[EDWARD’S POV]

 

August 24, 1338

 

Embarking on this journey, I found myself at the head of a considerable force, ten times larger than my previous retinue.

 

Departing London just hours ago, our caravan set forth towards Norwich. With me rode an assembly of three hundred men from my own ranks, now bolstered by my father's former contingent of three thousand. Amongst this company rode Ramiro Maris, the youngest scion of Manuel Maris, poised to inherit his father’s vast estate.

 

Ramiro presented an uncanny semblance to me, bearing jet-black hair reminiscent of my own. His hair of brown hue inherited from his father. According to the official records I perused in the capital not a week past, this year marks his twenty-fourth. Despite being the youngest in the Maris family, he emerged as the most likely successor to his father's immense wealth and legacy. His elder brother's reputation as a notorious drunkard and his elder sister’s elopement to France, enticed by a foreign knight, positioned Ramiro as the favored candidate to inherit the substantial family fortune.

 

During our time together, it became evident that Ramiro had journeyed to the capital in place of his ailing father, Manuel, who languished on his deathbed. His health had deteriorated markedly since our last encounter. The whispers among the retinue hinted at the inevitable passing of Manuel and the imminent transfer of authority to Ramiro, the youngest scion of the Maris dynasty.

 

Surprisingly, Desir, the elder brother, exhibited little to no interest in asserting his rights or contesting the inheritance. It seemed as though he had resigned himself to the status quo, content with his current circumstances, relinquishing his claim to the family's immense wealth and influence.

 

I stared at him with keen eyes while activating my ‘Observation’ skill.

 

Status:

 

Name - Ramiro Maris 

Age - 24

Title -The Merchant Prince

Martial - 7

Diplomacy - 12

Intelligence - 12

Reputation - B

Wealth - £19,233

Skills - Networking(Lv. 9), Financial Literacy(Lv. 8), Oratory(Lv. 6), Leadership(Lv. 7), Management (Lv. 7)

Level - 12 [1050/1200]

 

Ramiro exhibited skills reminiscent of his father's, albeit at a lower level, an unsurprising outcome given the substantial 50-year age gap between them. While his wealth might currently pale in comparison to his father's, this is largely due to the technical ownership of all estates and riches still residing with Manuel. Upon Manuel's passing, the entirety of this wealth will seamlessly transfer into Ramiro's possession, significantly amplifying his wealth attribute.

 

In terms of level, Ramiro lagged behind my own, a fact easily understandable considering my advantage of possessing the extraordinary "status window," a unique tool that meticulously tracks and aids my progress. This technological advantage granted me an edge over others, allowing me to monitor and enhance my skills, a boon not accessible to anyone else.

 

Ramiro's stature and wealth might place him lower in the hierarchy compared to even a low-ranking noble, but the imminent transfer of Manuel's assets upon his demise foreshadowed a considerable shift in Ramiro's fortunes.

 

—---------------

 

August 25, 1338

 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, our party arrived at Norwich, perfectly timed with the approaching twilight. However, Maris's entourage had several more hours of travel ahead of them to reach their destination. Knowing the impending darkness and the inconvenience of setting camp in the night, I extended an invitation for them to lodge within the safety of Norwich's walls. Understanding the challenges of the journey ahead, I offered to cover their accommodation expenses, a gesture that wouldn't dent my finances at all. Their party comprised merely twenty soldiers and a couple of attendants, the total cost likely not exceeding £10.

 

As the city gates opened to welcome our arrival, my militia marched in with evident pride. Meanwhile, the shops, initially in the process of closing for the day, swiftly reopened their doors upon seeing the soldiers among our company. The prospect of having potential customers among the military contingent prompted an immediate reversal of their decision to shut down for the night. The vibrant hum of commerce resumed as the shops eagerly catered to the needs of the arriving soldiers and their entourage.

 

I extended an invitation to Ramiro to accompany me to the castle, and he accepted. Together, we rode through the castle gates on horseback, our presence signaling our arrival. Stepping onto familiar ground, I was met with a reception that held mixed emotions.

 

My sister, Margaret, stood there, having acted as regent during my absence. There was a blend of relief and something unspoken in her expression, a silent acknowledgment of the responsibilities she had shouldered in my stead. Alice, too, greeted me, though her forced smile hinted at an unspoken hope—she longed for our father's return, a desire that now lingered as a wish impossible to fulfill. With Father's passing, the stark reality settled in.

 

Mary de Braose, my step-mother, also graced the courtyard. Widowed and without any offspring to bind her to this castle, her presence bore an air of uncertainty. Despite the altered circumstances, I couldn't fathom dismissing a recently bereaved woman from her abode. It wasn't in my nature to be so callous.

 

Acknowledging each of them with a nod and a few words of greeting, I then led them, including Ramiro, to the grand hall for supper. The weight of recent events lingered in the air, casting a subtle pall over what would otherwise have been a routine evening meal.

 

After our meal, I ushered Ramiro to join me in the study.

 

"Please, have a seat, Ramiro," I offered, settling into a chair myself.

 

Ramiro positioned himself across the desk from me.

 

"I assume you're familiar with my cement production," I began, a playful smirk adorning my face.

