The sky was covered in black smoke, and the air was choking.
Arthur reined in his horse, and Hubbard, Rosso, and Brin, who were behind him, also stopped.
Seeing Arthur and his group arrive, the people who were working stopped what they were doing.
This was a noble, their Lord.
They bowed deeply in Arthur's direction, their movements somewhat clumsy, yet revealing an inherent reverence and fear; the nobles and commoners of Westeros were two different species.
Arthur dismounted, and looking around, he saw a torrent rushing down from High Mountain, with giant felled logs flowing downstream.
What were once quiet banks now had two small towns built upon them.
The wood and stone, sourced directly from the Brightmoon Mountains, were assembled by the charcoal workers to construct neat rows of houses—simple, not beautiful, their only purpose likely to provide them with a fixed dwelling, shelter from wind and rain.
Hubbard's small eyes darted around.
Unlike Arthur, he wasn't concerned with the living conditions of the commoners; his gaze swept over the stacked timber, estimating the charcoal production.
He scrutinized everything with greedy eyes, then looked at Arthur: "Lord Arthur, though it's only been a little over a month, these farmers have quickly settled into their roles and are full of vigor."
Arthur's gaze swept over the crowd, who bowed their heads in fear: "They get food if they work, and they get paid, so of course, they're full of vigor."
"Today, let them see the fruits of their month of diligent labor for me."
He waved to Brin and Rosso, who exchanged glances and turned to give orders to the accompanying retinue of riders.
One pair of riders rushed into the two small towns to gather the people, while another quickly set up a long table outside the town.
All the commoners, regardless of gender, age, or status, were gathered by the riders, forming a dense crowd that packed the open space.
Hubbard stood behind the table with several soldiers, his expression serious.
On the table lay a thick register and an account book, along with several heavy sacks with their mouths tied, filled with copper coins and a small amount of silver deer.
People swallowed, this was completely different from farming; the returns from land required waiting for long seasons, and depended on the whims of the heavens.
But here, they put in a month of hard work and immediately received tangible rewards; this instant feedback gave them a sense of security they had never experienced, even from the land.
The air was filled with a mix of anticipation, excitement, and a touch of unease.
Hubbard cleared his throat, his voice loud enough to drown out the crowd's chatter, and causing his corpulent body to jiggle: "Silence!"
He picked up the register and began to loudly call out the first name: "Rock!"
"Step forward!"
A man with a face covered in soot squeezed out of the crowd.
He seemed a bit flustered, nervously rubbing his hands as he walked to the table.
An attendant soldier held the register, pointing to his name: "There, put your handprint."
Rock looked at his blackened fingers, then solemnly pressed a clear fingerprint next to his name.
Hubbard counted out the corresponding copper coins from the money pouch, feeling a bit emotional; this Lord really paid, but it was a pity that he had instituted some kind of acceptance system, with a receipt and a handprint, preventing him from skimming any profit from the wages.
He somewhat reluctantly, half-handed, half-thrust, passed it over: "Take it! You fool! This is your month's salary!"
Robb's hands trembled as he took the money bag, its weight making him feel a dizzy spell.
He squeezed it, listening to the crisp clinking of coins inside, and a simple, honest smile spread across his face.
And after completing all this, he did not leave immediately, but turned around, facing Arthur, who stood not far away observing with a cold eye, holding the money bag tightly against his chest, and then bowed deeply.
He used all his strength and shouted loudly: "Thank you, Lord Arthur!"
Arthur looked at him, nodding slightly.
Hubbard's voice rang out again, and another head of a household stepped forward, repeating the same process: receiving money, pressing a handprint, then turning, bowing in Arthur's direction, and loudly giving thanks.
"Thank you, Lord Arthur!"
"Thank you, Lord Arthur!"
A chorus of thanks merged together.
Women held their children, standing at the back of the crowd, watching their husbands receive the heavy money bags, and many shed tears.
The pay ceremony lasted a long time, and even after the last name was called, the crowd did not immediately disperse; they gathered in small groups, excitedly discussing and counting the wealth in their hands.
Arthur called Hubbard aside, pointing to the mountain of black charcoal piled in the distant warehouse: "Hubbard."
"How much can a ton of this charcoal sell for?"
Hubbard pondered for a moment, extending a plump finger: "My Lord, if it's at a regular market, a ton of the highest quality hardwood charcoal goes for about one silver deer."
Arthur frowned; this price was within his expectations, it could be a stable income for the territory, but it wouldn't make much money at all.
Hubbard looked at the frowning Arthur, knowing he thought it wasn't profitable: "Lord Arthur, this is just the selling price under normal circumstances."
"If we can find a way to transport it to King's Landing and sell it to the citizens there, the price could double."
"Secondly, we can train female commoners to learn carpentry."
"Using the high-quality timber that has been cut down, we can try to make some simple wooden furniture."
"Tables, chairs, storage cabinets—the style can be simple, but they must be sturdy and durable."
"These pieces of furniture can be sold to the commoners and surrounding neighbors, or to passing merchant caravans; this is also a source of income."
Arthur nodded, then turned to Brin: "Send word for all the women in the two charcoal towns to learn carpentry, and we will purchase all the furniture they make."
Hubbard took a deep breath, as if making a huge decision.
He leaned closer to Arthur, lowering his voice, his small eyes glinting with a nearly insane light.
He pointed to the vast, deep, primeval forest that had slept for thousands of years: "I wonder, my Lord, if you have the courage for this."
:. Burn it."
Arthur did not reply, looking up at High Mountain.
He was thinking that organizing a large-scale forest fire could indeed quickly clear land and allow for the collection of large amounts of charcoal from the burnt wood, but this place was the very soil he would rely on for his future survival.
If it couldn't be developed sustainably, it would be a net loss.
Just then, a hurried sound of hooves, approaching from a distance, broke the town's clamor.
A rider dismounted, stumbled a few steps, and almost collapsed in front of Arthur, his voice broken by his rapid breathing.
He gasped for air repeatedly: "Lord Arthur! Lord Olivier's caravan sent someone back for help!"
"They are near the Green Fork River bridge on the way from the Silent Marsh to Vicon Gorge! They are being pursued by people from House Val!"
Arthur's gaze instantly sharpened.
He turned to look at the rider; the marketing environment in Westeros was truly terrible.
To avoid opportunistic incidents, he had instructed Olivier to return the goods after each transaction before starting the next, yet even so, they had been targeted.
He didn't hesitate, his voice cold and decisive: "Rosso!"
"Brin!"
Rosso and Brin responded from nearby, already clad in chainmail, hands on their sword hilts, ready for action.
Arthur mounted his horse, his gaze fixed in the direction of the Green Fork River: "Gather all riders, everyone follow me."
"We're going to the Green Fork River bridge."
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