Miguel descended the limestone spiral staircase, feeling the tension in his muscles and the echo of his own reflections resounding in his mind.
—Well, where were we?— Miguel thought to himself while pacing around the bath. —Yes, on how to make vast amounts of money now that we have the advantage of being a time traveler. Even though I am not strictly in medieval Europe, I am in some alternate timeline in a world very similar to mine, but with a different geography.
He stopped for an instant in the corridor, breathing the cold, dry air of the tower, and continued analyzing his possibilities:
—What are we going to do with all that money? Well, reinvest it into our armed forces so that something like the siege by that idiot Marquess does not happen again. At least with that ace up our sleeve and a massive amount of luck, we were able to make the best of the situation. I just hope the wheel of fortune hasn't stopped completely for us after such a close call.— Miguel said. —We need to massively implement gunpowder weapons—both land and naval cannons, matchlocks, muskets, and later, rifles, with rifled barrels if possible. We need to reform how we train, how we command, how we organize for battle; in short, we need to bring modern warfare to this world.
The young strategist crossed his arms as he walked slowly toward the main door of the dining room:
—But to do that, we need more people, for personnel reserves, so more people volunteer to be soldiers, so we can cultivate more land and better feed our army, as well as to sustain longer campaigns against the enemy.
Another critical point came to his mind, making him frown:
—Oh right, we need better roads, to have the advantage of mobility, to make transportation cost less, so we have a competitive advantage over the others, and so the territory is safer, since we can react better and faster to regular and irregular threats.
His mind kept connecting logistical and economic variables, as if he were processing a massive corporate balance sheet:
—We also need irrigation canals, iron plows, and more livestock for military leather products... Oh right, dammit, we need iron—and a lot of it. It is a priority to find a good source of it and develop blast furnaces, and for that, we need metallurgical coke... Uf, my head already hurts. Who would have thought that reading Chinese web novels instead of literary classics would report such huge profits.— Miguel thought, before finally coming out of the bath, dressed and ready to go to dinner with his parents, much to Miel's curiosity once again.
—Well, I have to write down all the plans I have in my head, and in Spanish, so that no one can steal my ideas.— Miguel ventured to say, before starting to go down the stairs to the dining hall, but he stopped abruptly. —Shit, if this resembles Europe even if it doesn't have the same geography, who is to tell me that Spanish doesn't exist? Hmm, I only speak Spanish and English, but the official language of the Kingdom of Antiochia is like Hebrew or Aramaic, it sounds a little like Arabic, I don't know, it's a weird mix... Well, before writing anything down, we must make sure that Spanish, Latin, and the Romance languages do not exist here. I wouldn't want to run into Giuseppe and find out the bastard is from Milan or something.
With this new obstacle resolved by Miguel, he now entered the hall where his father and mother were already seated at the head of the large center table.
The Count's main hall was a space of imposing dimensions but great sobriety. The limestone walls did not have large golden adornments, but were instead decorated with spears and standards weathered by the elements, a testament to the campaigns in the Eternal Forests. The center of the room was illuminated by a large wrought-iron chandelier that cast long, steady shadows, while a stone fireplace kept a steady blaze, bringing warmth to the environment without losing the practical, military atmosphere of a frontier family.
—The young strategist has finally arrived.— His father welcomed him with a broad smile. —Come, take a seat; we have decided to hold a small family banquet.
—I am so proud of you, my son; the Holy Lord has blessed us with an exceptional child. I almost died on the inside knowing they had tried to kill you, and especially Joseph, that wretch had been with us since he was a boy, I still can't believe he betrayed us.— Said Lucía, the Countess.
—Everything that happens in this world is by the work and grace of the Lord, Mother. He has decided that I still have a mission to fulfill here on the earthly plane before I ascend and stand in the presence of His holy glory.— Said Miguel, but he immediately thought: —I hope the luck meter isn't at critical levels; we are going to need it.
—That is normal, my son, you are the legacy of two generations of great warriors and statesmen at the service of the kingdom, and as you are the only son we have, you have inherited all the good from both worlds.— Said Alban Cortés with a broad smile.
—A toast to that, Father.— Said Miguel.
While they finished making the toast, the servants arrived with trays full of food. Served on pewter and rustic ceramic tableware, the banquet was suitable for the local nobility, but without excessive luxury: it was composed of a dense, dark rye bread, a hot lamb stew with root vegetables, and an aged goat's milk cheese, accompanied by a jug of robust regional red wine that reflected the constraints of the wartime economy.
—Son, I have read Raúl's report, the situation is far from ideal.— Said the Count. —I need you with a mounted escort in command of the various convoys and caravans departing from the main city to the different villages that remain on the route from our county to the Marquess's territory. I will stay in the city with Francisco to face any unforeseen event, but you are going with Fernández, the second-in-command of the Guard and a confidant of both mine and Francisco's. You are in command, and I believe in your abilities. You have shown judgment in desperate situations, but do not underestimate the experience of men who have fought in the wars for longer than you have been alive.
—I understand, Father.— Miguel said with seriousness. —How bad is the situation?
—It could have been worse, if not for the reinforced patrols we sent to deal with reports of bandits near the southern and eastern zones. They were the ones who spotted the Count's vanguard and gave the alarm so that the people could flee and take refuge. In some places it is just a matter of resettling the people and in others it is about helping with reconstruction, especially those closest to the border. The convoy leaves the day after tomorrow at dawn; rest well tonight and use your time wisely tomorrow to plan the departure. If you have any doubts, trust Fernández.
—Understood, Father, it shall be done as you command.— Said Miguel, and immediately after, he thought to himself: —Showtime, but before getting excited, I must look to see if we have everything necessary to leave.