"An inefficient approach," Lloyd stated calmly. "Sustainable yield management – selective logging of mature trees, managed regrowth programs, perhaps even active replanting initiatives – ensures the Whisperwood remains a productive asset indefinitely. The total profit over a century of sustainable harvesting could vastly exceed the short-term gains of clear-felling followed by resource exhaustion."
He saw the other students looking back and forth between him and the increasingly flustered tutor, fascination warring with ingrained deference.
"Furthermore," Lloyd pressed on, deciding to go for the trifecta, "why limit ourselves to the bulk contracts with the Shipwrights and Construction guilds? Does Whisperwood timber possess unique qualities? Is some of it harder, finer-grained, perhaps suitable for fine furniture, musical instruments, or even arcane implements like staves or wands? Identifying and marketing these niche applications could command significantly higher prices per measure than the bulk commodity rate."
He leaned back, letting his points hang in the air. Value-added processing, sustainable resource management, market diversification and niche marketing. Basic concepts from his Earth life, revolutionary here.
Master Elm stared at him, speechless for a moment, his mouth working silently. The neat figures on the slate board seemed suddenly inadequate, simplistic. "This… this is untested! Radical! It flies in the face of generations of established Ferrum practice!" he finally managed, his voice tight with indignation. "Complexity! Risk! Unpredictable markets! You speak of… of farming trees and catering to whimsical artisans instead of securing solid, quantifiable returns!"
"Perhaps," Lloyd allowed with a small, calm smile. "But isn't the greatest risk sometimes clinging too tightly to the past, Master Elmsworth? Especially when the future offers potentially greater rewards?"
A tense silence filled the room. Master Elm seemed caught between sputtering further objections and sinking into bewildered thought. The other students watched Lloyd with newfound curiosity, perhaps even a flicker of admiration. The 'drab duckling' had just politely, logically, and thoroughly dismantled the foundations of their morning lesson.
Just then, the system notification chimed, unseen and unheard by anyone else.
[System Notification: Intellectual Challenge Detected!]
[Analysis: User successfully identified flaws in outdated economic model ('Static Resource View' / Primitive Mercantilist Extraction) and countered with modern principles (Value-Added Processing, Sustainable Yield Management, Market Diversification).]
[Result: Established authority figure momentarily stunned. Outdated dogma challenged.]
[Reward Issued: 1 System Coin (SC)]
[Current Balance: 6 SC]
[Note: System appreciates efficient resource management. Clear-felling is generally suboptimal.]
One coin. Better than nothing. Lloyd suppressed another smile. Challenging dusty academics was apparently worth less than slapping street thugs, but progress was progress.
Master Elm finally cleared his throat, avoiding Lloyd's gaze. "While… theoretically interesting, Lord Ferrum," he said stiffly, "such notions require… considerable further study. We will adhere to the established curriculum for now." He abruptly changed the subject, gesturing towards a different section of the board detailing guild negotiation tactics, his composure slightly frayed but recovering.
The lesson continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. Master Elm seemed distracted, occasionally shooting furtive, thoughtful glances at Lloyd, who now appeared diligently focused on the intricacies of guild politics, though his mind was already calculating potential profit margins from a hypothetical Whisperwood sawmill operation.
Maybe business studies wouldn't be so tedious after all. Especially if they kept paying.
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind the last departing student, leaving Master Elmsworth alone in the cavernous silence of the lecture hall. The air, thick with the scent of old parchment and beeswax, seemed to press in on him. He stood immobile for a long moment, thin frame rigid, eyes fixed unseeingly on the slate board still bearing the neat, spidery chalk figures of his morning lesson.
And the jarring, unexpected annotations Lloyd Ferrum had mentally, if not physically, scrawled all over them.
Preposterous! The thought echoed in the silence, sharp and indignant. Utterly preposterous!
Master Elmsworth moved stiffly towards the board, picking up a fresh piece of chalk. His hand trembled slightly as he meticulously re-wrote the established profit formula: Profit = (Vt * Pm) - (Cl + Ct). Solid. Reliable. Tested by generations.
He glared at it, willing it to reassert its immutable truth, to banish the echoes of the young lord's smooth, disturbingly logical voice.
Sawmills! In the Whisperwood! The very idea offended his sense of order. Infrastructure costs! Specialized labor! Training! Maintenance! It was multiplying complexity, inviting chaos where simple extraction reigned supreme. "We are timber merchants," he muttered aloud, the words sounding defensive even to his own ears, "not fiddling carpenters!"
And sustainable harvesting? Farming trees? He sniffed dismissively. The nobility held resources to exploit them for maximum current gain. That was the way of the world. Future generations would deal with future problems. Worrying about regrowth was… sentimental nonsense. Unprofitable sentimentality. Clear-felling offered immediate, quantifiable volume. Predictable. Safe.
Predictability… the bedrock of sound financial management. His own words, yet they tasted like dust now.