Thomas left the study, his heart heavy with disappointment.
As he walked down the stairs and reached the landing, he instinctively reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, only to remember he had hidden it under his pillow.
Butler Carter strictly forbade servants from smoking inside the castle.
"Thomas, what are you hiding here for?"
A woman's voice came from below.
A maid in her thirties, wearing a crisp black-and-white maid's dress, climbed the stairs carrying a mop and a bucket.
"Nothing," Thomas replied perfunctorily."The lord still won't let you attend to him personally?"
the maid asked casually.Thomas slammed his fist against the wall in frustration.
"Maggie, tell me—what am I doing wrong? I've never been a personal valet before, but I served Viscount Roosevelt as his first footman. I'm more than qualified for this job!"
"How would I know?" Maggie shrugged. "I didn't come from Violet Castle. I've never even met the lord before."
"I'm asking if you've noticed any mistakes in how I've been doing my work lately."
"You should ask Mr. Carter or Mrs.Mawson about that. But honestly, you don't have to worry so much."
Maggie set down her bucket and tried to reassure him.
"The lord only has three footmen. Jesse's just an assistant, and Tom's so clumsy he couldn't possibly attend to a nobleman properly. There's no one in this town more suited to be personal valet than you."
Maggie's words lifted Thomas's spirits slightly.
"You're right. I heard the lord isn't favored by the Earl at Violet Castle. He'll probably end up spending his whole life as the Baron of Ironthorn Town, stuck in this backwater..."
"Maybe," Maggie replied flatly, picking up her mop again.
"Maggie, do you regret coming here with the lord?"
Thomas suddenly asked.
"What's there to regret?"
Maggie bent down to mop the floor.
"No matter how bad life is in the castle, it's better than starving to death back on the farm. I sold myself to the lord a long time ago—dwelling on regrets is useless."
Thomas was about to respond when a stern voice cut him off.
"Aren't you two supposed to be working? Thomas, Maggie! Remember your places—no whispering anywhere except the servants' quarters and the kitchen!"
They looked up to see Butler Carter climbing the stairs, a bunch of keys and a bottle of red wine in his hand—he made a round of inspections through the castle every night.
"Yes, Mr. Carter! We'll get back to work right away!"
The two hastily responded, grabbing their tools and scurrying off to their respective tasks.
Such was the way of the noble world: minor nobles served major nobles, and male and female servants served the butler.
Class divisions had always been rigid and clear-cut.
Though the castle was shabby, there was no shortage of work.
Even with only Lord Frank to attend to, the daily chores were plentiful: thorough cleanings morning and night, laundry, boiling water, meal preparation and cleanup, tending to the privies... Most of these menial tasks fell to the ordinary servants.
But this by no means meant Carter had an easy job.
In addition to managing the servant staff, he was also responsible for greeting guests, pouring wine during meals, overseeing the serving of dishes, sending and receiving letters, safeguarding valuable tableware, managing the underground wine cellar, and attending to important visitors—the butler's duties were always at the core of the castle's operation.
Old Carter was over fifty. In an era where the average lifespan was less than fifty-five, he was considered a venerable elder.
He walked to the study door and rapped gently three times: "Knock, knock, knock."
"Come in." Frank's gentle voice came from inside, carrying the "Iron Accent"
popular among the upper class—a tone all nobles in the Ironspine Kingdom and its vassal states regarded as a symbol of status.
Old Carter took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
He had had little interaction with Frank back at Violet Castle, where he had mainly managed one of the Earl's villas.
After Frank's coming-of-age ceremony a while ago, the Earl had assigned him to serve the new Baron as butler.
For a servant, the position of butler was the pinnacle of one's career, and even though the pay was worse than before, Carter had no complaints.
He had sold himself to the Violet family at fifteen and had served them for thirty-five years.
Unmarried and childless, with no family of his own, he had long since regarded the Violet family as his roots.
To spend his remaining years by the side of Frank, a descendant of the Violet bloodline, seemed like a perfect ending to him.
