While the knights focused on their rigorous training, the reinforcement of the balloons was also completed.
Galbarik, whose pride had been bruised once before, pounded his chest and made bold declarations.
"The reinforcements are complete! There's no chance of failure this time! As long as no one attacks it or some lunatic pulls another stunt, that is!"
It seemed the dwarves had poured every ounce of their pride into the improvements. The reinforced balloon completed its flight without incident.
But the balloon wasn't the only task assigned to the dwarves.
Ghislain immediately moved on to inspect the other projects.
"What about the under-armor made from the Blood Python hide? I said that was a priority too."
"It's done. Cutting through that hide was ridiculously hard. Even the mages had to work their tails off to finish it."
The dwarves, working alongside the mages, had crafted garments from the Blood Python's hide that protected vital areas like the neck, chest, arms, and legs.
With limited material available to produce hundreds of sets, the priority was on covering vital areas rather than full-body armor.
When worn beneath standard armor, these would render ordinary soldiers nearly indestructible—after all, Blood Python hide is notoriously resistant to cuts unless imbued with mana.
"As expected of dwarves. The knights' armor is done too, I assume?"
"All shortages have been filled. Honestly, that was the easiest task of all."
Galbarik's words carried a heavy note of truth. Making armor was their bread and butter; it was the one task where they could stick to what they knew, merely refurbishing existing gear and filling in shortages.
Ghislain nodded in satisfaction. The basic equipment for the knights was ready.
But that didn't mean the preparations were complete.
"Now that we know how to reinforce the balloons, production needs to ramp up. We never know when the enemy might strike. Make as many as you can, as quickly as possible."
The delayed arrival of the dwarves and a shortage of materials had already pushed back their timeline. On top of that, additional time had been spent reinforcing the airships.
Scheduling is, after all, subject to human limitations; no matter how well you plan, delays are inevitable. Ghislain had accounted for such setbacks by setting tight deadlines from the outset, but even so, the constant time crunch was wearing on him.
It wasn't just Ghislain who felt the strain—Galbarik was equally exasperated.
"We've created a historic invention, can't we at least take a break? This workload is going to kill us! If you keep this up, we'll strike! Workers' rights to rest! Uphold them!"
"No can do. I've told you, we're short on time. Finish this schedule, and I'll give you a vacation."
"A vacation? Are you serious?"
The word "vacation" lit up Galbarik's eyes. Exhausted from sleepless nights of relentless work, the promise of time off was too tantalizing to resist.
"How long are we talking about?"
"A week. A full week off. That's a rare luxury here in this estate."
Galbarik immediately shifted into negotiation mode.
"Make it a month!"
Acknowledging how much work the dwarves had done—and its critical importance—Ghislain nodded without hesitation.
"Fine, two weeks."
"Three weeks, minimum!"
"One week."
"Why is it getting shorter?!"
Typically, negotiations involved meeting somewhere in the middle, but this bafflingly backward tactic left Galbarik speechless. Ghislain casually upped the pressure.
"How about three days? Or none at all if you'd prefer."
"…One week is fine."
Galbarik's tone turned deferential again. He was grateful to secure even a week, though the tears of frustration were harder to suppress.
'I should have accepted two weeks when I had the chance.'
Still, a week off would at least provide a breather—provided the workload didn't increase further in the meantime.
Knowing better than to linger and risk more assignments, Galbarik quickly made his escape. He had fully grasped Ghislain's personality by now.
Once Galbarik was gone, Ghislain began reviewing the progress made thus far.
Since returning to the estate, he had been relentlessly busy, overseeing a whirlwind of activity.
New settlers had been brought in, expanding housing, workshops, and farmland. Other facilities were also rapidly growing.
The arrival of the dwarves had significantly boosted production, enabling them to churn out more equipment and tools. The knights' training was progressing smoothly as well.
Without Ghislain's foresight, combined with tireless efforts from everyone involved, such rapid development would have been impossible.
The result was an unprecedented acceleration in the estate's growth, far outpacing what any typical estate could achieve.
But was it enough?
Ghislain shook his head.
'Not yet.'
If this were any other estate, they could afford to bask in the joy of such progress. But for Ghislain, who faced powerful enemies, complacency was a luxury he couldn't afford.
The estate's finances were bleeding fast, with no significant income to replenish them. Taxes contributed little, and the estate's primary export was limited to cosmetics. The workshops produced mostly military supplies, while food was being hoarded rather than sold.
The number of knights had surged, but this also highlighted the estate's reliance on a single, hastily assembled knight order.
Unlike major lords commanding armies of thousands or tens of thousands, the disparity was stark.
And so, Ghislain couldn't rest.
'There's no room for error. Losses must be minimized.'
The estate's extreme development left it vulnerable to a single misstep. As Claude had pointed out, this was far from a stable state of affairs.
Victory in the upcoming war was critical.
A complete victory—or a complete defeat.
There could be no middle ground.
Without sufficient forces, winning would require daring, unpredictable tactics.
'The preparations are almost complete. The time to fight is near.'
Having collected his thoughts, Ghislain stepped outside and looked up at the sky.
'It's getting hotter.'
While others hadn't noticed yet—weather in the north being notoriously fickle—Ghislain, armed with knowledge of the future, recognized the significance of this change.
Sensing that the moment was approaching, Ghislain convened his council to issue new orders.
"All construction projects are to stop immediately."
The abrupt command left everyone stunned.
The same man who had been demanding speed and urgency now wanted construction halted? Understandably, the council was confused. Relief at having less work quickly gave way to dread over what new scheme might be afoot.
Claude cautiously voiced the group's concerns.
"Halt construction? But we need to speed up work on the housing for the next wave of settlers."
