examined the furnace with a mixture of curiosity and distrust.

His name was Bram, and over the past few days, he had been one of the few men capable of following Edmund's instructions without trying to modify every detail according to the city's customs.

The furnace they had built was not entirely new. Edmund had used one of the furnaces employed in Graymont's forges as a base, but he had modified the combustion chamber, the air intake system, and the arrangement of the materials. He had also reinforced the inner walls with a mixture of refractory clay, sand, and other components that he had managed to combine through alchemical magic.

It was not a perfect creation. The furnace took too long to reach the necessary temperature and consumed a considerable amount of charcoal. However, Edmund was not seeking perfection in his first attempt.

He was looking for an improvement that could be replicated.

"How much longer?" he asked.

Bram leaned forward to observe the interior through the inspection opening.

"It hasn't reached its peak yet, my lord. The heat is greater than that of our usual furnaces, but it takes time to concentrate. If we force it too much, the walls could crack."

Edmund nodded.

"Don't force it. I would rather lose a few hours than destroy the furnace during the first test."

The blacksmith gave him a strange look. In his experience, nobles usually demanded immediate results and left the workers to deal with the consequences. Edmund, on the other hand, seemed more concerned with understanding the process than with appearing authoritative.

The objective of the test was simple: to produce higher-quality iron than what was usually obtained in Graymont.

The ore extracted from the mines contained a considerable amount of impurities. Some could be removed during traditional smelting, but others, especially sulfur and phosphorus, remained in the metal in sufficient quantities to make it brittle or difficult to work with.

Edmund could not remove all the impurities with magic. Doing so on a large scale would consume too much time and energy, and it would not solve the problem of creating a stable industry. But he could use his knowledge to modify the process and make the furnace perform a much greater portion of the work.

And, of course, they had no thermometers capable of accurately measuring the temperature inside the furnace. Edmund had been forced to rely on a combination of observation, experience, and magic. He could perceive changes in the metal and in the structure of the furnace, but he could not turn that ability into a complete substitute for industrial instruments.

That was why the process remained slow.

"Are you sure it will work?" Bram asked.

"I'm not sure it will work the way I want it to," Edmund replied. "But I am sure that the current furnaces waste too much of the steam's potential heat."

Bram remained silent, somewhat doubtful about what his lord was saying. When his lord had arrived with the offer to improve one of his furnaces and purchase another, he had wanted to refuse, but his sales had been low that year, and his arguments with his wife over money had been increasing.

He had only accepted after his lord promised to compensate him if it failed. At first, when Edmund used magic and brought dozens of materials that joined his reliable furnace, Bram had feared that it would turn into a monster out of nowhere. But after several tests, he had confirmed that the furnace reached temperatures higher than any furnace he had ever seen before.

Edmund took a small piece of ore they had prepared for the test and held it between his fingers.

"The problem is not that our mines produce too little iron. The problem is that much of what we extract ends up becoming mediocre-quality metal. That limits what we can manufacture, increases losses, and forces blacksmiths to work harder for worse results."

"Graymont's iron has always been like that," Bram said. "Some batches turn out better than others, but we've become experts at making do with what we have."

His pride in the city's forging history seemed eager to defend it against his lord's comments.

"That is precisely what I want to change, Bram," Edmund interrupted. "I don't want my blacksmiths wasting time obtaining mediocre results. I want my forges to be efficient and productive."

The furnace flames suddenly rose. Bram took a step back, while Edmund observed the color of the fire and the movement of the air entering through the openings.

"Now," he murmured.

The blacksmith quickly approached and followed the instructions they had practiced during the previous tests. He adjusted the air intake, added fuel, and checked the position of the container where the metal accumulated.

The process continued for a long while.

There was no explosion or spectacular change. The furnace simply continued burning, consuming charcoal and slowly transforming the ore. The difference lay in the small details: the more stable temperature, the more efficient combustion, and the fact that the iron finally reached the point where it moved almost like a liquid into the mold.

Once they were certain that the iron had stopped flowing, Bram and his assistants extracted the first ingot.

