The Count slowly rolled the scroll back up, the heavy parchment snapping shut with a definitive clap.
A small, smug smile touched the corners of his lips as he looked down at the Baron's men, thoroughly enjoying the sight of them squirming on one knee in the dirt.
Privately, Marcellinus allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The entire display had gone exactly as intended.
He recalled the unexpected turn in the situation just days prior, when the King himself had contacted him directly through a secure, high-tier magical communication device.
The level of seriousness in his sovereign's voice still echoed in his mind.
The King had made it explicitly clear that the Hemlocks were an ancient, storied lineage long watched over by the Crown thanks to the deeds of their ancestor in helping establish the kingdom.
Their curse as peasant farmers was a direct result of the struggles the early kingdom had in establishing itself against the Zinthar as they broke from the Helian Empire to the far west, which was possible thanks to the Indominable Mountain Range.
The count knew a little of this already, considering the crown's protection of Ruvka village and their Trial Year, which dates back to the start of the Hemlock farm.
There are also the annals available to the nobility, which detail the establishment of the kingdom. However, he hadn't realized the extent of the crown's involvement in the small village and its association with the Hemlocks, since a founding name could be spread far and wide throughout a kingdom after a thousand years.
His Majesty had stated quite firmly that if the Hemlocks were finally starting to ascend once again, then it was the duty of the throne and the county to support them. He urged a fair hand, to ensure a strong family like theirs wouldn't be ruined by favoritism. But he still wanted them to have a chance.
The count was supportive of it, considering that such a productive farm in his county was quite a boon both politically and financially in a kingdom that relied on its fertile lands.
This royal writ was a calculated, pre-emptive shield, designed specifically to thwart any ill-conceived plans or legal ambushes the Baron, or any other nobles, might concoct out of their greed or some form of petty jealousy.
Yet, the King had also mandated restraint.
The Baron would not face a formal trial or land seizures for this overreach. This public, humiliating slap in the face, delivered right in front of the local peasantry and the lieutenant of the county militia, would be the only official punishment against Talbot's seat.
It was a political warning shot designed to subtly tell the Baron to back off.
"You may all rise," the Count permitted, his tone returning to a polished formality as he slipped the royal scroll back into the hands of his waiting clerk.
He didn't necessarily dislike the Baron, but having one of the Barons under him made one less political rival that could replace him if they managed to stand too tall and escape his shadow. And the former Baron Talbot had been such a man.
The count was starting to see, however, that the oldest son of the late baron was not such a person. Thus, he had nothing to worry about, just a need to keep him in line when such opportunities presented themselves.
As Jacob and his family stood up, he noticed they were all wide-eyed and confused. Much like he himself was, this sudden promotion was unforeseen, but none of them were as surprised as the Baron's men were.
They looked embarrassed, not just surprised.
He watched his mother walk into the house in a daze, ostensibly going to take care of his baby sister. He couldn't blame her for wanting to take a break.
His sister was already six years old and wouldn't need to be checked on every five minutes, but he figured his mother likely wanted to get away from the rollercoaster of emotions that the inspection was inducing.
While it was actually a breach of protocol, everyone, besides the count, was so shocked that no one even noticed.
Beside the carriage, the Count looked completely content with himself, practically basking in the aftermath of his grand theatrical reveal.
He had delivered the King's judgment with what he felt was the perfect amount of dramatic flair, and it was obvious he was savoring every second of the political victory.
In stark contrast, the Baron's inspectors looked like men trying to figure out how to vanish into thin air. The smug arrogance that had carried them toward the greenhouse was completely gone, replaced by a desperate, frantic need to escape the Count's presence before any further punishments could be handed down.
The lead official scrambled to his feet, his hands trembling as he brushed the backyard dirt from his trousers.
He offered a hasty, deeply strained bow to the noble.
"My lord Count," the inspector stammered, his voice thin and cracking under the weight of his embarrassment. "With the inspection formally concluded, we bid you leave to immediately inform our liege, Baron Talbot, of these events and the royal decree."
The Count gave a single, dismissive wave of his hand. He didn't even bother to look at them as he turned toward Arthur and the young farmer's family.
That was all the permission the inspectors needed. They practically ran back to their horses, scrambling into their saddles with none of the rigid, organized discipline they had shown upon their arrival.
Within moments, they kicked their mounts into a frantic gallop, kicking up a massive cloud of dust as they fled down the dirt lane, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the Hemlock Farm as possible.
The Count walked forward across the dirt yard, stepping onto the porch to approach Arthur. He extended a hand and clapped the farmer firmly on the shoulder, his previous icy posture completely melting into a surprisingly warm demeanor.
"Well, Master Hemlock," the Count addressed him, using the new title with an informal, almost casual tone that caught Arthur by surprise. "It seems your household has been far busier than the regional tax assessors could have ever anticipated."
He turned his gaze toward the surrounding structures, looking over the property with genuine curiosity rather than the critical eye of a judge.
"Now that the official record is settled and Talbot's men are riding back to nurse their wounds, tell me about what is actually happening here," the Count continued, gesturing toward the various outbuildings.
"My inspectors were quite wrong about smuggling, but they weren't entirely blind. There's enchanted gear strewn all about this farm, even inside the basic tool houses. But what truly intrigued me were the surprising findings my appraisal skill picked up within the barn, not to mention the advanced artifact acting as an herbarium you're calling a greenhouse."
