The Black Mountains.
When everyone saw where Wayne's finger had landed, they froze.
The first to break the silence was the Western Grand Duke, Baelor Tyrell, eyes wide. "You're... certain?"
"What's wrong with it?" Wayne smiled. "Don't tell me someone actually owns that place?"
"Well, no..." Denethor II shook his head. "The entire Black Mountains region and everything further south is indeed unclaimed, which satisfies the Right of Eternal Conquest's requirements. But it's not only close to the Storm Imperium, to the south it directly borders the Gondor Wasteland. It's really..."
The Black Mountains formed part of Andraste's southern border. Their eastern extent reached into Storm Imperium territory, while the western stretch ran hundreds of kilometers along Andraste's border before curving slightly southward and merging into the corrupted lands of the Gondor Wasteland. Theoretically, even the strip of plains on the mountains' southern side was Andraste territory, but in practice the kingdom's control extended only to the northern slopes, and even that was limited.
The primary reason was the Gondor Wasteland itself.
To this day, that land remained shrouded in chaotic elemental forces and magical energy. The endlessly churning corruption left the ground almost entirely barren and saturated with toxins lethal to humans.
Though the wasteland had stopped expanding, the occasional toxic dust storms that blew in from its edges and the monsters that wandered out were deadly threats.
Historically, after Andraste stabilized, the kingdom had attempted several push-back campaigns to develop the south, they'd even drawn up plans to reclaim the old Gondor homeland. But every effort ended in failure. Purifying the wasteland was agonizingly difficult and prone to reversal; the costs vastly outweighed the returns. Early outposts, barely established, were typically destroyed by toxic storms and monsters before they could produce anything. Ultimately, the Andraste crown withdrew all pioneering teams and drew the line at the Black Mountains' northern slopes.
After that, as the kingdom's northern regions grew ever more prosperous and diplomatic ties with the Violet Lands were established, the kingdom's center of gravity shifted further north. Combined with the Mistfall Uprising a century ago and the overnight collapse of House Seawright in the south, conditions in the region deteriorated further. By now, the entire Black Mountains and most of the surrounding territory were practically indistinguishable from the wasteland.
The corrupted breath blowing over the mountains had even tainted the plains to the north.
But Wayne merely smiled. "I've faced worse situations than that. When it comes to political intrigue and scheming, I may not match you younger folk. But when it comes to battling hostile nature, none of you can hold a candle to me."
Whether or not it's true, bluff first and figure it out later.jpg
Since Wayne himself exuded such confidence, nobody else was going to worry on his behalf. For the High King and the other nobles, whether Gwayne Seawright could actually gain a foothold in the south wasn't their concern. All they cared about was when this hot potato would leave the capital. Since Wayne had voluntarily chosen a godforsaken patch of nowhere that bordered nothing of value, what more was there to say?
Respectfully escort the ancestor out of the capital, post-haste!
If not for a few remaining details to finalize, Denethor II would practically have had a carriage waiting for House Seawright already...
With the critical Pioneering Rights settled, Wayne smoothly secured Denethor II's agreement on several additional "trivial matters."
First, Gwayne Seawright's ducal rank must be preserved, though temporarily as a personal honor only, not inheritable by any descendants. Unless, at the time of Wayne's next death (yes, really), House Seawright had indeed pioneered extensive territory in the south or achieved other notable merits, at which point the appropriate title for his descendants would be determined based on land and achievement.
This was admittedly an awkward, neither-fish-nor-fowl arrangement, the product of the irreconcilable contradiction between Gwayne Seawright's ducal status and the debacle of a century ago. No one dared strip a founding duke of his title, but there was no mechanism for a viscount's family to leap straight to dukedom. So they compromised. Frankly, the arrangement didn't conform to a single law on the books since Andraste's founding, but what kind of logic do you argue with a man who climbed out of a coffin?
The ancestor wasn't even following the laws of physics. You think he's going to follow yours?
The "temporarily non-inheritable" clause was obviously just a delaying tactic, a way to give the existing noble system a face-saving explanation. Anyone with eyes could see that.
Beyond that, the Andraste crown would fully recognize House Seawright's complete autonomy over any newly pioneered territory, just as the founding king had recognized every pioneering territory's autonomy.
Along with a handful of miscellaneous stipulations, Wayne ultimately got what he wanted.
A state within a state, free from interference.
In truth, all of this had been settled in advance. When Crown Prince Edmund had paid his preliminary visit, Wayne had already established a line to the High King. Today's proceedings in the Oaken Hall were merely a formality.
No one present raised any objections. After all, House Seawright was heading off to homestead in the middle of nowhere. However much territory they carved out wouldn't affect any existing family's interests, and with no conflict of interest, any nominal conflicts were easily resolved.
