After the discussion, Cleora returned to the mansion, leaving Jolthar with his thoughts. She didn't even bat an eye at his warning and told him that she would do everything to gain his trust.
And Jolthar just shook his head, thinking that lady was too eccentric and one hot lady.
He could guess that she was maybe thinking of seducing him, and she knew it wasn't having any effect on him. Unlike other men, Jolthar wasn't throwing himself at her, given the opportunity.
And she is persistent in her ways, for now Jolthar decided to wait and see.
The next day, around in the early morning, Jolthar stood inside the spacious tent, the air thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and damp earth.
Before him stood an older man, a seasoned architect known for his expertise in building forges and large-scale industrial structures. The man had been brought in to oversee the construction of what Jolthar envisioned—a grand forge, one that would rival any foundry in the empire. Maps and blueprints lay scattered across the wooden table between them.
It was the entire map of the barony showing the plain and the river, the mines too.
Jolthar traced a finger over one of the blueprints, his keen eyes scanning every inch. "This section here," he said, tapping the parchment."
Jolthar gave a few other of his ideas about the swordsmith workshops and their positions.
The architect, an aging but sharp-minded man, nodded. "You have a clear vision, my lord. It is ambitious, but not impossible. You also requested a separate workspace for yourself, yes?"
Jolthar nodded. "Yes. I want a private smithy, a space where I can craft my own weapons and experiment with new forging techniques. A personal space for myself.
I need the best anvil, the strongest furnace, and the finest ventilation system. I want this to be on the top floors of a one section, with a view of the entire barony here. And leave the side of the balcony open; no walls there."
The architect studied Jolthar for a moment before giving an approving nod. "It will take time, but I will make sure it is done to your specifications."
Outside the tent, the sounds of construction had already begun. The materials were being prepared and brought to the plain. The plain had become a hive of men and material.
Nora had commissioned Terra mages for the quick progress. She was a mage herself, and she knew the benefits of having them. It would make their work progress much faster with them helping out the workers.
The rhythmic pounding of hammers, the shouting of labourers, and the grinding of stone against stone filled the air.
Tents had been set up for the workers, who had begun arriving in waves over the past week. They came from different parts of the empire: craftsmen, blacksmiths, and labourers alike, all drawn by the promise of work and good wages.
Jolthar personally ensured they were well-fed and taken care of, knowing that the forge's success depended on the dedication of these men. He spared no expense in feeding them after all; a well-fed belly births a clear mind. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
Nora cursed him for emptying all of her gold, and she had to even empty the reserves she saved. Cleora stayed silent about the matter of gold, but she said that she would collect her gold from him in other ways. And when she said that, she had a mischievous grin on her lips.
Meanwhile, Cleora had left for the imperial capital, her journey a necessary step to secure the official recognition required from the Ministry of Finance.
Empire law dictated that any major business needed government approval before it could be established. The bureaucratic process was tedious but unavoidable. The ministry had strict regulations concerning taxation, production, and trade, and Cleora, with her cunning mind and diplomatic skills, was the best person to handle it.
After her father had lost his two sons, Cleora had been his only child, and he had started visiting her after Nora was born. Nora had broken the walls of hatred between them. He had started to love the granddaughter more than his daughter. Though he only visited a couple of times, he spent all his time with her.
Cleora now wanted to use her father's connection to get this approval. She knew it would work better this way. She made Nora write a letter to him, asking him to come to the capital, knowing that he wouldn't reject his granddaughter's request.
Nora, even though her likeness towards him wasn't much, knew that his plan, if it worked, would then give them a foothold of wealth from this. So she was risking everything she had with him. Jolthar being another worlder like herself gave her a little comfort, even though she hadn't said it to him. They would often talk privately about the things back in the home, being born here again.
Jolthar believed in Nora's capabilities, and as for her mother—she was beyond capable.
Jolthar knew she would succeed. She was resourceful, persuasive, and understood the complexities of imperial politics better than most.
Besides, she had a personal stake in ensuring the barony's growth.
Nora, too, had been preoccupied with her own endeavours. She was preparing to open a grand restaurant, an establishment that would cater not just to the town's residents but to travellers and merchants passing through.
It was yet another sign that the barony was changing, evolving into something greater than before.
With Milan's financial backing, along with their own carefully accumulated savings, the transformation of the barony had begun. Roads were being repaired, new buildings were being constructed, and for the first time in years, the town was attracting people instead of losing them. It was a painstaking process, but Jolthar could already see the foundations of something magnificent forming before his eyes.
Yet, as progress continued in the barony, far away in the grand city of Avyaburgh, powerful figures watched and waited.
Inside a lavish mansion, high above the city streets, on a grand balcony overlooking the sprawl of the city Avyaburgh, two figures sat in silence. Maids were present behind them, serving them wine. Both figures sat opposite to each other on the plush sofas.
One was Lorryll, his expression unreadable as he swirled a glass of wine in his hand, and the other was Lord Eude, his fingers steepled in thought.
The city stretched before them, the streets illuminated by lanterns, a testament to Avyaburgh's wealth and prestige.
The mansion they sat in was one of the grandest in the city, adorned with the finest furnishings, tapestries from the southern provinces, and rare artefacts from distant lands. It was a place of luxury, of power, and of control. And it belonged to Lord Eude; he was a man who liked to flaunt his wealth.
Eude leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the polished wooden armrest as he studied the man before him.
The eldest son of the Kaezhlar clan—Lorryll—was a name he had heard in whispers, a figure of some intrigue. Yet, there was something about his presence now, here in the grand city of Avyaburgh, that stirred his curiosity more than it did his suspicion. And the recent dispute between him and the Kaezhlar clan had spread, giving rise to rumours.
"So," Eude began, his voice smooth and controlled, "to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting the eldest son of the Kaezhlar clan?"
Lorryll offered a small, practiced smile. "Lord Eude, I have long wanted to meet you. I heard that you were in the city and took the opportunity to pay you a visit."
Eude studied him, his expression unreadable. "I've heard rumours that your clan is still recovering from the... last spectacle."
There was a pointed sharpness in his tone, a reminder of the disgrace that had befallen the once-mighty Kaezhlar.
Lorryll's smile didn't falter, but his gaze turned just a shade colder. "Yes, the clan is recovering," he admitted.
"But I am no longer a part of it. I have severed ties." He leaned forward slightly, his tone growing more serious. "That, however, is not the reason I sought you out. I have come to discuss certain matters regarding the barony of Tekkora."
At the mere mention of the name, Eude stiffened ever so slightly. He narrowed his eyes, his grip on his wine glass tightening.
"What do you mean?" His voice carried an edge now, cautious and probing.
Lorryll's smirk widened just a little, sensing the reaction. "I mean to say that you failed to woo the lady of the baron," he said plainly.
"And someone did it in your stead—a young man, no less, still wet behind the ears."
Eude's jaws clenched involuntarily, and his grip tightened around the glass, forming a few cracks on the glass.
Lorry added, "And now, they are moving forward in full force, expanding their territory, building something of large scale."