“Just as you said, your Lordship... we are also of the opinion that Duke LeonCraft has a hidden agenda. After all, he cannot keep inflating market prices indefinitely,” Lord Edward noted after Miller presented his core concerns to the council.
Lady Frederica nodded in agreement, adding, “However, the real question is... what exactly could that end game be?”
Miller tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze sharpening. “Lobbying the neighboring territory lords to pass a joint law.”
The moment the words left his mouth, everyone in the room focused intently on him.
“A law?” the vassals muttered among themselves in confusion.
Miller continued, “Think about it. He needs a permanent solution to prevent us from building more roads, and the absolute easiest way to achieve that is to make a permanent regulatory change.”
Kenny spoke up from the side of the room, adding crucial intel. “We have received fresh reports that multiple merchants directly associated with the LeonCraft Duchy have been rapidly expanding their business territories all around the borders of the Ironwood mountain.”
A heavy silence descended upon the room as the vassals processed the information.
Eventually, Lady Frederica broke the quiet, sounding skeptical. “A law that will completely bar us from building roads? Just like the Exclusivity Rights Law, he would need the unanimous agreement of the entire Northern United Council to pass something that restrictive... and that doesn’t seem realistic.”
Miller let out a sigh. “That’s not the type of restriction he is looking for. He is keeping the material prices high right now to temporarily halt our road construction, but whatever proposed law he aims to pass with the neighboring territories will be designed to keep those costs permanently inflated.”
He waved his hand, and Kenny immediately stepped forward to hand him a thick folder.
Opening the documents, Miller continued, “Currently, independent craftsmen from about five to six neighboring territories are willing to cross borders and work for us on our new roads. Duke LeonCraft only needs to prevent those local workers from taking our contracts to completely freeze our projects.”
“You are right, my Lord...” Lady Frederica nodded, the strategy clicking into place. “We won't be able to hire craftsmen from further provinces, because the massive relocation and lodging costs alone would completely eat up our infrastructure budget.”
One of the gray-bearded lords stroked his chin, frowning. “But how will he even convince the neighboring lords to prevent their own craftsmen from working on our projects? No matter how much financial support the Duke gives them, those lords won’t want to be bluntly antagonistic against a military power like the Ironwood Viscounty.”
“A safety regulation law for working at high elevations,” Miller noted calmly. “That’s the easiest type of law to lobby for. Passing a mandate that enforces an extra tax on materials and hazardous labor for all registered craftsmen in their territories would instantly make the price of paying them completely unaffordable for us.”
Jeckson Libert leaned forward, playing his innocent greenhorn role perfectly. “How can that be? Even if those neighboring lords are secretly in bed with Duke LeonCraft, they won’t be swayed by mere promises so easily. After all, why would they blindly trust a capital duke's word?”
“Unless Duke LeonCraft sends one of his most trusted individuals to personally negotiate and build mutual trust on the spot,” Miller replied, his eyes narrowing.
Lady Frederica's expression hardened with determination. “Then we must keep a strict eye on the movements of any of his trusted aids. We need to know the moment anyone from the LeonCraft faction sets foot in the north.”
Stageplay Theater. Ironwood Viscounty
The host smiled broadly, giving a dramatic wave of his hand to signal the speakers. “Let the debate begin!”
“We all already know that ever since his Lordship granted exclusive road priority rights to Duke LeonCraft, the incoming goods and shipments have been steadily decreasing!” an elderly man with a long white beard and a prominent scar across his forehead began, stepping up to his podium. “Right now, thanks to the Moringa season, we have a stable supply of food, alongside the fish harvested from the lake. But winter will be here soon... and when that happens, we won’t be able to sustain ourselves!”
He pointed aggressively toward a large-statured old man standing opposite him, who was wearing a worn-out but respectable suit. “Therefore, I have proposed to our chicken association leader that we must temporarily dismantle the private coops and construct a single, massive communal Julian Coop! It is the only way to exponentially expand the amount of poultry meat we can produce in a single season, allowing us to distribute it to the public when our food supplies inevitably drop!”
“And I say that is an utterly absurd idea!” the large old man instantly rebuked him, crossing his beefy arms. “If we are to connect all of our private lands to build a single giant coop and hand out free food to everyone, what happens to the steady profits the individual coop owners rely on to survive?”
“So profits are more important to you than people starving?!” the scarred old man yelled, slamming his hand down.
“This is non-negotiable! These coop owners survive entirely on the profits they make from selling their poultry. We cannot simply force them to dismantle their livelihoods just to turn the association into a charity!” the bigger man reasoned.
When the scarred man simply shook his head in frustration, he pressed further. “You have to think about the reality of our situation! Last winter, the road was still open to the public, yet we still had people starving from hunger. Now, with the road strictly prioritized for the Duke's gem shipments, how much worse do you think it will be?! We need to start thinking about our own people, even if Lord Miller refuses to!”
The moment those last words left the old man’s mouth, a sudden, heavy silence fell over the entire theater. For a brief, tense second, a few audience members cast nervous glances up at the VIP box toward Francesca. However, the crowd quickly shook off the awkwardness, and the debate resumed as the larger old man fired back.
“It is true that we will have a difficult time fishing or foraging for local vegetables once the winter freeze comes. But Lord Miller must have a plan! He explicitly promised to find a permanent solution this winter so that our past tragedies wouldn't be repeated!”
“And you actually take him at his word? He is proving to be no better than the previous, wasteful Lord!” the scarred man grumbled with annoyance.
As the debate continued to grow increasingly heated with every passing minute, Francesca slowly lifted her hand from the balcony. Her voice carried clearly across the quiet gaps in the room. “Ah... May I be allowed to speak?”
The entire theater fell dead silent. Down on the stage, the host nervously cleared his throat and nodded frantically, gesturing toward the stairs.
Francesca stood up, gripping her cane tightly, and began making her way out of the box and down toward the stage. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. I need to walk down these steps faster, damn it! They already view my family negatively... I don't want to receive those same disgusted, mocking stares for being disabled here as I did in the capital!
Once she stepped out onto the stage, balancing carefully on her cane, Francesca braced her heart for the inevitable sneers, scoffs, and pitying murmurs she was so thoroughly accustomed to in the high society circles of the capital and even, to a degree, from her past life in Korea.
But as she raised her head to face the crowd, she froze.
The people weren't staring at her leg with disgust or pity. Instead, the hundreds of faces looking back at her were filled with nothing but genuine, intense curiosity. Nobody cared about her cane or her uneven stride; they were entirely focused on the words she was about to speak.
A realization suddenly struck her. That's right... the North is a brutal, unforgiving mountain territory. Injuries, battle scars, and missing limbs are a regular part of daily life here. A wave of genuine, overwhelming warmth spread through Francesca's chest. Even though these very people had been heavily criticizing her and her husband just moments ago, they were granting her an unbiased respect she had never felt before.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Francesca looked out over the crowd and spoke with absolute clarity.
“Great citizens of the Ironwood Viscounty, I would first like to properly introduce myself. As you might have already guessed... I am Francesca Ironwood, the Lady of this land.”