"We can start by building river barges and fishing boats, selling them to the fishermen and merchants along the Trident River basin."
"Then, we can build larger, sturdier river merchant ships, and even... river warships! Ocean warships!"
Barna's mouth slightly agape, he was completely stunned by the blueprint Arthur described. He hadn't expected his Lord to have such grand ambitions.
"You can decide independently to send people to contact the various lords, telling them that we can provide them with customized shipbuilding services!"
Arthur spoke faster and faster, painting a picture for Barna, describing the magnificent future blueprint.
"We can sell ships, or we can lease escort fleets. We can even form our own merchant fleet, transporting our goods to various places along the Trident River! Even sailing out to the Free Cities!"
Finally, he looked at the dumbfounded Barna, stopped painting the picture, and his tone was filled with unquestioning trust.
"In short, I will not interfere with any of your operations. Everything is up to you! You must carve out your own path!"
A deathly silence fell in the hall. Barna felt his heart pounding in his chest.
The previous disappointment, confusion, and unease were, at this moment, completely swept away by an unprecedented excitement and sense of mission. To be trusted so completely, even after he had messed everything up, and to be entrusted with such a grand blueprint without any doubt.
This was no longer just a simple job; how could he betray such trust?
He took a deep breath, then knelt on one knee, lowering his head: "As you command, Lord Arthur!"
His voice was no longer hoarse, but filled with power.
"I will not disappoint you!"
The conversation of painting a picture for Barna had drained a lot of Arthur's mental energy, coupled with the high probability that Bronn had caused him a lot of trouble.
He called Brin and decided to inspect his territory. The mobilization of the army had ended, retaining only forty riders who had left production and leased nearly a hundred acres of fertile land.
Reconstruction and resumption of production were in full swing.
As he left the Lions Den, riding his warhorse along the edge of the cultivated fields, he noticed a strange sight.
A long line of people, on the plain outside the Lions Den valley, by the river that Arthur had named the High Mountain, a small tributary of the Trident River flowing downstream, winding up to the terraced fields on the hillside.
The queue was numerous, each person carrying or shouldering wooden buckets or ceramic jars, their weight making every step extremely heavy.
The journey was bumpy, and the water in the buckets sloshed, at least a fifth of it spilling onto the road. What little remained to water the crops was barely a drop in the bucket.
He silently calculated that a strong laborer, from sunrise to sunset, constantly toiling, could at most barely irrigate a small patch of land.
His gaze swept over this field, looking towards the higher and more distant slopes. The newly cultivated lands, being too far from water sources, had crops that were noticeably shorter and yellower than those by the river, looking malnourished.
Arthur stopped and carefully observed this inefficient method of labor. Filling a bucket of water from the river and transporting it to the field took an adult man a very long time, even at his fastest.
He was somewhat shocked. Even though three rivers ran through his territory, they were still using such a laborious and time-consuming method of transporting water.
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