Manor Planning

By the time Ron returned to camp, it was nearly dark. The last trace of light in the distant sky was being swallowed by the night, and the torches set along the camp walls had already been lit, their flames tugging in the wind.

Erwin stood at the main gate. He was not passing by—he was waiting there. His glasses sat crookedly on his nose, and he clutched a noteboard in his hands.

The papers clipped to it rustled in the evening breeze. When he saw Ron dismount, the tension in his shoulders eased, so slightly that anyone standing a few steps away would never have noticed.

Ron noticed.

"You're back," Erwin said, his voice calm, exactly as it was when he assigned work around camp.

Ron walked up and patted him on the shoulder. Erwin's thin shoulder sank a little, and his lips moved, but he said nothing.

Then he turned and followed Ron toward the courtyard, flipping over the noteboard as they walked and beginning to report on the day's affairs.

In the courtyard, Ron sat at the table, leaned his battleaxe against the wall, and recounted the Crow's Nest negotiations from beginning to end.

The baron's reaction, the confirmation of the transfer order's number, the figures and place names in the trade ledger, and finally, the baron's seal.

Erwin sat across from him with his hands clasped over his knees. He did not interrupt once. Only when Ron mentioned the baron seeing the ledger did his fingers tap lightly against his knee twice.

After Ron finished, Erwin fell silent for a while. When he finally spoke, it was not about the negotiations.

"There are several matters on the camp side that need deciding." He turned the noteboard to a fresh page, densely packed with writing. Some entries had been circled, some had question marks beside them, and some of those question marks had been circled as well.

"First, land reclamation. The eastern side has been replowed and is being planted with oats and barley. The vegetable plots to the north have also been cleared, mainly for turnips and cabbage. We'll plant one short-season crop first to test the soil.

"Second, camp repairs. The breach in the courtyard wall has been fixed. There's still one section of the north wall left, but we're short on stone. We'll need to buy some from the river bend.

"Third, personnel arrangements. Lodgings and work assignments have been distributed, but five or six people still haven't been placed. They were confined on the ship too long and are in poor health, so they can't do heavy work for now. Let Aina look after them first.

"Fourth, livestock. The goats we seized last time have been penned, but there are too few of them, and we need more. As you requested, the soldiers' training requires an ample supply of meat, eggs, milk, and staple food."

He pushed the noteboard up and turned to the next page.

"Then there's trade. I did the calculations. With our current food reserves and this season's crops, we'll have enough to last until next spring.

"But we can't rely entirely on seized goods. Seeds, farming tools, livestock, cloth, iron..." His finger tapped each item in turn.

"We can't get enough of those things just by taking them. We need stable supply channels. Novigrad can handle bulk purchases, but sailing there every time takes days both ways. It isn't worth it.

"The best approach is to establish regular trade with nearby villages. They have surplus grain, livestock, and craftsmen who can fire bricks and tiles.

"We also have things they lack—weapons, armor, and a patrol force capable of clearing out drowners, bandits, and raiders."

He paused.

"But the problem is that no village wants to do business with 'armed raiders.' In Velen, a mercenary company's reputation is practically no different from bandits. Deliver goods to their door? They'll see our banner and run."

"And now?" Ron asked.

Erwin drew a letter out from beneath the noteboard. Ron recognized the handwriting: the manor ownership certificate signed at Crow's Nest, stamped with the baron's crest.

"Now you are the military commander of a Velen lord. This manor isn't a 'bandit hideout.' It is a 'military garrison.'"

Erwin pushed the letter toward him. "With this document, village elders will be willing to sit down and hear our offer.

"They might dare refuse to sell to a mercenary company, but they won't dare reject the baron's military commander. That is legitimacy. In Velen, legitimacy is thin, but villages recognize this sort of thing more clearly than anyone."

Ron looked at the paper on the table and nodded. "What else?"

"Once the trade routes are stable, we can make regular purchases—find several fixed villages, sign long-term agreements, place orders, and have supplies delivered straight to camp.

"That will be far cheaper than buying on the spot in Novigrad every time. But not yet. We don't have enough funds or manpower to lay down such a long route.

"Without patrols to secure the country roads, villagers would probably be robbed before they got very far from their homes.

"For now, we should send people to the villages to buy supplies, and make long-term plans after exchanging crowns in Novigrad."

Ron waited for him to continue.

"Then there's the manor's name. Since we have proof of ownership, it needs an official name. We can't keep telling people, 'I'm the military commander of that abandoned castle,' whenever we negotiate business."

Erwin set the noteboard on his knees and looked at Ron. "Arenicos Manor? Or Calrad Manor?"

Ron thought for a moment. "Calrad Manor."

Erwin wrote a few words on the noteboard, then turned the page.

"Also, while you were away, scattered refugees came to seek shelter."

He glanced up at Ron. "The first group arrived yesterday: three families, eleven people in total. This morning, two more single men arrived.

"By the rules, newcomers are first placed in temporary sheds outside the walls, then assigned housing and work after their identities are checked."

Ron asked how they had found the place.

"The furrows. Someone was farming, which meant this wasn't a raider den. The patrol soldiers wore uniform surcoats and standard chainmail, which meant they weren't ordinary bandits.

"For Velen's refugees, farmland and soldiers together mean a stable, peaceful life. That is the survival wisdom of common folk."

Erwin paused. "But as the population grows, food consumption will grow too. We only just turned the soil, and the first season has not yet been harvested.

"Our stores are sufficient for now, but if more people keep coming in, things will become tight before autumn. You need to decide whether we keep taking them in or set a threshold."

Ron did not hesitate. "Take them in. If we run short of food, I'll find a way."

Erwin wrote it down. "Understood."

"There's one more matter. It isn't mine. It's Aina's."

Erwin turned to another page of the noteboard, as if he had deliberately listed this matter separately. "She wants to open a school in the camp."

"A school?"

"To teach children reading, writing, and arithmetic. She did this when she was at the temple. She has already looked over the location: the old castle chapel.

"It's next to the north side of the herb garden. No additional staff are needed. She can teach by herself, as long as you approve."

Ron leaned back in his chair. A priest driven out of a temple wanted to open a school in an abandoned castle. Her herb garden had not even yielded its first harvest, yet she was already thinking about teaching children to read.

"Give it to her," he said.

Erwin checked off that page, then pulled a notebook from his belt. It was not one of the loose sheets from his noteboard, but a real bound book.

Its cover was made from thin wooden boards and parchment, with copper plates protecting the corners. He hesitated before handing it over.

"This," he said, his voice unlike usual, "is the manor development plan I made."

Ron opened it. The first page was a table of contents, its entries divided into four broad categories: civilian facilities, military training, defensive works, and trade and logistics.

Each category was further divided into several items. Under fortifications were wall repairs, watchtower reinforcement, and reconstruction of the main building.

Under training were a soldier training ground and a militia drill ground. Under storage were a granary, armory, materials depot, and medicine store.

Under trade were trade route planning, trade agreements with nearby villages, and a Novigrad bulk procurement route. Every item was marked with a priority level, estimated cost, manpower requirement, and construction period.

His finger stopped on one page. It held a rough plan of the manor: the walls, stables, main building, courtyard, smithy, herb garden, and river bend dock, all marked with their locations.

Several areas had been circled, with the words "priority development area" written beside them.

Ron looked at it for a long time. He was not looking at the numbers. He was looking at the notebook itself.

In the game, building up a territory meant clicking once, selecting an option, and waiting for the progress bar to finish. Then the building would be complete.

No one needed to sit beneath an oil lamp deep into the night, calculating costs and manpower item by item. No one needed to write until their eyes turned red.