The heat of the forge faded, but the glowing blue notification remained in Kaelen’s vision.

  [Item Repaired: Chainmail Hauberk]

  Durability: 65/100 (Serviceable)

  Quality: Standard Iron

  Note: Structural integrity restored. Rust removed.

  Kaelen wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked down at the armor. It wasn't pretty—the new links were shiny and mismatched against the dull gray of the old metal—but it was solid. It would stop a blade.

  “My Lord…” Gendry, the smith, stared at the hauberk, then at Kaelen’s hands. “I… I told you it was scrap. How did you know to heat the rivets just so? You've never stepped foot in here before.”

  “Books, Gendry,” Kaelen lied, his voice steady despite the pounding in his head. The rush of knowledge from the [Basic Metallurgy] skill was fading, leaving a dull ache behind his eyes. “The library has many books on the old ways of steel.”

  He tossed the hammer back onto the anvil. “Don't let the fire die. We have thirty men and thirty suits of armor that look like lace doilies. I want them all fixed by sunset tomorrow.”

  Gendry blinked, then straightened up. For the first time in months, the sullen smith looked awake. “Aye, my Lord. If you can show me that trick with the quenching oil again, we might just get it done.”

  Kaelen nodded and stepped out of the suffocating heat of the forge into the cool, damp air of the courtyard.

  The men were still resting, chewing on hardtack. They looked up as he passed. The sullen resentment from the morning drill had shifted slightly. They weren't cheering, but they were watching. A Lord who hammered iron was a novelty.

  Kaelen retreated to the solar, a small room at the top of the keep that smelled of mildew and old wax. This was where the real war was fought: the war of coins.

  He sat at the heavy oak desk and opened the leather-bound ledger. To anyone else, it was a list of grain sacks, candles, and iron ingots. To Kaelen, the book was bleeding red light.

  [Settlement: Blackwood Barony]

  Daily Income: 42 Copper (Taxes/Trade)

  Daily Upkeep: 115 Copper (Garrison Wages/Food/Maintenance)

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  Treasury: 12 Silver, 40 Copper

  Status: Economic Collapse Imminent (14 Days).

  “Fourteen days,” Kaelen whispered.

  He ran his hand over the rough parchment. The numbers hovered over the page, exposing the truth. The previous steward had been skimming—mathematical discrepancies glowed in angry red text. But the steward was gone, fled south with the last of the gold, leaving Kaelen with a castle that was eating itself alive.

  He turned the page to the [Agriculture] section.

  [Farm: Miller's Plot]

  Crop: Wheat

  Yield: 40% (Poor)

  Cause: Soil Nitrogen Depletion

  Solution: Crop Rotation (Turnips/Clover) or Manure Fertilizer

  [Farm: River Bend]

  Crop: Barley

  Yield: 0% (Flooded)

  It was a disaster. The barony wasn't just broke; it was starving.

  He needed a win. Not a dragon slain, not a kingdom conquered. He just needed to fix the math.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” Kaelen said, closing the ledger.

  It was his older brother, Erik. The heir.

  Erik was everything Kaelen was not: broad-shouldered, loud, and skilled with a sword. He filled the doorway, his armor clanking. But today, Erik looked tired. Mud splattered his cloak, and there was a tightness around his eyes.

  “You were in the forge,” Erik said, stepping into the room. It sounded like an accusation.

  “Someone had to be,” Kaelen replied calmly. “The men can't fight in rust, Erik.”

  Erik sighed, pulling off his gauntlets and throwing them onto the table. “Father is furious. He says it’s unseemly for a Vane to strike iron like a common laborer. He wants you in the library, finding a precedent for a tax hike.”

  “A tax hike?” Kaelen laughed, a harsh, dry sound. “Erik, look at this.” He shoved the ledger forward. “The peasants are eating boiled grass. If we tax them again, they won't pay. They'll leave. Or worse, they'll revolt.”

  Erik rubbed his face. “We need silver, Kaelen. The Mountain Tribes are gathering. The scouts say the Stone-Eaters have been seen near the Gullet. If they attack…”

  “If they attack, we need soldiers who are fed and armored,” Kaelen countered. “Not a peasant revolt behind our walls.”

  He stood up, walking to the window that overlooked the valley. The System overlaid the landscape with data. He saw the potential in the river, the clay deposits near the bank, the timber in the forest.

  “I can fix this, Erik,” Kaelen said softly. “But I need Father to stop bleeding the stone. We need to invest, not hoard.”

  Erik walked over and put a heavy hand on Kaelen’s shoulder. “Father rides out tomorrow. He’s taking a hundred men to patrol the northern border. He wants to show the flag. Scare the tribes back.”

  Kaelen felt a cold shiver run down his spine. A new notification popped up, pulsing with a warning color he hadn't seen yet: black.

  [Event Warning: The Northern Patrol]

  Threat Level: Lethal

  Survival Probability: 12%

  Recommended Action: Prevent Departure

  “He can't go,” Kaelen said, his voice urgent. “Erik, listen to me. He cannot take the men north. Not now.”

  “He is the Baron, Kaelen. And I ride with him.” Erik smiled sadly. “You stay here. Guard the keep. Fix your armor. Read your books.”

  Erik turned and walked out, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him.

  Kaelen stood alone in the silence. He looked at the 12% hovering in the air where his brother had just stood.

  “It’s not enough,” he whispered. “I need more XP.”

  He looked back at the ledger. If he couldn't stop them from leaving, he had to make sure they had something to come back to.

  [Quest Accepted: The Logistics of Survival]

  Objective: Secure 1 week of food rations

  Reward: [Inventory Management] Skill

  Kaelen grabbed the bell cord and pulled.

  He didn't have time to sleep.