"My lord, reading at night is hard on the eyes—you must take care. No matter how bright the candles are, they can't compare to the softness of daylight."
Carter set down the keys and the wine bottle, speaking with concern.
Frank smiled faintly, tearing his gaze away from the thick parchment book on his desk to look at the gray-haired butler.
"Mr. Carter, have you finished inspecting all the rooms?"
"Yes, my lord. All rooms have been locked and secured except for the workrooms still in use by the servants."
Carter replied respectfully.
"Well done." Frank's eyes fell on the wine bottle. "Come, have a drink with me."
Nobles were fond of alcohol, and a long-standing tradition had formed: the castle's master would often have a nightcap with his butler before bed, chatting about matters in and around the castle.
Frank himself was not fond of drinking, but his predecessor had been a heavy drinker, and his body had long grown accustomed to it.
Fortunately, the alcohol content in this era was extremely low—one would have to guzzle it like beer to get drunk.
They each poured a glass of red wine, and their cups clinked softly.
Frank swirled his glass, took a small sip, and asked, "Will our food and supplies last until this year's tax collection?"
"I'm afraid that will be difficult, my lord."
Carter set down his glass and reported truthfully.
"The wine and wheat flour you brought from Violet Castle are nearly gone. Ironthorn Town is too remote—merchant caravans refuse to risk coming here. Even if we have gold coins, it's hard to buy more wheat and wine. Fortunately, Bramble Ridge is abundant with wild fruits, so we won't go short on fruit."
Since Frank was not favored by the Earl, he had received very few possessions when he left the family home.
According to his memories, his sister Isabella had taken thirty cartloads of supplies when she set out on her own, while Frank hadn't even had a carriage—he'd only brought a few horses and a team of laborers carrying his luggage on poles.
The gap in treatment had filled his predecessor with resentment, but it meant little to Frank.
The only trouble it caused him was the awkwardness of not knowing how to act affectionate when he met his father.
"We can't run out of wheat."
Frank set down his glass, his tone firm and resolute.
"Ironthorn Town must develop quickly—we have to open up trade routes!"
Bread was the staple food here.
Without wheat to make white bread, they would have to eat coarse black bread made from rye and oats—dry, gritty, and almost inedible.
Frank already missed the home-cooked meals of his past life; if he had to give up soft white bread too, he didn't think he could stand it.
"Opening trade routes is no easy task, my lord. The magical beasts in Bramble Ridge are far too dangerous."
Carter looked troubled.
"I have a plan for that."
Frank's tone was solemn.
"Ironthorn Town's future won't be trapped by poverty, and this castle won't stay shabby and nameless forever."
In noble circles, only grand, imposing castles were worthy of having names.
A shabby dwelling like this was already being generous called a "castle";
giving it a name prematurely would only make it a laughingstock among other nobles.
Frank changed the subject abruptly.
"Have the Elf Worms been properly cared for?"
"Yes, my lord. Everything is in order."
"Good."
When they finished their glasses, Carter stood up tactfully to take his leave.
"Rest well, my lord. Good night."
"Good night to you too, Mr. Carter."
After Carter left, Frank flipped through the thick parchment book about the customs and geography of the Sapphire Duchy.
Though it was as thick as a dictionary, its content was sparse—true to its name, "parchment" was extraordinarily thick, with a single sheet almost as thick as pigskin.
"How does papermaking work again?"
Frank rubbed his temples, surprised to find the papermaking process he'd once read about online clearly etched in his mind.
"I need to figure out how to make paper once we're settled... The Industrial Revolution might be impossible, but there are plenty of ways to get rich."
In a daze, the familiar wispy mist reappeared before his eyes.
It swirled and twisted, condensing into characters that looked like coiled snakes—the Snake Script used throughout Ironspine.
"Quest: As lord, you must understand every aspect of your domain. Patrol Ironthorn Town, identify hidden crises, and lay the groundwork for future development. Reward: Sublimation of Combat Qi."