The next day, the tax officer appointed by Barnett arrived at his private office.
"Taxes?" Barnett raised an eyebrow. "That's a thing now?"
"Yes, Chief. We currently have over two thousand people in town and more than three thousand in the surrounding countryside. Here's our proposed head tax plan: two copper coins per month for urban residents, and one copper coin for rural dwellers. Ten coppers make one silver, and ten silvers make one gold coin. All in all, that brings us about seventy gold coins a month just from head taxes.
As for business tax... well, there are still a few shops operating, selling bits and pieces. That should fetch another fifty gold coins per month.
And then there's the land tax from your peasants—after all, they're technically your serfs. That gives us another thirty gold coins monthly.
Altogether, under a moderate tax rate, your monthly revenue comes to one hundred and fifty gold coins."
"One hundred and fifty, huh..." Barnett tapped his temple. "Didn't it cost a thousand gold to upgrade a high-tier town center? So even if I sit on my hands for half a year, I still can't afford it?"
"Pretty much," the officer replied. "But you could raise the tax rate. We're only using the standard level for now. There are still 'High' and 'Very High' options available."
"No thanks." Barnett shook his head. "How much money is left in the treasury?"
"About five thousand gold coins, accumulated over decades of raiding and plundering."
"What happens if we lower the tax rate?" Barnett asked.
"Well, first off, our income will drop."
"No kidding."
"Secondly, it might attract more wanderers and drifters to join us."
"Well then, that's all I needed to hear. Lower the taxes."
"If we do that, your monthly income will drop to just a hundred gold coins, Chief. Meanwhile, maintaining our army costs three hundred coins a month. Just a heads-up."
"Yeah, yeah. Quit nagging."
After the tax officer left, the town's mayor arrived at Barnett's office.
"Development plans?" Barnett asked.
"Exactly. Our town is in ruins. You can pick some buildings to construct and start rebuilding."
"What do we need for agriculture?"
"First, land needs to be cleared. That's a hundred gold coins and ten days."
"Approved."
"Next, ten mills. Two hundred coins, ten days."
"Approved."
"Then ten livestock pens. One hundred fifty coins, seven days."
"Approved."
"Twenty bakeries. Five hundred coins, fifteen days."
"Approved."
"..."
"Approved."
"..."
"Approved."
"..."
"Approved."
And so it went. Barnett ended up approving over a dozen basic construction projects, spending two thousand gold coins in one go. But he didn't mind. Once the infrastructure was in place and taxes were lowered, more people would flock in. More people meant town upgrades, which meant more buildings, stronger troops, and expanding influence.
Still, it wasn't fast enough. After five days of calculations, Barnett figured that around twenty refugees were joining Byard Town each day. To upgrade to a large town, he needed five thousand residents. That meant 150 days—five months. Way too slow. And if they burned through the treasury, there wouldn't be enough to pay the troops. Sure, he could underpay them, but that would tank morale. Worst case? Mutiny.
"So the only option left… is raiding." Barnett concluded after long contemplation.
Byard's army was over a thousand strong, well-equipped, even boasting a squad of twenty knights and fifty medium cavalry. On the grand scale of Europe, it was a respectable force, though not yet able to challenge the big dogs. But taking out the nearby small tribes? That would be easy. The Viking expansion campaigns had just ended, and the local tribes had likely amassed gold, people, and livestock. Unlike Barnett, they didn't have some gold-devouring system to keep up with—chances are, their wealth was just sitting around unused. Wiping them out would bring in not just loot, but also people: elders, children, and surrendered warriors—all of whom could boost Barnett's population numbers.
With loot and population both secured, he could finally upgrade the town. And with the system constantly throwing quests at him, not conquering others would just feel like wasted potential.
As for killing people? Barnett felt nothing. It was all just a virtual game, after all. Nothing was real. He could do as he pleased. Who knows—after a few wars, he might even earn system perks like "Ruthless Slayer" or "Merciless Executioner."
And so the decision was made.
