Chapter 8

3rd Day, Upper Wind Month, 1 CE

A sharp intake of breath greeted Ludmila as she stepped out of the Gate and onto the ‘teleportation gazebo’ in E-Rantel’s central district. She furrowed her brow at the noise, finding a quivering noblewoman fearfully covering her rounded belly with pale, slender arms. Her maids quivered in unison to either side.

Ludmila frowned at the noblewoman’s two footmen, who had taken cover behind the maids. What was the point of having an escort if they hid behind their mistress? She resisted the urge to check over herself for entrails, bloodstains or anything else that might lend a fearful appearance before fixing her face into a pleasant smile.

“Good afternoon, Countess Völkchenheim.”

“G-g-good morning, Baroness Zahradnik.”

“Is your lord husband well?” Ludmila asked, “I’m surprised to find you here, considering the season.”

“The season…? Ah, our fields are sown in the winter…”

“That’s right...I apologise, my lady. I suppose my mind has been filled with my own affairs. It feels like I’ve been away for far too long.”

Unlike Warden’s Vale, which was nestled in the highlands southwest of E-Rantel, the lowland territories of the interior didn’t have to wait for the warmer weather of spring to unfreeze the ground. This made winter maintenance and preparations for the next growing season a somewhat relaxed affair.

The pregnant woman shifted away on the grass where she was seated as Ludmila came closer to speak with her. What did she think she was going to do?

Ludmila was not wearing armour; neither was she wielding a weapon. There wasn’t even a weapon visible on her person. If anything, she was the least visibly-armed person in the duchy: while everyone at least had a dagger sheathed at their belts and noblemen and footmen usually had more substantial armament, Ludmila’s weapons were in the Infinite Haversack at her left hip.

“What about yourself, my lady? How are you feeling? How is the baby?”

She thought to divert the Countess’ attention to happier matters, but Ludmila fought to keep another sort of concern from her voice. Adelia Völkchenheim was fifteen years old and six months pregnant. While she understood that this was normal for followers of The Four – with family life commonly starting as early as fourteen – she also couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t a good thing. They were still growing children at that age: how could they be expected to bear and raise children themselves?

The Faith of the Six was far more sensible. Humans couldn’t be considered proper adults until they were twenty. Children should be doing children’s things, such as patrolling the wilderness and fighting off invaders or destroying Undead in the Katze Plains.

Lady Völkchenheim paled. Ludmila put her smile back on, but it didn’t appear to help. The pregnant noblewoman’s hand went up, clutching blindly at one of her maids.

“We’re fine,” she said as she was helped to her feet. “Thank you for your concern, my lady. Please excuse me – I was just taking a short rest after lunch and I’ve stayed overly long.”

“Of course, my lady,” Ludmila lowered her head politely. “Please convey my greetings to your lord husband.”

The Countess nodded once before scurrying away with her retinue. They smoothly wove around a passing patrol of Death-series servitors, looking far less frightened of the country-destroying contingent than they were of her. Was she truly that terrifying?

Ludmila silently shook her head, then stopped. In the distance, a group of maids whispered to one another with fearful looks.

A sigh escaped her lips. Cities just weren’t her thing. Every word, gesture and action was weighed, measured and added to some incomprehensible cocktail of political calculation. E-Rantel slowly returning to normal also meant that that aspect of city life was also returning to normal.

She concealed her presence as she left the gardens. It was better that people didn’t see her at all.

Blossoms danced over the city streets as she made her way across the front of the Royal Villa. Spring was well underway in E-Rantel, but she suspected that the uncharacteristically sunny weather was due to Lord Mare. Though there was no need to catch up with a delayed harvest as they had last year, the Dark Elf Druid decided that it wouldn’t hurt to lightly ‘tweak’ the growing seasons to prevent flooding, drought or other forms of crop-damaging weather. The result was that conditions were more regular and mild.

Ludmila walked through the central district, unnoticed by the household staff performing errands or the citizens passing through. There were quite a few more active Noble households than she had expected and she wondered why that was. Most of them should have been out in their territories.

Her pulse quickened as she approached the former Mayor’s manor, now the residence of the Sorcerer King in the capital. She gave her head a shake, touching the tips of her fingers to her collarbone. As far as she knew, His Majesty was supposed to be in the Holy Kingdom – there was no point in getting excited over the chance of a fortunate encounter.

Ludmila stopped at the front of the lane, where a wooden container marked ‘Suggestions’ had replaced the letter box. She withdrew a binder from the Infinite Haversack at her right hip, glancing between it and the narrow slot of the box.