It was smaller than Edmund would have liked, and its surface was covered in slag. However, after cleaning it and allowing it to cool, the blacksmith examined it carefully.

"It seems more uniform than what we normally produce," Bram said, studying the piece.

"Cut it."

The blacksmith took a tool and struck the ingot. After several blows, he managed to separate a section. He examined the inside, struck it again, and ran his thumb over the newly exposed surface.

His expression changed.

"It is the highest-quality iron we have produced in the last decade, perhaps comparable to the best batch the city has ever produced."

His face was a mixture of excitement and fear as he looked at the monstrosity his lord had built.

"Congratulations, Master Bram. We have healed the first hemorrhage in this place."

Bram examined the ingot with renewed interest.

"And can we produce it like this from now on?"

"We can try. But it will take time to modify all the furnaces. This furnace needs time to reach the proper temperature, and we are still learning how to maintain it. In addition, it consumes more charcoal and requires experienced blacksmiths to learn what the proper temperature is."

Edmund looked at the furnace.

It was not an immediate solution. Production would be slower at first, and the initial costs would be higher. But the result could completely change Graymont's industrial capacity.

Higher-quality iron meant stronger tools, more reliable weapons, more durable machinery parts, and, over time, structures that previously would have been impossible to manufacture in the territory.

"Bram," Edmund said, "I want you to prepare some pieces using the iron from this batch."

"What kind of pieces?"

"Small axles, simple gears, bolts, long nails, and some thin plates. I also want you to try making a test blade."

"A sword?"

"Not necessarily. A cutting tool will be enough. I just want pieces that demonstrate the efficiency of this iron and can be compared with what the others produce."

Bram nodded slowly, somewhat confused as to why anyone would want to do something like that.

"I can do it."

"And when you finish, gather the other blacksmiths of Graymont and, if possible, call your friends and relatives to the city square tomorrow."

The man and his assistants raised their heads from the iron, somewhat confused by what Edmund was asking.

"All of them?" one of Bram's assistants asked, without any honorifics due to his confusion.

"Those who want to come. Tell them what you saw and tell them that I have work for every blacksmith in the city," Edmund replied, ignoring the young man's lack of manners.

Bram struck his assistant and watched Edmund for a few seconds.

"My lord, are you going to order all of us to work with this new furnace?"

"Not yet. First, we must determine what works and what needs to be improved. Afterward, we will renovate more furnaces, organize the supply of charcoal and ore, and establish a more orderly production system."

Edmund looked toward the old buildings surrounding the courtyard.

"Until now, every blacksmith has worked like an island. Each one has his own tools, methods, and little secrets. That may be enough to make horseshoes or repair a sword, but not to build an industry."

Bram remained silent, still somewhat confused by what Edmund was saying.

"We need a proper factory," Edmund continued. "A place where the ore arrives, is processed, turned into ingots, and then sent to different workshops. I want the tasks to be separated, the workers to specialize, and production to be measurable."

"That sounds like something many people won't accept, my lord. This is our life's work, and many will earn less money. They are not only losing the customs they have followed their entire lives, but if this fails, they risk going bankrupt," Bram pointed out. Although he did not want to admit it in front of Edmund, he doubted whether he wanted to accept something like that.

"I know. But anyone who wishes to work with the new furnace will have to follow the rules. We will see whether they want to continue with their old customs while competing against higher-quality iron, or whether they prefer to secure the city's future."

Bram lowered his gaze to the ingot. The quality of the metal was difficult to ignore, and if what his lord said was true, then better furnaces would soon appear throughout the city, requiring barely the work of an experienced blacksmith to produce this quality.

It was then, for the first time, that Bram understood the fear ordinary people had of mages. He could not understand how Edmund had developed such an infernal furnace, and they would never be able to compete against it. Therefore, he would make sure that he at least gained the advantages of being the first to accept.

 

[Mrcheshire]

The following morning, Edmund rang Graymont's bells.

It was not the first time the main square had gathered much of the city, but this time, people arrived with a different kind of curiosity. Rumors about the new furnace had begun circulating among the blacksmiths, miners, and merchants, and no one seemed to have a clear idea of what the young lord intended to do with it.