Three days later, the army marched out. Barnett threw on a robe, layered with a fur cloak, and mounted his massive two-meter-tall European warhorse. The elite guard usually stayed in barracks near the town center. A single ring of the bell summoned them. With military precision, they grabbed their swords and lined up in two rows, standing about three meters from Barnett.
Barnett's cold gaze swept over them, and the twenty knights stiffened at once, unconsciously straightening their posture.
"Send word. Assemble the army. We march!" Barnett ordered with a voice like steel.
Four guards immediately sprang into action, riding off in different directions to the outer barracks. Within minutes, over a thousand Viking warriors had gathered in the central plaza.
Once everyone was ready, Barnett gave the command: "Let's move out! Time to raid and plunder!"
The restless warriors erupted in cheers. Soldiers love battle—it's what they live for, no matter the era. The troops left town swiftly, heading toward Barnett's designated target.
Though this was Barnett's first real military campaign, he'd read plenty of books on warfare in his past life. He wasn't entirely clueless. Plus, thanks to his chosen traits—Natural Commander, Infantry and Cavalry Leader—he handled the troops like a seasoned veteran.
The axe cavalry split into squads of five, fanning out as scouts. Even though he had the system's map, Barnett knew that enemy ambushes wouldn't show up unless directly detected. So scouts were still a must.
Behind them came the main force: four formations of Viking infantry in front (though "formations" might be generous—basic training had only just started), followed by two units of Norse archers equipped with homemade fire arrows and oil for emergencies. In the third rank was Barnett himself, surrounded by his elite bodyguard unit. Cowardly as ever, he had no intention of letting them fight unless absolutely necessary—their job was to keep him alive.
With the system map guiding him, Barnett avoided unnecessary detours. But the Scandinavian weather? Totally unpredictable. Clear skies in the morning turned into wind and snow by noon. The existing snow piled so high it reached the warriors' knees. Even with leather armor and a fur coat, Barnett was shivering uncontrollably. The Viking warriors, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. Wearing much less, they laughed and joked that this kind of weather made sneak attacks easier. Barnett couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed.
"Screw it, I'll spend some HP to get the system elf to unlock Intermediate Physique and Basic Cold Resistance," he thought (his coins were all spent on agriculture already). But to his dismay, the system replied: You are currently in War Mode. System operations are disabled until battle ends.
"Fine. Next time, then. Guess I'll just tough it out."
After two hours of marching, the army reached its first target: a generic, utterly forgettable little Viking village with around a thousand people. About three hundred were of fighting age. If things got desperate, they might throw in some elders and cripples too—but at that point, resistance was meaningless.
"Rest up. Eat something."
At Barnett's command, the warriors plopped down where they stood, pulling out rock-hard jerky and dry black bread from their cloaks. Mixing it with snow, they gnawed it down bite by bite. Once about 70% full, they stopped eating and rested. Barnett dismounted, stretched his limbs, choked down the same miserable food, and then closed his eyes to rest.
"We're ready, Chief," a guard whispered after fifteen minutes.
Barnett opened his eyes, nodded, stood up, and raised his battle axe high.
"WAR! BLOODSHED! PLUNDER! We are VIKINGS—the fiercest, most battle-hungry tribe in all of Europe! Death incarnate, born from the snowstorms of the North! And now, by my authority as your chieftain, granted by the gods themselves, I order you: follow me and crush those worthless fools who are not even a tenth of our strength! Chop off their heads! Take their gold and their women! Let's GO, warriors!"
Fueled by the rousing speech, the Viking warriors erupted with roaring cheers. After rest and food, their strength had returned. Just two kilometers away, their target waited.
"Armor up! Mount up!" With the help of two guards, Barnett donned a full set of Renaissance plate armor and vaulted onto his horse. "Forward!"
Meanwhile, the unsuspecting little village had no idea it was being hunted by a much stronger predator. Thanks to the recent snowstorm, most of the villagers were huddled indoors, warming by the fire. The warriors were drinking and grumbling about the weather and how hard it was to conquer England.
Then, suddenly, hundreds of flaming arrows rained down from the sky.
Professor Barnett had just stepped onto the battlefield for the very first time...