The baronial inspector flipped through the thick pages of the ledger, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the neatly penned lines. His frustration was obvious; the math was flawless, leaving no room for a quick accusation of creative bookkeeping.
Closing the book with a heavy snap, the inspector looked up at the carriage, conceding the internal consistency of the records without admitting to Arthur's innocence. "The ledgers match themselves, Your Lordship," the inspector stated.
He then shifted his stance to pivot toward the fields without looking incompetent. "But only if the stated fields are the only fields in active production. The harvest numbers for this soil are unusually high, yet no hidden plots are registered. Furthermore, the greenhouse output may affect the standard crop rotation. A physical verification of the acreage is required to confirm these production numbers."
The Count considered this for a moment, his gaze shifting between the inspector and the porch.
He allowed the field inspection, but his voice left no room for interpretation as he narrowed the scope. "The field verification is permitted under my direct supervision. However, there will be no searching of the main house today. No entering the barn or the greenhouse until the field claim is resolved, and absolutely no seizure of tools, crops, or magical objects will take place without my explicit sign-off."
With the parameters set, the Baron's men turned to prepare their mounts. In the background, the Count's guards had already been working quietly, ensuring their lord wasn't reliant on the heavy carriage horses.
Two outriders brought forward a pair of fresh, saddled remounts that had been tethered behind the carriage. One was for Count Marcellinus, and the other was for his clerk, who carefully secured the official inspection ledger inside a weatherproof leather case that was situated on the saddle within arm's reach.
Arthur stepped off the porch and walked to the barn to fetch his own horse, which was in its stall at the moment for Caleb to care for.
When he emerged, he didn't look like a peasant being dragged around his own land; he calmly saddled his horse and rode out to join the assembly, positioning himself beside and slightly behind the Count.
The Baron's men tried to take the lead, but the Count's commanding presence made it clear that Talbot's inspectors were merely indicating which direction they wanted checked, not leading the expedition.
Behind them, the household remained near the farmhouse. May stood by the porch, tense but composed as she watched the riders line up. Jacob and the rest of the team stayed back, understanding they were just witnesses and weren't currently required for the field boundary checks.
The Lieutenant, knowing the fields were where a physical conflict was most likely to break out with any monsters or goblins hiding nearby, checked his sword belt and set out on foot with the count's guards as a peacekeeper.
As the line of riders finally moved toward the southern fields, the suffocating political tension on the porch broke slightly. Jacob watched the dust trail rise, a deep frustration settling in his chest because he couldn't follow without crowding the delicate legal process and distracting everyone with his blatant show of magical might.
Flying through the air, even behind them, might be interpreted as a form of intimidation of the magicless procession, and he knew they couldn't afford to violate any sort of laws during this inspection.
He would trust his father to take care of their home, as he always had.
Before anyone could speak, the heavy wooden door of the bathhouse creaked open from around the side of the house, and Sera emerged, wiping steam from her brow as Bran gathered his soap.
The mundane, domestic routine of the farm provided a stark, grounding contrast to the high-stakes political theater that had just ridden into the high grass. It caused Jacob to feel a bit of amusement in the otherwise tense day, considering their situation.
"Well," May spoke up after the inspection procession was out of earshot, "What're y'all planning for tackling the rest of the dungeon?"
The question pulled Jacob out of his thoughts, a reminder of the path the group had taken in tackling the 'Big-3' quests required for them to advance past the F-rank.
While the nobility played their games of ledgers and law on the farm, his group had already been carving out their own path for advancement in the system-spawned dungeon near Ruvka.
The simple question was a classic look into May's character; behind the farm wife's apron was the mind of an experienced adventurer who knew that a political storm was no reason to neglect a dungeon's threat.
Jacob shook off his lingering frustration and gave her the short version. "We aren't rushing the full clear," he explained, crossing his arms as he looked back toward the barn. "The current plan is to grind combat levels first and map out the second floor with a lot more care. We need to prepare proper gear by upgrading our current outfit with the dungeon drops, and establish a real baseline with the tempo we developed today before we think about challenging the actual boss."
