At the Dock

Victor stood quietly at the bow, his gaze fixed on the bustling, crowded scene at the dock before him.

Hundreds of dockworkers hurried back and forth between piles of cargo, drenched in sweat yet moving swiftly as they hoisted crate after crate of immensely heavy goods onto their shoulders. With firm, powerful strides, they carried them toward the massive fleet under his command and carefully placed them in their designated positions aboard the ships.

At the same time, the seasoned, battle-hardened sailors were not idle either.

Some were checking whether the ropes were secure, while others carefully compared the cargo manifests to ensure nothing was missed. Yet small incidents still occurred from time to time—for example, when a dockworker carelessly placed a crate in the wrong spot, it could easily spark fierce arguments, even prolonged disputes, between the sailors and dockworkers over the proper arrangement of the cargo.

Victor asked, "Gaita, is this the last batch?"

Gaita, standing behind him, immediately replied, "My Lord Marquis, this is the last batch of supplies. Only some wheat remains in Blackwater City's warehouses—the new grain collected this year from Wright County.

"As per your instructions, this new grain will be sold to the Great Merchant Guilds and exchanged for older grain, or for rye and barley, to serve as rations for next year's immigrant serfs.

"Preliminary estimates suggest that, including the grain they use to offset payment for the goods, we should be able to stockpile more than 30,000 tons after the new year. That will be enough to provide quarterly rations for 150,000 people."

Victor nodded. "Good. That amount is sufficient. According to the agreement with Alex, over the next three years, we can relocate 200,000 serfs from the directly administered territories of the former duchy's Central Region. The first batch next