The next few days were chaotic and bustling with activity. The first thing Julian did upon his return was to dismantle the last of the "wastrel" reputation by force of silver.
With Marlo nagging at his heels about "sensible budgeting," Julian ignored him entirely and paid every worker their back-wages in full.
Then, he hired fifty more men from the surrounding villages. In this land, hope had been a scarce resource; Julian's gold turned it into a frenzy.
Within three days, the landscape of the Blackwood was unrecognizable. Three more Retort Kilns rose like stone towers, their chimneys venting the shimmering blue heat of the Iron-Bark carbonization. New salt skimmers—wide, shallow pans designed for rapid evaporation—were laid out in a grid, reflecting the sun like a field of fallen glass. But the heart of the transformation was in the castle cellar. The new copper pipes were coiled into a towering fractional distillation column, packed with copper mesh and sealed with high-silica clay. It looked less like a brewery and more like a heart made of metal, pulsing as it stripped the "Spirit" from the rye.
While the Blackwood hummed with the sound of saws and steam, a different kind of scene was brewing in south.
Sir Kaelen stood before Count Bastion, his face pale but his eyes burning with a manic, desperate light. "I will bring you the deed, My Lord," he promised, his voice cracking. "The robbery on the road was a setback, but I have a plan. I will not fail you again."
Kaelen didn't wait for a reply. He rode to Oakhaven with the last of his personal funds. There, in the dark corners of the docks, he found Marx.
Marx was a man who looked like he had been carved out of cold flint. The captain of a top-tier mercenary outfit, he carried a jagged greatsword and wore a smile that never reached his eyes. Along with Marx's elite team, Kaelen recruited fifty lone blades—mercenaries, sellswords, and thugs—bringing his total force to sixty. They didn't dress as bandits this time. They donned the grey-and-black livery of Count Bastion's official soldiers. Kaelen was no longer playing at "robbery"; he was preparing for a military seizure. Even if Julian produced the gold, Kaelen intended to take the land by blood.
On the morning of the thirty-first, Julian stood in his study, looking at the ledgers. The production was a miracle of engineering. The last batch of salt was being loaded in the ship—a surplus of twenty over the contract. Fifty barrels of high-proof ethanol were sealed and ready.
But the timing was razor-thin.
The last batch of goods had only just left for Oakhaven. It would take a day to reach the city and a day for the payment from the Apothecary Union to return. He was exactly 150 gold crowns short of the 600-gold debt due today.
"We have failed," Marlo whispered, staring at the empty iron chest. "The Count will be at the town square in an hour."
"I don't leave my fate to the speed of a barge, Marlo," Julian said, checking the seal on his cloak. "I told you—I diversify my variables."
Four days prior, Julian had taken Silas and a small escort to the Iron Hills to visit Count Harken. The meeting had been a clash of two eras. Julian didn't speak of "tradition" or "honor." He spoke of torque, thermal efficiency, and market disruption. He showed Harken's master-smiths how to use the Iron-Bark charcoal to reach temperatures that would refine their iron into superior steel.
In this era the superiority of the steel is determined by the weight of the final extracted iron. Just increasing the yield of a single batch was even a break through.
Bloom furnace was the most common smelting technology and even the most experienced blacksmith only knows surface level knowledge of material science.
With Julians future knowledge he modified parts of the furnace, made a smaller version just for demonstration. And the output, it was an eye opener for the blacksmiths, guild heads and the count himself.
His small furnace was able to produce iron billet that was comparable to a regular furnace. It was all thanks to the high grade charcoal.
Count harken was more impressed by the small bloom furnace Julian put together in few hours. It looks simple but much better than there own best forges.
Julian knows showing too much would bring him unwanted attention but still he has to show something more than promises of future profits. So this time he is genuinely trying to impress the count and the blacksmiths.
Personal charisma is a very important skill for a future leader.
This was not that hard for him too. He felt like he was back in his college lab. Demonstrating versious experiments to students.
His natural deposition was of a master brushing the last and final strock.
He took out the warm billet from the work table and held it at chest high in front of everyone.
"You can weigh this and check. It will be a killo and a half." He smiled at everyone.
A girl step forward and took the billet from his palm. It was warm and heavy. Much heavier for its size.
She could feel this was of high quality.
"I am the acting guild head of commerce. Elena Harkens" greeted Julian she followed up with weighing the small billet with a balance and was surprised that it was around 1.5 kilograms.
"How did you know its weight?" She asked with curiosity.
Julian smiled and replied "An educated guess?"
She looked at me puzzled. " If I know how much raw ingredients and fuel am using I can make an educated guess of the final output."
She was intrigued, it sound so simple but she can't believe why she didn't see it.
" It means deriving conclusions from a scientific and factual clues." Replied Julian
She almost understood what he meant. She remembers about a technique she discovered on her own by accident. And for some reason she feels like she have found a use for it first time.
She instructs her assistant to go get her tool box.
While everyone waited Julian further explained how he was able to calculate the final yield. They discussed about fuel to material ratio, temperature points, and tapping the slag.
A short girl walked in quickly holding a box that looks bigger than her. She took out a tall almost clear breaker that was half filled with water and there was a mark right where the water surface rested . It was etched into the glass.
Evaln clapped her hands to attract everyone's attention. "Everyone this is something I have come up . It's a test for the purity of the iron contained in Julians billet." She took out another bullet looking slightly larger.
