The morning of Baron Halwick's visit began with chaos. Which, to be fair, was the default state of my estate.
"Lord Damien, the Baron is expected by midday!" Bernard rushed into my chambers like we were under siege. "We must prepare!"
"Prepare what?" I asked, sipping weak tea. "An interpretive dance of our failures? Should I dress as a mudslide?"
"My lord, this is serious!" Bernard wrung his hands. "If the Baron reports our ruin to the Duke, we could lose everything!"
Lose everything? Joke's on him — there's nothing left to lose. But apparently appearances mattered, so it was time for what I called Operation Fake Competence.
Step one: Hide the disasters. Which was easier said than done.
We had swamp-mud canals, tree stumps in the middle of fields, and a grazing pasture that looked more like a battleground.
Solution? Creative landscaping.
"Pile that haystack over the mud pit! Yes, make it look intentional—like a rustic pond feature!"
"Plant some flowers along that collapsed ditch—instant garden!"
"And for God's sake, move the sheep out of the swamp before Halwick thinks we're running a marsh farm!"
It was theater. Absolute theater. But with enough frantic laborers running around and Bernard shouting himself hoarse, the estate began to look… passable. From a distance. At night. During a storm.
Baron Halwick arrived in full pomp: feathered hat, jeweled cane, smug expression set to maximum.
"Ah, Lord Damien," he drawled, looking me up and down like I was a cracked vase in a yard sale. "I was simply passing through and thought I'd inspect your… estate."
Liar. He'd come specifically to laugh at me.
"Baron Halwick!" I boomed, throwing my arms wide with the confidence of a man who definitely hadn't spent the morning shoving sheep out of a swamp. "Welcome to the thriving jewel of Cross lands!"
His eyebrow twitched. "Thriving, is it?"
"Indeed! Why, we've just launched an ambitious irrigation project. Revolutionary. Forward-thinking. Farmers across the realm will envy it."
We marched to the canal. The very same canal that had collapsed yesterday and was now half-covered with wildflowers and strategically-placed hay.
"Behold," I announced, "the Great Canal Project. Soon, water will flow across every field, ensuring record harvests."
Halwick squinted at the ditch. "It appears… rather shallow."
"That's because we're using the low-flow conservation method," I said without hesitation. "Keeps water levels controlled. Very advanced. You wouldn't understand."
Roger, standing nearby, nodded furiously. "Yes, very advanced, my lord!"
Halwick's suspicion deepened, but before he could pry further, I dragged him toward the next feature: the swamp.
Except it wasn't a swamp anymore.
Bernard had covered the worst of it with wooden planks and hung a few banners around. It now looked vaguely like… a park.
"And here we have… Damien's Springs!" I declared proudly. "A natural water reserve, carefully preserved for ecological balance."
Halwick sniffed. "It smells like rotting cabbage."
"That's the aroma of fertility, Baron. Very exclusive."
By the time the tour ended, Halwick was frowning, clearly unconvinced but unable to outright call me a liar.
"Well," he said at last, "your estate is… unconventional. Still, I shall report to the Duke that you are… attempting improvement."
Attempting. That was noblespeak for "barely not failing."
As he climbed back into his carriage, I let out a long breath. We'd survived. Barely.
"My lord!" Bernard cheered. "That was brilliant! He almost believed you!"
"Almost," I muttered. "Which means next time he'll come with sharper eyes. We need actual results before then."
Roger shuffled awkwardly. "So… what now, my lord?"
I looked back at the canal, at the swamp, at the fields full of random tree stumps.
"What now? Now we actually make it work. No more smoke and mirrors."
The thought hit me hard: If I didn't turn this wreck into a functioning estate soon, we wouldn't survive the next inspection.
Still, I smirked. "But admit it, gentlemen. That was one hell of a performance."
The sheep bleated in agreement.