Transmigration: Rise of the Iron Lord

How Much Is Your Neck Worth?

The iron door groaned on dry hinges as Daniel pulled it open.

A draft of freezing air drifted up from the dark, smelling of wet rock, rotting straw, and sour sweat. Edmund lifted a pine torch, casting long orange shadows across the slippery steps that led into the foundations of Greyrock keep.

Daniel walked down with measured, quiet steps.

At the bottom of the flight, the cellar opened into three low alcoves cut directly into the mountain rock. Water seeped down the mortar seams, collecting in shallow puddles near the iron floor rings.

In the first alcove sat Gareth Vane and Miguel. The two raider captains were bound back to back around a thick pillar, their faces sunken and gray in the torchlight. Neither man looked up when the fire flared. Hunger and the endless dark had crushed whatever swagger they had brought to the valley gates.

In the center alcove, chained by both wrists to iron staples in the wall, sat Count Brandon.

The noble's rabbit fur mantle was gone, taken by the guards along with his gilded belt. His fine linen shirt was torn at the collar, plastered to his chest with cold grime. When the torchlight hit his face, Brandon flinched, blinking hard against the glare.

"Wellington," Brandon rasped, his voice raw from hours of shouting into the empty dark. He tried to pull himself upright against the wall, but the heavy iron cuffs held him down on the cold bench. "You think you can keep me here like an animal? My household will have sent riders to the capital already. The Royal Council will declare you an outlaw before the week ends."

Daniel stepped into the alcove and stopped three paces from the chained nobleman. He did not raise his voice, nor did he look angry. He looked at Brandon the way a quartermaster looked at a damaged ledger that needed balancing.

"Your riders won't make it past the low marshes before the snow closes the gap, Count Brandon," Daniel said calmly. "And even if a courier made it to the court, nobody is coming to pull you out of this hole."

Brandon let out a bitter laugh. "You're delusional, boy. I hold eighty thousand acres in the southern valley. I pay four thousand silver pieces a year into the crown's private purse. The Duke will march three regiments up this road to take my ransom back from your cold hands."

Daniel reached inside his heavy wool coat. He did not draw a blade. He pulled out the thin bundle of parchment tied with black ribbon, the private records he had pulled from the late governor's chest in the Dead Seam.

He untied the ribbon with one hand, letting the crisp pages unroll under the orange glow.

"Let's talk about the crown's private purse," Daniel said softly. He stepped forward and held the first sheet directly before Brandon's bloodshot eyes. "Do you recognize this seal, Count? Three crossed keys under an open ledger."

Brandon's sneer froze on his lips. His small eyes darted across the tight lines of black ink. Slowly, the remaining color drained from his round face, leaving him pale in the flickering light.

"That's the Royal Chancellery's private account book," Brandon stammered, his fingers twitching inside the iron cuffs. "How do you have that? That was destroyed when the old treasury burned three years ago."

"It wasn't burned," Daniel replied. "The late governor kept it as insurance before he ran to the hills. Look at this page right here, dated the fourth month of last year. A payment of six thousand silver royals, authorized by your own signature, routed directly to Duke Wellington's private trading company in the capital."

Edmund stepped closer with the torch, his brows drawing down in disgust as he listened.

Daniel flipped to the next leaf. "And what was that silver for, Brandon? According to this note, it was an advance f*e for the exclusive mineral rights to the northern salt basins and iron veins. You and my father cooked up a quiet little deal. He choked this garrison by cutting off food and men from the capital, while you sent border raiders to burn the outer villages. Once the valley was cleared of people, your private bailiffs were going to march in and claim the entire northern ridge as an abandoned frontier."

Count Brandon swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the silence. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his dirty cheek.

"You can't prove that was me," Brandon whispered weakly.

"Your personal wax seal is right at the bottom of the parchment," Daniel said, tapping the red wax with his fingernail. "If I send a copy of this ledger to the Northern High Justiciar, it won't just be my father who answers for treason. Embezzling crown mineral rights carries a penalty of total land loss and the headsman's axe. Your lands, your stone manors, your horses, all of it taken by the throne."

Brandon slumped against the damp stone wall, his shoulders caving in. The last traces of noble pride washed out of his face, replaced by pure panic.

"What do you want?" Brandon muttered, his voice barely higher than the dripping water. "You didn't bring this down here just to mock me. What's your price?"

"Now you're speaking like a tradesman," Daniel said. He folded the parchment carefully and tucked it back beneath his coat. "First, you sign a formal treaty of mutual defense and free transit between Greyrock and the Low Marches. From today on, every merchant wagon heading north passes through your valley without a single copper of transit tax. If your bailiffs take so much as a pinch of meal from a trade wagon, I send these pages straight to the High Justiciar."

Brandon closed his eyes, his breathing heavy. "Free transit, the trade guilds will ruin me."

"You'll survive," Daniel said without pity. "Second, you will pay an indemnity for marching an armed force across my border. Sixty heavy draft oxen, two hundred bags of seed barley for our spring planting, and fifty barrels of lamp oil. Delivered to the mouth of the Narrow Pass within ten days."

"Ten days? The mountain trails are already freezing!" Brandon protested, pulling at the chains. "How am I supposed to move that much freight in ten days?"

"You have four hundred footmen sitting in my courtyard who know how to haul carts," Daniel answered coolly. "I'll release eighty of your older conscripts to march back south with your personal seal, carrying your orders to your household steward. If the oxen and seed grain don't arrive by the tenth day, I'll send your fingers south one by one in a salt bag."

Brandon shuddered, pressing his back against the stone until the iron ring clattered. "I'll sign it. I'll write the order to my steward today. Just get these irons off me. Give me a dry room."

"You'll stay right here until the first wagon of seed grain rolls into the bailey," Daniel said, turning toward the stairs. "Edmund, bring him ink, a quill, and a sheet of rough vellum. Once he writes the orders to his steward, lock the door."

"Right away, my lord," Edmund grinned, resting his hand on the heavy iron lock.

Daniel climbed the spiral stairs back into the courtyard, leaving the cold damp behind.

As he stepped out into the open air, the midday sun broke through the gray winter clouds, bathing the entire fortress in bright light.

Down in the lower bailey, the rhythm of labor hadn't slowed for a second. The wooden water flume running from the northern ravine was nearly finished, its pine timbers sealed with boiling pitch. Boran stood on a rock shelf above the ditch, directing twenty workers as they hauled a massive ash beam into position for the waterwheel's frame.

At the southern wall, Cole and his masonry crew were already laying the second course of squared limestone blocks, spreading hot lime mortar with wide wooden trowels.

Daniel paused by the courtyard well, leaning his hands against the warm stone.

A soft chime sounded in his mind, bringing up the glowing interface.

Territory Assessment: Political Leverage Secured.

Treaty In Progress: Low Marches Free Transit Accord.

Projected Supply Influx: 60 Heavy Draft Oxen, 200 Sacks Seed Barley, 50 Barrels Lamp Oil.

Trade Route Status: Open.

Settlement Economic Rating: Rising to Self Sufficient.

Available Empire Points: 350.

Next Milestone Objective: Complete Water Powered Trip Hammer.

Daniel looked toward the northern ravine where the clear mountain water rushed down the rocks.

With Brandon neutralized and the southern road opened, Greyrock was no longer an isolated trap. It was becoming the hinge of the entire northern border.

"Keep the fires hot, Boran!" Daniel called out across the yard, stepping down into the dust to join his men. "We test the wheel before the sun goes down!"