The study's large window stood open, and the breeze blowing in from the thawing mountains carried the scent of earth and lingering snow.
Draped in a dark blue cloak, Louis sat on a wooden chair in the center of the reception room.
There was no high-backed throne before him, only a round table covered with a linen cloth. The fire cast a soft glow along the side of his face.
This was the seventh visitor to apply for funding over the past two days.
An elderly lord with graying hair and a stooped back.
He had originally worked as a steward in Frost Glaive City, but after a distant relative froze to death that winter, he had been dragged into becoming a so-called baron.
Yet he knew nothing about running a fief. Seeing how pitiful his remaining subjects were, he could only come to Louis for help.
Trembling, he took the map of his fief, already damp with sweat, from his attendant and offered it with both hands, saying quietly:
"Our land... if you could just... send someone to take a look, I would... I would even be willing to surrender control..."
As he spoke, his words came faster and his voice grew softer, as though he dreaded being turned away.
Louis accepted the map, gently brushing its damp corners with his fingertips, as if he could feel the weight and helplessness those trembling hands had held.
He did not speak immediately, instead studying the rivers and lakes marked on the map.
"Does this tributary in your fief freeze late in winter?"
The elderly lord paused, then nodded hastily. "Y-yes. Hunters used to fish there, but later we didn't have enough people, and no one went anymore..."
Louis nodded slightly and said quietly, "The conditions for farming are poor, but