The girl stood before him, her hands tightly bound behind her back, a rag stuffed in her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear as she looked at him.
Barnett immediately realized what had happened—those Viking warriors had clearly misunderstood something. The girl had misunderstood something too. And, apparently, so had he.
I, Barnett, am not the kind of man who gets blinded by lust, he thought.
Of course, to avoid misunderstanding her intentions altogether, it would help if the girl's looks were at least a hundred percent more impressive.
Though Barnett had drunk quite a bit earlier with the Viking warriors, he fortunately wasn't the type to lose control when drunk. So, while his body swayed slightly, his mind remained unusually clear.
Sigh, I really shouldn't drink that much anymore, he told himself. Sure, the small tribes around the town have all been conquered, and there's no immediate threat to my safety. But it's not the enemies charging straight at you that are dangerous—it's the hidden assassins you can't guard against. What if I got drunk one day and fell for a honey trap? That would be a disaster.
So yes, I definitely need to be more restrained with alcohol. Can't go overboard like today again. Then again, maybe it was the atmosphere today. Or maybe the malt beer just had a lower alcohol content. Either way—never again.
Lost in thought, Barnett absentmindedly stepped forward and stopped directly in front of the girl.
As her conqueror approached, the girl's terror grew. She had already resigned herself to a miserable fate, and now it seemed that moment had come. Her muffled cries—little more than "mmmph" sounds—filled the air, desperate and panicked.
Barnett stepped closer and took a better look at her face. Only then did he realize—she wasn't actually unattractive. Her sharp brows arched upward, her eyes were fierce like a hawk's, her nose was straight and defined, and her lips were thin and long. The braids the Vikings had put in her hair had since come undone, leaving shoulder-length hair that messily framed her ears. If you put this girl in the 21st century, gave her a decent makeover, she might easily rival a modern pop star.
But in this era, both men and women still kept to their natural looks.
"Hmph," Barnett let out a soft grunt. He wasn't particularly interested in her. Then he recalled what a few Viking warriors had said earlier—something about the girl wanting to speak with him. So he casually pulled the cloth from her mouth, took two steps back with a half-smile, and sat down across from her.
"You wanted to talk to me, didn't you? Go ahead."
The girl had lived like a princess in her tribe. Her father had no other daughters and doted on her endlessly. Combined with her decent looks, she had naturally become the object of admiration among the naive young men of the tribe. Years of flattery had made her believe she really was beautiful—maybe not quite Cleopatra, but surely a match for some Roman princess like Galla Placidia.
So now, to save her people, she decided to offer herself. After all, no man could resist beauty—right?
She coughed several times, then raised her head high and looked straight at Barnett without a trace of fear. She took a deep breath and decided she'd better show this man some respect.
"Esteemed chieftain, now that you've conquered my tribe… what will happen to my people?"
"Serfs. Slaves. Laborers. Population assets… What do you think I'll do with them?" Barnett rolled his eyes. She was a prisoner—why bother asking?
The girl bit her lip, then summoned her courage. "If… if you treat my people as equals, I am willing to serve you."
"…What?" Barnett blinked. That one caught him off guard.
"She means, as long as you treat her people fairly, she'll agree to be yours, you idiot," the system sprite chimed in, its voice as annoying as ever.
"You've got to be kidding me. Do I look like a fool?" Barnett scoffed. "You're already my prisoner. I don't need your consent. And frankly, I'm not interested in you. I won't make things difficult for you—you're free to leave now."
The girl had been prepared to sacrifice her dignity in exchange for her people's fair treatment. She thought her beauty would be enough to sway him. But not only did the man show no interest—he even told her she could go. Just like that.
But if she left… what would become of her people? They would still suffer as slaves. Her homeland had been taken. Where else could she go?
For the first time in her life, she tasted bitter defeat—humiliating, overwhelming, and absolute.
Realizing the girl was of no further use to him, Barnett waved her off. But seeing she hadn't moved, he remembered—oh right, she was still tied up. Still, he had no intention of untying her. Who knew if she had a hidden knife strapped to her leg? That would be an embarrassing way to die.