"This is a billet from the castle blacksmiths it weighs the same." She places one billet on each sides of the balance. Julians eye litt up looking at this girl and the excitement. At first he was stunned to hear counts daughter was the head of commerce. And right now she is going to demonstrate buoyancy. The eureka experiment by Archimedes.
A tall and slender woman with bright blond hair and blue eyes. She was wearing blue dress that are flowy and elegant. She had a confident vibe around her.
She drops the billet from the castle's blacksmiths. Imidiatly rising the water level . Marking the water level
And repeated the same with Julians.
As she expected Julians billet displaced less water . Everyone understood the meaning of it right away. Julians was way better than there's.
But at that moment everyone was looking at Elena with an incredible looks.
"lady Elena is a genius. She exceeds her reputation." One of the whispered
"She is beautiful too".
Elena was getting nervous with so much attention from everyone. Seeing this the count stepped in and said " It looks like our products are not that of the highest quality. It seems we are slacking off."
"My lord . We have failed you." Everyone quickly snapped out of it
"It is great that my daughter is here to save the day" it is a well known fact the count dots on his eldest daughter the most. And it is not Nice to disrespect his on blacksmiths so he jocked to relax the mood.
Elena throws a quick angry huff at her father
"Am not a child anymore" she stomped out of the room with her assistant. With her back turned on everyone she said.
"It was nice meeting you Julian" a small smile lingering on her lips.
The meeting was a success. Recognizing Julian as a strategic asset who could neutralize Bastion's northern expansion, Count Harken didn't just sign the trade contract; he lent Julian 600 gold crowns against his future production.
The town square was the busiest heart of the Blackwood, and it was there that Julian chose to settle the debt. He didn't want a private meeting in a cold hall; he wanted a public showdown.
The crowd was thick. Hundreds of workers—the men Julian had paid in full, the fifty new hires, and the villagers who had watched the "Drunkard" build a factory—stood in a tense, expectant silence.
The silence was shattered by the rhythmic clatter of hooves. Sir Kaelen rode into the square, his face a mask of desperate arrogance. Behind him rode Marx, the scarred mercenary captain, leading sixty men-at-arms dressed in the black-and-grey livery of Count Bastion.
"The sun is at its zenith, Julian!" Kaelen roared, his hand white-knuckled on the hilt of his sword. He didn't see a boy; he saw the man whose existence was a death sentence for him. "The thirty days are up. Where is the crowns, or shall I start clearing this castle for its new master?"
The crowd surged back, a collective gasp rippling through the square.
"Is that a threat, Kaelen?" Julian asked, stepping into the center of the square. He was dressed simply. "Or just the barking of a man who knows his head is on the chopping block?"
"Seize him!" Kaelen screamed, pointing at Julian. "He has no gold! Seize the traitor!"
Marx stepped forward, his greatsword leaving its sheath with a menacing hiss. But before the mercenaries could take a step, a sharp, metallic thud rang out from the four main streets.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
From the North, South, East, and West, four units of armored men marched into the square in perfect lockstep. They bore the grey-and-red sigil of the Iron Hills. Eighty veteran pikemen leveled their weapons, boxing Kaelen's mercenaries into a shrinking circle. From the rooftops, Silas and his ten Sentinels stood up, their heavy crossbows cocked and aimed directly at Kaelen's chest.
Julian's total force was 110 men. Including his personal men.Kaelen was outnumbered and out-positioned two-to-one.
A low murmur started in the back of the crowd and grew into a roar.
"The Iron Hills?"
"Look at the pikes!"
"I thought the baron took the army on his expedition."
Julian reached into his cloak and pulled out a heavy velvet bag. He tossed it into the mud at Kaelen's feet. It hit the ground with a heavy, melodic thunk.
"Six hundred gold crowns. Certified by the Iron Hills treasury," Julian said, his voice cold and clinical. "The debt is paid, Kaelen. The Barony of Blackwood is free of all claims."
Kaelen stared at the gold, his face twisting into a mask of pure terror. He knew the Count didn't want the money. He knew he had failed to get the deed.
"You... you cheated!" Kaelen stammered, looking at the pikes. "This is an occupation!"
"This is a trade alliance," Julian corrected. He looked at his people—the workers, the smiths, the charcoal burners. "I am the Master of this land. And I protect what is mine."
The crowd erupted. It wasn't the cheers of subjects for a King; it was the roar of a people who finally realized their leader was the smartest man in the room.
Hours later, in the obsidian halls of Count Bastion's palace, a messenger arrived, drenched in sweat. He handed a single parchment, sealed with the heavy iron signet of Count Harken, to the Count.
Bastion broke the seal, his icy blue eyes scanning the elegant script.
"To my neighbor, Count Bastion: Be it known that the House of Valerius and the House of Harken have entered into a Blood-and-Iron Alliance. Our economies are now one. Our borders are now shared. Any act of aggression, legal or physical, against the Blackwood Barony shall be treated as a direct declaration of war against the Iron Hills."
Count Bastion sat in the silence of his study for a long time. He looked at the report from the square—the gold paid, the mercenaries humiliated, the refinery humming with a blue flame.
"Interesting," Bastion whispered, a thin, dangerous smile touching his lips. He picked up his quill and crossed Sir Kaelen's name off his ledger with a single, brutal stroke. "It seems the 'wastrel' has graduated. Now, we see how he handles a real war."