Willem was pacing a trench into the damp stone floor again.
He was sixty-five years old and fueled entirely by spite and stress. Right now, his stress was at a record high. He clutched his old, beaten ledger to his chest like a shield.
"We have nothing, My Lord," Willem groaned. "Our treasury holds exactly forty-two silver stags and a handful of copper pennies. And because you waived Farmer Jeb's twenty percent grain tax yesterday, our food stores are completely empty."
"Willem, relax," I said. I leaned back in my wobbly wooden chair. "I gained a brand new, highly motivated maid for the Keep. Have you seen Bess carry a water bucket? S-tier form."
"We cannot eat a maid's form, Lord Elaric!" Willem shouted. His face turned a dangerous shade of purple. "The King takes seventy percent of the village yield. Winter is coming. If we do not find silver or grain soon, we will literally be eating the badgers in the dungeon!"
I rubbed my temples. The old man was right. The economy of Aldoria was an absolute joke. It was dogshit feudalism. But listening to him panic was giving me a headache.
"I need some fresh air," I muttered, standing up. "Go count the pennies again, Willem. I will think of an economic stimulus package."
I left the Great Hall and walked out into the cold courtyard. Ravenhold was a miserable place. It was essentially a glorified rock with a rotting wooden fence. But it had one major strategic advantage. It was located right on the Kingdom's border.
I walked past the muddy stables and climbed up a set of rickety wooden stairs to the palisade wall. I leaned against the rough wood and looked out over my territory.
Just beyond my miserable village was the main border road. It connected Aldoria to the other six squabbling realms. And right now, it looked like a medieval traffic jam.
It had rained for two days straight. The dirt road was a massive, deep mud pit. I watched a line of merchant caravans trying to push their heavy wooden carts through the sludge.
They looked absolutely miserable.
One fat merchant was standing knee-deep in the mud, screaming at his tired horse. Two guards in cheap leather armor were trying to push a stuck wagon wheel. They were soaked in dirty water. They looked tired, angry, and freezing cold.
Look at these miserable bastards, I thought. They have been traveling for weeks. They eat stale bread. They sleep in the dirt. And they are completely surrounded by other smelly, angry men.
Then, the fat merchant pulled out a heavy leather pouch to pay a King's toll collector. The pouch clinked loudly. It was packed with silver.
My modern, basement-dwelling brain immediately connected the dots.
These merchants had money. But they had absolutely zero joy. They were medieval simps with heavy coin purses, and they had nowhere to spend it.
I looked back down at the Ravenhold courtyard. I thought about the inside of my Keep.
We had no magic. We had no dragons. We definitely had no extra grain. But we did have something else.
We had Marta, built like a brick shithouse. We had Elara and Sienna, the sweatiest, most athletic field maids in the region. We had Bess, with her massive chest and thick thighs. And we had Lila, the shy, pretty junior maid.
I had a roster of S-tier, hard-working women who smelled like heavy musk and honest exertion.
Holy shit, I realized, gripping the wet wooden wall. I don't need to sell these merchants food. I need to sell them an experience.
In 2024, restaurants made millions of dollars just by making beautiful women wear tight orange shorts and white tank tops while serving mediocre chicken wings. Men are simple creatures. If a hot, sweaty woman leans over a table and smiles at a tired guy, he will hand over his entire wallet. It is a universal law of nature.
I didn't need to farm turnips. I needed to open a medieval Hooters.
I spun around and sprinted down the rickety stairs. My boots hit the mud with a loud squelch.
"Willem!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, running toward the Great Hall. "Willem Gruntfucker, get out here!"
The old steward peeked his head out of the heavy oak doors. He looked terrified.
"Have the King's tax collectors arrived, My Lord?" Willem gasped.
"Better," I grinned. I was practically vibrating with degenerate excitement. "I just solved our economic crisis. We are pivoting to the service industry."
Willem blinked. "Pivoting? Service?"
"Get the blacksmith," I ordered, pointing across the yard. "Tell him to stop hammering horseshoes. I need him to build long wooden tables right here in the courtyard. And get the stable boy to clean up the horse shit. We are opening a tavern."
"A tavern?" Willem sputtered, clutching his chest. "My Lord, we have no fine meats! We have no roasted boars! What will we serve them?"
"They don't care about the food, Willem," I said, my unhinged smile growing wider. "They care about the presentation. Go find Marta. Tell her to gather all the maids in the Great Hall immediately. Bring scissors."
"Scissors, My Lord?"
"Yes," I nodded. "We have to fix their uniforms. The hemlines are way too long for capitalism."