“Well, that isn’t going to fit…” She muttered.

It wouldn’t do to just leave it on top of the box. She had more to add, besides. Recalling something that Lady Shalltear had mentioned, she reached out to wiggle the lock keeping the latch shut.

A blade appeared at her throat.

“By order of His Majesty, the Suggestion Box is–”

“Oh, you really did show up,” Ludmila turned to address the previously-undetectable Hanzo guarding the Suggestion Box. “I have a suggestion, but it doesn’t fit. Would you be so kind as to deliver it to His Majesty when he returns?”

She held out the binder between them.

“Erm…”

“You are capable of performing this service, yes?”

“O-of course!”

The Hanzo took the binder into his hand. It disappeared into his inventory. Ludmila pulled out a box containing a half-dozen more folders. The stealthy sentry eyed the container held out between them.

“What…what is this?”

“Supplementary materials referenced by the suggestion,” Ludmila replied. “So His Majesty isn’t inconvenienced by having to search for copies himself.”

A moment passed before the Hanzo took the box as well. Then she handed him another box. Ludmila’s suggestions were compiled over her time in the Empire and she wasn’t sure if His Majesty would know what they referred to. From what she had seen, the Sorcerous Kingdom’s regular intelligence of the Empire was notably absent of many important things. Most of her suggestions required familiarity with that missing subject matter to appreciate.

“These go with the suggestions,” Ludmila told the Hanzo, “so please ensure that they are directly received by His Majesty.”

“Hah!” The Hanzo straightened and offered a salute, “This one shall see this intelligence delivered even if it means this one’s life!”

Ludmila was relatively certain that the only person who could find and kill a Hanzo actively avoiding combat was Lady Aura. No one else could detect them if they were using conventional concealment.

“Thank you very much,” Ludmila smiled. “Have you any idea when His Majesty will be returning, by the way?”

The Hanzo shook his head. Ludmila nodded and turned with a wave, continuing down the street. After observing the household servants moving about the district for some time, she believed she understood the cause of the uncharacteristic amount of activity.

Spring – or at least the sowing season and the weeks of preparation that preceded it – was usually the second-busiest time for Nobles and their tenants. Not only was this regular, seasonal work labour intensive, but a thousand little things inevitably cropped up that demanded one’s attention, causing endless minor delays and tying up resources. As Countess Völkchenheim had mentioned, however, this season had long passed in the lowlands. Now, most Nobles would have settled into the lull where they awaited the results of their management decisions.

A large part of this lull would be filled by holding court with one’s subjects. This meant going from village to village with one’s retinue, holding audiences with villagers, performing inspections and getting a general feel for the state of their land. With the risk of Demihuman raids, Monster attacks and bands of brigands being a thing of the past, there was little excuse not to do so. Experiencing the improved yields and productivity over the past year also lent a sense of excitement to the Nobility and they eagerly went from place to place trying to figure out how their unprecedented surplus revenues could be put to work.

Unlike towns, which were purposely built a day’s travel from one another, the distance between villages was based on how much land each could reasonably and safely manage. Normally, this was about as far as tenants and draft animals could travel in two hours, which was roughly four kilometres when one considered that they used the rural roads to go partway and then went to go wherever they were working out in the fields around their village.

This meant that each village was roughly eight kilometres apart. A lord with their itinerant court and its baggage train would spend about four hours travelling from one village to another. Ideally, a portion of the day was all that was needed to settle outstanding business that a village’s Chief couldn’t handle. Taxes were collected at the same time, taking advantage of security that a Noble brought with them. The remainder of the time in a village would be spent inspecting the settlement and its surroundings, discussing improvements or changes to the land and investigating potential problems.

Lords would also hold feasts for the villagers to reinforce relations and foster a sense of local solidarity. Minor Nobles were generally poor, so the feasts were usually limited to extra portions with nothing exotic or extravagant. Regardless, this practice led to the belief that Nobles feasted every day, as commoners would see the Noble throwing a feast for them and realise that they also threw a feast for the previous village and would be doing so for the next. In meagre times, this perception would take a poor turn, framing Nobles as those who ate well while everyone else starved.

Assuming that there was nothing more to do at that village and if conditions permitted travel, the lord and his retinue would leave to repeat the process in the next village. The logistics of the itinerant court meant that the more territory a Noble had under their direct management, the more time they spent travelling. A Baron with ten villages spent upwards of a month holding court. Most held court twice a year and this much was fairly manageable between a Noble’s other duties.

