The blizzard raged for two whole days.
Inside the castle, the temperature had dropped again, but thanks to the continuously burning coal stoves, no one froze to death. The "Frost Tubers" (potatoes) they had dug up earlier kept their bellies full, but the mood was still grim.
Rian sat in his study, wrapped in his fur coat, staring at the frost on the windowpane.
It was morning. Day 3.
A familiar mechanical chime echoed in his mind.
[Ding! Daily Intelligence Report - Day 3]
[1. Weather Forecast]
The blizzard will stop in 3 hours. The sky will clear, but the temperature will drop to -45°C due to the lack of cloud cover.
[2. Territory Info - Hidden Talent]
Among your serfs, the man named "Kael" (Serf ID: 042) is not a farmer. He was an apprentice to a Master Potter in the South before being sold into slavery. He knows how to mix clay and fire a kiln.
[3. Resource Location]
The soil beneath the collapsed West Watchtower contains high-quality Red Clay. It is suitable for making pottery, pipes, and bricks.
Rian tapped his finger on the wooden desk.
"A potter..." he muttered. "Just when I needed pipes for the heating system."
This was the power of the System. It didn't give him the pipes magically; it told him who could make them.
"Hance!" Rian called out.
The old butler entered, looking slightly better than before. His cheeks had a bit of color, thanks to the warmth and food.
"My Lord?"
"Bring me the territory's ledger," Rian ordered. "I need to know exactly how many mouths we are feeding. And bring that serf... Kael."
The Great Hall
Hance placed a tattered, moldy book on the table. It was the official record of Fort Blackiron.
Rian opened it. The numbers were pathetic.
Original Population (Summer): 400. Deaths (Autumn/Winter): 180 (Starvation, Cold, Wolf Attacks). Runaways: 124.
"So," Rian looked up, his face serious. "Who is left?"
Hance bowed his head shamefully. "My Lord... currently inside the walls, we have 84 Serfs (commoners/slaves). And after Captain Thorne left... we have 12 Guards remaining."
Total Population: 96.
Less than a hundred people.
This wasn't a kingdom. It was barely a village. If a pack of wolves attacked now, they would be wiped out.
"It's fewer than I thought," Rian admitted. "But it's manageable. Fewer people means fewer mouths to feed... for now."
Just then, the door creaked open. Two guards shoved a shivering man into the room.
It was Kael. He was thin, his face covered in soot, wearing rags that barely covered his knees. He fell to the floor, trembling in terror. He thought he was going to be executed for some mistake.
"M-My Lord! Mercy!" Kael cried out, pressing his forehead against the cold stone floor. "I worked hard! I dug the frozen potatoes! Please don't kill me!"
Rian stood up and walked around the table.
"Get up," Rian said.
Kael didn't move. He was too scared.
"I heard," Rian said, looking at the notification in his mind, "that you know how to play with mud."
Kael froze. He slowly looked up. "M-My Lord?"
"Pottery," Rian clarified. "You were an apprentice in the South."
Kael's eyes widened in shock. That was a secret. He had never told anyone here. Slaves with skills were often sold to the mines or worked to death. He had pretended to be a dumb farmer to survive.
"How... how does the Lord know?" Kael whispered, terrified.
"I know everything that happens in my territory," Rian lied smoothly, leaning back against the table. "Now, answer me. Can you make pipes? Long, hollow clay tubes that won't crack when heat passes through them?"
Kael swallowed hard. He looked at Rian's hands—they weren't holding a sword or a whip. They were holding a piece of charcoal and a drawing.
"I... I can, My Lord," Kael stammered. "If the clay is right... and if I have a kiln... I can make them."
Rian smiled. It was the smile of a CEO finding the perfect employee.
"Good. Because you are no longer a serf who digs holes."
Rian pointed to the West Watchtower on his map.
"The storm ends in three hours. Take ten men. Go to the West Tower ruins. There is Red Clay there. Dig it up."
Rian handed him the drawing of the pipes.
"I need 500 of these pipes by next week. Do this, and you will get a double ration of food, a warm room, and a new coat."
Kael stared at the drawing. He had expected death. Instead, he was given a job. And a coat.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He bowed so hard his head made a thudding sound. "I will do it! I will mold the mud with my life, My Lord!"
Rian waved his hand to dismiss him.
As Kael ran out, energized by hope, Hance looked at Rian with awe.
"My Lord... how did you know he was a potter?"
Rian tapped his temple. "A Lord must know the value of his subjects, Hance. A kingdom isn't built by stones. It is built by people."
Rian looked back at the ledger. 96 people.
They were weak. They were few. But they were his.
"Hance," Rian said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Divide the 84 serfs into three teams. Team A for Mining Coal. Team B for Kael's Clay work. Team C... will clear the snow for the garden."
"We are not just surviving anymore, Hance. We are starting to build."
End of Chapter 4