"Mr. Vido," Samwell approached Vido, who was overseeing the craftsmen and wildling laborers laying the castle's foundation. "How are things progressing?"
"Better than I imagined," Vido replied, clearly impressed. "I never thought the wildlings would work so diligently. They're practically competing to get things done! Compared to them, the laborers back in Highgarden are downright lazy!"
Samwell chuckled and asked, "Do you know why that is?"
"Why?" Vido was curious.
Samwell didn't answer directly. Instead, he posed another question. "In Highgarden, what does Lord Martyn do when someone slacks off?"
"Of course, they'd be whipped."
Samwell shrugged. "Punishment is one approach, but I believe rewards can drive subjects to work even harder."
Vido thought back to Samwell's unusual "work points system." At the time, he'd scoffed at the idea of paying a bunch of captives. But now, it was clear this method had been a calculated move.
Yet it was a lavish expense... Wait! Suddenly, Vido realized Samwell hadn't paid them actual money; he was simply providing food for now. The money would only come once the castle was completed—a reward just out of reach that drove them all forward. What a strategy!
As he continued to ponder this, Samwell spoke up again, "Oh, and the dock construction should begin soon."
"Yes, my lord," Vido replied, snapping back to attention.
Samwell added, "But the design you suggested was overly elaborate. For now, build a basic jetty, something functional for ships to dock and unload cargo. Our main focus should stay on the castle."
"Yes, my lord." Vido had the feeling this bare-bones dock was about all Samwell planned to provide. He could only imagine the look on his own lord's face when he arrived to find a single bare jetty at the dock a year from now…
After chatting briefly and checking the progress of the territory's construction, Samwell headed toward the far end of the valley.
Near the cliffs, a cluster of newly-built wooden houses stood, surrounded by a dozen armed guards who bowed respectfully as he passed. This area, the most heavily guarded, housed essential supplies for the settlers, as well as Samwell's own quarters.
Oddly enough, there was also a smithy.
Some assumed Samwell simply prioritized weapons and armor, though that wasn't entirely accurate. Right now, he was walking straight into this smithy.
The blacksmiths stopped their work and greeted him, but Samwell waved them off and walked to the back room, which served as the personal workshop of Buso, the lead blacksmith.
Two guards stood at the door, a sign of the importance Samwell placed on security.
As the finest smith from Highgarden, Buso was shown immediate favor by Samwell, who often held lengthy discussions with him in private. Most assumed the young lord wanted a custom suit of armor, yet Buso hadn't touched steel. Instead, he had been occupied with various copper pipes.
"My lord, it's ready," Buso announced, gesturing to an unusual-looking contraption. He was proud, though he had no clue what the device actually did.
It consisted of three copper pots of varying sizes connected by swan-neck pipes, with the third pot containing a long copper coil.
Samwell's eyes glimmered with a mix of satisfaction and nostalgia as he carefully examined the apparatus. He turned to Buso and smiled. "Perfect! It's exactly what I needed."
"An honor to serve you, my lord."
Samwell looked at the skilled blacksmith and asked, "Buso, you have a son, don't you?"
"Yes, my lord. He's my apprentice, though he'd rather wield a sword than a hammer. I don't know what to do with him."
"He enjoys swordplay?"
"Oh, yes! He even dreams of becoming a knight. Foolish, right?"
"Well, my guard is recruiting. If he does well, perhaps one day he might even become my squire. If he proves himself, I might knight him."
Buso froze, stunned. "My lord, such an offer is too generous! But we're still sworn to Highgarden, and we're meant to return in a year…"
"Who's to say what a year may bring?" Samwell replied with a grin. "And until then, you're all in my service, aren't you? Working a forge is one way to serve, and wielding a sword is another."
Buso looked torn.
Samwell smiled, "Think it over. It's not every day a lord takes a blacksmith's son as his squire. You may go; let me know when you decide."
"Yes, my lord."
Once Buso left, Samwell reached out to touch the device's cold copper surface, his eyes reflecting both familiarity and longing.
What stood before him was a Charentais-style distiller.
In his previous life, Samwell had been born into a family of vintners. From the time he was young, he watched amber-colored brandy pour out from a similar copper still. The sight and smell of distilled brandy had been part of his earliest memories.
Now, standing before this carefully crafted still, he seemed to smell the familiar aroma of distilled wine once again. It was a cherished memory of his childhood—and would be his ticket to wealth in this world.
Yes, this was the foundation of his venture into the Crimson Mountains and his refusal of Lady Olenna's smuggling route. The true key was this.
Few nobles in this world didn't drink, and although winemaking was advanced, high-proof spirits were rare here.
And that was his opportunity!
The Crimson Mountains were poor for agriculture but ideal for growing hardy, sun-loving wild grapes.
During his time in the Tiger Fang Village, Samwell had seen villagers gather these wild grapes. They weren't sweet, leaning toward sour, but that was ideal for making brandy.
As his fingers traced the still's polished copper surface, Samwell felt as if he were walking down a golden path.
(End of chapter)