The average Count had anywhere between twenty and forty villages. Holding spring and autumn court was still possible with twenty, but, beyond that, a Noble simply didn’t have enough time. At that point, they resorted to one of three options. The traditional course was to subinfeudate, creating a new title and enfeoffing a Baron or Viscount. This would alleviate the burdens of rule at the cost of some tax revenues and certain rights within the new fief going to the vassal. These rights included collecting tolls, licensing industries, contracting tenants and creating bylaws.

A second, similar action was to contract a Knight. A Knight’s contract of vassalage supported a Knight in their duties, which not only included the cost of equipment, training and support staff for their role as armed retainers, but also a seneschal and related staff for administrative tasks. The arrangement usually meant that no taxes went to the lord, but, in return, the lord had a professional warrior at their disposal. Depending on the productivity of the land, a Knight needed one or two villages to support them, meaning that a Count might opt to have five to ten Knights instead of a Baron.

Sensible Nobles allocated about a third of their territory so they had powerful retainers available to enforce rule of law and immediately deal with threats to their territory. Lord Völkchenheim’s Ranger retainer, Andrei, was an example of such a Knight. Considering that the average, well-trained Knight could be as strong as Gold-ranked Adventurers and better-equipped, a Noble would only need to hire Adventurers for the direst of threats. This was, in effect, what the Empire did with the Imperial Army, though the process was more roundabout and centralised to consolidate martial power to the imperial throne.

The final option, which grew in popularity amongst civilian Nobles as time went on, was to completely rely on provosts for urban centres and Village Chiefs for rural holdings. This was the economically superior option, as bureaucrats had no martial obligations and they were paid a salary.

Provosts did not have itinerant courts, instead employing bureaucratic offices in urban centres that villagers had to travel to instead. The former administration of E-Rantel, which was headed by Mayor Panasolei Rettenmeier, was an example of this style of governance. Overhead costs were minimised and nearly all taxes went straight to the lord. Doing so, however, not only distanced the lord from his vassals, but was also strategically stupid.

As far as Ludmila could tell, what facilitated this strategically stupid decision was the existence of the Adventurer Guild. Through the Guild, a Noble could contract powerful individuals on a temporary basis instead of needing to maintain the cost of a professional armed retinue. As the interior of Re-Estize was relatively safe from raids and attacks from Demihumans, Magical Beasts and Monsters, many saw no need for Knights.

Adventurers also had a characteristic delay to them: a threat had to be recognised, runners sent to the nearest Adventurer Guild branch and a request commissioned. Once that was done, all one could do was wait, hoping that there was a qualified Adventurer party available and that they wouldn’t take too long to act. How many tenants a territory lost was dependent on luck and timing.

The grim reality was that it was ‘affordable’ in all aspects. If villages were depopulated while waiting for Adventurers, there were always spares from other places desperate for tenancy. Adventurers were similarly disposable. What wasn’t disposable was the land itself and the Slane Theocracy quietly dealt with threats strong enough to ruin the land or forcefully displace Human populations.

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As a result, the ‘economically superior’ option thrived. This led to the true damage: the broad breakdown of martial tradition and greatly weakened military forces. The professional retinues that took generations to cultivate were lost at the stroke of a pen in favour of greater revenues and lower operational overhead. Civilian Nobles grew increasingly ignorant of the real threats that faced humanity and the gap in power between civilians and professional combatants. Many believed that levies drawn from their ‘expendable’ civilian population were sufficient if military force was required.

Not all Nobles were so foolish, however. Many still kept Knights, though that might have been primarily for prestige and thus produced warriors of lower quality. Martial Nobles like the late Marquis Boullope not only had Knights but raised a standing professional army out of his civilian population. Each of those soldiers was roughly equivalent to a veteran Imperial Knight.

Like the Imperial Knights, this professional army was financed through taxation. Unlike the Imperial Knights, those who served with distinction were not added to the ranks of the gentry. Another major difference from the Imperial Army was that Boullope’s forces did not have the combined arms approach of the Imperial Army and was notably deficient in mages, Clerics and air cavalry.

While well-known as a civilian Noble, Marquis Raeven used a portion of his revenues to maintain a powerful professional army as well. He also kept a retinue of retired Orichalcum Adventurers. The fact that he reportedly ruled the most stable, progressive and generally prosperous realm in Re-Estize was proof that civilian Nobles could do as well if not better than martial Nobles with the right approach to territorial management.

