Chapter 54: Opening New Trade Routes (I) — The First Stop

"That’s feasible."

Baird considered for a moment before responding immediately. In truth, he preferred an eighty-twenty split for storage, but since his lord had made his intentions clear, as a subordinate, it would be unwise to object. Besides, storing an extra layer of supplies added another measure of security—there was no loss in that.

"Then let’s proceed as such. I’ll leave the general warehouse inside the castle for you to organize. You’ll also be responsible for overseeing the construction of the Lake of Praying Stars. There’s much to do, so I won’t keep you any longer."

"Yes, my lord."

He came quickly and left just as fast; in less than ten minutes, Baird had departed the great hall.

Just then, a guard entered, knelt on one knee, and reported respectfully, "My lord, Sir Raimondo requests an audience."

"Let him in," Wellington instructed, sitting back down just as he was about to leave.

Soon after, a young man in brown linen entered the hall and bowed deeply, leaving Wellington momentarily stunned.

"Raimondo, why are you dressed like this?"

Glancing at his own attire, Raimondo replied at once, "My lord, wealth should not be flaunted. As a merchant, one must first learn modesty—only then can one avoid becoming prey for other powers."

"You are quite right," Wellington replied, pressing a hand to his forehead. As a noble, he was not yet accustomed to this new way of thinking, which explained his initial surprise.

Raimondo then began his report. "My lord, on this trading journey, we have ten carts for goods and two for provisions for the caravan, allowing a total cargo of twelve tons. I chose two tons of refined rock salt, six tons of coarse rock salt, three hundred and twenty animal pelts, one hundred and twenty folding chairs, and three thousand kilograms of yam beans."

"Go prepare. Set out at dawn tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord."

After Raimondo left, Wellington glanced at his own garb and immediately summoned a servant to fetch him a linen coat.

...

On the muddy roads of the Cardero Province, in the midst of Raimondo’s caravan, Wellington sat on the roof of a wagon, bored, gazing at the desolate scenery around him.

"Still more than twenty kilometers to the first stop, the Barony of Grosvenor," he murmured, checking a roadside marker. He took a map of Cardero Province from his coat, studying the six marked places—these were the relatively prosperous noble domains along the new trade route he intended to open.

"Let’s aim to finish within two months," he said, stowing the map away and lying back on the roof, watching the overcast skies.

This journey was not merely about traveling a planned route. It also meant visiting the local nobility, making acquaintances, and building networks of influence.

After more than an hour, a small town appeared before them. At the city gates, hundreds of commoners and merchants waited in line to enter.

The Barony of Grosvenor, ruled by the Grosvenor family, was a small house founded less than a century ago and now in its third generation, holding a territory of just three thousand square kilometers. Thanks to its favorable location on a major route, it was a bustling trade town in the region. Seven or eight neighboring nobles, along with many pioneering lords, would come here to conduct business.

After inspection, the caravan entered the town without trouble.

Once inside, a stench assaulted Wellington, forcing him to cover his nose and mouth. Garbage, urine, and excrement were dumped carelessly into the streets.

"Sir, do you need shoes?" A small vendor, clutching several pairs of high-heeled shoes, approached the caravan, offering them cautiously.

At the question, Raimondo instinctively glanced up at Wellington atop the wagon.

"You’re the caravan leader. Decide for yourself."

"Understood." Raimondo turned to the vendor. "How much for a pair?"

Sensing a sale, the vendor replied eagerly, "Sir, these high heels will keep you from stepping in the filth. Only five copper coins a pair."

After a moment’s thought, Raimondo fished a silver coin from his pocket and tossed it over. "I’ll take all the shoes you’ve got. Use the rest as your fee—I want to hire you as our guide for a few days. Will you accept?"

"Yes, yes, sir! Gladly!" The vendor pocketed the silver, handed all ten pairs of shoes to the guards, and eagerly stepped into his new role.

"Sir, my name is Tom. At your service."

"Take us to the caravan parking area first," Raimondo decided, thinking it best to secure a base for the caravan before delivering a calling card to the local noble. As for selling the goods, once they connected with the local lord, there would be no need to worry.

"Right this way, sir," Tom said.

The caravan followed Tom, their new local guide, to the designated merchant quarters.

Once everything was set up, Raimondo summoned one of the guards.

"Take this letter and the family crest," he instructed, "and follow Tom to deliver our calling card to Baron Grosvenor."

"Yes, sir," the guard replied, taking the letter and crest before following the vendor toward the small castle in town.

...

In the small castle at the town’s heart, Duke, the second son of the Grosvenor family and current baron, was practicing his swordsmanship bare-chested with a knight’s longsword.

"Intermediate bronze knight—who knows when I’ll reach the next rank?" he mused. Lacking great talent, he had to rely on diligence to make up the difference.

When he paused to rest, the butler entered and reported, "Young master, a noble has sent someone with a calling card—one of the families father asked us to pay special attention to."

Duke stopped and turned. "Which family?"

"The Eckes family, likely that pioneer knight from the border," answered the butler.

"Accept the card. Also, send word to my father at the main castle outside town."

"Yes, young master."

After the butler left, Duke wiped sweat from his brow, ordered the servants to prepare the hall, and dispatched scouts for information.

Soon, a knight’s attendant galloped north, toward the family castle twenty kilometers away.

As night fell, a powerfully built middle-aged man arrived in Grosvenor with several guards.

"Father," Duke said, bowing at the castle entrance in a silk robe.

"Duke, what’s the situation?"

Duke relayed everything he’d discovered in his three hours of investigation that day. "Father, their caravan is camped in the west district. They’ll pay a visit at ten tomorrow morning. As for their goods, they have..."

The baron listened and nodded in approval. "You’ve done well. Now withdraw all the scouts."

"Yes, father."