Raising the Northern Grand Duchy as a Max-Level All-Master

Trends naturally flow from the top down.

With Arina carrying the bag Arad made so fondly, it was inevitable that those around her would be influenced.

Starting with Arina, the maids and noblewomen of the High Tower began wearing or carrying bags of a similar design at their waists.

In no time, this trend spread across the entire North.

Of course, these bags only resembled the original in appearance and lacked any magical functionality.

Still, the simple design was enough to captivate the hearts of the Northerners.

“Arad’s Devotion is becoming a common sight.”

During one of her inspections, Arina casually remarked as she glanced around.

As she observed, even the officials and knights accompanying her now wore bags resembling hers, hanging from their waists.

Moreover, commoners walking through the High Tower had also begun wearing roughly imitated versions of the design.

While the replicas only mimicked the external appearance, they fell far short of the original in quality. The texture and sheen of the leather, the craftsmanship, and the polished finish were leagues apart. Most importantly, only Arina’s bag possessed magical effects.

“The leather craftsmen of the North must be having a field day for the first time in a while.”

Following Arad’s Salt, the North—once defined solely by survival and battle—was now adding a new layer of vibrancy: fashion.

“If this displeases you, we can issue a prohibition order.”

A cautious official asked, gauging Arina’s mood. The official himself had a knockoff bag resembling Arad’s Devotion hanging from his waist.

“No, it’s fine. It’s heartening to see even this small spark of life brighten our land.”

Arina shook her head with a faint smile.

“But where is Arad Jin right now?”

Instead of worrying about the trend, she inquired about Arad, the talent who had sparked it.

“He’s… at the southwestern outskirts with the witches,” answered Yulcanes, a senior knight, with a slightly hesitant tone.

“The witches?”

As expected, Arina’s fine brows knit momentarily at the mention of witches before relaxing again.

‘Now that I think about it… Isabelle hasn’t been around today either.’

“Is Isabelle with them as well?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Hmm…”

Hearing that Isabelle was present eased her mind somewhat.

“And do you know what they’re doing?”

“I heard they are measuring the land’s magical energy…”

“Lead the way.”

Arina promptly decided to make the southwestern outskirts, where Arad and the witches were, her next inspection destination.

***

The North is cold.

Its conditions are among the worst for farming.

Wheat could only be grown in the greenhouses at the High Tower or in a few patches of land near the Empire’s borders.

Even hardier crops like potatoes could only be cultivated in small quantities on limited plots of land.

Most of the remaining land was overrun with wild weeds.

“Arad, thanks to you, the North is coming back to life.”

“That seems to be the case.”

“…Oh, hohoho! I like your confidence.”

“Hahaha, excessive modesty isn’t always a virtue.”

A little farther southwest of Renslet Castle.

The Spring Witch Isabelle and several Northern witches strolled through fields overrun with white weeds, laughing as they went.

“You’re right, Arad. The salt you’ve created is a true blessing. It’s become the lifeline for so many wandering commoners of the North.”

“I’m glad my recipe has been of such great help,” I replied calmly to yet another round of Isabelle’s praise.

By the way, the witches all had bags resembling the one I had gifted Arina hanging from their waists.

‘They’re quite skilled, aren’t they?’

Of course, these weren’t bags I had made; the witches had crafted them themselves.

The craftsmanship and finish were excellent, enough to make me nod in approval.

‘I’d love to teach them magic stone theory and magical circuit design soon…’

However, the bags they made showed no signs of any spatial magic enchantments. This lack of progress felt like a wasted opportunity to me.

‘Couldn’t I start passing down knowledge to the witches while maintaining security? They have nowhere else to go besides this land. I don’t understand why they shy away every time I try to share even a little information.’

Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but question the witches’ overly cautious attitude.

“Look over there at the people picking weeds in the fields. Without Arad’s Salt, they would have been starving vagabonds under the guise of low-tier adventurers.”

While I was lost in thought, Isabelle continued, drawing my attention to the commoners gathering weeds in the field.

Their tattered clothing and rugged appearances reflected lives of hardship and poverty, but their faces were bright with hope.

“Do you think Her Highness foresaw this when she freely shared the recipe for Arad’s Salt?”

“Breathing life into this land has always been a dream of the first Grand Duke.”

In the North, primogeniture was the rule.

This was unavoidable. With limited arable land and no widespread contraception, the medieval tendency to produce many children persisted.

While daughters could be married off, younger sons faced the grim reality of having to fend for themselves as they approached adolescence.

By the time they were fourteen or fifteen, most were effectively forced to leave home and become independent.

If they were lucky, they might find work as soldiers, servants to noble families, or laborers for merchants.

But most ended up as low-tier adventurers, practically indistinguishable from vagrants.

Those who couldn’t even manage that often became mercenaries, enduring scorn and discrimination in the Empire.

Ironically, this lifestyle suited the Northerners.

Though diluted, the blood of druids ran through their veins, granting them resilience to cold and strong survival instincts.

“Since the recipe was bound to leak eventually, it was better to distribute it freely to provide food for the people sooner. That was Her Highness’s intent.”

With the advent of Arad’s Salt, their fates had changed overnight.

“The entire Arcadia continent, including the Empire, now desires Arad’s Salt. It’s becoming comparable to the spices of the Eastern Continent—or perhaps even surpassing them.”

Isabelle’s voice was high-pitched, her excitement unmistakable.

I played along with the witch’s words, nodding.

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