McKinney slowly turned toward the steward, his face full of impatience, a trace of cold malice showing through his drunkenness. "What did you say?"
The steward trembled, his voice shaking. "It's true, my lord... The granaries may look well stocked, but lately, you've... held feasts every day, and we've been consuming enormous amounts of grain and meat... At this rate... I'm afraid we won't make it past the end of February..."
Smack!!
McKinney sprang to his feet and slapped the steward across the face, striking hard enough to send the skinny old man tumbling to the floor.
"Bullshit! Are you cursing me to starve?!" McKinney roared through gritted teeth, his face twisted with rage.
The steward knelt on the floor, clutching his cheek and trembling without a word.
The baron feasted three times a day, slaughtering whole cattle and sheep. A cartload of wine arrived every week, and two buckets of leftovers were thrown away each day...
With extravagance like that, even ten granaries would not be enough.
But he dared not say so.
Silence settled over the hall, broken only by the crackling stove.
Suddenly, McKinney's eyes shifted, and an oily smile spread across his face.
"Heh heh, a little problem like this won't stump this baron! I've got a brilliant plan!"
The steward hurried to his feet and immediately began flattering him. "Your wisdom knows no bounds, my lord! May I ask what this brilliant plan is?"
McKinney laughed, tilted his head back for a swig of wine, and waved the flask smugly. "Other people stockpile grain for winter. I stockpile soldiers.
"Once those fools in the Red Tide Fief send their grain to the neighboring Gray Deer Fief, we just raid it. Simple, isn't it? They're filthy rich. A shipment goes through every couple of weeks."
"Oh,