He also wasn't about to leave the tent just yet. If he walked out this quickly, those damned Viking warriors might start spreading rumors about him being… underwhelming in certain departments.
So Barnett stayed put and let his thoughts drift elsewhere.
He needed to expand his army—at least to 2,000 soldiers.
Now, how many troops did he currently have?
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Five patrol cavalry squads and one battle axe cavalry squad: 300 mounted soldiers.
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Four Viking infantry squads, two elite Viking units, and one town militia squad: 1,100 melee infantry.
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Two crossbow militia squads and two Nordic archer squads: 400 ranged troops.
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One commander's guard squad: 20 men.
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Altogether, that was 1,820 soldiers. Just 180 short of the 2,000 mark—easily fixable with a round of recruitment. Granted, town patrols were essentially useless in combat. Good for catching thieves maybe, but anyone who thought they could win battles was delusional.
And the current town barracks didn't offer many decent options. Archery militia, crossbowmen, spearmen, patrol cavalry… All bottom-tier in terms of combat capability. Was he really supposed to conquer the world with this lot?
"You're overthinking it," the system sprite chimed in again. "Do you know how many professional armies existed in the Middle Ages? Almost none. Most troops were hastily conscripted. Some leaders even made soldiers bring their own weapons and food. So yes, conquering the world with militias? Not impossible."
"…What if I run into a powerful nomadic tribe?" Barnett asked.
"Here's a tip: quality over quantity. Figure it out yourself."
Barnett opened the system interface. Conveniently, he could view it whether his eyes were open or closed. He checked the army upgrade section.
City Barracks Upgrade Path:
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Town Barracks
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City Barracks
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Small Garrison
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Large Garrison
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Royal Guard Barracks
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Five tiers in total. Each barracks had modules divided by combat role: mounted melee, mounted ranged, foot melee, foot ranged.
Melee weapons were further divided into polearms and short weapons, each with traits like armor-piercing, blunt, and sharp. Viking axes, for instance, were both sharp and armor-piercing—devastating in the right hands.
Smithing technology was equally crucial. Steel was far superior to iron. A stainless steel pocketknife from the 21st century would be a god-tier weapon in this world.
His current smithing level was Tier 2—capable of producing chainmail, scale armor, and lamellar armor.
Chainmail was the best of the bunch—especially double-layered—offering strong defense with relatively low weight. Second only to full plate armor.
"So I can upgrade the armory now and start mass-producing chainmail?" Barnett asked.
"Yes," said the sprite. "But first, you need a steady source of iron and a fully built armor workshop."
"…Right. Three more days until the end of the month."
"Correct."
"And two more days until my new agriculture facilities are operational?"
"Correct again."
"Will those facilities contribute to this month's tax revenue?"
"Yes."
Barnett flipped open the finance tab and smiled. With the new headcount tax from the conquered population and the agricultural income, he'd still have 4,000 gold left after paying the troops. In just two weeks, the town could be upgraded to a city. That meant more land, more buildings, and the ability to train long spear militias, Viking infantry, and Nordic archers in the new city barracks.
But waiting a whole month… that was tough.
Just as Barnett was about to chat with the system sprite again about the future of his territory, the girl—still tied up—bit her lip and said:
"If you agree to my condition, I'll tell you a secret."
"What secret?" Barnett asked lazily, not even bothering to open his eyes.
"It's about the dwarves in this mountain range. My father used to trade with a dwarf tribe. If you agree to my terms, I'll give you their trade route."
As soon as the girl finished speaking, the system chimed:
You've received a new quest. Please check.
Barnett's heart stirred. Still saying nothing, he mentally opened the system interface.
Quest: Contact a Dwarf Tribe
You've heard rumors of a race long thought to exist only in legend. This may be a valuable opportunity to increase your economic power—don't let it slip away.
Objective: Make contact with any dwarf tribe.
Reward: 1,000 gold.