May listened intently, her expression hardening into the look of a veteran delver.
She gave them a bit of advice from her own experience. "Never trust a 'safe' floor, Jacob. Don't push yourselves when you're tired, and never assume the path you took down is going to stay clear when it's time to come home. Dungeons change when your back is turned."
The group took the advice in contemplative silence, the resonance of her words settling over them.
Oren nodded slowly, always favoring the practical approach, while Thomas offered an appreciative grunt of agreement born from his own days of solo-delving survival.
Sera let out a soft breath, visibly relieved that they weren't planning a reckless sprint into the depths.
"We'll be careful," Mira said, her quiet assurance contributing to the seriousness of the warning.
Just around the corner of the house, the heavy wooden door of the bathhouse thumped shut as Bran finally stepped inside to claim his turn, leaving the rest of the yard to the quiet rhythm of a working farm.
For a few hours, the young adventurers picked up chores to complete around the house and in the barn, and the conversation flowed naturally, with the steady undercurrent of domestic life helping them to relax despite the shadow of noble pressure over the Farm.
The peace didn't last past the early afternoon. The crunch of gravel and the rhythmic thud of hooves signaled the return of the inspection party, but the dynamic had clearly shifted.
As the riders pulled back into the yard, the Baron's inspectors looked confused and unsettled, their previous arrogance almost entirely drained away.
In stark contrast, Arthur rode beside them with a bright smile stretching across his weathered face.
The Count remained perfectly controlled and entirely unreadable, his rigid posture unchanged, while his clerk's quill scratched furiously across the parchment, somehow keeping his leather-encased scroll steady on the horse even across uneven ground.
Before a single word was spoken to the household, the group could tell that whatever the inspectors had expected to find past the high grass, the Hemlock Farm had just won the day.
As the horses pulled into the yard, the temporary relief on the porch vanished when the lead inspector's eyes locked onto the greenhouse.
The sight of the unassuming structure seemed to rejuvenate the Baron's men, reminding them of the final leg of their accusation, which included a suspected possession of unlicensed magical equipment that surpassed the peasantry threshold.
The lead official dismounted, clearing his throat as he addressed the Count. "Our next sequence for this inspection will be the barn, followed by the greenhouse." As he spoke, he pulled a hand-held device from his satchel.
To Jacob, the rectangular object looked remarkably like a large, oversized calculator from his memories of Earth, but when he focused his magical perception toward it, he could feel a distinct, humming pulse of mana radiating from the device. It was undeniably a magical artifact.
Jacob just couldn't tell what it did exactly.
The Count offered a terse nod of consent. The inspectors marched toward the barn first, flanked by Arthur.
The Count's guards kept their distance, maintaining a watchful perimeter while Jacob and the rest of the family remained clustered on the porch, tracking every movement.
The barn inspection was brief. When the officials emerged, they looked visibly encouraged, their eyes fixed on the device as they pivoted directly toward the greenhouse.
The Count, Arthur, and the scribe followed closely behind. Once again, the clerk's hand was a blur of motion, scribbling furiously onto the scroll without breaking stride, a feat of mobile penmanship that left Jacob and the family thoroughly impressed by his sheer coordination.
The moment the inspectors reached the greenhouse structure, the device in the leader's hand began to emit a distinct rhythmic sound.
It beeped, producing a precise, synthetic noise that felt jarringly modern to Jacob's Earth-born sensibilities as he recalled similar devices in his memories from Earth.
The inspector turned a triumphant look toward the Count. Approaching the device, the Count inspected the reading first, then gave an affirmative nod.
The inspectors, the Count, and Arthur stepped through the greenhouse doors. Before disappearing inside, Arthur cast a quick look back at the porch, offering his family a wide grin and a subtle wink.