It was at this point of demesne development that the popular tales of powerful highlords and Kings with courts located in lavish palaces and expansive chateaus became a reality. High Nobles held court in their capital with the many Nobles, Knights and councillors who assisted with the daily operations of their demesne. Feasts and various other demonstrations of wealth, power and prestige were held regularly in these locations because they held court with important people regularly.

In the Sorcerous Kingdom, new realities essentially replaced the machinery of manorial governance and ‘upgraded’ it into an entirely different beast. Conventions were scrambled, uprooted or both.

At the village level, Lord Mare’s magic boosted productivity to such a degree that every harvest was guaranteed to have a surplus. Worries over famine and weather-driven catastrophes were rendered nonexistent. Processing facilities such as mills were gradually being converted into ones that utilised Soul Eaters and Death Warriors.

Everyone could handily afford basic necessities and the increased revenue made possible improvements to a demesne that one could only dream of before. The downside was that everyone also still held tenant contracts that were determined using old conventions. Restructuring tenancies was next to impossible without a tenant committing a major felony and having their contract justifiably revoked.

This made Skeleton labour somewhat pointless as it was excess labour. Not that this was a problem: there was a severe Skeleton shortage anyway.

Changes to how territorial administrations were run magnified the changes in industry. The transition to the new systems was exemplified in Corelyn County.

The towns along the highway in Corelyn County were not only placed to service merchant traffic, but act as administrative hubs for their respective regions. Every village in the County was less than an hour away from the closest town by Soul Eater. Those with issues that could not be resolved by their Village Chief went to the local town. These issues were then delivered to Castle Corelyn where Clara would personally deal with each.

Corelyn County had fourteen Baronies. Put another way, she had roughly 5000 square kilometres of land to manage. One village worked roughly 60 square kilometres of land, meaning that Clara had around eighty villages to oversee and three towns on top of that.

A single Noble managing that much territory in Re-Estize was absolutely impossible. That she could do so by using Elder Lich administrators gave Clara an unheard-of degree of financial and industrial clout through which she could enact the sweeping changes she wished for in her demesne. She was a Countess that had the economic power of a Duchess, and that power would only grow.

Clara’s educational initiatives would turn Village Chiefs into proper Magistrates. Provosts and highly-qualified Human staff produced by her institutions would be stationed in every town and eventually take over the everyday affairs that she was currently handling. Once she was free from those tasks, she could focus all of her time and energy on even greater things.

The other Nobles in the Sorcerous Kingdom were following Clara’s example and imitating the way that she did things, so life for Nobles in the Sorcerous Kingdom had taken a distinct turn for the better. Administrations were far more accessible; subjects could voice their issues without needing to wait for itinerant courts to arrive and everyone as a whole was better connected. The House of Lords, which convened once per season in Re-Estize, could convene once a week in the Sorcerous Kingdom.

With improved centralisation and their burgeoning finances, the aristocracy was hungry for new opportunities. A Noble could handle territorial matters while their consort went to the city to make connections and negotiate for their houses or vice versa. With the speed of transport, both could go to sleep in the same bed every night. She supposed that House Völkchenheim was doing just that.

In the future, spares would instead become cadets as every house could now afford to invest resources into all of their children. Those cadets could go on to become the ambassadors, diplomats, judges, military officers, bureaucrats and other officials of the Sorcerous Kingdom.

This was what Clara foresaw, at any rate. With this idea in mind, they toiled to raise the institutions required to raise professionals of the highest possible standard. At the same time, they blazed the trails that their juniors would follow into the wide world.

As Ludmila’s steps approached the central boulevard, the sound of sparring sounded off the street. She peeked past a small crowd of onlookers to the open exercise hall where two dozen Adventurers trained.

“Ai! Why is your shield so far to the side? Maybe we should save everyone the trouble and feed you to the Trolls in the Demihuman Quarter? The rest of us can divide the coin and enjoy some ice cream.”

Ludmila smiled at the sound of Alessia’s scathing commentary. The ‘tanks’ in the Adventurer Guild were probably thriving under her guidance.

She snuck by the spectators to take a seat inside. A voice came from the bench to her left.

“‘Scuse me, miss. Civilian spectators can’t be in here.”

The voice came from a Ranger with a silver tag dangling around his neck. He was an unfamiliar face. With the guild’s ever-improving training regimen, however, it wasn’t a surprise to see new members rising to that rank within two months.

“That’s right,” a cold voice said from behind her. “Just because you’re a Noble doesn’t mean you can walk in like you own the place.”

“I figured you’d still be sifting through piles of rubble in some dark place, Howe.”

