After leaving the Governor's Office, Karl's mood was no lighter despite having secured the Count's promise of "investment." If anything, his heart felt heavier.
He knew clearly that what the Count had said was not some kind of "mortgage," but a naked declaration of Carnford's only—and ultimate—fate.
To become the first line of defense, flesh and blood against the Saurons' southward advance.
In truth, even without this deal, when the Saurons truly came pouring south like a tidal wave, did he have any choice besides defending Carnford to the death?
Abandoning the soldiers and subjects who trusted and followed him, then fleeing back to Fran City in disgrace like a stray dog?
He couldn't imagine such a scene, much less face such a disgraceful version of himself.
Doing so would not only betray everyone's expectations, but also trample his own dignity and convictions beneath his feet.
Perhaps, in the end, he would be like the previous Lord, dying in battle atop those ruins? To die on the battlefield was heroic, wasn't it?
He was not afraid of death. But if that was how things were destined to end, then before death arrived, he had to do everything in his power to make complete preparations, make this defense more worthwhile, and perhaps even carve out a sliver of hope.
Since he had no choice but to remain in Fran City for two days, he decided to use that time to do something else of vital importance—to recruit more skilled workers for Carnford.
They were not short on people for the time being.
It would take time to digest and integrate the more than three hundred slaves and refugees.
But they had only four core skilled craftsmen: Old Morrell, the stonemason Hans, the carpenter Vali, and the hydraulic engineer Fenn.
For a territory that needed to be rebuilt and developed rapidly, that was far from enough.
They needed more blacksmiths, carpenters, stonemasons, bricklayers, and perhaps craftsmen skilled in livestock, textiles, and other trades.
However, a problem soon followed.
Why would craftsmen with stable jobs and incomes in Fran City give up their relatively safe and comfortable lives to follow him into danger on the Northern Territory's front line?
Soldiers might be willing to take a gamble for military merit and promotion, but craftsmen were different. Their skills could earn them a living anywhere, and life in the safe Fran City was clearly more comfortable.
Karl quickly sorted out his thoughts. His targets could only be certain groups of people.
For example, craftsmen who had lost out in local guild competition and whose struggling businesses were barely staying afloat.
People burdened with debt for various reasons and desperate to escape their predicament.
Or people who, because of their pasts, could not establish themselves normally in Fran City—people with a "dark history."
Only such people might be drawn by the opportunities Carnford offered, the higher pay, and the promise of a "fresh start."
But another problem arose. He knew nothing about Fran City's circle of craftsmen. Where could he find these particular people?
Ask the Count for help? Bothering the Governor of the Northern Territory over such a trivial matter would be rather presumptuous. Besides, he had just secured a large investment from the Count; it would be awkward to ask for more.
That left only one final candidate, and the most suitable one at that.
Karl stood on the street outside the Governor's Office, his gaze involuntarily turning toward a certain direction in the inner city.
Charlotte Rochefort.
As the Governor's daughter, she had grown up in Fran City. She must have an in-depth understanding of the city's people from all walks of life and every profession.
And given her personality and way of doing things, she had probably come into contact with people outside the more "mainstream" circles.
Asking her to show him the way or provide some information would be ideal.
It was just that he had troubled her only yesterday, and now he was going to ask for her help again...
Karl felt slightly embarrassed, but for the sake of his territory's development, a little pride was nothing.
He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and decided to pay another visit to the Rose of the Northern Border, who seemed covered in thorns yet had repeatedly given him crucial assistance.
Karl arrived once more at Charlotte's elegant little house and gently knocked on the door.
Martha, the maid from yesterday, opened it this time.
The moment she saw Karl, a smile appeared on her face. She turned back and called into the house, "Miss, Lord Karl is here."
Karl was ushered inside and saw Charlotte lazily curled up on the living-room sofa. A soft blanket covered her, a novel rested in her hands, and on the coffee table beside her sat a plate of snacks and a cup of steaming flower tea.
Her relaxed, homely appearance was a stark contrast to her usual image as a knight in military uniform.
When she saw Karl's visit, she set down her novel and sat up a little, curiosity in her eyes.
"Karl? What's the matter? I don't serve lunch here, you know." She teased him.
Karl smiled. "Forget lunch. I haven't even had breakfast. Your father summoned me to the Governor's Office first thing this morning."
"What did he want with you?" Charlotte asked curiously.
Karl told her about the Count's request that he stay two more days to lead and look after the other pioneering noble teams before their departure.
Charlotte pursed her lips. "Oh, that? My father ordered me to accompany them too, in the name of 'supervision and coordination.' To be honest, slowly hauling that bunch of useless noble brats to their miserable territories is less satisfying than wiping out a nest of goblins."
Karl's heart, however, leaped with joy. The thought of traveling alongside Charlotte made this tedious assignment seem unexpectedly appealing.
Charlotte immediately pressed him further. "Well? Did you bring up the investment afterward? What did he say?"
"I did." Karl nodded. "He agreed, and... said he didn't need any collateral or interest."
Charlotte's eyes widened, her face filled with disbelief. "You're kidding, right? I don't believe my father is the sort of kindhearted man generous enough to waive collateral! Your relationship definitely isn't that close! What did he really ask for?"
Karl drew a deep breath and repeated the Count's weighty demand. "...He wants Carnford and me to stand our ground when the Saurons move south this autumn. We are not to retreat, no matter what, until the last man."
The living room fell silent at once.
The easy smile vanished from Charlotte's face. She stared silently at Karl, a complex light flickering through her aquamarine eyes—shock, understanding, and a trace of concern so faint it was almost impossible to detect.
After a long while, she finally spoke. "That... does sound like him. A typical 'Rochefort-style' deal. Did you... agree?"
"I had no choice," Karl replied calmly. "And even without this deal, when the Saurons come, I will make the same choice."
Charlotte sighed softly and said nothing more about it.
She changed the subject. "So you came to see me for more than just telling me this, didn't you?"
"Yes." Karl used the opportunity to explain his other predicament and request.
He urgently needed to recruit craftsmen of various trades, but his targets could only be the "special people" who had failed to thrive in Fran City, and he had no idea where to find them.
After listening, Charlotte sprang up from the sofa and briskly flung the blanket aside. "Perfect. I was getting bored anyway. Come on! I'll take you somewhere."
She swiftly changed into simple clothes for going out and left with Karl.
Before you continue