The announcent went out the next morning.
Wulfric posted it at the market himself, a board with the details written in Garren’s clear hand, listing what was needed, what the work involved, and what it paid.
Knights carried the sa ssage through the streets on foot, stopping at corners and doorways to read it aloud for anyone who couldn’t read it themselves.
By midday the word had moved through Percvale.
Near the market row, two n were patching the wall of a house that had been partially burned in the attack, they had been doing it since then, a steady work but great progress had been made.
One of them had heard the announcent from a passing knight and had stopped patching.
"Five silver a week for farming," he said.
The other man looked at him. "For farming?"
"That’s what the knight said."
He set down his tools. "That’s more than I’ve seen in a months since the bad years started."
An older woman was talking to her neighbor outside their houses. She had grown up on a farm, had fard until the farmland was destroyed in the invasions, had been doing whatever small work was available since.
"Stable work too," her neighbor said. "And carpenters."
"I’m no carpenter," the woman said.
"But you can farm."
She was quiet for a mont.
"I can farm," she said.
In another place in Percvale:
"That much?"
"For farming?"
"Is that real?"
A younger man standing near the back frowned suspiciously.
"The castle actually has that kind of money now?"
"They defeated Valdenmoor," another villager muttered. "Maybe they took spoils?"
An older woman folded her arms tightly.
"Doesn’t matter where the coin ca from," she said. "If they’re paying properly then people should go."
Several nodded imdiately at that.
For years most people in Percvale barely earned anything beyond survival. Many worked tiny personal plots simply to avoid starving. Actual paid labor opportunities barely existed anymore.
Now suddenly the Barony itself was offering wages. Good wages.
In another place farther north, a middle-aged carpenter sat quietly outside his ho after hearing the announcent.
His tools rested beside him. Old tools. Unused tools mostly.
Years ago he had built storage sheds, fences and timber supports regularly throughout Percvale. Then work slowly disappeared as the Barony declined.
Eventually people stopped repairing things unless absolutely necessary.
Now?
"They’re hiring carpenters again?" his wife asked quietly.
The man stared down at his worn hamr for a long mont before answering.
"...Maybe Percvale really is changing."
By the following morning, people were arriving at the castle. A steady stream of people coming in ones and twos and small groups, walking up to the gate, trying to conceal their excitents.
They wanted to confirm if this was really true.
Darion stood near one of the tall windows overlooking the courtyard while watching them gather below.
Farrs wearing old working clothes. Young laborers carrying tools over their shoulders.
Older craftsn speaking quietly among themselves.
People slowly returning to trades they thought had died with the Barony years ago.
More people had shown up than he expected.
Nice. A lot of them.
He ca downstairs.
The courtyard was busy. Knights were managing the flow of people, directing them toward the open space near the barracks where Garren had set up tables and a senior knight with a ledger was already writing nas.
Darion and Garren moved through the groups, stopping to talk.
An old man with a beard that looked like one he had been growing since before Darion was born looked up from where he was waiting in the farrs’ line.
"I worked this land forty years ago," he said, when Darion stopped beside him. "Before the Varrels. Before all of it." He looked toward the eastern farmland. "My father built those fields with his hands."
Darion nodded. He didn’t know exactly what to say to that.
But it reminded him of the Varrels, the first kingdom that started the attack on Percvale, that reduced them to this state.
Garren hadn’t ntioned them in the debts review which ant that weren’t part of the people Percvale was owing.
One day, he decided that they would retaliate against the Varrels.
By late morning they had the final count on farrs.
One hundred and three.
The senior knight read it out and Darion looked at Garren.
"One hundred and three," Darion said.
"Yes, m’lord."
That was more than he had expected. Significantly more. He had been thinking fifteen, maybe twenty to start. One hundred and three was enough to run the farmland at a scale that produced real surplus rather than just enough.
He looked at the farrs assembled in the courtyard. Old ones correcting younger ones about sothing already, the knowledge passing sideways before they had even started work.