“Nah,” the Rogue replied. “We got a few more teams now so they’re rotating us ‘till we have enough for another expedition group. I’m sick of Dwarf anything at this point anyway. Welcome back, Zahradnik.”

“Zahradnik?” The Ranger frowned, “As in the Weapon Master?”

Thus far, the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Adventurer Guild only had two Weapon Masters. The first was Ludmila, who specialised in polearms. The second was Alessia, who specialised in shield and warhammer. They needed others, but Weapon Masters were extraordinarily difficult to come by. It didn’t help that polearms were unpopular with the Adventurers, so most of Ludmila’s work consisted of pretending to be a Goblin or whatever else might use something like a polearm against expedition members.

“The pointy stick master,” Howe said. “You’re lucky you’re a bow guy or she’d punt you into the street. Well, she might do it anyway.”

Ludmila rose from the bench, turning to look at Howe. The Rogue now sported a Platinum tag and his equipment had seen a few upgrades since she had last seen him.

“I must wonder what strange tales you people have been spreading since I’ve been away.”

“Nothing but the truth,” Howe replied, “which is stranger than anything believable that we can come up with. I still blame you for the turtles, by the way.”

“How were they my fault?”

“You’re the one that turned the whole trap thing into a competition. You should see all the nasty shit people are coming up with these days.”

“She’s the reason why the traps are so crazy?” The Ranger asked.

“Yeah,” Howe nodded, “and now she serves in a party leader position so she doesn’t have to deal with all that crap. Damn slippery Nobles.”

She shifted in discomfort as the two scouts peered suspiciously at her. Things just happened to turn out that way – it wasn’t as if she had planned it.

A dull clunk sounded from the practice area, accompanied by a sympathetic groan from the spectators. A tall man in plate armour landed on the floor and rolled over with a whimper.

“Domina!” Alessia’s cheerful voice rolled over the fallen Fighter as she came to join them, “You are–”

The Paladin of Surshana stopped to follow the stares of several Adventurers nearby. She wiped away the crimson smear on her shield with the end of her scapular. Ludmila fished out a Trooper’s Towel, holding it out to Alessia.

“For you, Sister Alessia,” she said. “Something I picked up in the Empire.”

Alessia received the magic item, examining it for a moment before activating its magic. The sweat, grime and abundant bloodstains about her person vanished, leaving her pristine silver-and-black scapular atop polished mithril plate.

“Oh, a souvenir from the savage lands of heresy,” she smiled. “Thank you for your kind gift, domina! Are these new there? If so, they are only four centuries behind the Theocracy.”

“I am not sure,” Ludmila replied. “I never thought to ask. We have imported a large shipment of them, so, hopefully, people will take advantage of the convenience.”

“Are we getting those for free,” Howe asked, “or do we have to buy ‘em?”

“That’s up to Guildmaster Ainzach,” Ludmila answered. “I only bought a few – the rest were bought up by other Nobles to import.”

Ludmila looked past Alessia. Nearly everyone was looking in their direction.

“Sister Alessia,” she said, “I think they are waiting for you to continue.”

“Yes, now that they have convinced one of the Bards to stick around instead of earning money around the city, they can take more beatings. Hmm…come to think of it, I have not fought you before…”

“I only came by to drop off a few things,” Ludmila said. “Speaking of which, you have a Martial Art with holy attributes, yes?”

“I do, domina,” Alessia nodded, “why do you ask?”

“Did you have much trouble figuring it out?” Ludmila asked, “Adding energy damage to Martial Arts is a weird leap for me.”

Alessia pursed her lips, tapping the head of her warhammer against a greave.

“What have you been trying to do?”

“Learn the Dragon Fang Thrust series in the Imperial Spearmanship School.”

“Hmm…I think it is easier for us to start with negative or holy energy attacks,” Alessia said. “I have a number of both.”

A Paladin with negative energy attacks. If she told a Cleric of the Four about it, they would probably scream.

“Is there a reason for those two in particular?”

“We are adherents of Surshana, after all,” Alessia shrugged. “We become adherents of a god not because we choose them, but because they are the gods we are already closest to. They resonate with our souls. Martial Arts are drawn from deep within ourselves, so it stands to reason that the easiest Martial Arts to develop are those closest to us in character.”

“That is a good point,” Ludmila nodded. “Reading the imperial manuals fixated me on the elemental attacks that they had. You have given me a few dozen ideas already…thank you, Sister Alessia.”