When Edmund climbed onto the small stone platform in front of the administrative building, the square was already full.

There were miners who still had some of the mine's dust on their clothes, merchants who had temporarily closed their stalls, and families who had simply come because any announcement by a noble usually meant changes in taxes, new jobs, or some problem that would eventually affect them.

Bram stood a few steps behind Edmund with two of his assistants. Several tools made during the initial tests sat on a table.

Nails, bolts, a horseshoe, a small iron axle, and two thick blades of the same size.

Edmund waited until the murmuring died down.

"As some of you have seen, over the past week I have been inspecting Graymont's mines, forges, and workshops."

Edmund used the foundations of the speeches he had learned to give when presenting projects in his former life, a skill he never thought he would use again.

"And I have reached a simple conclusion. This city can produce much more than it currently does."

The silence deepened.

"I do not only believe that we can extract more ore. We can also process it better, allowing us to manufacture higher-quality tools and sell them at prices accessible both to our workers and to those who depend on them."

Edmund pointed toward the furnace they had laboriously transported to the central square for the presentation.

"That is why, with this furnace, we will begin constructing an iron factory in Graymont, where every blacksmith will be able to use it free of charge."

Immediate murmurs broke out. The blacksmiths reacted most intensely. They were not stupid enough to misunderstand Edmund's intentions, and although the idea of a better furnace excited them, the offer seemed like a deal in which they were selling their souls to the devil.

Edmund raised a hand and waited for the murmurs to calm down.

"Working there will not be mandatory."

"No blacksmith will lose his forge for refusing to participate. No worker will be forced to abandon his trade. The factory will be a new option for those who wish to become part of it."

Edmund paused.

"We will hire blacksmiths, assistants, and workers willing to learn. Everyone will receive a weekly base salary. Workers who produce more or take on new responsibilities may receive additional payments according to their role and experience."

This provoked a much more animated reaction among those who were not in a good financial situation. In Graymont, as in many other places in the world, a blacksmith's work did not always guarantee a stable income. Many depended on the orders they received and on their customers' ability to pay.

A regular salary was something very different.

"Furthermore," Edmund continued, "during the initial period, the products manufactured in the factory will be exempt from the internal taxes that currently make them more expensive to sell. I want the savings to reach the buyers and production to increase before we begin demanding more revenue from this industry."

A merchant raised his voice from the back. He had arrived expecting to do business with the crowd once the lord finished his affairs, but he had become intrigued by the speech.

"And how much will they cost, my lord?"

"Until now, a batch of one hundred nails costs eighty copper pennies. Once the factory opens, the same batch will cost fifty pennies."

Several people began murmuring in surprise.

"Horseshoes, which currently sell for eight pennies each, will cost five pennies each. Simple bolts will go from six pennies to four, and small iron axles, which usually reach fifteen pennies, will sell for ten pennies."

Edmund allowed the crowd to absorb the figures.

"These will not be temporary prices meant to attract buyers. They will be our initial prices. If we manage to increase production and reduce waste even further, we may lower them in the future."

The merchant frowned, somewhat doubtful about the prices. He had worked with iron all his life and took pride in having traveled throughout the territories of Border Princess in his youth. Because of that, he knew these prices were much lower than those in any place he had visited.

"How can you sell them so cheaply?"

"Because we are going to produce them differently."

Edmund pointed toward the pieces.

"Until now, every blacksmith has purchased his own charcoal, obtained his own iron, maintained his own tools, and manufactured each piece from beginning to end. That means many of you are paying to do things you do not need to do."

Some of the blacksmiths looked at one another.

"In the new factory, we will separate the tasks. Some workers will prepare the metal. Others will manufacture the pieces. Others will finish and inspect them. This will allow each person to do their job better while wasting less time and material."

Edmund picked up a blade.

"But the price is not the only difference."

He handed the blade to Bram.

"Show them."

Bram put on his gloves and placed the blades on a wooden block.

"This blade was made with the iron we normally produce in Graymont."

