The bustling dock, the lively throng of people, the air thick with the mingled scent of the sea and rum.
The carriage rolled slowly into the port as Leilin Farell gazed out through the small window at the busy scene beyond.
Sailors, farmers, mercenaries, adventurers—all manner of characters filled his vision, quickly sorted in his mind between those who possessed genuine strength and those with ulterior motives lurking behind their eyes.
Having spent so long immersed in his spell studies, Leilin had rarely left the manor, let alone ventured all the way out here.
"It seems the Farlan family has developed this place even beyond my expectations. It's only natural that it would attract the covetous eyes of a few opportunists."
"Hmm? There are even bards!"
Leilin looked toward a crowd gathered near a crossroads, where a bard was performing, and let out an exclamation of surprise.
Bards in the World of the Gods were far more than mere street entertainers. They were often spies and informants, burdened with the task of gathering intelligence, or else making their living by selling information. More importantly, they frequently wielded formidable combat power.
Given the previous level of prosperity at Farlan Port, it clearly had not been attractive enough to draw bards for travel and performances.
"Jacob, that bard—what's his name? How long has he been here?" Leilin asked directly.
"That bard? They say he's called Snow, from a distant northern land. His poems are quite pleasant to listen to, and he has plenty of interesting stories. Before, the Baron had even considered inviting him to perform at the manor…"
Jacob answered promptly.
With the prestige of the Farlan family, the commoners nearby quickly parted to make way, offering their respects to the family that ruled this port and island.
Sitting in the center of the carriage, Leilin felt none of the intoxication that such flattery might bring. Instead, he frowned. "There are far too many people, yet the patrol appears far too infrequently…"
"Jacob, how much force does our family actually maintain here?"
"You mean the patrol teams, young master?" Jacob blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question.
But for the man who had once commanded this place, the state of the patrol had long been etched into his heart. After only a brief pause, he answered without hesitation. "We have two large squads here, totaling a hundred men. All strong, capable fellows!"
"Strong, capable fellows? Good with their muscles? That means there are no transcendent professionals—only enough to suppress ordinary sailors and petty pickpockets?"
Leilin was nearly speechless. "So among these hundred men, how many are actual professionals? How many sets of leather armor do we have? And what about ranged weapons like crossbows?"
In this World of the Gods, where transcendent power was greatly restricted, armor and weapons were a critical factor in one's fighting strength.
A well-equipped, well-trained unit of soldiers could handle fifth-level professionals with ease, and with sufficient numbers, even tenth-level professionals would think twice before engaging them head-on.
Of course, beyond the tenth level, quantity could no longer compensate for quality.
"Professionals? Leather armor and crossbows?" Jacob's surprised voice came from outside the carriage.
"You don't have them?" Leilin sighed.
"Professionals—the two squad leaders are retired military officers recruited by the Baron. They have the strength of low-level warriors, but never passed the fifth-level warrior certification. As for leather armor, only squad leaders and above have a set—twelve pieces in total. And crossbows… our patrol isn't equipped with those, though there seem to be a few in storage at the manor…"
Jacob answered with a faint blush of shame.
"Too few! Far too few! This level of strength is far too thin…" Leilin muttered, more to himself than anyone.
"Why would the young master say that?" Jacob's face registered genuine surprise. "For a baron to command over a hundred elite soldiers—that's practically the strength of a viscount within the Kingdom. And to maintain this force, the Baron has to invest an enormous share of trade profits every single year…"
"A baron… I suppose that's fair enough."
Leilin's expression cleared with sudden understanding. Farlan Island was newly colonized territory with virtually no settled population. Even recruiting farmers to till the land was a headache, let alone directly conscripting soldiers.
To gather sufficient manpower, they had no choice but to hire mercenaries, paying out enormous sums and shouldering costs for food, equipment, and resettlement allowances on top of everything.
In truth, had Farlan Island not been a remote outpost facing hordes of vicious pirates, Baron Jonas would have long since cut the garrison to a fraction of its current size.
Among the barons of the Danbres Kingdom, while they could theoretically conscript similar numbers, they never actually did so outside of wartime—because they simply couldn't afford it.