As the first seeds were sown into the fertile soil of the newly reclaimed land, the long summer's warmth worked in Gaimon's favor. Even though the year was nearing its end, the climate allowed the seeds to take root, germinate, and grow into food crops that would sustain the territory. The primary seeds planted this season were oats and beans—crops chosen not only for their nutritional value but also for their ability to improve the soil. Being nitrogen-fixing plants, beans could enrich the land naturally, increasing its fertility and preparing it for future crops.
The soil had been scorched by dragonfire during previous land-clearing efforts, leaving it enriched with ash from burned trees. This natural addition of minerals made the ground unusually productive for immediate cultivation. Gaimon planned to maximize this advantage through multiple successive rounds of planting, a technique that would allow the land to yield consistently even during the early stages of settlement.
To efficiently manage the growing territory, Gaimon implemented a large-scale estate system. Each estate covered roughly 800 to 1,000 hectares of land and required a population of 1,500 to 2,000 people to operate effectively. At the heart of each estate was a manor court, overseen by a manor steward appointed specifically to manage the affairs of the estate. Beyond the manor, the territory was divided into villages based on population clusters. Each village elected its own chief, while the steward oversaw operations across the entire estate. This created a three-tiered governance structure: city-manor-village.
However, the population was still too sparse to fully realize this system. The first manor was still under construction and had been named Guymon Manor by Gaimon himself. The name carried a clear meaning—he hoped it would become a glorious model estate, setting a precedent for all future manors within the territory.
Standing atop the ridge of the freshly sown fields, Gaimon observed the farmers diligently working the land. A knight, clad in polished armor and riding a warhorse, galloped along the ridge road before being halted by Gaimon's guards. Bowing slightly, he approached and whispered a message into Gaimon's ear.
The Golden Fleece Knights, Gaimon's personal force, had been divided into two teams, each with distinct responsibilities. Jon's team was now primarily involved in territorial management, as their captain had been appointed Gaimon's temporary steward. Jon's days were packed with responsibilities, leaving him to assign his knights to various critical tasks. Some oversaw construction and order at the docks, acting as foremen to ensure both productivity and the safety of the workers. Others led hunting teams into the dense forests, providing meat, fruits, and medicinal plants for the settlement.
Amber's team, in contrast, was primarily tasked with protecting Gaimon. They served as his personal honor guard and were largely free of administrative duties, allowing them to focus on ceremonial functions and immediate security.
The knight delivering the message was Jon's assistant, a man responsible for secretarial tasks and message delivery. Gaimon instructed him, "Go back and tell Jon to keep arranging the newcomers as before, dividing them according to their skills. Also, start construction of a blacksmith shop in the territory."
Until now, all tools had been imported from King's Landing, and the territory had no resident blacksmith. With the daily use of farm tools and arrows, establishing a local blacksmith became essential. The first blacksmith shop was built in the village surrounding Guymon Manor, as the city itself still consisted of scattered warehouses at the port and a wooden town hall. Most residents lived in newly built villages or logging camps near the forest.
Meanwhile, Eric's shipyard remained in its early stages, capable only of constructing small inland fishing boats for the local fishermen. Gaimon's thoughts drifted to the fishermen and their challenge of preserving their catch. He had recently realized that processing excess fish into salted goods could provide a long-lasting food source and create a lucrative trade commodity.
However, when Gaimon presented the idea, the fishermen looked at him with embarrassment. "Your Highness, that's impossible here," they explained. "It takes a lot of salt to preserve fish, and salt is extremely expensive. After the cost, making salted goods would likely result in a loss."
Gaimon was taken aback. In his previous life, salt had been inexpensive and readily available, but in this world, it was a precious commodity. Having grown up in the royal family, he had never experienced scarcity firsthand, which had blinded him to the profitability of salt in a feudal economy.
The revelation sparked a new ambition. If he could produce salt within his own territory, he could not only supply his population affordably but also attract merchants from across the continent. In medieval trade, wherever merchants gathered, wealth followed.
Gaimon conducted further research and quickly understood the situation. Ordinary people on the continent relied mainly on two types of salt: sea salt produced along the coast and pond salt mined from salt ponds. Mineral salt from mountains or well salt required more complex extraction methods and yielded purer results, making them luxury items reserved for the nobility. The prices reflected this hierarchy: sea salt cost one silver moon coin per catty, while mineral or well salt could cost one gold dragon coin per catty. The potential profits were enormous.
Yet, salt production was heavily regulated. Natural resources, including salt mines, belonged to nobles under feudal law, but production required paying a "salt tax" to the king. The royal family issued licenses or "salt permits," limiting the scale of mining and sales. Any excess production not reported to the Minister of Finance was subject to confiscation. Officials called Salt Judges were stationed in salt-producing regions to monitor operations and prevent illegal hoarding.
Saltpans Town, the largest sea salt-producing area, provided a prime example. Located on the shores of Crab Bay in the Riverlands, its economy revolved around salt production and fishing. The town was a fief of the Havick family, who had to remit a portion of their salt yield to the crown while observing strict production regulations.
Despite these challenges for ordinary producers, Gaimon's situation was simpler. As a member of the royal family, any salt produced in his territory came under his authority. Securing a franchise to produce and sell salt was merely a matter of organization, not bureaucracy. The strategic advantage of controlling salt production could boost his territory's wealth, attract merchants, and solidify his economic power.
The more Gaimon considered the idea, the clearer it became that salt could be a cornerstone of his territory's prosperity. Beyond being a simple preservative, salt was a commodity capable of shaping trade networks, encouraging settlement, and increasing political influence. He envisioned a network of salt pans along the coast, salt warehouses in the city, and merchant caravans traveling from Guymon Manor to distant markets.
Even at this early stage, Gaimon's plans for territorial development were interconnected. Crops improved the soil and fed the population; immigrants brought skills essential to production; knights maintained security; blacksmiths and shipbuilders supported infrastructure; and salt promised both trade and long-term profit. Every decision fed into the others, forming a carefully orchestrated system that could sustain itself and grow.
Standing again on the ridge and observing the villagers at work, Gaimon felt a surge of determination. He would not simply rule over this land—he would transform it into a thriving hub of agriculture, trade, and industry. Salt, which might have seemed trivial to many, had become a symbol of his vision: a resource that could turn a fledgling territory into a self-sufficient, prosperous domain under his command.
The seed had been planted in the ground, but Gaimon realized that ideas, too, had to be nurtured. Just as the beans and oats would grow and flourish under careful tending, so too would his plans for Guymon Manor and the surrounding territory. The foundations were laid, the population organized, and the first steps of industry underway. With patience, strategy, and a keen understanding of the world's resources, Gaimon was confident that his territory would not only survive but thrive.
Salt might have been a simple mineral to some, but in the hands of Gaimon, it was the key to wealth, stability, and influence. The villagers sowed the seeds, the knights managed the land, and the blacksmiths began crafting tools—but it was the vision of prosperity through strategic resources that would define the future of the territory.
As the sun set over the fields of Guymon Manor, the warm light glinting off the knight's armor and the scattered tools of the villagers, Gaimon's mind raced with possibilities. The harvest would come, the salt would flow, and the territory would grow—step by step, plan by plan, into a model of order and abundance. He knew challenges would come, but as he looked over the land he was shaping with his own hands, he felt a rare sense of certainty: Guymon Manor would become legendary.
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