Ludmila left the exercise hall, following the main promenade to the Adventurer Guild headquarters. Renovations to the interior appeared to be complete and the corridors were swept clean of dust and debris. The door to the Guildmaster’s Office was open and she found Pluton Ainzach sitting at his desk, leaning over what looked like an expedition report.

She lightly knocked on the doorframe and the Guildmaster looked up from his reading.

“Zahradnik,” he said, “you’re back.”

“For a while, at least,” Ludmila replied. “I’ve brought you some things from the Empire, Guildmaster Ainzach.”

“Me?”

“Well, they’re more for the guild…”

Ludmila placed a Trooper’s Towel and a transcribed segment of the Imperial Combat Manual on the desk. The segment had a sample of how the Empire schooled its recruits in basic slashing attacks, followed by their transition to second-stage Martial Arts.

“You just cost me a month of paperwork,” Ainzach said. “I won’t be able to sit still until I see this at work.”

“What have you put together for swordsmanship so far?” Ludmila asked.

“It’s rough,” the Guildmaster answered. “Really rough. Moknach and I have worked on basic stuff for months and it’s nothing like this. I don’t even get what these advanced parts are saying.”

“You’re not alone on that,” Ludmila said. “According to the soldiers that I’ve spoken to, one only understands when they’re ready.”

A rumbling noise rose from the Guildmaster’s chest as he frowned down at the manual segment.

“Do you understand this? As a Weapon Master.”

“I get what it’s trying to say,” Ludmila replied, “but I wouldn’t be able to perform what’s on there without the proper foundations. I suspect that it’s like that for all schools of combat. Swordsmen from one school may not be able to smoothly adopt the Martial Arts of another sword school at a glance.”

“Well, it’s a useful reference for sure,” the Guildmaster said. “Especially when it comes to how we should convey martial knowledge. What’s the timeframe for learning the basic Martial Arts shown here?”

“The Sixth Legion’s recruits learned three in about half a year.”

Guildmaster Ainzach furrowed his brow at the parchments held in his hands.

“Are you saying we’re faster at it than the Imperial Army? They’ve had generations to develop this…”

“I’m not sure whether our methods are better than theirs,” Ludmila said. “The Imperial Knights mostly learn through drills. We use a combination of drills that are applied to live combat conducted on a daily basis in the Adventurer Training Area. We’ll only know if we apply these drills to our members and see how quickly they learn using our schedule.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” the Guildmaster nodded. “We’ll give it a shot – we have swordsmen crawling out of the woodwork and this might be just the thing we need. Oh, what’s this towel here for?”

“It’s a Trooper’s Towel: a magic item that can be used to cast Clean three times per day. With how messy expedition work is, I thought you might be interested in it.”

“Interested…you mean to say you have more?”

“Not me,” Ludmila shook her head. “My friends snapped them up from Merchants liquidating goods that were earmarked for the dissolved Imperial Legions. I’m not sure if you’re willing to subsidise the purchase, but our fully-fledged members earn more than enough to buy them either way.”

“I’ll throw the idea out there,” the Guildmaster said. “You’re right that these would be nice to have, but, now that we’re starting to produce some results, the central administration is trying to define the value of our achievements.”

“You mean that the budget will be contingent on the expedition results from now on?”

“Pretty much. We still get enough to pay for salaries and operational costs, but anything beyond that is based on how valuable our work is. It does add an element of excitement to things, but some are worried that the changes may stifle growth.”

The part of the budget being regulated was what the Adventurer Guild used to stock magic items in their ‘point store’. Essentially, the Adventurer Guild’s expeditionary findings went to the Sorcerer King. In exchange, they were provided funds to purchase magic items and the government occasionally threw in a powerful piece of equipment to entice the Adventurers.

“Is the point store running out of items?” Ludmila asked.

“We have plenty of lower-rung items available,” the Guildmaster answered, “A few ‘Platinum-tier’ items have been purchased as well. No one can afford the higher stuff yet.”

“Well, as long as you keep point distribution in line with what you receive from the government, there shouldn’t be a problem…I think.”

Guildmaster Ainzach snorted.

“That’s only reasonable from a management perspective,” he said. “Fiddle around with peoples’ incomes and they’ll start screaming, points or no. For now, I think the safest bet is to keep distribution the same and hope everything balances out between dull results and exciting ones.”

“I suppose that I’m the last person that one should consult with when it comes to adding excitement to anything,” Ludmila offered a self-deprecating smile. “Everything I do seems to be dull and regular to others. At any rate, I just came by to drop these things off before I head home in the morning. Have a good afternoon, Guildmaster.”