 

"Who isn't, milord? Who isn't?" he replied with a faint smile.

 

"And are you aware of the prices I typically sell them for?" I inquired, adopting a more serious demeanor.

 

"Well, you previously sold them to us for £100 a sack, which, according to my sources, is likely double your usual market price," Ramiro responded in a monotone voice.

 

"Indeed. Normally, they sell for £50-£75 per sack, and each sack weighs half a quintal," I confirmed.

 

"So, what's the aim of this discussion, milord?" he asked, curious.

 

"I propose selling them to you for £35 per sack," I stated, a mischievous smirk playing on my lips.

 

Ramiro, initially taken aback, composed himself and leaned forward, asking, "What is it that you demand?"

 

"I seek your network, specifically Maris's network," I stated confidently.

 

Ramiro eased back into his chair, adopting a relaxed posture.

 

"That might be possible, but it'll require more than just a 30% reduction in price," Ramiro asserted in a firm tone, showcasing his negotiation skills.

 

"What is it that you demand, Ramiro?" I countered with assurance.

 

"What is it that you can give, milord?" Ramiro parried back, employing a classic negotiation tactic.

 

I deliberated briefly before responding, "Three merchant ships equipped with cannons from the Battle of Sluys."

 

"Can you make it five, milord?" Ramiro pressed, signaling his strong stance.

 

"Four," I countered.

 

"We've got a deal," Ramiro concluded, rising to extend his hand for a handshake.

 

I rose and clasped Ramiro's hand firmly, sealing our agreement.

 

After bidding him to rest for the upcoming journey, I settled back into the chair, contemplating the transaction. The cost of this deal amounted to £5000, a significant sum, yet one that appeared manageable considering the potential rewards it promised. My need to expand my network was pressing, and the collaboration with the Marises was a crucial step in that direction. They were, after all, the wealthiest non-noble family in England, an invaluable asset for my ambitions.

 

The weight of the agreement settled upon me, evoking a blend of anticipation and cautious optimism. It was an investment toward securing a pivotal connection, one that could yield immeasurable benefits for my aspirations. With the written agreement to be prepared by morning, I mulled over the strategic advantage this alliance might bring to my endeavors, envisioning the pathways it could open in the realm of trade and influence.

 

—----------------

 

September 2, 1338

 

Since ascending to the position of Duke and overseeing vassal earls, I've decided to embark on an ambitious project: the reconstruction of Norwich Castle. This endeavor symbolizes not just my newfound status but also serves as a symbol of my authority. While the costs might soar, my substantial wealth ensures it won't significantly impact my finances. The flourishing cement production and the burgeoning influx of foreign merchants to the bank I established affirm the stability of my financial ventures.

 

To meet the surging demands, I've recently expanded my workforce, recruiting numerous employees. Presently, the bank boasts a deposited amount totaling £550,000, with £400,000 already lent out. It's a strategic move to ensure a minimum of 20%—which amounts to £110,000—stays within the bank. Safeguarding such substantial funds is paramount. To that end, I've constructed multiple secure vaults within the bank, capable of holding up to £500,000 worth of gold and silver.

 

However, recognizing the inherent risks, I've gone further to ensure the bank's protection. A dedicated contingent of 50 well-trained soldiers now stands guard, providing round-the-clock security. The establishment's safety and the security of its assets are of paramount importance, warranting measures beyond conventional precautions.

 

Having solidified my position as a significant owner in Norwich and Wymondham, I've strategically acquired a major portion across diverse industries, encompassing smithies, bakeries, and farms. This acquisition involved purchasing existing shops, and transforming their previous proprietors into salaried employees. Surprisingly, this transition to regular employment proved highly appealing to the workforce. They were eager participants, seeing the deal as wholly advantageous. They received substantial one-time payments for their generational shops, retained their positions at the familiar workplace, were granted holidays, and secured consistent incomes for their livelihoods. This shrewd move resulted in three-fourths of Norwich's and Wymondham's businesses transitioning into properties under my ducal control, with the former owners now employees within my purview.

 

To conceal this strategic maneuver, I established a shell company named "Britannia Corporation." Under this umbrella, I consolidated my cement factories, collectively known as "Britannia Construction," along with the "Bank of Britannia." These two entities contribute significantly to the revenue generated by the parent company, "Britannia Corporation," abbreviated as "Brit Corps." This corporate structure ensures a streamlined approach to managing these varied enterprises while keeping the operational tactics discreetly under wraps.

 

If you were to tally the monthly revenue, it would easily reach an impressive £40,000 to £50,000. Such figures translate into an annual profit margin of 50% to 60%, fetching me a substantial sum ranging from £250,000 to £300,000. Undoubtedly, this would place me at the apex of wealth on the entire isle, a proof of the success of my ventures.

 

As I reveled in these parchment-documented figures, contemplating the immense success they represented, the tranquility of my study was abruptly disrupted by the door creaking open. My attention was drawn to Rufus, whose presence was marked by panting breaths, as though he had raced from some distant place. 

 

Concern etched my features as I rose from my seat. "What is it, Rufus? Why the urgency?" I inquired, noting the agitation in his demeanor.

 

"Milord..." He paused to catch his breath before continuing, "The French—they've invaded!"