Seed Money and the Workshop Gamble
Three months had passed since it all began. Sir Roland left for the frontier after just the first month. His face lit up like a man who'd finally snapped his own shackles after years of oppression—he looked thrilled. Guess the guard captain gig really wasn't his thing. Watching his back as he rode off toward his dream of pioneering a new manor and becoming a full knight, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of envy. Unlike my vague goal of just living comfortably, he had a real dream worth betting his life on.
Two months after Sir Roland vanished and I officially took over as guard captain, I made full use of the position. I threw myself into patrols, actively joining hunts for wolves, bears, and even goblins. Whenever time allowed, I'd steer the routes deep into the forest on purpose. With mana-enhanced strength and sharpened senses, the dangers felt minimal, and my fatigue was way lower than a normal person's. Keeping the soldiers from getting hurt was tougher than expected, but that was just something I could handle with a bit more effort.
The bounty from those hunts—pelts, claws, whatever—paid out nicely, so the patrols didn't gripe much. And just like that, two months flew by. Adding in my allowance, I'd scraped together exactly 50 silver coins. Faster than I'd projected. In this world, 50 silver was about half a year's bare-minimum living expenses for a serf or city laborer. But for them to actually save that much spare cash? They'd have to pinch pennies their whole lives, and even then, it might be a stretch.
I planned to use this as seed money for my scheme.
Took long enough.
From age four, when I first regained memories of my past life and grasped my situation, to now at fourteen—it had been nearly a decade. To outsiders, I probably looked like a carefree young master goofing off in knight lessons and poking around the territory. But inside? Not a single moment of peace. I'd poured every second into knight training, analyzing this world's economy, society, and tech level.
Now it was time to end this tedious prep phase and move to the next step. Goal achieved—no reason to drag my feet. I jumped straight into the plan.
First up: I asked the count's official merchant caravan, which passed through the village regularly, to procure a contract scroll. A few days later, when they arrived, I leveraged my guard captain status to meet the merchants directly. They were polite enough, but it felt perfunctory—no real effort to build rapport. To them, I was just Lord Balorn's third son, no inheritance rights, so they couldn't refuse a request without risking backlash. Shipping fees were low compared to the item's value, too. No loss for them, so they obliged without fuss.
I could read between the lines on their thoughts, but I didn't let on. The scroll I got was green leather inscribed with indecipherable magic circles in navy ink. The hide was cheap-looking, but the intricate, unreadable patterns screamed high-grade magic.
Cost: two gold coins. The caravan tacked on one silver for transport from the count's castle to the village, so I spent 25 silver total and had 25 left. Just in case I ever needed to study the magic circle myself, I copied it onto a wooden board before using the scroll.
Next: a workspace. I agonized over this. My endgame was steel production, and I had the knowledge, but turning head-knowledge into reality came with hurdles—from sourcing materials to my age and status holding me back. Most could be dodged by keeping things secret, but avoiding the villagers' eyes? Impossible.
The village was a tight-knit community—any odd behavior from one person spread like wildfire. Working outside meant passing the single gate, watched by gate guards. I'd already confirmed Deputy Captain Philip reported the village's overall status to Butler Hermann at least weekly. If I started slipping out often, Hermann would notice in days.
I briefly toyed with cutting a hole in the palisade or using aura-enhanced body tricks to sneak around. But the wall was patrolled so tightly—any damage got spotted in half a day and fixed in two. Knight-level athletics wouldn't evade the watchtowers either. Might as well quit while ahead.
Better to accept limits and go 100% safe than risk it. So, I decided to approach the butler directly for support.
In the manor study—a place I rarely visited, where Hermann handled territory business in Father's stead. I knocked and waited.
"It's Gallein. May I come in?"
"Enter."
Inside, the bearish middle-aged Hermann sat at his desk. No work in sight—just an open book abandoned on the empty surface. He eyed me curiously, like he wondered what brought me here.
I cut to the chase. "I need permission for something."
"Hm? Something a young master needs my approval for?"
I needed workspace. No empty plots in the village proper, but near the palisade were the nasty public facilities—stables, cattle pens, tanneries, charcoal kilns, forge, carpenters' shops—clustered by noise and smell. A few vacant buildings dotted the area. Exactly what I wanted.
Steel was the goal, but my budget wouldn't stretch that far yet. Steel needed a special furnace anyway—crucible steel furnace. That required firebricks, which required specific clay. And that clay? Perfect for pottery too.
Might as well fire up some pottery to sell while I'm sourcing clay.
It dovetailed perfectly with my ultimate steel goal but gave a legit front.
"I want to make something, but I need a workspace."
Hermann's face screamed, What's this kid up to now? Right on cue. I'd expect the same skeptical stare from anyone if a fourteen-year-old popped up with a wild idea. Time for logic to sway the adult.
"Just want to earn money" wouldn't fly. So I played the spoiled young master craving what Father wouldn't provide.
"I want full plate armor. Father's an upper knight, but as the third son, he's not shelling out for a full set for me, right?"
Full plate was a knight's priciest asset. Cheapest ran 450+ silver; high-noble gear started at 1,200. Even bottom-tier, a low knight needed 15 years' savings, a regular knight two—belt tightened hard. Sir Roland, a decade-plus low knight, didn't have one. No way the family coughed up for the third son. Hermann knew it.
"So you're saying you'll make full plate yourself?"
"Can't make it myself, obviously. But I can earn the money to buy it."
I pitched pottery—no local makers, easy sell—then casually slipped in wanting a warhorse and weapons too. Perfect bait for an ignorant squire diving into business. And I backed it with realism.
"I can hire one worker for 100 days with my current savings. Thinking a temple orphan. Good for the village and temple. And... could the manor cover room and board for the orphan I hire? To save costs."
Hermann listened, pondered, then nodded reluctantly. Not thrilled, but not pie-in-the-sky. Manor's extra spend was peanuts compared to my guard captain earnings. He'd watch and see.
"Very well. Provided you don't neglect your duties, we'll house and feed the orphan as manor staff. But no encroaching on village artisans' turf. Pottery's imported from the city, so fine—but any friction with craftsmen over other goods, and support ends immediately."
"Thank you! I'll make sure there's no trouble."
Somehow, I talked him into it. He gave me the vacant building's location, and I headed straight for the temple.
Time to recruit labor.