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SMW C22 Word Gets Around
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 20:35:29 +0000 UTCAfter the welcoming meal, Alexander was summoned to his father's private study. The chamber felt heavy with unspoken tension as he entered to find Aldric seated behind his oak desk, with Reinhard standing grimly at his side.
Alexander immediately understood the gravity of this meeting.
"I've heard from Reinhard about the extensive corruption plaguing Southgate Watch, and how you chose to handle the situation," Aldric began, his tone carrying the weight of baronial authority. "He also tells me you're already formulating a comprehensive plan to resolve that outpost's problems."
Alexander met his father's stern gaze without flinching. "Yes, Father. I am."
Aldric leaned back in his chair, genuine surprise flickering across his weathered features. "Truly?" He tilted his head with skeptical curiosity. "You realize the Southgate Watch corruption has festered for years. I've been aware of it all along but found myself utterly helpless to address it effectively. Yet somehow, a six-year-old boy believes he has the solution?"
Alexander wasn't shocked that his father knew about the corruption—a competent baron would naturally be aware of such problems. He simply waited for the inevitable challenge.
"I'm genuinely interested," Aldric said, his voice growing harder. "Explain exactly how you intend to execute this miraculous plan of yours."
Alexander calmly repeated the strategy he'd outlined to Reinhard: addressing the root poverty, implementing rewards and punishments systematically, collecting evidence gradually, and making examples of the ringleaders while sparing useful followers.
Aldric's expression shifted to one of amused skepticism as the explanation concluded. "And how precisely do you intend to solve poverty?" His tone became deliberately intimidating, his amber eyes boring into his son with baronial authority. "That's far easier said than accomplished, boy. Do you comprehend the sheer cost of properly paying dozens of guards? Where exactly do you imagine we'll find such funds when our treasury can barely maintain this castle?"
Rather than wilting under his father's pressure, Alexander smiled with quiet confidence. "The solution to our chronic poverty lies with those very potatoes we've been introducing."
Both Aldric and Reinhard exchanged meaningful glances at this unexpected answer.
"Really?" Reinhard spoke first, his tone doubtful. "I thought they were simply meant to solve hunger problems. Are you suggesting we can sell potatoes directly and teach buyers how to prepare them properly?"
Aldric shook his head dismissively. "That approach won't work, Alexander. Potatoes grow easily everywhere, and our neighboring lords already have them in their territories. Once the preparation methods spread—which they inevitably will—anyone can replicate what we're doing. There's no profit to be made from basic potatoes."
"Father is absolutely correct," Alexander agreed readily, surprising both men. "We may have discovered potato edibility first, but our neighbors can copy the basic techniques without any difficulty whatsoever."
Aldric blinked in surprise at his son's easy agreement, having expected stubborn insistence on some half-formed scheme.
"Then how exactly can potatoes lift us from poverty?" Reinhard pressed, confusion evident in his voice.
Alexander's smile widened with genuine excitement as he prepared to reveal his masterpiece. "Because I have a specific product in mind—something that will sell extraordinarily well and cannot be easily replicated."
His thoughts immediately turned to the revolutionary concept he'd been saving for exactly this moment: potato chips.
"Oh? And what exactly is this 'product' that cannot be easily replicated?" Aldric's curiosity was now genuinely piqued.
Alexander's smile turned mysteriously confident. "The main ingredient is indeed potato, but the method of preparation is... unique." He paused meaningfully. "Beyond that, I have a second product in mind that could prove equally profitable."
His thoughts turned to soap-making. The dried herbs he'd purchased in Tannenfeld would remain potent for months—perfect for experimental batches that could revolutionize hygiene throughout the barony and beyond.
"If you'll permit me, Father, I'd like guards to escort me to the village blacksmith tomorrow. I need certain tools crafted to complete my plans," Alexander requested.
Aldric and Reinhard exchanged intrigued glances. The boy's confidence was either brilliantly founded or spectacularly naive.
"Very well, you clever little schemer," Aldric said with growing amusement. "You've captured my interest completely. I'm genuinely eager to see these miraculous products you're so confident about."
Alexander's smile broadened. "I promise you won't be disappointed, Father."
Aldric nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Now get some rest—you've earned it. Tomorrow you may pursue your plans, but only after completing combat training with Reinhard. I won't have my heir neglecting his martial education for commerce, no matter how promising."
"Of course not, Father. I've been training with Uncle Reinhard almost daily throughout our journey," Alexander assured him.
