Gyda, the Prime Minister and Mistress of the Ledger, sat at her desk. She was peeling an apple with a dagger that had ended the life of a Jarl three days ago.
"What is failing now?" she asked, slicing a piece of fruit. " The furnace is hot. The harvest is good. The Weasel is selling turnips to the Scots at a 200% markup. We are profitable."
"I am the failure," Ragnar sighed, collapsing into his chair. "I am the CEO, the Chief Engineer, the City Planner, and the Head of HR. I can't scale, Gyda. I'm trying to implement a Five-Year Plan with a one-man brain."
He referenced the history books in his head. The Soviet Union, for all its flaws, had a massive bureaucracy to force industrialization. The British Empire had a civil service.
Ragnar had... Bjorn.
