The staggering price did not deter Vig. He walked toward Ragnar, who was surrounded by excited nobles.
Before he could even speak, Pascal had already guessed his intention.
"Lord Duke, the cog represents the crown's prestige. Nobles may copy the design, but every cog must pay a special construction tax—five pounds of silver per ship."
So expensive?
Seeing the surprise on the Duke of Tyne Town's face, Pascal handed him a document stamped with the royal thunder sigil.
"Five pounds each—no joke. Also, His Majesty mentioned something: some of the craftsmen who built the cog are Berbers, originally prisoners taken by Bjorn. Therefore, Bjorn receives twenty percent of the royal shipyard's profits.
"And since you were the one who originally proposed constructing new ship types, His Majesty hasn't forgotten your contribution. Your cogs are exempt from the shipbuilding tax."
Seeing Pascal's mischievous smile, Vig rolled his eyes.
"Is your life so idle that you must tease a poor man like me?"
Leaving the pier, he rushed to the nearby royal shipyard and hired two shipwrights at high wages.
Half a month later, Vig returned to Tyne Town.
He ordered an expansion of the shipyard and the water-powered sawmill, intending to ride the wave of new technology and make a serious profit.
To him, one truth had long become clear—
agriculture only guarantees survival; wealth comes from crafts and industry.
Before formal construction began, Vig questioned the two shipwrights.
"With money, manpower, materials, and a drydock ready—how long until it's finished?"
The elder shipwright, a Berber named Tanit, was cautious and declined to give a firm timeline. He wanted to inspect the seasoned timber first.
At the mention of timber, Vig dismissed concerns and led them to the northwest of Tyne Town, where a vast fenced storage district stood—rows of warehouses, pointed roofs designed to survive snow load, each topped with a lightning rod.
"These hold bulk goods—timber, wool, bricks, stone."
Inside one warehouse lay enough seasoned oak to build more than ten cogs.
"There are five warehouses like this," Vig said. "Remember—the North will never lack timber. Work without hesitation."
Tanit was impressed. He promised that within a half year, he could build a cog similar to the Göteborg.
Over half a day of inspection, Tanit selected thirty workers from the old Tyne Town shipyard, then immediately began laying the keel and assembling planks.
Beyond the shipwrights, nearly every craft in town was drawn into the immense project:
Weavers sewing an eighty-square-meter sail—requiring half a month to complete.
Coopers making storage barrels.
Ropemakers twisting vast lengths of cordage.
Carpenters shaping the stern-rudder, oars, and pulleys.
Blacksmiths forging over a thousand iron nails, plus anchors and a twenty-meter chain cable.
And because tar was needed to seal the hull seams, Vig funded a sealed kiln dedicated to pyrolyzing pine wood and resin into tar.
"With so many trades involved, no wonder shipbuilding is so expensive."
Building the first cog exhausted Vig. Every few days someone called him to solve some urgent issue. He remained busy until the very last day of 849.
By tradition, he and Herligev convened an annual financial meeting in the great hall.
Once all key officials arrived and the servants withdrew, Vig glanced at Herligev, prompting her to read from the ledger.
Including the three Welsh tribes resettled last year, the population of Tyne Town County had risen to 28,000, generating 450 pounds of silver in various revenues—
60% from rural lands, 40% from Tyne Town's textile and brewing industries.
The remaining four northern counties, newly conquered, had resistant populations. Most taxes were impossible to collect. Their county governors could only levy town tariffs and nearby agricultural tax—fifty pounds total.
In addition, the iron and tin mines in Stirling County, operated directly by the ducal household, had produced 100 pounds in four months.
As for the newly-granted barons and knights—they were tax-exempt for two years.
"Six hundred pounds of revenue," Herligev concluded.
Vig yawned slightly and gestured for her to continue with expenditures.
Expenditures
The standing army formed in August had already consumed 150 pounds in equipment and wages. (Next year's military budget was estimated at 360 pounds.)
Administration, schools, and temples—including salaries—cost 250 pounds.
Routine operation of Tyne Town Castle, plus wages for 100 guards and numerous servants—150 pounds.
Various miscellaneous expenses—horse purchases, workshop expansions, land reclamation, tribute to the king—300 pounds.
Total deficit, excluding wartime consumption: 250 pounds of silver.
When Herligev finished reading, the room fell silent—only the crackle of the twin fireplaces and the muffled howl of winter wind outside remained.
Vig sighed, rose, and paced the hall.
"Everyone sees Tyne Town Castle shining on the surface. In truth, it's full of holes.
The twelve hundred pounds we saved for years—gone.
I've borrowed four hundred more just to keep us afloat.
War on one hand, finances on the other… I swear, no noble in the world suffers more than I."
After venting, he circled the table again and laid out the priorities for the year 850.
"For the four northern counties—last year's agricultural tax can slide, but next year at least something must be collected. We cannot let them believe the duke can be ignored.
"As for Stirling County, ensure the mines stay productive. With heavy iron plows spreading across Britain, demand for pig iron is enormous. No mishaps."
Finally came the heart of his rule—Tyne Town County.
War captives would be used to repair irrigation channels and drain marshland.
Tyne Town would focus on textiles, brewing, ironworking, and shipbuilding, while the northern counties supplied wool, grain, pig iron, and timber.
By Vig's estimation, with the north now conquered and his population surpassing 180,000, once stability returned, annual revenue could reach 1,200 pounds.
The meeting dragged on for two hours—mostly Vig talking to himself.
Given the man's reputation as a "chosen of the gods," no one was surprised. They simply gritted their teeth and endured the yearly ritual.
—------------------------------
Pat reon Advance Chapters: patreon.com/YonkoSlayer