"Is that accurate?" Aldric glanced at his brother, who nodded confirmation.
"Then I'm genuinely pleased," Aldric said, his stern demeanor softening into a rare paternal smile. "You're dismissed, son. Rest well."
After Alexander departed, Aldric turned to study his brother's troubled expression.
"It's remarkable, Reinhard. The transformation in my son seems almost miraculous. I truly believe God has begun blessing Alexander with divine wisdom."
Reinhard settled into a chair, his weathered features creased with concern. "But is it really God's influence we're witnessing?"
"Are you questioning my son's divine calling?" Aldric's tone grew slightly defensive. "Alexander himself testified to God's blessing, and Father Hensfried has confirmed it. What more evidence do you require?"
"I know, brother, but his cunning sometimes seems..." Reinhard struggled for the right words. "Perhaps too sophisticated for divine innocence."
Aldric leaned back thoughtfully. "You clearly haven't reflected on the Holy Scriptures' wisdom, Reinhard. It is written: 'Be wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves.'" His voice carried the authority of both a baron and a believer. "God has blessed my son with both wisdom and righteousness—the perfect balance that every faithful servant of the Almighty must possess."
The biblical reference settled Reinhard's concerns, at least outwardly. If the Church taught that divine wisdom could manifest as strategic thinking, who was he to question such theology?
"You speak truth, brother," Reinhard conceded with a respectful nod. "Perhaps I was too quick to doubt what I don't fully understand."
---
Meanwhile, in the neighboring Barony of Steinbruck, word about the miraculous potatoes had already begun spreading like wildfire.
Traveling merchants carried the news from village to village, their voices filled with excitement and opportunity. "It's absolutely true!" they proclaimed to gathered crowds. "I witnessed it myself in Mortgraben—a local villager served me the most delicious potato stew, made entirely from what we've always called cursed roots!"
The merchants' primary motivation was clear: profit. If potatoes were indeed edible, they intended to capitalize on this revelation immediately. Though the roots grew wild everywhere, that wouldn't last long once people began harvesting them systematically for food.
Naturally, villagers remained skeptical of these grandiose claims. However, when merchants demonstrated the preparation methods and offered samples of properly cooked potatoes, disbelief transformed into amazement as people discovered the cursed food was genuinely delicious.
This remarkable commotion eventually reached the imposing walls of Castle Steinberg.
Baron Berthold von Steinberg cut an intimidating figure—broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with thick brown hair showing distinguished gray streaks at the temples. His deep brown eyes regarded the world with the calculating gaze of a man accustomed to command.
He listened intently as his eldest son delivered the latest intelligence reports.
Fifteen-year-old Sir Dietrich von Steinberg appeared every inch the promising heir. Standing an impressive 5'6" and still growing, his sandy brown hair was kept precisely trimmed in knightly fashion, while bright blue eyes reflected both intelligence and ambition.
"Father, merchants throughout our territory confirm that potatoes are not only edible but reportedly quite delicious," Sir Dietrich reported with measured professionalism. "This startling information originated in the Barony of Eisenfurt, where the cursed roots have been renamed 'potatoes' by young Alexander von Eisenberg. According to these accounts, the boy claims divine revelation granted him knowledge of their true nature—that God Himself blessed him with this wisdom."
"Blessed by God? That impoverished backwater?" Berthold snorted derisively. "Eisenfurt can barely afford to maintain their crumbling castle, let alone claim divine favor. Their lands are so poor that even bandits avoid them—there's simply nothing worth stealing! And this supposed 'chosen heir' is what, five or six years old? A sickly weakling, if memory serves, nothing like his late brother Sir Edmar, who at least died with honor."
"Nevertheless, Father, the evidence appears compelling," Sir Dietrich continued diplomatically. "Our merchants obtained detailed preparation methods from Southgate Watch guards, who freely shared the information for mere handfuls of Pfenning. We now possess complete instructions for transforming cursed roots into edible cuisine."
He paused meaningfully. "Our head chef is currently preparing potato stew for us to sample personally."
Berthold leaned back in his ornate chair, stroking his graying beard thoughtfully. "Very good. I'll taste this miraculous dish myself—I'm not afraid of supposedly cursed food." His expression grew more serious. "If these potatoes prove genuinely edible and nutritious, they could be invaluable for helping our people survive harsh winters and potential famines. We'd be fools not to investigate such an opportunity thoroughly."
