Even without the pristine white gowns and rows of black tuxedos, a mass wedding involving over a hundred couples was still an impressive sight. As the officiant of the ceremony, Father Matthew was particularly grateful that he only needed to preside over the proceedings collectively, without having to recite each couple's names one by one or ask every groom and bride if they were willing to marry each other. Repeating the not-so-short vows two hundred times—just imagining the scenario was enough to make one's mouth go dry.
The priest might have been spared some trouble by the group ceremony, but for the Earl and Countess Williams, who had impulsively agreed to act as witnesses for all the newlyweds, signing over a hundred marriage certificates turned into a self-inflicted burden.
Wei Wei scribbled yet another ornate English signature onto a piece of parchment then looked up at the couples lined up before her—holding their freshly issued marriage certificates, waiting for the witnesses to sign. She silently gave thanks that the documents weren't issued in duplicate; otherwise, her workload would've doubled.
Although paper was becoming more widely sold due to increased output from the paper mills—and it was far cheaper than parchment—it was still common practice among the people of Sardinson to pay extra for parchment on such important occasions. To them, parchment signified formality and respect, and they believed it was more water-resistant and thus better suited as a lasting proof of marriage.
Even Wei Wei had to admit they had a point. Her own marriage certificate with Felix was written on the finest parchment and carefully stowed in a hidden spot in his study. He would take it out periodically to check that it was still intact.
After signing so many names that her wrist felt like it would fall off, Wei Wei couldn't help but feel like a popular celebrity. Despite the exhaustion, she had to keep smiling—especially when someone, pushing through the ring of guards, loudly asked if there would be another opportunity in the future to have them witness their marriage. She had no choice but to nod and respond with forced cheer, "If time permits."
Cheers erupted from the crowd of family and friends gathered outside the barrier, and thanks to her sharp ears, Wei Wei even heard some of them exclaim that they wanted to hold a group wedding too—just for a chance to invite the Earl and Countess as witnesses.
Wei Wei: …What am I supposed to do? I don't want to, but I still have to smile and nod.
After all, she was the Lady of the Manor—and this seemed to be one of her obligations.
When the signing was finally over, the highest-ranking couple in Sardinson exchanged a look of mutual relief before taking each other's arms and returning to the castle.
"If there's ever a next time, we have to set a limit on the number of participants. My hand is killing me." The moment she stepped into the carriage, Wei Wei started massaging her sore wrist, rubbing it until it turned red.
Felix mirrored her actions and agreed, "I'd rather do ten thousand sword swings than sign that many names again."
Their daily duties did involve stamping and signing documents, but never this frequently.
Still, complaints aside, if the same situation arose again, they would probably agree once more. Over time, this became a tradition in the estate—every year, couples who wished to marry would gather on specific days for a group wedding and invite their lords to witness the union. The signed parchment certificate bearing the signatures of the Earl and Countess became something of a family heirloom.
February was likely the coldest time of the year in Sardinson, but it also heralded the arrival of spring. In the warmer parts of the region, some of the tenants had already begun clearing new land.
Those who opened up land last year had tasted the fruits of their labor. This year, they were even more enthusiastic, and as soon as the ground thawed slightly, they were out with their hoes, ready to clear the plots they had marked out. But clearing wasteland wasn't something people could do on a whim. For instance, the three towns currently prohibited residents from clearing nearby land due to ongoing development. Rural villagers weren't bound by this restriction, but they still had to report to their village head before taking action. The headman would then invite an official to measure the land and determine whether it could be cleared. Unauthorized clearing without approval could lead to fines.
It's worth noting that while a standard earldom comprised 86,000 acres (approximately 348 square kilometers), the total area of the Sardinson region was between 1,100 and 1,200 square kilometers—three to four times larger. This figure represented the peak territory once held by the Williams family during its most glorious period.
When Felix inherited the estate, his family's holdings had shrunk to the size of a standard earldom. However, that didn't mean the rest of the land in Sardinson didn't belong to the Williams family—it had simply been granted to subordinate barons and knights over generations. For example, the lands of the five barons originally belonged to the Williams family. But since they were awarded to the barons, Felix retained only the right to collect taxes, not to manage the land directly. In fact, under national law, these fiefs were considered the property of the barons unless they were stripped of their titles—meaning the lands couldn't be reclaimed. Together, the five baronies made up about half a standard earldom or even more.
Then there were the knights serving the Williams family. Each knight had a fief of about 700 acres. Currently, Felix had 120 knights under his command, whose combined fiefs roughly equaled another full earldom. Thanks to their management and rewards from Felix, some of these fiefs had even grown in size. But unlike baronies, knight fiefs reverted to the lord if the knight had no heir or if the heir was unable to serve as a knight. Thus, while knights owned the output of their fiefs, the land itself ultimately belonged to their lord.
