Chapter 199: Don

Gervas smiled faintly, then changed the subject: "Of course, the nobles of the capital are foolish and rich—it's not impossible to make even more from them!"

"For example, we could use different materials to decorate the magic fans: ordinary ones with copper, mid-grade ones with silver, high-end ones with gold and gems…"

Wood's eyes widened in stunned disbelief.

He wasn't stupid—he understood at once.

Just imagine: when those vain nobles of the capital see these, they'll hand over their gold coins by the bucketful!

But as he thought further, Wood's face darkened, his expression twisting in anguish: "Lord Gervas, your suggestion is truly excellent—I agree we could make a fortune—but… it's too late!"

"I'm already drowning in debt, and I'm about to enter the Chaos Wastes—otherwise, if the capital nobles find me, I'll be forced to spend the rest of my life making magical trinkets for them to pay it off!"

Gervas smiled inwardly, but feigned hesitation: "Lord Wood, I have a proposal… why not stay in my Stormhold? I'll protect you!"

"Stay in Stormhold? This…" Wood froze again.

He knew his creditors were major nobles of the capital—even some with royal ties.

Not even a border noble like Gervas would dare harbor him—let alone the great lords themselves?

"Lord Wood, you may never have heard of Stormhold, but let me tell you: within the kingdom, it's known as a land of death, for three lords have died here in just ten years!"

"So I know taking you in is extremely risky—but I'm willing to take that risk, because I desperately need funds to develop my territory, and I'm ready to gamble!"

"Besides, there's another crucial point: I feel you and I are very much alike."

"We're both men who strive to rise—you simply had bad luck and failed. I don't want you to flee into the Chaos Wastes and become food for barbarians or a slave to bandits!"

"Stay in my territory. Though I can't provide you with abundant resources, I guarantee you the basic materials needed for a junior mage's cultivation."

"Moreover, once the magical devices we produce start generating profit, I'm willing to give you one-tenth of the earnings!"

"That way, you might become a mid-level mage—or even a senior mage—much sooner!"

"By then, you won't have to worry about your debts anymore, and you can return to the capital with your head held high!"

Gervas activated his "Noble Self-Cultivation," his eyes brimming with clarity and sincerity.

Wood's eyes welled up again, moved: "Lord Gervas, you are the most benevolent and kind-hearted noble I've ever met!"

Next, Gervas naturally produced the magical contract and had both parties sign it.

Gervas honored his promise: he protected Wood and provided daily cultivation resources.

Furthermore, once the magical devices generated profit, he would give Wood one-tenth of the earnings!

In return, Wood had to serve Gervas at least five hours daily—producing magical devices.

Though enforcement wouldn't be rigid, these terms were written clearly for fairness.

As for the duration of Wood's service, it was at least eight years.

For five years, regardless of whether Wood broke through to mid-level or senior mage, he must remain in service to Gervas.

Wood naturally saw no problem with this.

A mage's advancement was far slower than a title knight's.

Without vast resources to pour into cultivation, and with daily alchemical work required, breaking through to mid-level mage in eight years was already fast.

Under normal circumstances, it would take roughly ten years.

So Wood actually felt Gervas was showing deliberate goodwill.

After signing the contract, both men shared a cheerful lunch together.

Wood no longer feared being torn apart by barbarians and eaten as meat.

Gervas had hired a mage as a slave at the lowest possible price.

Normally, noble-mage partnerships split profits fifty-fifty.

Sometimes it was forty-sixty, but only when desperate alchemists partnered with great nobles.

A ninety-ten split—if other mages heard of this, they'd curse Gervas as a vampire.

It was no different from outright theft.

…

"Are you certain the iron mine has been producing over a thousand kilograms daily for more than ten days?"

"Yes, my lord! I've quietly questioned many serfs, and even saw iron ore being unloaded at Wheatfield Town—the mine truly produces over a thousand kilograms daily!"

"Damn it! Why? Before, we only got one or two hundred kilograms per day—how did it suddenly jump to over a thousand?"

Inside Pat's Castle!

Lord Pat's face turned ashen.

Ever since selling the iron mine, he'd never stopped monitoring it.

Originally, he wanted to prepare in case his fraud was discovered.

But the recent investigations delivered an unbelievable report.

The mine's output had not only recovered—it had actually increased!

"Previously, he employed over three hundred men to dig, yet output barely reached fifteen hundred kilograms!"

"Now, Gervas has only a hundred men—and they produce a thousand kilograms daily! That's a fifty percent increase!"

"The meaning is obvious: the ore vein hasn't been exhausted—it's hiding an even richer deposit!"

"And now, I sold it for just seven hundred gold coins…"

The more he thought, the more twisted Lord Pat's face became.

"My lord, please take care of your health!"

His subordinates, alarmed, feared he'd collapse from rage.

"No! We cannot let others profit from the Pat family's iron mine!"

Lord Pat seemed to have made up his mind.

His subordinates stared, stunned.

"Berri!"

"My lord, I'm here!"

"Go at once and summon Baron Kieran and Sir Vow—they must come to the castle with their men!" Lord Pat ordered.

"Yes, my lord!" The subordinates sensed something major was coming, but dared not ask.

"And tell them to bring full equipment—there may be battle."

"Yes, my lord!"

…

"Report, my lord! The Storm Knights, all riders and squires, are assembled!"

"Report, my lord! The Storm Infantry, First Battalion's First, Second, Third, and Fourth Companies, are all present!"

"Report, my lord! The Storm Flight Squad is fully assembled!"

"Report, my lord! The Barbarian Slave Squad is fully assembled!"

"Excellent. Then we march!"

Gervas gave the order and led his forces southwest toward the border.

Though he didn't wish to provoke a major conflict with his neighbor, he still deployed nearly all his troops—for caution.