When the party finally emerged a few minutes later, the inspectors practically radiated smug satisfaction.
The leader stepped forward, his voice dripping with feigned regret. "We have indeed located multiple magical devices within the structure. The mana density easily passes the threshold where a formal permit is strictly required for the peasantry, and according to our records, no such permit exists for the Hemlock Farm."
Arthur didn't flinch. Instead, he simply gestured toward the porch. "We don't need a purchasing permit, Lord Count. We didn't buy this equipment. It was created right here on the farm by my son."
All eyes turned to Jacob.
At the Count's silent command, the inspector stepped forward and swept the calculator-like device over him. It immediately went off again, producing a high-pitched whine that confirmed the presence of an active mana signature.
The inspectors immediately turned back to the Count, silently pleading for a legal judgment on smuggling or illegal fabrication.
The Count paused, raising a hand to touch the space right next to his right eye. A faint, golden glow pulsed beneath his fingertips, showcasing the distinct visual indicator of an active appraisal or identification skill.
For a brief moment, the Count looked utterly bewildered, his brow furrowing as he stared at Jacob.
He had a high-tier identification skill, so he knew it was undeniable that the young boy with an active mana signature before him had the farmhand class.
A simple F-ranked class.
Then, a sudden flash of realization dawned across his features.
"You're a tier-1 Mage," the Count stated, his voice dropping into a tone of legitimate surprise. "Not a system-born mage, but a self-made one. Is that correct?"
"That's correct, Your Lordship," Jacob replied, keeping his voice steady and agreeing to the assessment with a slight nod of respect.
The Count rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze shifting between Jacob and the greenhouse. The scribe's quill didn't stop, scratching out the legal context of the interaction in real time.
"The tools and mechanical alterations found within the barn are all entirely possible to be created by the young Hemlock mage," the Count began, his voice carrying clearly across the yard.
"However," He continued, "the enchantments and structural enhancements within the greenhouse itself are well beyond the capacity of a tier-1 practitioner utilizing known magical techniques. The herbs being cultivated within are perfectly legal, as they are, under kingdom law, but the magical framework of the greenhouse itself is too advanced. Therefore, under normal circumstances, this property would require an official baronial permit even with the presence of a tier-1 mage in the family or on the staff."
At his final statement, the smug expressions on the inspectors' faces instantly melted, replaced by a look of legitimate confusion.
Before further judgement could be passed, however, Arthur swiftly spoke up with a serious tone, "My lord, if I may speak on this matter, I do have a tidbit of importance that might ease your judgement on the greenhouse."
The count raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised but also quite intrigued.
"Very well," he replied to Arthur, "you may present your side of the situation regarding the illegal greenhouse on your property."
"Thank you," Arthur said with a small bow as he leaned forward a bit before continuing, "my son here is not only a tier-1 mage, but also the apprentice of the guild master on the adventurers guild in Thornhold. Surely this fact might gain us more leniency in the matter of the need for a permit, showing that my son may have had advanced training from a master enchanter who is well known in the kingdom?"
This gave the count pause, as he rubbed his facial hair in contemplation.
"Indeed," he spoke up, "I've heard that your son was apprenticed to Toren before I came here, and it's actually the reason we aren't pressuring him to join the militia or my private guard."
Jacob winced, realizing that the count had actually done a background check before arriving, while the barons' men looked surprised, showing that they were out of the loop once again.
"However," the count continued, "this information was already factored into my judgment of the need for a permit for that greenhouse, at least it would normally."
Now, even Arthur was confused, as everyone listening to the conversation could see a look of deep thought on his face as he scrunched his eyebrows, trying to understand what the count was trying to say.
Finally, the lead inspector for the baron's men spoke up to clear the air, "My lord, are you saying that the Hemlocks don't need a permit?"
After finally having someone ask him about it, the count grinned before reaching his hand out to his scribe, who pulled a new, smaller scroll out of his cloak for the count.