In other words, the knights earned the right to keep all produce from their fiefs in exchange for their loyalty and service. If they gave up that service, the land was reclaimed. To maintain their fiefs, knightly families had to demonstrate unwavering loyalty—even if it meant laying down their lives. The existence of fiefs was the very foundation of that loyalty.
The sum total of the Williams family's retained earldom, the five baronies, the 120 knightly fiefs, plus land owned by common merchants and freemen, constituted the entire area of the Sardinson region.
This figure, of course, included not only usable land but also forests. Forests made up 36% of Sardinson's area. That didn't even include the mountain range along the eastern border, which separated the county from a neighboring nation. Though the mountains technically belonged to the Prady Empire and Sardinson, they were mostly snow-covered and impassable, inhabited by wild beasts, and largely ignored. No one even knew the exact area they covered.
In the past, land within Sardinson—excluding forested areas—was primarily used for farming or grazing. Because of the previously low population, most of the land had been devoted to pastures. Now that people wanted to reclaim new land, they were targeting those grazing fields and some peripheral forest areas. Reclaiming pastures could affect livestock while clearing forest edges was risky due to the threat of wild animals. As a result, newly reclaimed land was required to be contiguous and as close as possible to human settlements to allow for mutual protection and minimal disruption to grazing. These conditions had to be verified in advance by land surveyors.
This year, in addition to the usual officials, a group of interns was brought in to help with the surveying process. The hands-on experience would prepare some of them for future full-time roles in this field.
Because so many people wanted to reclaim land, the surveyors were run ragged traveling from place to place with their interns. But ultimately, only half of the applications were approved. Their directive had been clear: they had to ensure that there was still enough grassland left in the county for grazing. Any application involving fertile pasture was summarily rejected. Only those proposing to reclaim degraded grasslands or land near forests were approved.
Naturally, those whose applications were denied were unhappy, but since the order came from the lord himself, they didn't dare disobey. Even if someone secretly tried to proceed anyway, other villagers would stop them—after all, pastureland was communal, and converting it into farmland would harm everyone's interests. Most households now raise cattle, sheep, and pigs. The first two especially needed to be grazed.
Besides, the real reason most people wanted to reclaim land wasn't because they lacked farmland, but because of the tax exemptions and reductions offered during the first three years of cultivation. Realistically, they might just grow some vegetables for a while and then return the land to the lord in exchange for a small subsidy. If they tried planting grain crops, they often didn't have enough manpower to manage it. So the land surveyors also took applicants' household size and existing land usage into account. If they didn't seem capable of working the new land, their applications were denied.
Sometimes, the village chief would be explicitly informed of the rejection reason so they could publicly scold the would-be land grabbers—warning them not to act rashly. If they reclaimed land but didn't farm it, they'd be fined, and returning the land wouldn't be as easy as they thought.
After being called out and having their little schemes exposed, most people became much more obedient. The frenzy for land quickly died down, and only those with genuine need continued to apply.
In March, just before the wheat entered the filling stage and spring planting began, Felix received a letter from Bishop Umberto—along with a group of people.
The letter was a reply regarding Felix's desire to enter the banking industry. Umberto had successfully handled the matter, meaning Felix could now open a bank in Sardinson. The accompanying personnel were there to help him build the bank's internal structure. They would stay in Sardinson for a while, training local staff in banking operations. Once the locals were capable, the trainers would depart.
At the same time, Bishop Umberto noted in his letter that joining the banking industry required a hefty "entry fee." Felix also needed to inject a certain amount of working capital into the bank to ensure stable operations.
"An entry fee of ten thousand gold coins? They have the nerve," Wei Wei exclaimed after reading the amount. A typical earl living off the land alone only earned around five thousand gold coins a year. Now they were demanding twice that just to open a bank? She didn't believe others had to meet such conditions.
If that were true, the banking sector in Prady would've been an exclusive playground for the nobility from the very beginning—leaving no room for the Church to get involved. What? Without the Church's endorsement, banknotes couldn't be exchanged in other countries. No problem—they'd just form alliances with nearby nations. So what if the reach was limited? Most nobles weren't doing international trade anyway; that was a merchant's headache.
"Why don't we go directly to a bank in the royal capital? Doesn't the king have a stake in them? If we can persuade him, it should work," Wei Wei suggested.
"Circumstances are stronger than people," Felix said, shaking the parchment in his hand. He was convinced that if Umberto had any leeway to lower the fee, he would've done it already. Since the quoted number stood firm, even going to the capital would likely yield the same result.
Still, Wei Wei was reluctant to hand over their hard-earned money for nothing. Ten thousand gold coins weren't difficult for them to come up with—but giving it to the Church seemed wasteful. She'd rather spend it on the people.