Narrowing his eyes, the count finally asked, "How exactly is a tier-1 mage managing to anchor such stable, high-density mana matrices into common farm implements?"
Jacob was, once again, surprised by the count.
This time, it was the noble's deep grasp of magical mechanics and the workings of its ethereal nature that had caught him off guard.
Though, as he thought about it, he supposed such knowledge should be expected from a mid-ranking noble who had to manage a whole county.
He knew from dissecting the void gauntlent and learning from how the system handles enchantments that the complexity of enchanting with different methods could reach ridiculous levels.
Even with a D-rank piece of equipment, the complexity needed was already worthy of years of study to replicate beyond the single enchantment.
He could only imagine how much trouble it would be for the enchanters of other methods to create something like their greenhouse.
Arthur seemed to be a bit shocked as well.
Part of it was clearly from being addressed so casually by a high lord who sat so far above him socially and politically, but the pointed questions about the specifics of their magical equipment had also caught him off guard.
Recovering his footing, mentally, Arthur offered a respectful nod.
"Thank you for your compliments, Lord Count," he said, clearing his throat as he gestured toward the porch. "But as for the crafting and the matrices, I only handle some minor enchantments since my actual mastery is with the soils around the farm. The real magic belongs solely to my son, Jacob. You'll have to ask him about how those artifacts came to be."
The Count turned his full attention to Jacob, his eyebrows raising as he stepped closer. "A tier-1 Mage managing to anchor matrices of that density without causing a cascade failure is a rare sight. Tell me, young Hemlock, how did you manage such a feat? Most practitioners at your stage can barely maintain a minor enchantment on a dagger or tool, let alone stable, high-density mana fields inside a common greenhouse."
Jacob rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed under the intense gaze of the high lord.
"Well, Your Lordship," he admitted, looking down at his own hands before meeting the noble's eyes. "The truth is, I actually managed to enchant most of that equipment before I even reached tier-1."
The Count went completely still, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for a sign of a joke.
"I use an energy-efficient enchantment method," Jacob quickly explained, gaining confidence as he spoke. "By blending multiple styles of runes with layers of intent during the channeling process, I can anchor the magic using a fraction of the raw mana I assume is usually required."
After thinking for a moment, he continued, "After looking at the dungeon enchantments and how the system handles the magical circuits, I could see why you would think it would take so much more mana and skill. But my method isn't that costly. Honestly, looking back at those projects, I could probably do much better now with a proper, higher-grade core."
The Count stared at him, utterly baffled by the claim. A self-made mage manipulating unknown multi-style runic lattices before even hitting tier-1 defied standard academic progression.
And to top it off, he sounded like he thought he could make better enchantments than the system itself. The system upon which all enchanting in the kingdom was based.
"Are you telling me," the count began with a bit of skepticism in his voice, "that you can make more efficient enchantments than the system itself while keeping a similar level of power?"
He pointed at the greenhouse to emphasize what he was referring to.
Jacob just shook his head to convey his point, "No, lord Count, I don't think my method keeps the same amount of power. From what I can tell, my method sacrifices the normal amount of power used in the enchantments for efficiency in creating and using the enchantment. My master demonstrated this to me when he destroyed my low-grade enchantments with a simple kick to the chest."
Gesturing to the greenhouse, Jacob continued, "I suspect that this herbarium wouldn't be able to handle the same magical load a normal herbarium would be able to supply and maintain for higher-grade herbs. Also, if you attacked the building at all, the enchantments would likely fail quickly, which I suspect is not so for a regular herbarium either."
The count rubbed his chin. "So, it's true then that your family is able to utilize runic enchanting."
Runic enchanting was a rumor that floated around the kingdom from time to time, mostly carried by the merchants and adventurers who traveled through the mountains from the empire.
For this boy from the backwoods in the middle of nowhere to achieve this by himself was unheard of in their small kingdom.
However, he knew the king had his eye on this family, and he was starting to see why this was so.
He let out a slow, drawn-out breath, shaking his head. "It's a massive pity you're already apprenticed under Toren," the Count murmured, a hint of legitimate professional envy in his voice. "If you were unaligned, I would have signed you to my personal house guard before sunset."
Shaking off his disbelief, the Count turned back to Arthur, his formal posture returning but his expression remaining warm. "Take care, Master Hemlock. You're a freeholder recognized by the Crown now, and that carries both great honor and political danger from your neighbors. Make sure to cultivate your fields well and expand your lands as much as you possibly can. Remember that you have the right to purchase land but also to develop the surrounding undeveloped lands as much as you can handle."
As he spoke the final words, the Count offered Arthur a subtle, deliberate wink, dropping a heavy hint that something much greater was in store for the farm and its new master.
The Count didn't waste any more time on small talk, turning on his heel and walking back toward the awaiting carriage without any further fanfare.
The Lieutenant stepped forward, his posture rigid and his arm snapping into a crisp, formal salute as the Count boarded his carriage.
The liveried guards quickly closed the door, shutting out the dust of the yard, and leaped onto their mounts.
With a sharp crack of the driver's whip, the heavy carriage jolted forward, turning around in the makeshift driveway before heading down the main road.
The outriders followed in tight formation, their blue-and-gold cloaks billowing behind them as the entire procession disappeared into the dust trail left behind on the dirt lane, leaving the Hemlock Farm in a stunned silence.