What Makes A Good Lord? (7)

As planned, the work proceeded steadily.

I struggled a bit to partition the area systematically by section and set the steps so it wouldn’t be complicated to get things to me, but in the end I managed to do it all.

What’s more, when they first realized I wouldn’t make them work more than ten hours, they stared at me in disbelief and suspicion, but now even those looks had gradually vanished, and when they saw me they bowed with such respect their foreheads nearly touched the ground.

In addition, seeing the beastkin raise me up, some of the slaves even began to praise me—but I learned that only later.

At any rate, while every process was moving along briskly, I came to a fork in the road.

“This spot is… exactly the right site.”

I crossed my arms and looked over the ruins; the problem was the work I was about to start.

That was to build the castle I would live in. I was torn between making it feel like an old, ancient castle as in some famous fantasy films back on Earth, or, alternatively, putting up a grand mansion-style castle popular in late-medieval Europe.

Since I could raise buildings exactly as I imagined, any design would pose no problem, but the issue was practicality.

And because this was a fantasy world, I wanted a cool castle; the location was so good it made the choice harder.

It wasn’t quite a perfect mountain-at-the-back, water-at-the-front site, but behind lay a modest hill, dense forest, and a suitable valley, while out front was the well-kept courtyard of the lord’s manor. Planning to orient the view this way and place a splendid castle against the open backdrop was fine, but…

I was stuck on the design.

So what I did first was build model houses.

I imagined several options at very small scale and made five castle maquettes. Then I called in slaves, manor maids, and even beastkin to vote.

I handed out neat square pebbles I’d made and told them to place one before the model they liked best, and by a strong plurality of votes, I was able to pick a single castle.

“Mm, so this model is the coolest?”

It was the choice of well over half. It was a castle of the sort you’d see in Di*ney—beautiful in shape. It didn’t quite scratch my itch, but the form wasn’t bad, so by the principle of majority rule I thanked everyone for their trouble and began work.

The estimated timeline was about a month. I couldn’t devote myself to only this, so I planned to work on it in between other tasks; first, setting aside the exterior, I would build the core “inner keep” where I would actually live.

The model took the lord’s manor as its base: upon entering the main doors, a large lobby with a Y-shaped staircase rose to the second floor, opening into a broad, terraced hall.

Then, for the walls and ornamentation, I tuned things to a bright, ivory-toned palette and placed many windows so the light would pour in, producing a fairly convincing “hall.”

On the first floor, I planned the rooms for the maids and attendants who would live in the castle, and various rooms to serve as kitchens and storerooms, assembling them piece by piece. Behind the stairs up to the second floor, I made space for a ballroom and finished the plan so it connected to the kitchen.

“Mm, it’d be nice to have an entrance from outside as well.”

With the design growing more complex as I added this and that, the small “inner keep” steadily expanded, and a few onlookers began to voice concern.

“Didn’t you say you were building only the inner keep?”

“You did… but it’s getting big, isn’t it?”

“Can forty maids handle this?”

“And you said only ten attendants…”

Those were the manor maids’ reactions, and hearing them, I too started to worry. I didn’t want the tail to wag the dog… but, well, desire would not be stopped.

After finishing the first floor and starting on the second, the interval between doses of mana-recovery potion grew shorter; after downing the fifth, I finished the plan up to the third floor and forced myself to stop.

“That’s it for today!!”

I had built far more than expected. But this was, as they say, only the skeleton. I still intended to lavish care on the interior, the sculptural elements, even carving each pillar—and so I’d set the final deadline for construction at a month.

“If I were doing only the exterior, even the outer curtain would take about two weeks.”

I meant to build that outer wall very strong—strong enough not to budge even if an Ogre Lord charged…

If anyone had heard that, who knows what they would have thought. In any case, it was day one of breaking ground on the castle of my dreams.

Meanwhile, the Terakan Empire was in an uproar over a new set of shops called “Ingrad Apothecary.”

“So this place is a store that specializes in selling God’s Blessings?”

“That’s what I hear. No fakes circulating on the market—only genuine goods for sale.”

“Tch, who knows how many times I’ve been duped. Let’s hope this time it’s not a rumor.”

“Don’t worry—this one’s run directly by the imperial house. Seems they opened a direct line with Viscount Ingrad, and they’re not only selling God’s Blessings.”

So said the people standing in a long line, as shops suddenly opened all over the Terakan Empire and word spread.

And the “God’s Blessing,” which had plagued the market with counterfeits, finally began to function properly, and the name “Ingrad” became known throughout the empire.

Princess Riana—pulling the strings(?) behind it—received a sales report and was left speechless with surprise.

“Ho, the daily net profit rose again?”

“People are paying a premium to get the medicine, and we sell out every day, to the point there are delays delivering stock even now.”

“That’s good, but… the plan to distribute evenly across the empire may be thrown off, mightn’t it?”