"I'm not saying to abandon the projects altogether. The dwarves will focus on producing more hot air balloons, while everyone else is to work on waterways, reservoirs, and expanding storage basins."
The council exchanged puzzled looks.
Waterways and reservoirs had been high-priority projects in the past, and significant effort had already gone into ensuring they were adequate for the estate's current needs.
Claude, familiar with the estate's progress, questioned the decision.
"We've already accounted for potential disasters by maintaining plenty of surplus capacity. Each village also has communal reservoirs stocked with water."
Ghislain shook his head.
While he knew the broad outlines of what lay ahead, he hadn't witnessed the events firsthand in his previous life. He had only read about them in records.
When dealing with uncertainties, Ghislain believed in overpreparing.
"It never hurts to have more reserves. We've already laid the groundwork, so expanding shouldn't be too hard. Use all the nearby rivers and streams if you must. And let the Perdium know I'll provide funds and workers for them to build more reservoirs as well."
Claude nodded and withdrew, though he still had his doubts.
In a harsh northern land like this, managing water supplies was among an estate lord's most critical duties. While Ghislain's orders might seem excessive, they weren't without merit.
Ghislain then turned to Claude.
"How are we on food supplies? Still buying it up?"
Claude's face contorted into a mask of exasperation.
If he had to hear about food supplies one more time, he thought he might vomit. The mere mention of "food" in meetings had become a source of torment.
"The storage facilities are bursting. We're expanding them as we speak. There's so much surplus that even the stray dogs and cats in the area are getting fat. After the next harvest, you'll be known as the Food King of the North, my lord."
The surplus had certainly boosted morale among the estate's residents, who were finally eating well. But from Claude's perspective, the relentless expenditure on food was a nightmare.
He had initially accepted it as necessary for defensive preparations, but the sheer volume now seemed excessive. By his estimates, they already had enough to sustain a siege for over a decade—assuming the food didn't spoil first.
Repeated attempts to reason with Ghislain had fallen on deaf ears, so Claude resigned himself to the situation.
Ghislain merely nodded and continued.
"Prepare supplies for an army of three thousand. We'll be mobilizing soon."
Claude's expression turned incredulous.
The estate's total forces, even with the newly formed knight order, barely reached 500.
He was now certain.
'Our lord doesn't even know basic math.'
***
News of Fenris Estate's aggressive food purchases eventually reached Harold's ears.
"What? That bastard Ghislain is still buying up food?"
"Yes, my lord. It's driving up food prices across the north. He's even snatching up supplies from merchants arriving from other regions."
Harold couldn't contain his laughter.
"Hahaha! What a fool! Prices will drop after the harvest, and he's too impatient to wait? Spending all his profits from Rune Stones and cosmetics without a second thought—ridiculous!"
"It seems his agricultural improvements backfired. With more settlers moving in, food shortages must be severe."
"Of course they backfired. It was doomed from the start. He's only proving my point."
To Harold, Ghislain's actions were nothing short of foolishness. Word of Fenris's agricultural success hadn't leaked out due to the estate's isolation, leaving outsiders to assume that Ghislain's reforms had failed.
'Even I couldn't pull off what he's claiming about increasing yield, so how could that brat?'
Feeling smug, Harold let out a satisfied chuckle.
The thought of his rival suffering losses was a delightful one.
After some thought, Harold turned to his adjutant.
"How much surplus food do we have?"
"Our supplies remain ample, my lord. The last war's logistics were handled by Digald, so we still have plenty in reserve. This year's harvest will leave us with a considerable surplus."
"Excellent. Sell off our surplus at inflated prices. Let's make that arrogant bastard bleed."
"Understood. I'll ensure our stock reaches the buyers first."
Harold grinned with satisfaction. Desmond territory, along with Rayfold, dominated food production in the north. Selling their surplus would hit Ghislain where it hurt while also refilling their coffers.
"The heavens are smiling on us. The last war drained us, but this will make up for it."
Harold's finances had been stretched thin by the aftermath of their loss to Perdium, the costs of supporting Amelia's rebellion, and efforts to expand their influence over the northern estates.
Had the duchy and Count Cabaldi not provided financial support, they wouldn't even have been able to rearm properly.
Their main commodity, food, was becoming harder to sell at high prices with the harvest season approaching.
But then, this golden opportunity fell into their laps.
It was a chance to refill their depleted coffers while simultaneously causing financial strain for Ghislain. There couldn't have been a better situation.
"It's clear now that his prior successes were merely luck. That upstart brat got too full of himself. Now, reality is teaching him his limits. He doesn't understand how critical food is, busy making frivolous things like cosmetics and gallivanting around the capital."
Harold intentionally downplayed the value of the cosmetics, even though they had earned high praise from the duchy. He had to—otherwise, his pride wouldn't allow him to endure the comparison.
"Control the food supply, and you control everyone's breathing room. Here in the north, food is paramount. Far more essential than some fancy cosmetics."
The food situation in the north was dominated by Desmond and Rayfold.
Importing from other regions incurred steep transportation costs, making local sources far more practical.
If Harold had his way, he would squeeze the entire north into submission using food alone. However, Rayfold's presence as a competitor prevented him from executing such a plan—for now.
But that, too, was about to change.
"Once Amelia's rebellion succeeds, the north's food supply will be entirely ours to control."
Northern lords, caught by their vulnerabilities, wouldn't need to be fought—they'd kneel without resistance.
This was why both the duchy and Harold were so invested in Amelia's rebellion.
If not for that, Ghislain would already have been crushed under some hastily fabricated pretext.
"For now, I'll let him gorge himself on the food we sell. Soon enough, he'll be the one on the menu."
Harold smirked again. Things were falling perfectly into place.
[T/L: Please support me and read 90 extra chapters: https://ko-fi.com/revengerscans ]