The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 274: Baronyʼs progress

Two weeks into April, year 1824.

The now-extended barony of Tekkora boomed with new life as settlers from neighbouring regions flocked to the area in search of fertile land and new opportunities. The once-sleepy town quickly transformed into a bustling hub of activity, with markets, taverns, and workshops springing up over the past few months.

The progress of the forge was coming along a lot quicker than they thought, and Nora and Roblan were busy overseeing the work.

Right now, Nora was standing before her tavern, Noraʼs dining. It was all done and running with a full house. She even added her own recipes to the menu, and the place was packed now. Travellers, merchants and all alike were coming to the tavern.

The mines were also fetching a good amount of coin.

However, the main issue was that their coffers were starting to run low due to the high demand for supplies and resources. Nora and Roblan knew they needed to find a way to increase their profits in order to keep up with the growing expenses of their expanding business.

The construction of the whole barony was taking all of their reserve gold, too. Nora hadnʼt expected the scale of development to grow to this extent. It was beyond what she had expected.

Previously, the population of the barony was around 5000-8000 people. But now, it has reached an amount of forty thousand to fifty thousand people, and the number keeps on increasing.

The recent war had also played a major role in making the barony famous.

The war stories of a young man who fought like a fierce warrior and slayed hundreds of barbarians were stories being spread around. The name of that young man was Jolthar.

In the war with the barbarians, Jolthar showed an exceptional talent even though he wasnʼt aware there were people who watched with astonishment and awe in their eyes. They saw him as a strong and powerful individual, and his appearance also sparked a rumour.

They called him the Silver-drawn.

Joltharʼs name, once known only to the countyʼs soil, had echoed far and wide through the empire, etched into memory by the thunder of war and the steel of his blade.

And there were bards who were singing his tale of turning from beast to a man. He was called the beast king.

So when they heard that Jolthar was in the barony and it was taking in people for work, a lot of them moved.

Most of them were labourers working for the forge and the castle, which was being built in the southwest, a couple of miles from the mines.

Nora was in deep thought. She was pondering what to do about the wages and the rest of the coin to continue the development.

She then started walking towards a certain street in the town.

-

The mid-April sun beat down on Joltharʼs bare shoulders as he hammered the glowing metal with practised precision. Sweat traced rivulets down his muscular back, steam rising where droplets met the scorching surface of his work.

His longsword Knashii, lay partially restored on the anvil, ancient runes pulsing faintly along its dreitrium-veined blade—a weapon as mysterious as its wielder.

Cleora, who had helped him find the rune mage—a reclusive craftsman who could understand and manipulate the ancient script. This time, at Joltharʼs request, the mage inscribed new runes, imbuing the blade with enhanced durability and unyielding sturdiness so that it might endure battles as brutal as the path that awaited him.

It was the first thing heʼd done after waking up.

Knashii had been through tough battles, and the voidwrath was too tough to handle, but the blade endured. His creation had proven to be his formidable ally.

He was making the final touches.

With a steady hand and focused eyes, he completed the last etching. It was done. The blade now looked refined—its edge sharp, gleaming with a deadly sheen as though thirsting for the next battle.

The small godown that served as Tekkoraʼs temporary smithy felt suffocating, not from the heat of the forge but from the weight of responsibilities crushing down upon the eighteen-year-old swordsman.

As Jolthar struck the metal again, a flicker of blue light—his swordsmanship aura—danced between his fingers and the hilt, responding to his focused intent.

The old smith, Kotane, watching from the corner, widened his eyes, then quickly looked away, pretending not to have seen the manifestation of power. The old man didnʼt disturb Jolthar while he was doing his work, but he couldnʼt help but be astonished by the sight of the young man.

Even at such a young age, he wielded the hammer with an instinctive grace—each strike measured, each motion deliberate. He didnʼt just shape metal; he listened to it and felt its resistance and yield as though he spoke the language of steel. He bent the metal with precision, not brute force, guiding it as if it were an extension of his own will.

The old man watched in quiet awe, arms folded, soot-dusted beard twitching with a faint smile. In all his years at the forge, he had rarely seen such raw, natural understanding.

He treats the blade not as a weapon but as a living thing, the old man thought. This boy—heʼs not just a smith. Heʼs something more. A sword whisperer, born of fire and instinct.

Few in Tekkora understood what Jolthar truly was.

”Jolthar.”

The familiar voice broke his concentration. And the old manʼs daze too.

They turned to see a young woman coming into the forge.

It was Nora.

Sunlight caught in her chestnut hair, highlighting streaks of gold that reminded Jolthar of autumn fields from his homeland. Her eyes, however, carried no warmth—only calculation and worry.

”I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

Jolthar recognized the tension in her stance immediately.

As fellow reincarnators—souls born with memories of lives from worlds beyond this one—they shared an unspoken language of subtle gestures and knowing glances.

Whatever troubled her was significant.

He turned to the old smith. ”Thank you, old man, for letting me use the smitty. I will come back when time permits.”

The ageing craftsman nodded with reverence. ”You can use this smitty whenever you want, my lord.”

Jolthar sighed, shaking his head. He told him not to use the titles, but they still use them.

The title still felt uncomfortable, a daily reminder of his arranged betrothal to Baroness Cleora—a woman nearly twice his age and Noraʼs mother. The arrangement had been made for convenience.

The old man bowed to Nora and Jolthar and got back to his work.

Jolthar put his sword inside his ring, Strodem.

Nora was aware of the ring; Jolthar told her about it.

Jolthar wiped sweat from his brow with the towel hanging around his neck. The spring air provided little relief after the intensity of the forge, but he welcomed the relative privacy as they walked toward a narrow alley between newly constructed buildings.

”My reserve gold is nearly depleted,” Nora stated without preamble once they were alone. Her voice carried the precision of someone who had managed finances for years.

”The transformation plans for the barony have attracted more workers than anticipated. The forge, the new housing, the expanded walls—all necessary, but all expensive.”

Jolthar, still wiping away sweat from his face, asked casually, ”How dire?”

”Three weeks of wages left, at most. After that...” She let the implication hang in the air between them.

The barony of Tekkora had been little more than a forgotten outpost three months ago before they had begun their ambitious plan to transform it into a proper settlement. The influx of workers, craftsmen, and their families had brought life to the once-sleepy holding but also strained its limited resources.

”Your tavern project?” Jolthar asked, glancing toward the town square where Roblan Aravain supervised construction.

In his mid-twenties, the baronessʼs eldest child lacked his sisterʼs sharp intellect but compensated with charisma and practical knowledge of management.

”Half-completed and consuming more funds than generating them. It will be profitable eventually, but not soon enough.” Noraʼs fingers traced unconscious patterns in the air—perhaps calculations from mathematical systems not yet invented in this mediaeval world.

”Daily wages are emptying of what we left. And there are supplies for the construction and food is also a problem now.”

”We need coins, Jolthar. Lots of them.”

Jolthar closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of ideas.

Nora paced around in slow motion, with her hands behind her back. After all they had done, she didnʼt want this barony to go to waste. She wanted to see it prosper and continue growing.

Jolthar then looked towards the forest, to the east side of the barony.

The Alaridin woods.

”The forest teems with game,” he said, opening his eyes. ”Deer, boar, elk. Perhaps even greater beasts.”

”What do you need them for? I am here, worrying about the wages and progress, and you are thinking about feasting?”

Jolthar held the towel around his neck with both his hands and said, ”Not a feast, but a way to make up for the wages. Why donʼt you give them meat and less coin? It would make up for it.”

”But that doesnʼt solve our main issue here, Coins Jolthar. What we need right now is a bulk amount of them.”