"No, no," one gray-haired man complained loudly. "You don’t place corn that close together or the roots start competing badly."
Another farr snorted.
"That only happens in poor soil."
"The soil used to be poor because idiots exhausted it."
A woman explaining sothing to two young n who were nodding quickly. A group of four in the back who appeared to know each other and were already talking about the soil.
"Five silver a week," Darion said, loud enough to carry. "Each of you."
The reaction moved through the group. Not cheering exactly...
Relief...
Disbelief...
Five silver was more than fair. He knew that. It was more than they would have been paid before the decline.
But he had twenty thousand gold coins in a storage room and he needed these people to show up every day and work properly and feel like the arrangent was worth their best effort, and low wages produced low effort.
With the looks of things, they might not even work more than a week.
With this much farrs. A week should be enough.
"You start tomorrow," Garren told them. "Your nas are being recorded. Co to the farmland gate at first light."
They filed past the ledger knight one by one.
The stable workers were next.
Eleven of them, selected from a larger group who had co forward. People who had worked with horses, who understood the daily requirents of animals that weren’t forgiving of neglect. The stable was full now, over sixty horses, and would likely get fuller as Percvale rebuilt its cavalry capacity.
Darion looked at Wulfric, who had been standing slightly to the side of the stable workers’ group.
"You lead them," Darion said.
Wulfric straightened slightly. "Yes, m’lord."
He had been doing the stable work alone for months, doing everything from feeding to basic dical care for the animals.
Now he had eleven people working under him.
Darion watched his face and decided the promotion fit.
Progress!
The carpenters were the most interesting conversation.
Twenty of them, nine who identified as main builders with real structural knowledge, the rest who could haul timber and assist. They gathered near the wall of the courtyard and Darion let them talk among themselves for a few minutes before joining.
They were already discussing the farmland before he got there.
Fence layouts. Where the animal pens should sit relative to the planting sections so that drainage moved away from crops and not toward them. Timber quality for different applications, you didn’t use the sa wood for a fence post that you used for a pen structure that had to hold cattle. One of the main builders was sketching sothing in the dirt with a stick while two others looked at it and pointed at different parts.
Darion listened for a while.
Then: "Eight silver a week for the main builders. Five for the assistants."
The man with the stick looked up. "Each?"
"Each," Darion said. "You’ll be called up as soon as the farmland is ready for you."
Seren needs to finish her soil work first, a few more sections. When she’s done, they go in.
He looked at the group.
"Your nas go in the ledger today. When we call you, co ready to work."
Garren had the ledger knight move to take the carpenters’ nas.
By early afternoon the courtyard was quieter. The groups had been processed, nas recorded, terms explained. People were dispersing back into Percvale with the energy of people who now had well paying jobs!
Darion stood in the courtyard and watched them go.
One hundred and three farrs. Eleven stable workers. Twenty carpenters. All from inside Percvale, all paid in coin that would circulate back through the barony’s own economy. Skills that had been sitting unused for years because there had been no work and no money were now back in use.
He needed seeds. A lot more seeds than what the townspeople could donate. He would have to buy them.
He added it to the list for tomorrow.
And Seren needed to finish her sections fast.
Then his status screen appeared in front of him:
[Congratulations host on great progress so far on rebuilding Percvale!]
[STATUS]
Na: Darion
Title: Baron of Percvale
Class: Necromancer
Rank: Acolyte
Territory: Percvale (Border Domain)
Territorial Resonance: Low (Starving-aligned — Improving)
[ATTRIBUTES]
Strength: 66 [ 4]
Agility: 56 [ 3]
Endurance: 66 [ 6]
Vitality: 59 [ 7]
Perception: 64 [ 6]
Intelligence: 91[ 8]
Willpower: 71 [ 6]
[Knight Undead Inventory: 20/150]
[Animal Undead Inventory: 10/70]
[Skills:
Death Perception
Distant Command]
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