Seeing the scroll, the baron's men, the lieutenant, and Arthur all opened their eyes wide in surprise. On the fold of the scroll, for all to see, was a purple wax seal with an ornate design.
The Royal Seal.
Still grinning, the count spun the scroll around and unfurled the small scroll, which revealed the royal arms.
All of the men fell to one knee and bowed their heads, with Arthur signaling his family to do so as well. Understanding dawned on Jacob as he also fell to one knee, followed by the rest of the family on the porch.
The count then spoke up as he addressed everyone in attendance, all on one knee and bowing before the scroll, even the scribe.
"Kneel before the words of your King, citizens of Sinclair! I, Count Marcellinus Spring, Lord of Spring County, so solemnly announce the words of the crown of Sinclair!"
He then cleared his throat and read the royal writ.
"By the hand, will, and royal seal of His Majesty, King Sinclair, sovereign lord of the Sinclair Kingdom, defender of its roads, fields, rivers, gates, and sworn peoples, let this writ be heard and obeyed by all nobles, officers, magistrates, freeholders, tenants, guildsmen, soldiers, and common folk who stand beneath the protection of the Crown."
The Count's voice held a booming, rhythmic cadence, reading the formal text with the practiced ease of a high lord.
"Let it be known that Arthur Hemlock of Ruvka, farmer by birth and lawful holder of the Hemlock farm, did submit his petition through proper legal channel, under correct script, seal, and witness, seeking protection against irregular interference in the keeping, harvest, record, and prosperity of his lands. Let it further be known that, by inspection conducted under county authority and witnessed in the name of the Crown, the ledgers, fields, stores, livestock, tools, and improvements of the Hemlock holding have been found lawful and properly declared."
The Baron's inspectors remained rigidly still, their eyes fixed firmly on the dirt, though the lead official's jaw twitched slightly at the words irregular interference.
"Therefore, by royal authority, and with the Crown's full acknowledgment, Arthur Hemlock and his lawful heirs are hereby raised from common peasant tenure and recognized as freeholders of the Sinclair Kingdom. The Hemlock farm, its fields, its house, its barn, its greenhouse, its pastures, its wells, its tools, and its lawful improvements shall be held as a protected hereditary freehold, owing proper taxes, duties, and obedience to Crown and county, but shielded from unlawful seizure, false levy, forced indenture, or arbitrary removal by any lesser hand."
Jacob kept his eyes on his father. Arthur's head remained bowed in respect, but the tight line of his mouth softened. The weight of the peasantry threshold, the constant vulnerability to arbitrary baronial whims, was being stripped away right here in the dirt of their own yard.
"Arthur Hemlock shall have the right to keep household ledgers under seal, to sell surplus harvest according to lawful market and crown provision, to employ free labor by contract, to petition the county directly in matters of land, tax, safety, or noble overreach, and to maintain such arms and defenses as are proper for the protection of his household, his workers, his livestock, and his fields. Let no baron, reeve, collector, inspector, guardsman, or officer of lesser station enter, seize, bind, threaten, or assess penalty upon this holding without lawful writ, stated cause, and proper witness."
The Count paused slightly, shifting his gaze over the kneeling inspectors to ensure the next limitation was fully understood by everyone present.
"Let this elevation not be mistaken for peerage, lordship, knighthood, or grant of dominion over other subjects of the Crown. Arthur Hemlock is not raised to noble blood by this writ. He is recognized as a freeholder, bound to the law and protected by the law. From this day forward, he may be addressed in lawful record as Master Arthur Hemlock, Freeholder of Ruvka, and his household shall be entered into the rolls of Spring County under the protection of this royal acknowledgment."
The Count brought the reading to a finish, his arm extending slightly to show physical validation. "So witnessed by Count Marcellinus Spring, Lord of Spring County, servant of the Sinclair Crown, and so sealed in purple wax beneath the royal arms. By Crown, by law, and by the king's peace, let it stand."