In late April, the Crown Prince arrived in Liverpool and saw twenty cogs and five two-masted sailing ships anchored at the mouth of the Mersey.
The docks were piled high with cargo. Treadwheel cranes lifted goods onto the ships, while families carrying bundles boarded one after another, preparing to depart for the distant and unfamiliar lands of West Francia.
Upon learning of the Crown Prince's arrival, Count Breken personally came to greet him.
"Your Highness, your timing couldn't be better. I've already completed the handover procedures and am about to lead the last group aboard."
His tone was cheerful. He could hardly wait to reach his new domain.
Among all the counties in Britannia, Liverpool ranked among the worst.
Its territory was small, its population sparse.
The first count, Ulf, had abandoned it after only a few years. Later, Breken became the second count, yet he too failed to revitalize the region.
After repeated disappointments, Breken had chosen the same solution as his predecessor—stop struggling and wait for an opportunity to request a new fief.
Fortunately, luck had finally smiled upon him.
The Emperor had granted him a new territory in southern Francia, not far from Bordeaux, one of the finest agricultural regions in Europe.
Over the past weeks, Breken had rushed through all administrative transfers with the cabinet as quickly as possible, worried that the Emperor might suddenly change his mind.
"Your Highness, all the paperwork is stored in the count's manor—well, I suppose it's a prefect's residence now. The cabinet officials have already completed their inspections. After enduring this place for so long, I'm finally free."
While they chatted, Breken brought up another matter.
The previous month, a number of Nordic merchants had come specifically to purchase war bonds. Breken suspected that certain Nordic nobles were behind the transactions.
The Crown Prince had already heard about this.
The cabinet recommended allowing it, and the Emperor shared the same opinion.
The Nordic nobles were buying war bonds in order to exchange them for land in Francia.
These lands were not noble fiefs and carried no feudal privileges.
Anyone who settled there would still have to pay taxes and perform military service like any other landholder.
The more land they acquired, the greater their obligations became.
From the Empire's perspective, this arrangement carried only benefits and no disadvantages.
After hearing the explanation, Breken let out a long sigh of relief and summoned his steward.
"Sell all of our war bonds to those Northerners. Quickly."
Since the cargo had not yet been fully loaded, Breken accompanied the Crown Prince on a walk through town.
Liverpool's transition from a feudal county into a directly administered imperial county had been welcomed by most residents.
The reasons were obvious:
Lower agricultural taxes.
More town hospitals.
Cheap honeycomb coal available during winter.
Better opportunities for public office and social advancement.
For years, Breken had been rather pleased with his own performance.
Only now, on the eve of his departure, did Liverpool's residents finally reveal what they truly thought of him.
The realization hit him hard.
"Your Highness, the fleet is ready. It's time for me to depart."
Breken hurried toward the docks.
He had no desire to remain in this place a moment longer.
Using favorable winds, the fleet departed the Mersey and sailed south along the Welsh coast.
After stopping in Plymouth for two days, they crossed the English Channel and continued southward until reaching the mouth of the Garonne River.
There, Breken's party transferred to longships and traveled eastward along the Dordogne, a tributary of the Garonne.
Eventually they arrived at his new fief:
Pineuilh.
The ships docked at a crude pier.
Breken led his followers inland toward the castle marked on his map.
The May sun was warm but not oppressive.
On both sides of the road stretched vast wheat fields.
The nearly ripened grain swayed like waves beneath the breeze.
Farmers worked among the crops.
Most wore linen or wool garments and relied on simple wooden tools.
Iron implements were rare.
Occasionally, a lone ox could be seen pulling a wooden plow through fallow ground.
Despite the primitive farming methods, the wheat looked healthy.
Breken picked up an ear of grain and examined it carefully.
If iron tools and modern heavy plows were introduced, yields here could easily exceed those of Liverpool by twenty to thirty percent.
At noon, the count reached a small village.
Most houses were built from roughly cut stone, with roofs thatched from dried straw.
At the center stood a stone well where several women were drawing water and chatting.
The moment they spotted the strangers, they lowered their voices and hurried back indoors.
At the eastern edge of the village stood a communal baking area.
Fresh bread scented the air.
A baker used a long wooden peel to remove rye loaves from a stone oven.
Rye bread was the staple food of most villagers.
White bread appeared only during festivals and special occasions.
Through open doorways, Breken glimpsed the interiors of peasant homes.
They were cramped and dim.
A few rough benches.
Sleeping pallets covered with straw or animal hides.
Wooden farm tools stacked in corners.
Occasional bleating sheep from neighboring pens.
"The commoners are this poor?"
Breken frowned.
"Just how much tax was the previous lord collecting?"
After leaving the village, the party traveled for another two hours before finally spotting the castle atop a nearby rise.
The central structure was an old Roman stone watchtower.
A ring of wooden palisades had once surrounded it.
Unfortunately, the palisades and inner buildings had been burned down.
The stone tower itself had been damaged by mining operations during the war and partially collapsed beyond repair.
A nearby mill housed twenty soldiers commanded by a young lieutenant.
After confirming Breken's identity and carefully examining his documents, the officer ordered his men to pack up and return to Bordeaux.
Overall, the new territory possessed better soil and a better climate than Liverpool.
Its disadvantages were equally clear:
The population was extremely poor.
Iron tools were scarce.
The locals felt little loyalty toward their lord.
Rebellion was always a possibility.
Over the next two weeks, Breken and his retainers inspected every village within the domain.
They meticulously recorded population figures and farmland acreage before distributing portions of the territory among their newly appointed barons and knights.
When they reached the northern edge of the fief, they happened to encounter another Viking party.
It belonged to Rikard, who was conducting a similar inspection of his own lands.
In total, six major nobles had requested exchanges of territory.
All had made essentially the same demand:
Their new lands had to produce wine.
As a result, Vig had placed all of them in southern Francia.
To Breken's north lay Rikard's lands.
To the east were the holdings of Goodwin's eldest son.
To the southeast stood the domain of Little Pascal.
After completing the inspection, Breken returned to the ruins of the castle and began considering future plans.
From a purely economic perspective, the obvious strategy was to plant vast vineyards and export wine to Britannia, Scandinavia, and Eastern Europe.
The problem was that all his neighbors had reached exactly the same conclusion.
Everyone was expanding wine production.
As competition increased, wine prices would inevitably fall.
"Pineuilh still isn't the best location."
Breken gazed southward.
"The finest lands are along the Mediterranean coast. Plenty of sunlight. Not only wine, but olives as well. Olive oil is one of the Empire's most scarce commodities."
He sighed deeply.
Three years earlier, a serious illness had prevented him from participating in the great war.
As a result, he had missed the opportunity to earn a better fief.
The regret was almost unbearable.
Taking out pen and paper, Breken wrote a letter to the Emperor.
His request was simple:
The next time war came, he wanted to be included—no matter what.
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