Felix tried to console her. "Don't worry. Sooner or later, we'll make them cough it back up. What do you think about not paying the tithe this year?"
His expression turned frosty—did they think his money was so easy to take?
Wei Wei couldn't help but laugh. "Great idea. Not just this year—why not never again? Didn't the Church say tithes belong to God? All believers must pay, right? But we're not believers. We don't have to pay. And even if we want to offer something to God, we can do it ourselves. We can take charge of weekly offerings at the church too. That way, they have no reason to collect anything from us."
The Church claimed tithes were God's due, but everyone knew who the real beneficiaries were. The tithe mostly targeted commoners. When it came to noble taxes, the Church always looked the other way. Only the peasants suffered.
If Felix truly stopped paying tithes and even forbade commoners in Sardinson from paying them, the king wouldn't interfere, and the Church would have no jurisdiction over him. Their only option would be to increase religious fervor in the county and encourage voluntary tithes. But given how little the average Sardinson resident believed in the Church, this would be nearly impossible. It would only get harder over time. As people became educated and less ignorant, they started to think critically and question the Church's teachings. They'd wonder whether the clergy truly represented God, given how often their actions contradicted doctrine.
People would still believe in their gods—but not in a Church already plagued by scandals. Especially since they lived in Prady, a country known for resisting Church influence.
The Church probably never imagined that a mere entry fee would cost them all future tithes from Sardinson. From then on, they'd never see another copper from the county. Only the occasional voluntary donation would come through—just enough to keep the local churches running. Ironically, Sardinson, destined to become the wealthiest noble estate in Europe, became the place Church clergy least wanted to be stationed.
At the time, they still didn't realize this. The envoy who had delivered the letter and was now trying to figure out how to convince Felix to pay the fee had no idea that the very next day, Felix would send the full amount—followed immediately by his being unceremoniously kicked out. Only the banking staff were allowed to stay and train Felix's people.
Of course, these staff weren't here just out of goodwill. Most had covert missions—such as uncovering the true extent of Sardinson's wealth or trying to ferret out secrets. Some were spies continuing unfinished tasks left behind by Bishop Roberto.
Unfortunately, even the Pope's retinue had failed to gain anything from Sardinson. These mere mortals had even less chance. They weren't even allowed into the estate proper and were instead settled in Uke Town—the least populated of the three towns, which housed only a pasta factory and a livestock farm. Neither facility had any real secrets. Pasta-making was so common that any farmwife in Sardinson could do it. And the pig-farming methods were standard knowledge among anyone who'd raised pigs.
Their hosts even smiled politely as they apologized, "So sorry. There just aren't many spare houses in Sardinson right now. This was the only place we could arrange. But don't worry—we've found lodgings for you with local families who will also provide your meals. All expenses are covered by the Earl. You'll want for nothing."
Looking at the "friendly" smile on their hosts' faces, the visitors couldn't help but grumble inwardly: Isn't this surveillance? This is total surveillance! They were split up, each watched by a household. And Uke Town had so few outsiders that even stepping out made them stand out. As for secret missions—forget about it. They could barely move without being noticed.
To make things worse, they weren't just being watched by townsfolk. Each person was assigned a trainee—one of the local "students" they were supposed to train. These students lived, ate, and worked with them. The only privacy they had was in the bathroom or shower.
Gradually, the visitors gave up on their secret missions and focused on completing the training so they could leave. After all, the banking system was still rudimentary, mostly handling deposits and loans. The training content wasn't extensive, and the selected students were all quick learners. Within a month, the work was done, and the trainers were politely escorted out of Sardinson.
The only halfway useful intelligence they got? Sardinson was planning to build a city near the border with Slot, and Slot had even built a dock for the purpose.
They knew this wouldn't satisfy the Church, but what else could they say? Tell them that the people of Sardinson were excellent pig farmers. That they'd figured out the best ways to fatten pigs?
…Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. That alone could be a path to wealth.
When they arrived, they had only brought their luggage. When they left, they were laden with bags of local goods, chubbier than when they'd come, and full of nostalgia—for the food, of course.
While this group was training the locals, Felix had dispatched a construction crew to Dingle to build a bank. He bought out several homes from townspeople, demolished them, and rebuilt quickly. The bank's exterior was unadorned and the interior was simple, but it was spacious and fully equipped with counters and desks.
Merchants were thrilled. As Sardinson prospered, there were more bandits along the main trade route. Merchants had to hire extra guards and still lived in fear of being robbed. With a local bank, they no longer had to carry large sums of cash. Even if someone tried to cash a stolen bank draft, they would need verification. Without it, they'd be denied—or worse, detained on suspicion of theft. While not foolproof, it was far safer than carrying gold and silver.
So once the bank opened, even with just a sign at the door, merchants eagerly rushed in.