“With this latest intake, we may need to place another order already.”

Hearing Agnes’s report, Princess Riana thought of Viscount Ingrad, the man who had brought all this about—the one with whom she shared even her secret whispers…

“Are the other medicines selling out as well?”

“Yes. And the wound-healing medicine sent to the Hero is receiving rave reviews. Thanks to it, they say the front lines are holding without setbacks.”

As the war with the Demon God had pressed humanity onto the defensive, the situation had grown dire. Even when the demonic race suffered wounds, they could return to the field easily if they had mana, whereas for humans that was very hard.

Even with the power of temples or mages, anything involving severed limbs was still beyond remedy. So Heroes frequently ended up withdrawn from the front and shut in at academies to train their successors; this time, the efficacy of the wound-healing medicine seemed to be averting such misfortune.

“We’re receiving large orders, but for now the ingredients we have on hand should cover it. Next month, however, for the regular procession… we may need to bring many more people to increase the volume of medicinal herbs.”

At Agnes’s words, Princess Riana’s heart began to flutter.

“Could I… meet him once more…?”

Meanwhile, at the same time—

“Achoo! Yawn—am I catching a cold…?”

These days, it felt like the wind had grown rather chilly. My side didn’t feel cold—Beni was snug against me. What’s more, the inner keep was complete. Its interior was done well enough that moving in right away wouldn’t be strange, but there was a problem.

“Glasswork is the hard part…”

Right. I’d cut window openings, but, like the locals here, if I just blocked them with wood, the carefully crafted interior design would be swallowed by darkness.

And shadows would pool in the carvings, making everything downright dreary. I didn’t want that.

“I could set up a lot of candlesticks, but wooden shutters… that’s not very noble-like, is it?”

So I considered searching among the slaves for a blacksmith or a glass artisan. The blacksmith could produce glass, but not craft it; the only person with glass-craft experience was someone who had barely begun as an apprentice before falling into slavery through gambling debt.

“In short, no one I can actually use…”

At least I’d made a separate roster of blacksmiths to manage them for producing farm tools and various iron implements, but glass-work was the problem.

I had no solution for it.

I couldn’t very well leave drafts whistling through, and as this was Ingrad Domain—a place thick with venomous creatures like tarantulas—leaving openings was out of the question.

“For now… I should ask the blacksmith to at least make plain panes of glass…?”

Beni tried to frame even that as potentially stylish, but it didn’t cheer me. Still, I wasn’t about to give up; if they were going to send slaves with the next regular procession, I planned to submit a separate request specifically for skilled slaves.

Simply increasing the headcount would be pointless. Besides, the herbs the beastkin kept delivering were piling up. Even with the slaves’ labor, we couldn’t keep up, and I’d already added several warehouse annexes.

“I’ve got to dispose of all the white elephants, too… so much to do…”

I didn’t know how things were moving in the wider world, so I just grumbled; and today again, seeing Debik and many beastkin streaming through the manor gate, I could only sigh.

“They don’t get anything from me—why do they keep working for free every time?”

Beni answered in place of the beastkin, having heard me.

“Because you’re the divine messenger. Of course they want to help.”

“…‘Divine messenger’—sensitive topic. Let’s not say it out loud, yes?”

By now I spoke a bit more casually with Beni, and she accepted my informal tone without dislike.

Our relationship was a little awkward, but honestly, because Beni didn’t say things like “take responsibility” or that there was something to take responsibility for, I treated her a bit more comfortably.

Meanwhile, Allena would sometimes join forces with Beni to pounce on me—but I didn’t mind. Call it a small joy of daily life.

But today there were a lot of beastkin. And many didn’t seem to be carrying herbs.

That almost never happened, so curious, I took Beni along and walked over to them. Then, among the beastkin following Debik in, a large, burly tribe—one whose species you could guess at a glance—pressed their foreheads to the ground and spoke to me.

“Wijel, chieftain of the Sain Tribe, greets the great divine messenger!!”

So this was what a lion’s roar sounded like?

The resounding shout—and the shout repeated by the Sain tribesfolk—made my ears ring. The problem was that Beni, the nearby slaves at work, and even the knights, all turned pale with tension; oddly enough, only the beastkin and I were fine, which told me something was up.

“That light back then… did it do something to me…?”

“We believe Lady Artemisia has sent her messenger to this earth to care for the beastkin, scattered and suffering. As such, we who may be called the royal line of beastkin deemed it right to follow the divine messenger—and so we have come! Please accept our fealty!!”

What kind of bolt-from-the-blue was this supposed to be?

Who was Artemisia, and since when did the beastkin have royalty—those questions made me glance at Debik, but even that rascal looked daunted by this “Wijel.”

“So it’s not a bluff… damn. Lady Artemisia, you… someday… we’ll see about this…”

At that moment, I made a firm resolve about the goddess.