On system's advice I decided to counter the food problem. And for that I will have to know the root cause of it.
And for that I will have to visit the farmlands and see the ground reality of everything.
Making the decision I called Lena to inform the coachman to get the carriage.
"Where are you planning to go, my lord?" Lena asked as I stood by the window, fastening the last button on my coat.
"To the village," I said simply.
Her brows lifted slightly. "The village, my lord?"
"Yeah," I said, turning toward her. "If I'm going to fix this place, I need to see what's actually wrong with it first-hand."
Lena hesitated for a second, then gave a small nod. "Understood. I'll have the carriage prepared."
With that, she bowed and disappeared through the door, her soft footsteps echoing down the corridor.
I exhaled, glancing back at the desk. The Dominion screen still hovered faintly above it, numbers and percentages glowing like taunts.
I waved it away, watching the holographic light dissolve into the air.
As I waited, I couldn't help but think about the layout of the barony—my new "domain."
Duskmoor was structured like a bowl, with the capital town sitting near the river bend and several small villages spread out across the plains. Hearthbrook to the northwest, Willowbend by the river to the southeast, and a few scattered hamlets in between. In total, less than five hundred people. A landmass that could have supported thousands, now barely holding on to hundreds.
The castle itself sat on a low hill overlooking the town. From above, the whole region looked like it was holding its breath, waiting for the final blow.
A few minutes later, the sound of wheels crunching against gravel drew my attention. Lena had returned, standing beside the waiting carriage in the courtyard.
It was modest—old but serviceable. The paint had long faded, and the right wheel creaked every time it moved.
The horses hitched to it looked worse—thin, dull-coated, ribs faintly visible. One of them gave a weary snort, as if already regretting being chosen for this trip.
The coachman, a man with a sun-leathered face and drooping mustache, straightened and gave me a stiff bow.
"Good afternoon, my lord."
I nodded back. "Afternoon."
Lena opened the door for me without a word. I climbed in, and she followed, sitting across from me with her usual composed posture.
The carriage lurched forward with a groan, wheels bumping over every uneven stone. Outside, the afternoon sun hung low and hazy.
Through the window, the true face of Duskmoor unfolded.
Houses lined the streets like tired old men—roofs sagging, walls cracked, shutters missing. Most of the people walking by wore patched clothes and hollow expressions. Some pushed handcarts filled with wilted vegetables; others just sat by the roadside, staring at nothing.
A few buildings still stood out—well-built, freshly painted, with guards posted at their doors.
I frowned and gestured outside. "Those ones—who do they belong to?"
Lena followed my gaze. "Those are properties owned by merchant companies, my lord. Branch offices for trade and loan collection. The tall building near the square belongs to the Lyrne Guild—they handle most of the debt paperwork for the barony."
"And the others?"
"Private merchants," she said evenly. "Most of them deal in grain or imported goods. They're… doing well enough."
"Of course they are," I muttered. "Even in a dying land, the merchants never starve."
Lena didn't respond. Her face was as calm as ever, though her eyes flickered briefly toward the chapel we passed next.
"And that?" I asked, nodding toward it.
"The Chapel of Solara," she said. "It's one of the few places that still sees regular donations. The priest there charges for blessings and healing, but… people still pay."
"People who can barely eat," I murmured.
"Yes," she said softly. "Faith is the last thing many can afford to lose."
We rode in silence for a while, the road slowly turning rougher as the town faded into open countryside. The fields stretched endlessly on both sides, yellow and dry.
Not a hint of green anywhere.
Even from here, I could see why the harvests failed. The soil looked dead. The wind carried dust instead of life.
Beside me, Lena finally broke the silence. "Forgive me, my lord," she said, voice calm but curious. "May I ask why you are visiting the village today? You… haven't gone there before."
Her tone wasn't accusatory—just cautious. Still, there was something in it. Concern, maybe. Or disbelief.
I met her gaze and smiled faintly. "You'll find out soon enough."
For a moment, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile tug at her lips before she looked back out the window.
The carriage rattled on, carrying us toward Hearthbrook—toward the heart of Duskmoor's suffering.