By the time Rhoen returned to the camp, dusk had almost given way to night.
The last sliver of light in the distant sky was being swallowed by darkness, and the torches atop the camp’s palisade had already been lit, their flames tugged and stretched by the wind.
Erwin stood at the main gate, his glasses sitting crooked on the bridge of his nose, a clipboard still clutched in his hand.
The papers clipped to it rustled noisily in the breeze.
The moment he saw Rhoen dismount, the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly—so subtly that anyone standing a few paces away would have missed it.
Rhoen noticed.
“You’re back,” Erwin said in the same calm tone he’d used all day while assigning work around the camp.
Rhoen walked over and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
Erwin’s thin frame dipped slightly under the weight of the gesture.
Turning around, Erwin fell into step beside him as they headed toward the courtyard.
At the same time, he flipped over the clipboard and began reporting everything that had happened during the day.
Once they reached the courtyard, Rhoen sat down at the table, leaned his battle axe against the wall, and recounted the entire negotiation at Crow’s Perch from beginning to end.
The baron’s reaction.
The confirmation of the transfer order’s identification number.
The figures and place names recorded in the trade ledger.
And finally, the seal the baron had stamped onto the document.
Erwin sat across from him with his hands folded on his knees, listening from beginning to end without interrupting.
Only when Rhoen mentioned the baron’s reaction upon seeing the ledger did Erwin lightly tap his fingers against his knee twice.
When Rhoen finished, Erwin fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke—not about the negotiations.
“There are a few matters here in the camp that we need to settle.”
He turned to a fresh page on the clipboard.
It was packed with notes.
Some entries were circled, while others had question marks beside them, with those question marks circled as well.
“First, land cultivation.
The fields on the east side have already been reclaimed and replanted with oats and barley.
The vegetable plots to the north have also been prepared, mainly for turnips and cabbage.
We’ll plant a short-season crop first to test the soil.”
“Second, camp repairs.
The breach in the courtyard wall has been repaired.
There’s still one section of the northern wall left, but we’re short on stone and will have to purchase more from the river bend.”
“Third, personnel assignments.
Living quarters and work duties have already been arranged.
There are still five or six people who haven’t been assigned yet.
They were locked up aboard that ship for too long and are in poor condition, so they can’t handle heavy labor for now.
I’ll have Aina look after them.”
“Fourth, livestock.
We’ve penned the goats we captured last time, but there aren’t enough of them.
We’ll need more.
As you requested, the soldiers’ training requires a steady supply of meat, eggs, milk, and staple foods.”
He adjusted the clipboard and flipped to the next page.
“Then there’s trade.”
“I ran the numbers.
Between our current grain reserves and this season’s crops, we’ll have enough food to last until next spring.
“But we can’t keep relying on captured supplies.
Seeds, farming tools, livestock, cloth, iron…”
He tapped each item one by one with his finger.
“We can’t get enough of those by looting alone.
We need stable suppliers.
Novigrad can handle bulk purchases, but sailing there every time takes several days round trip.
“The best solution is to establish regular trade with the surrounding villages.
They have surplus grain, livestock, and craftsmen who know how to make bricks and roof tiles.”
“And we can offer things they lack as well—weapons, armor, and a patrol capable of clearing out Drowners, bandits, and outlaws.”
He paused.
“But here’s the problem: no village is willing to do business with an ‘armed band of brigands.’ In Velen, a mercenary company’s reputation is barely any better than that of common bandits.
Deliver goods to their doorstep?
The moment they see our banner, they’ll run.”
“And now?” Rhoen asked.
Erwin pulled a document from beneath the clipboard.
Rhoen immediately recognized the handwriting.
It was the estate ownership certificate issued at Crow’s Perch, bearing the baron’s seal.
“Now you’re the Baron’s Sergeant in Velen.
This estate isn’t a ‘bandit hideout’ anymore—it’s a military outpost.”
Erwin slid the document across the table.
“With this paperwork, the village elders will at least be willing to sit down and hear our offer.”
“They might dare refuse a mercenary company, but they won’t dare refuse the Baron’s Sergeant.
That’s the law.
In Velen, the law may be paper-thin, but the villages recognize it better than anyone.”
Rhoen looked at the document on the table and nodded.
“What else is there?”
“Once the trade routes are stable, we can make regular purchases.
We’ll choose a few permanent partner villages, sign long-term agreements, place our orders, and have the goods delivered directly to the camp.”
