Later that day, horns blared at the outer gate.
A dust cloud marked the arrival of a large caravan—rows of fine horses, banners fluttering with noble insignias, and a heavy gilded carriage at the centre.
Felix immediately tensed at my side.
"Highborns," he muttered.
The banners were familiar—Lord Henrick of Greyvale, a powerful noble known for controlling trade routes and minor cities to the east.
As the guards opened the gates, Lord Henrick himself stepped down, resplendent in deep purple robes, his beard trimmed neatly, his sharp eyes sweeping across the road, the buildings, the manor—and the bustling, lively marketplace beyond.
Behind him were three other nobles and a small retinue of merchant advisors.
And he wasn't smiling.
Kael, Felix, and I met him halfway across the courtyard.
Lord Henrick bowed shallowly.
"Lord Dirk, I presume," he said smoothly. "I have heard… interesting rumours of your haven."
I bowed politely. "You're welcome here, Lord Henrick. Come, see for yourself what we've built."
In the marketplace, the nobles were stunned.
They marvelled at the mana-infused roads, the colourful banners, and the music and laughter that filled the air. Children danced in front of stalls that sold Northern produce—cotton candy, bright peppers, sweet tomatoes, and soft bread that filled the air with a heavenly scent.
At Dirk's Grocery, Ella, Elvie, and their salesladies bustled, selling out of goods almost as quickly as they were stocked.
Lord Henrick personally examined a basket of apples, their brilliant red skins practically glowing.
He turned to me, eyes sharp.
"These fruits," he said. "I've never seen them like that."
"They are special to this land," I said carefully. "Grown from seeds… gifted by the divine statue."
It wasn't a lie—not exactly.
Henrick's merchant advisors quickly began scribbling notes.
That evening, another feast was held in the manor courtyard:
Tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, fresh bread, fruits, and cakes.
Travelling musicians played lively tunes while villagers, merchants, and even the visiting nobles mingled.
At the head table, Lord Henrick sipped cautiously at a glass of clear Earth-style wine and nibbled a slice of pizza for the first time.
"Remarkable," he admitted, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Elvie and Ella watched the nobles carefully, making sure they were treated politely—but firmly kept away from the more sensitive parts of the village.
Later, Lord Henrick quietly purchased crates of Earth produce, soap, fine cloth, and even toiletries—paying handsomely in gold.
Before he left the next day, he pulled me aside.
"I have many enemies, Lord Dirk," he said quietly. "But I have fewer friends. I hope you will choose wisely."
And with that warning, he and his caravan departed, leaving behind opportunity—and danger.
Another ding.
Quest Update:
First noble engagement: ✔️
Militia recruitment: 48/100 (Ongoing)
Divine Garden enhanced (New Flowers: Moonshade Blossoms and Starweave)
Potential alliance with Greyvale: Pending negotiations
Over the next week, Robinson's Territory transformed faster than even I expected, as I've doubled the construction workers.
Kael and Felix continued drilling the recruits from dawn until the stars peeked overhead.
Sweat-soaked and weary, the villagers-turned-soldiers slowly began to move with the confidence and precision of real fighters.
The best among them were marked for a special unit—the very heart of our defences—the First Shields.
They practised with Felix's men, mastering not only sword and bow but the strange Earth firearms now becoming a quiet rumour among nearby villages.
The rifles—sleek, practical, and deadly—had already proven themselves during drills, cutting down training dummies at twice the distance a regular bow could manage.
Sylphy even created a small team called the Falcon Watch—sharp-eyed scouts trained to blend into the forests surrounding the town.
Meanwhile, the market exploded into life.
Word spread quickly beyond our lands.
On the second week of opening, dozens of merchant caravans from three minor cities and six noble families arrived, tents popping up outside the gates like wild mushrooms after rain.
By my order, Elvie and Ella, along with their five handpicked salesladies, set up clear stall assignments to prevent arguments. It used to be quiet in the marketplace—just a few stalls, the smell of baked bread, and familiar faces passing by. Now, it was a different scene entirely.
The sun beat down over rows of colourful tarps and wooden stalls as carts rolled in every morning—some pulled by horses, others by mana-fuelled engines. The Town Entry Bell rang more often than the chapel's, announcing travellers, merchants, and hopeful settlers looking for a slice of opportunity.
Every merchant who stepped past the gates now had to go through the new registry booth stationed near the west gate. I'd designed the process myself—simple but firm: register, pay a modest fee to support maintenance and services, and most importantly, agree to abide by the Town Charter of Fair Trade and Conduct.
"Next!" barked Miss Agnes, who ran the booth like a battlefield captain.
She was short, grey-haired, and unrelenting—a retired militia scribe who now ruled the registration log like a sacred text.
She looked up from her clipboard and squinted at me as I approached. "You're late, my lord."
"I'm not even registering."
"No, but you promised to review my request for new guard rotations in the market," she said, tapping her boot. "We're seeing too many unfamiliar faces. One pickpocket, and the nobles will whine like hungry geese."
"I'm here for that," I replied, pulling out my notebook. "Let's add a ten-man squad rotating every four hours. Double the patrols during peak times. Felix can assign the seasoned recruits."
Her expression softened slightly. "Good. And Butler Raymond's got his eye on that merchant group from East Virellia. Says one of the nobles is his former lord."
Just then, Butler Raymond, ever composed in his black vest and monocle, appeared beside me like a shadow slipping through the cracks of sunlight.
"Lord Dirk," he said with a polite nod. "I have personally interviewed every member of the East Virellian delegation. Most seem genuine… but Lord Berent, the one wearing blue velvet and too much cologne, used to be the treasurer for my former household."
"Is he trouble?" I asked.
Raymond gave a thin smile. "Let's say... he's ambitious. If he makes any attempt to smuggle in influence or bribe the locals, I'll make sure his stay is short."
"Perfect," I said. "Keep him on a leash."
It wasn't just Earth products pulling merchants here anymore.
The market had transformed into something magical—artisan bread infused with mana grains, fine soaps made with alchemical oils, rich forest honey harvested from enchanted hives, and my personal favourite—cotton candy, spun on machines powered by mana batteries, sending fluffy clouds of colour into the air like carnival smoke.
Children chased each other with cones of pink and blue. Nobles haggled over vibrant earth-dyed cloths. Adventurers gawked at the sun-dried jerky and smoked chorizo Felix's hunters now sold in wax-wrapped bundles. A buzz followed me as I made my rounds—stall owners nodding in respect, beastkin craftsmen bowing slightly, and dwarves shouting cheerful obscenities about their newest steelwork. Near the merchant guild section, I was greeted by a well-dressed elf in silver and blue. He bowed with graceful precision.
"Lord Dirk," he began, "I am Renyl of the Silver Crescent Guild. We seek permission to open a permanent branch in your town."
"A permanent branch?" I asked, folding my arms. "What makes you think this town's ready for that?"
He smiled, spreading his hands to indicate the crowd, the bustle, and the coins exchanging hands. "You've built something rare here. Commerce with principle. A crossroad of cultures. We want in—officially."
I studied him. "I'll allow it—but only on three conditions. One: you source at least seventy per percent of your workforce locally. Two: you pay fair wages, no exploitation. And three: any conflict or dispute is brought before my court, not handled in backrooms."
He didn't hesitate. "Agreed."
"Put it in writing," I said. "You'll have your branch—but you'll follow our ways, not bring your old-world greed through our gates."
He bowed again, more deeply this time. "As you command, Lord Dirk."