Bram picked up the blade and showed it to everyone. No one doubted his claim, as it had the dark color characteristic of the territory's poor-quality iron.

Bram took the second blade in his hands and demonstrated it to the crowd. Not only was its color much more uniform, but its sharp edge could also be seen at a glance.

"This one was made with iron from the new furnace."

Edmund then took both pieces and showed them to the crowd before suddenly striking them against each other as hard as he could. The strength of an experienced blacksmith was not insignificant, and the greatest difference soon became clear when the poor-quality iron blade chipped while the new one remained without a scratch.

"Same size, same purpose, and both pieces received the same amount of care. The only difference was the iron used."

Edmund allowed the noise to continue for a few seconds before speaking again.

"I do not want Graymont to continue selling mediocre products at high prices simply because we do not know another way to work and only harm one another in the process."

He pointed toward the mine, which could be partially seen from the square.

"We have ore. We have charcoal. We have workers. We have blacksmiths capable of producing high-quality goods thanks to a lifetime of dedication, despite the insufficient materials that have prevented them from truly developing their talent. What we lack is organization and unity to fight against adversity, and I am not only talking about a factory, but also about the people."

His gaze swept across the square.

"That is what I am going to change, and I declare it before all of you."

Edmund picked up one of the horseshoes.

"Starting this week, we will begin building the factory. We will need workers to prepare the land, transport materials, raise the structures, and build the furnaces. Blacksmiths who wish to join may speak with Bram after this meeting."

He then looked at the other inhabitants.

"And I do not need only blacksmiths. I need assistants, porters, apprentices, carpenters, masons, and anyone willing to learn a trade."

 

[Mrcheshire]

The wind gently struck the windows of Lady Lusignan's chambers as she listened to the morning report.

Seated beside the fire, she kept her eyes fixed on an open letter. In front of her, an older woman stood with her hands clasped over her stomach.

"What news do you bring me today?" Lady Lusignan asked, turning her gaze toward the old man standing behind her.

"The accounting system, apparently," the man replied. "Edmund ordered the old records to be replaced with separate books for each activity: mining, smelting, transportation, and warehouses."

Lady Lusignan slowly raised her eyes.

"Separate?"

"Yes. Apparently, every expense must be recorded alongside its source. He also demands that losses, damaged tools, and the quantities delivered to each person in charge be documented."

"That is not a simple reorganization. I did not know we had the men to do that."

"Because we do not. The scribes say it now takes them twice as long to close the accounts, and they are demanding more personnel."

Lady Lusignan rose and placed the letter on the table.

"It seems my son has managed to find the corruption plaguing this city within his first month in office, Charles."

That managed to draw a smile from her.

"Then Edmund plans to reform the entire accounting system."

"He has also asked the scribes to sign every record before filing it."

Lady Lusignan placed a finger on the table.

"That is certainly new."

For years, Graymont's reports had arrived in only a few pages. Total production, main expenses, outstanding taxes, and little else. No one could know exactly how much ore was being extracted, how much was lost during transportation, or what portion of the income ended up in the hands of intermediaries.

"I believe it is so that, if a document is falsified, they can identify it immediately and verify whether any of them were involved, my lady. That way, a scribe will think twice before accepting a bribe."

Charles came from Imperial lands and had served as a tax collector in his youth, but fate had eventually brought him to Graymont.

"I see… Well done, Charles. Once again, you prove that an Imperial education is far better than anyone expects. If it had not been for Antoine, I would have sent all my children to the capital, but he wanted them to be raised with Bretonnian knowledge, following tradition."

The irritation was evident in Camille Lusignan, although she respected traditions. She knew that they did not wish to preserve what truly mattered, but only what they were capable of doing.

"And what else has changed these days?" Camille asked.

"Apparently, he plans to sell many of the artworks from the former lord's residence, my lady."

"Sell them?" She laughed.

"Yes. He has ordered a complete inventory to be carried out. Some pieces will be sent to merchants in the capital; others, it seems, will be offered to nobles in the region."

