Boundless Family Upgrades For The Deadbeat Lord

The eighty-seven refugees from Marden spent their first night inside Althoff without a single one of them dying.

To Raymond, that alone counted as a victory.

The worst of the injured had been placed inside one of the warmer communal longhouses near the castle, where Marianne had ordered several beds pushed together to create a temporary treatment area.

Hot water had been prepared throughout the evening, the children had been wrapped in clean wool blankets, and Lily personally supervised the distribution of thin grain porridge and meat broth to prevent the half-starved survivors from immediately stuffing themselves until they became sick.

Several of the refugees had tried to refuse the food at first, insisting that it should be given to the children instead, only to stare in complete disbelief when they were told that Althoff possessed enough stored grain to feed everyone.

Raymond had heard about that reaction later that night and couldn’t help feeling a small amount of pride.

A few months ago, hearing that House Althoff possessed enough food to feed strangers would have sounded like the beginning of a ridiculous joke. Now the statement was simply true.

By the following morning, the first stage of registration had already begun.

Raymond entered the western communal longhouse shortly after breakfast and found Lily sitting behind a long wooden table that looked comically oversized compared to her small body.

Several thick sheets of parchment had been spread before her, along with an ink bottle, two quills, and a stack of blank household forms Marianne had prepared the previous evening. Marianne sat beside her, calmly questioning an elderly refugee while Lily copied the information into the ledger with surprising speed.

The surviving families waited in an orderly line along the wall, still wearing the winter clothes temporarily issued to them from House Althoff’s emergency stockpile.

Most looked significantly better after a full night’s sleep and warm food, although exhaustion remained visible across their faces.

Raymond slowed as he approached the table and listened for several moments before interrupting.

"Name?" Marianne asked.

"Torren."

"Age?"

"Fifty-two."

"Household?"

"My wife, my youngest daughter, and her son."

"Occupation?"

The older man hesitated before answering, "Carpenter. Mostly roofing and timber framing. My eldest boy worked with me before..." His voice caught briefly, but he forced himself to continue. "Before Marden fell."

Marianne didn’t push him.

She simply nodded and moved on. "Any current injuries?"

"Nothing serious. Bruised ribs."

"Can you work?"

Torren looked almost offended. "I can work."

Lily immediately wrote something down.

Raymond’s eyebrows rose.

When Marianne finally noticed him standing nearby, she began to rise, but Raymond lifted one hand and stopped her. "Continue. I want to see how you’re organizing this."

Marianne settled back down. "Yes, my Lord."

Raymond moved to Lily’s side and glanced over the ledger.

The entries were much more detailed than he expected.

Name.

Age.

Family members.

Previous residence.

Occupation.

Secondary skills.

Physical condition.

Injuries.

Combat experience.

Literacy.

Whether they owned tools.

Whether they had livestock before the attack.

Even notes about relatives who might still be alive outside Althoff.

Raymond looked toward Lily.

"You made all of this?"

Lily didn’t look up from the parchment. "Marianne helped."

Marianne smiled faintly. "Lady Lily insisted that simply knowing how many refugees entered the town was useless if we didn’t know what they were capable of doing."

Raymond looked back at the little girl.

Lily continued writing with a serious expression.

For one uncomfortable second, Raymond remembered what he had been doing at ten years old. Probably arguing with his mother about vegetables.

He immediately pushed the thought away before his self-respect suffered another injury.

"Good," he said instead. "Very good. Keep going."

The registration process continued throughout the morning.

The first thing Raymond discovered was that the eighty-seven survivors were far more useful than the word refugee suggested.

They weren’t simply eighty-seven hungry mouths. They were eighty-seven lives that had existed long before arriving at his gate.

And those lives contained experience: Skills, knowledge, occupations.

The realization became clearer with every household Marianne questioned.

There were five experienced hunters, including Edran Marr, who had spent most of their lives traveling the outer Blackridge foothills. Three knew how to identify common Magic Beast tracks, migration patterns, winter dens, and edible plants hidden beneath snow.

One of the younger hunters had limited knowledge of trapping and could construct simple snares large enough to catch ordinary game.

There were two blacksmiths.

One had spent fifteen years repairing hunting blades, axes, nails, hinges, farming tools, and simple spearheads for Marden. The other had worked as his apprentice for six years.

Raymond almost wanted to hug them.

Althoff had been suffering from an embarrassing shortage of skilled metalworkers since the beginning.

Even the simple farm equipment Raymond needed had required improvisation, and much of the town’s existing ironwork was old, rusted, or poorly maintained.

Two competent smiths might not sound impressive to a wealthy city, but to Raymond they were practically industrial infrastructure walking around in human form.

Then came three carpenters.

A leatherworker and his adult son.

Two herbalists.

Eleven experienced farmers.

Four women who had spent years preserving meat, curing vegetables, and managing communal food stores.

A former village guard named Darric Cole, age thirty-six, who had served as Marden’s watch captain before the settlement fell.

Several young men possessed basic bow experience.

Others knew livestock handling.

One elderly woman had delivered babies for nearly thirty years.

Another man knew how to make charcoal efficiently.

Even some of the teenagers had useful knowledge from assisting their parents.

By midday, Raymond had stopped viewing the registration ledger as a list of refugees.

It looked more like a recruitment document.

He stood beside the table with his arms folded, watching another family move away after registering, while his mind began reorganizing everything automatically.

Five hunters. Two blacksmiths. Three carpenters. Leatherworkers. Herbalists. Farmers. A former guard captain...

The System had been encouraging population growth from the beginning, but Raymond had unconsciously treated population as a number attached to his territory.

Five thousand people meant the requirement for the next Family Grade.

More loyal citizens meant a larger personal multiplier.

More workers meant more construction.

That was true.

But incomplete.

People weren’t interchangeable units. One skilled blacksmith could provide more value to certain parts of the territory than twenty ordinary laborers.

A hunter who understood Blackridge might save an entire patrol from walking into a predator den.

A competent carpenter could improve winter housing.

An herbalist could identify medicine that Raymond didn’t even know existed.

A former guard captain could help Boris organize the growing civilian defense force.

Raymond suddenly understood something so obvious that he felt mildly embarrassed for not thinking about it sooner.

Population wasn’t merely manpower.Population was human capital.

And if the Winter Migration continued destroying smaller settlements throughout northern Zulor...

Then every refugee group reaching Althoff could carry skills his barony desperately needed.

That thought felt disturbingly opportunistic.

Raymond rubbed his chin.

People are losing their homes and I’m standing here thinking about labor specialization.

He paused. Well... I can feel guilty after I stop them from freezing to death

The logic was difficult to argue with.

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