“That’ll be far cheaper than sailing to Novigrad and buying everything on the spot every time.
But we can’t do that yet.
We don’t have the money or the manpower to maintain a supply network that extensive.”
“Without patrols protecting the country roads, villagers would probably get robbed before they even made it very far from their own settlements.”
“For now, we’ll send people to buy supplies from nearby villages.
Once we’ve exchanged our currency for crowns in Novigrad, we can start making long-term plans.”
Rhoen waited for him to continue.
“Then there’s the matter of the estate’s name.
Now that we have the deed, it needs an official name.
We can’t exactly negotiate with people by saying, ‘I’m the Sergeant of that abandoned castle.'”
Resting the clipboard on his knees, Erwin looked at Rhoen.
“Pethros Estate?
Or Calradic Estate?”
Rhoen thought for a moment.
“Calradic Estate.”
Erwin wrote down a few words on the clipboard before turning the page.
“One more thing.
While you were away, a few scattered refugees came seeking shelter.”
He glanced up at Rhoen.
“The first group arrived yesterday—three families, eleven people in total.
Then this morning, two single men showed up.”
“Following procedure, all newcomers have been housed in temporary shelters outside the walls until we’ve verified their identities.
After that, we’ll assign them living quarters and work.”
Rhoen asked how they’d managed to find the place.
“The farmland.
If someone’s cultivating fields, then it isn’t a bandit hideout.
The patrols all wear the same surcoats and standard-issue mail armor, which means they aren’t just another gang of brigands.”
“For Velen’s refugees, farmland and soldiers together mean stability and peace.
Erwin paused.
“But as the population grows, so does food consumption.
We’ve only just turned the soil, and the first harvest is still months away.”
“Our current grain stores are enough for now, but if more people keep arriving, things will get tight before autumn.
That’s a decision only you can make.
Do we keep taking people in, or do we set a limit?”
Rhoen didn’t hesitate.
“We keep taking them.
If we run short on food, I’ll figure something out.”
Erwin made a note of it.
“Understood.”
“There’s one more matter.
It’s not mine—it’s Aina’s.”
He flipped to another page of the clipboard, as though he’d deliberately given this issue its own section.
“She wants to open a school in the camp.”
“A school?”
“To teach children reading, writing, and arithmetic.
She used to do that at the temple.
She’s already picked a location—the old chapel inside the castle.”
“It’s just north of the herb garden.
It won’t require any additional staff.
She can handle the classes herself, as long as you approve.”
Rhoen leaned back in his chair.
A priestess cast out from her temple wanted to open a school inside an abandoned castle.
Her herb garden hadn’t even produced its first harvest yet, and she was already thinking about teaching children to read.
“Give it to her,” he said.
Erwin put a checkmark beside the entry.
Then he pulled a notebook from his belt.
It wasn’t one of the loose sheets clipped to the board.
It was an actual bound notebook.
Its cover was made of thin wooden boards wrapped in parchment, with copper fittings reinforcing each corner.
He hesitated for a moment before handing it over.
“This…” he said, his voice sounding different from usual, “is the estate development plan I put together.”
Rhoen opened it.
The first page was a table of contents, divided into four major sections: Civil Infrastructure, Military Training, Defensive Fortifications, and Trade & Logistics.
Each section was further broken down into individual projects.
Under fortifications were entries such as Wall Repairs, Watchtower Reinforcement, and Main Keep Reconstruction.
The training section listed Soldiers’ Training Ground and Militia Drill Yard.
The storage section included Granary, Armory, Materials Warehouse, and Medical Storehouse.
The trade section contained Trade Route Planning, Trade Agreements with Nearby Villages, and Novigrad Bulk Procurement Routes.
Every project was annotated with its priority, estimated cost, required manpower, and construction time.
His finger stopped on one particular page.
It contained a top-down layout of the estate.
The walls, stables, main keep, central courtyard, blacksmith’s workshop, herb garden, and riverside dock were all marked with their locations.
Several areas had been circled, with the words Priority Development Zone written beside them.
Rhoen stared at it for a long time.
He wasn’t looking at the numbers.
He was looking at the notebook itself.
In the game, building up a settlement was simple—you clicked a button, selected an option, waited for the progress bar to finish, and the building was complete.
No one had to stay up late beneath an oil lamp, painstakingly calculating costs and manpower line by line.
No one had to write until their eyes turned red.