Denethor II signed the new Pioneering Charter on the spot, declaring that in accordance with ancient law, House Seawright would hold pioneering rights to all lands centered on the Black Mountains extending to the borders of any existing royal fief. He also pledged to provide essential support for the expedition. a hundred-person team composed of various craftsmen and mage apprentices, plus the first year's supplies of grain and cloth.
The craftsmen and apprentices would serve in the pioneering territory for three years. After that, they could choose freely whether to stay or leave. But for any who stayed, House Seawright would need to "purchase" them from the crown at a price of thirty gold shields per person.
The support wasn't lavish, but Wayne was quite satisfied. For the currently destitute House Seawright, it was enough to address the immediate crisis.
The gold, silver, and ore ingots in the mountain vault couldn't be directly converted into food, nor could they conjure up skilled craftsmen. In an age of prolonged peace where the word "pioneering" had become distant history, no one was willing to leave the safety of home to homestead next to the Gondor Wasteland. Those hundred craftsmen and apprentices would be the most precious resource of all.
This could also be seen as Denethor II's gesture of goodwill on behalf of the Andraste crown, a token of gratitude for the founding duke's acknowledgment of his bloodline.
The deal was done. Everyone was satisfied. And after a mutually satisfying deal, a banquet was essential.
The Oaken Hall was sealed once more, and the castle's second-floor banquet hall hosted a grand feast. Fine wine and exquisite dishes were laid across the tables. The High King and his most trusted nobles would celebrate the return of a legendary hero. Countless nobles whose names Wayne couldn't begin to recall materialized from unknown hiding places, filling the hall to bursting.
These newcomers were nobles who hadn't qualified for the Oaken Hall but were entitled to learn the meeting's outcome at the earliest opportunity. They'd been waiting in various rest rooms throughout the Silver Keep for an entire half-day, only emerging with smiles when attendants ran into the banquet hall ringing the ceremonial bronze bells.
Rebecca was experiencing this kind of occasion for the very first time. This down-on-her-luck lord had never set foot in such a magnificent place in her entire life. And thanks to the noble world's wholesale rejection of House Seawright, she'd barely attended any proper social events growing up. The grandest celebration in her memory was her sixteenth birthday, when her father had organized a lively party in the castle, which amounted to a single long table laden with food.
It couldn't begin to compare with a feast in the Silver Keep.
Long tables lined the entire perimeter of the hall, covered in freely available delicacies and fine wines. The center of the hall was reserved for dancing. A gorgeously dressed orchestra played on a raised stage along one wall, and mages stationed at the hall's four corners cast spells that continuously produced dazzling light displays and drifting snowflakes in mid-air. The idea of using precious mages to create mood-setting illusions struck Rebecca as almost inconceivable.
His Majesty the King... is really, really rich.
At first, Rebecca tried to keep a straight face and project an air of maturity. But it wasn't long before a young woman's nature overwhelmed her thin veneer of composure. She grabbed Wayne's hand, asking question after question, while Wayne smiled and spun answers from his memories and a transmigrator's imagination.
Rebecca's country-bumpkin behavior didn't escape the sharp-eyed great nobles, but they showed no contempt toward this small-town lord, perhaps a touch internally, but Gwayne Seawright stood at Rebecca's side the entire time. This ever-present "guardian" forced everyone to restrain any dismissive impulses, maintaining at minimum a surface-level smile toward Rebecca.
Before long, several young men came to invite Rebecca to dance, presumably because they felt House Seawright, now bolstered by a bloodline-anchoring ancestor, had some potential networking value. But Wayne turned every one of them away.
You had to be kidding. With Rebecca's door-pinched brain and bull-headed personality, she couldn't even navigate the south properly. Put her up against these capital monkeys and she'd sell the entire family inside of five minutes.
"Overprotection won't help your children grow," a gentle male voice came from nearby.
"Viscountess Rebecca is of age. You should let her engage more with high society's social circles."
Wayne turned to find the Western Grand Duke, Baelor Tyrell, standing behind him. And beside Baelor stood the Northern Grand Duchess, Victaria Stark.
"Died young. Didn't get much experience raising children," Wayne shrugged, utterly unconcerned.
Baelor: "..."
Victaria: "..."
"Besides, I don't think Rebecca would pay anyone attention even if I didn't stop them."
As he spoke, Wayne pointed toward his N-plus-one-times-great-granddaughter. The young viscountess was currently draped over a nearby long table, stuffing her face with reckless abandon...
"How... refreshingly uninhibited," Grand Duke Baelor managed dryly.
Wayne smiled, then turned to Victaria Stark, who stood silently beside Baelor with her perpetually impassive expression. "More than educating descendants, I actually have a few questions for this young lady of the Stark family."