Sabertooth Province, Stone Salt Town-the nearest supply stop to Graymist Village.
Veylin's rather unwieldy pioneer convoy rolled over the paved road and stopped in the town's only square.
Several merchants approached Weilin from the rear of the convoy. They wore the classic "merchant's outfit"-fashionable cuts made from cheap fabric, a new trend wealthy "bloodless" men had adopted in recent years to flaunt their status.
"Esteemed Sir Klein." The fat merchant at their head pressed a hand to his chest and bowed, the smile bunching his fleshy cheeks until his eyes nearly disappeared.
"We will distribute our goods here and travel no farther. Please allow me to offer our sincerest thanks on behalf of the Golden Sail Merchant Guild."
The other merchants quickly joined in with a chorus of pleasantries.
Veylin, who had stepped down from his carriage, merely inclined his head. "This was simply a fair transaction, gentlemen. You paid a fee, and I provided passage."
Veylin offered no further comment. "Since our transaction is complete, I wish you all prosperous business."
He showed no interest whatsoever in making further conversation. The merchants were briefly taken aback, but soon took the hint and said their farewells.
Barrett, leaning against a hitching post nearby, watched the entire exchange.
He studied his young employer with his sole remaining right eye.
Barrett harbored a deep-rooted distrust of nobles.
In his view, those pampered lords were good for nothing but barking orders and charging headlong into battle.
Yet over the past month and more, Weilin Klein had overturned that belief.
This young knight had not the slightest trace of a "noble" in his bones.
No airs, no vanity, and none of that arrogance they took as their birthright.
The signs had been there from the very beginning. He could have headed straight south and sailed from White Stone Port directly to Graymist Village. Instead, he had chosen an inland trade route through three provinces that more than doubled the distance.
At the time, not only Barrett but even the newly freed settlers, already anxious about their futures, had been utterly baffled.
But Weilin offered no explanation. He simply issued a series of orders in a calm voice.
And so this strange company embarked on an absurd journey.
Only after they headed north out of White Stone Fortress did Barrett finally grasp Weilin's intent.
How was this a pioneer expedition? It was a merchant caravan in disguise!
The first thing this knight had put to use was neither his noble surname nor the bloodline that embodied his power, but a pioneer knight's privilege-exemption from most commercial taxes while traveling to take possession of his fief.
Only then did Barrett understand why the carriages were filled with crates of potions that had to be handled with care.
For the rest of the journey, Weilin sold some goods in every town they passed through, then bought local specialties.
Even more unbelievable to Barrett was Weilin's "cooperation" with the merchants.
Those who had just left were one such example.
Their planned route had originally overlapped with Weilin's for part of the journey, but they would have had to pay steep road tolls and checkpoint fees.
Veylin offered them another option—register their goods under his convoy and enjoy its tax exemptions.
Naturally, this was not free.
The merchants had to pay Weilin an administration fee far below the usual taxes and tolls.
Thus, as the journey continued, Weilin's convoy snowballed in size. Despite their steady consumption of supplies, the total quantity had increased rather than dwindled.
More importantly, the Gold Suns in Weilin's purse had grown ever more numerous.
This young noble's head was filled not with knightly honor and ladies' skirts, but with costs, profits, tax rates, and logistics.
But did he still count as a noble? That question hung over every member of the expedition.
"Captain Barrett."
Veylin's voice interrupted Barrett's thoughts.
He turned and saw Weilin walking toward him.
"Let the men rest and replenish our fresh water and food," Weilin said, looking past Barrett's shoulder at the weary settlers on the other side of the square.
"Tell everyone this is our last supply stop before we enter the marsh. We leave again in two hours."
"Yes, sir," Barrett replied.
Barrett lifted the wineskin at his waist and took a deep swig of liquor.
The liquor burned its way down his throat, but it could not dispel his bewilderment.
The wheels groaned under their burden as they rolled over the last reasonably level stretch of dirt road, finally stopping before a sea of mud.
Their journey of more than a month had at last reached its end-if this place could be called an end.
Veylin pushed open the carriage window, and a pungent mixture of briny seawater, rotting aquatic weeds, and sludge rushed inside.
He jumped down from the carriage, his boots landing on the damp, soft earth with a faint squelch.
Before him lay his domain.
A scene of utter decay.
The so-called "Graymist Village" was nothing more than a few dozen crooked wooden houses. Half appeared to have been abandoned for years, their roofs riddled with gaping holes that stared darkly up at the lead-gray sky.
A few sallow, emaciated villagers peered out from behind doors or beside windows, regarding these uninvited arrivals with a mixture of numbness, wariness, and fear.
Around the village stretched broad fields crusted with white salt, where sparse stalks of rye shivered in the faintly salty sea breeze.
Farther beyond lay the boundless Graysea Marsh.
Black sludge stretched to the limits of sight. Countless twisted, bizarre trees stood in the marsh, and a thin gray mist lingered year-round, shrouding everything and lending the entire world a lifeless air.
Veylin did not even need a detailed survey to judge how barren this land was.
The sight stood in stark contrast to the hopeful new home Weilin had described to everyone along the way.
The smiles froze on the faces of settlers who had been brimming with anticipation.
They stared blankly at the scene before them, their eyes shifting from hope to confusion, then terror, and finally profound despair.
A woman holding a child was the first to break down.
Her legs gave way, and she sank to her knees in the mud, letting out stifled sobs.
Her weeping was a fuse, instantly igniting the emotions that had built up within the crowd.
"We're done for... This is saline soil! Hardly any crops will grow here!"
"A liar... He's nothing but a liar!"
"This is the land he promised us? A graveyard! We're all going to die here!"
"I told you long ago that you couldn't trust a single word those nobles said! And now look-you've dragged me and our child into hell!"
Panic began to spread.