CHAPTER 58: THE FIRST SAIL

The County of Argenholt was a modest domain: one city, five towns, and a single castle. Yet the reason neighboring houses had not attempted to seize it was not because of its size.

The original Leonardo commanded no more soldiers than an average baron, and the land itself offered no great geographical advantage. What truly kept Argenholt safe was the man himself. Leonardo, a general of renowned brilliance, whose victories had carved his name into the annals of war.

No ordinary noble wished to clash with a lord of proven military genius. At least, not until an opportunity presented itself. And opportunities always changed everything, just as they did now.

And, the County of Argenholt had grown: two cities, seven villages, and a port. Of course, the new territories I had seized lay in ruin, plundered by their former ruler, Baron Sulka. Still, broken though they were, these lands brimmed with potential.

Sulka’s inheritance was nothing more than shattered walls, empty granaries, and villages left to rot. Yet, to my eyes, they were not ruins- they were raw materials. I could tear down crumbling stone to raise sturdier walls. I could bring life back to barren fields. But to restore hope to the people... that was far more difficult.

For the wounds they bore were not from war, but from hunger. They looked at me with eyes marked by scars deeper than any blade could carve. Some held fear, others expectation. I had already appointed three to govern the city in my stead, and they now awaited my command.

Edric clutched his ledger with trembling fingers, eyes fixed on me. Halmar stood stiff and straight, as though ready to muster his men the instant I gave word. Marla lingered at the edges, gaze restless, still feeling out of place among these stone walls.

Save for Halmar, none were truly mine, they were people of the land, carrying the weight of different pasts. Yet it was precisely because of that they could become the strongest pillars to hold this city from decay.

I turned to the window. In the square below, women haggled with merchants over sacks of barley, children darted between corners with wary play, and the elderly sat silently upon the stone steps, as though awaiting judgment from us.

"This city is not mine," I murmured, yet the words echoed off the walls, reaching every ear in the room. "On paper, yes, but in truth it is not yet a part of Argenholt. It will be. We will mend its walls, we will sow its fields. And its people... they will learn to live with us."

Marla stepped forward, voice timid but steady. "My lord... the people want to believe in you, but belief does not fill an empty stomach. Sulka’s storehouses are bare. What remains won’t last the winter."

Edric adjusted his spectacles and nodded. "Traders still shun the port. War casts a heavy shadow. None is willing to risk their goods."

I was not surprised. To offer hope was easy; to feed that hope was the true battle. Leaning over the table, I traced the worn wood with my fingers.

"Then we begin with the port," I said. "Sulka’s greed strangled trade, and now shipmasters deem this coast cursed. We will give them reason to return. Firstly, reduce import duties and the first ship to dock here will receive exemption from taxes. Reviving the port is the first step to feeding the city."

Halmar’s lips curved into a grim smile. "If the port opens, work will return. My men can guard it day and night."

"Your men will guard it," I replied. "Not oppress it. The moment you press the people with the weight of your swords, the city will slip through our fingers. Protect them- do not smother them."

A silence settled. Then, from the back of the room, Mike’s voice broke through, mocking yet thoughtful this time. "Promising a ship, eh? The people are starving, your coffers are empty. What merchant would risk his cargo for the empty purse of a penniless lord? Tax exemptions don’t fill bellies."

I met his eyes. I was used to his half-mocking, half-challenging tone. But this time, his words carried weight. A lord with an empty treasury had little power to bargain.

I leaned back, drumming my fingers on the table’s edge. "You’re right. Empty promises won’t bring ships. But every merchant knows one truth: a starving city is a vein of gold. The trick is striking the first vein stone."

Edric quickly scribbled notes. "So... not only tax exemptions, but privileges as well?"

"More than that," I answered. "The first ship will receive tax freedom, guaranteed unloading rights, exclusive market space, even timber and stone from Sulka’s abandoned estates if needed. The scent of profit makes merchants set sail faster than any corsair."

Halmar frowned. "You give away much, my lord. Others will expect the same."

I shook my head. "No. Only the first. The value of first blood in war is the same as the value of the first ship in trade. The rest will follow on their own."

Mike chuckled darkly, raising his cup. "You still speak with the tongue of the old-world bargainers. But I admit, it makes sense. Still, one problem remains: who will whisper this offer into their ears? The port’s name is shunned like a curse."

I turned to Marla. "Go among the people. Earn their trust. Hear their needs, their fears. Then spread the stories merchants will hear. Not of a starving city, but of one reborn. Speak not of ruins, but of opportunities."

She hesitated, doubt flickering in her eyes, then a faint spark replaced it. "Can someone like me... truly do this, my lord?"

"Not someone like you. Only you," I said. "A noble’s promise is suspicion. But a common woman’s whisper, carried through the market as rumor, that they will believe."

Edric nodded furiously, pen scratching across parchment. "Indirect, not direct. Plant expectation, stir curiosity. Clever..."

Halmar’s brow remained furrowed. "But without security, all is vain. If the rumors of pirates prove true, no merchant will dare approach."

I fixed my gaze on him. "That is why you and your men will play the unseen role. Not just guarding, but showing restraint. When merchants arrive, they must see disciplined soldiers, not marauders. They must find order, not plunder. Let silence, not the glint of blades, inspire confidence."

Mike lowered his cup, uncharacteristically serious. "So you won’t reach for the merchant’s hand. You’ll make sure that when he does extend it, a city stands ready to receive him. He’ll bind himself more tightly, for it will have been his choice."

I smiled. "Exactly. No ship brought by force ever lingers. But one that comes of its own will take root."

Marla whispered, "Then the first ship will change more than the port... it will change the fate of the people."

"Yes. The first ship will not just carry goods. It will turn rumor into reality. To starving eyes, it will herald a new age."

I picked up the worn quill lying among maps and empty bottles and wrote two words on the parchment’s edge: The First Sail.

Not only wars, but such steps could have changed many things. And for this city, the beginning would be a white sail on the horizon.

Mike laughed softly. "I can’t wait to see it."

"Sadly, my friend," I said, "we cannot linger here. We leave tomorrow. Ready the army."

His smile vanished. He set his cup down with slow deliberation. "Leaving before the ship arrives? You’ll entrust the port’s rebirth to others?"

I rose and walked to the window. Evening shadows stretched long across the weary stones. With the setting of the sun, the market was now deserted, the children’s laughter had ceased, and only the silence of hunger remained.

"This city will grow with me," I said. "But roots cannot all be watered at once. We have laid its laws, planted its pillars. Now is the time to strike down that cunning fox of a count and that cowardly baron who dared set their eyes on Argenholt’s lands."