"I imagine he wants to finance the reforms with the proceeds, but has he specifically said what he intends to use the money for?"

"No one seems to know, my lady. The lord has been very reserved about his plans. He seems to arrive somewhere, give certain orders, and disappear toward the next place."

Camille remained silent for a few moments.

She was not surprised that Edmund wanted to sell them. Ever since he had been a child, he had shown that he felt no attachment to appearances when they interfered with his plans. She still remembered how he had abandoned his birthday party because he thought it was pompous when he was young.

But the artworks were not simple objects.

Each one represented an alliance, a debt, or part of the family's reputation. Selling them could signify weakness in the eyes of the other subordinate houses, and worse, in the eyes of the hyenas waiting for an opportunity to claim a part of Graymont.

"What pieces does he intend to sell?"

"Old portraits, tapestries, ceremonial tableware, some sculptures, and several paintings brought from the south. There is also a collection of decorative weapons that belonged to the former lord."

Camille frowned.

"The weapons as well? I thought he would be fond of them, judging by the appearance of the ones he brought home when he arrived."

At first, it had been a surprise to see her son, who was rumored to be a mage, arrive wearing steel armor. Not only that, but he also had a strange rifle on his back that no one had ever seen before, along with what appeared to be a revolver resembling those used by the military officers of the Empire—completely contrary to the image one would have of a mage, not to mention his rapier. All of them had golden details.

Although Camille had not realized it at the time, that was what confirmed the rumors she had heard about her son being a successful adventurer in Middenheim.

"He considers them useless for defense and too expensive to maintain. He also said that he would not continue keeping useless things unless his food stores were overflowing."

Camille let out a brief laugh, though it did not sound amused.

"That sounds exactly like him. Let him do as he wishes for now. He has proven efficient in managing the territory, and although he may lack sufficient political skills, he can always manage with a trusted subordinate."

Charles took a step closer.

"There are nobles who disagree."

"Who?"

"Lord Armand has sent a letter. He claims that selling the artworks could damage Graymont's dignity and diminish the family's prestige. He also says that some pieces were given as diplomatic gifts and that selling them could be interpreted as an insult."

Camille picked up the letter she had left on the table and opened it.

"Anything else?"

"Lady Merienne has asked whether the pieces will be appraised by experts. Lord Veyrac demands to know who will receive the proceeds. And two minor families have implied that Edmund has no right to sell objects belonging to their ancestors."

"And what has Edmund's response to their complaints been?"

"None, my lady, except that it seems his new personal retinue has changed its usual routes and regularly patrols the residences of those nobles."

"It seems Edmund does not appreciate the importance of such things as we do, Charles. Introduce him to good merchants and appraisers. If we are going to sell this place's history, then at least we will sell it for a good price."

"Are you sure, my lady? He could lose the support of all the nobles and cause the house's reputation to collapse."

"What can we do, Charles? Neither Antoine nor I could resolve the situation, and when my Frank died at the hands of those filthy beasts, we could only place our trust in our lost lamb."

Camille interrupted herself.

"Besides, something tells me that soon we will not have to worry about the nobles' support."

At that moment, someone knocked on the door, but did not even wait for a response.

"Mother!"

The door burst open, and a young woman entered the chambers with her hair slightly disheveled and an expression of absolute determination.

Eliza Lusignan wore a simple dress, although she had clearly left her chambers in too much of a hurry to worry about the details. Her eyes were bright, and she held several papers against her chest.

Camille looked at her sternly.

"How many times have I told you that you must wait until you are given permission to enter?"

"Three times this week."

"Then it seems you still haven't learned."

"But this time it's important."

Charles discreetly stepped aside.

"Lady Eliza."

"Charles." The young woman barely paid him any attention. She walked directly to the table and placed the papers in front of her mother.

"You said we would go see the factory Edmund is building today. Let's go."

Charles did not understand what his lady meant by those words, but he would soon learn that the reason Camille had moved so many strings to ensure Edmund assumed power was not the insistence of a mother who wanted her bloodline to rule, but because there was no one in this world who knew the children of House Lusignan better than the mother who had given birth to them.