Lord: My Shop Connects to Modern Times

The horseshoes made a crisp, rhythmic sound as they struck the hard ground.

Gavin Hossman pulled on the reins, nearly causing the squire behind him to crash into him.

He stared at his feet; the road beneath his horse's hooves wasn't the muddy path he'd expected, but a firmly pressed dirt road with shallow ditches dug on either side. The rainwater was probably flowing away along those ditches.

The old butler coughed behind him but didn't say anything.

The walls of Gray Rock Town had been visible for some time.

It was grayish-white, tall and straight. Standing there incongruously in this wasteland, it resembled a giant stone monument.

Gavin moved closer and looked more closely; the seams in the wall were so faint they were almost invisible.

Gavin couldn't resist reaching out and touching it. It was icy cold, hard to the touch, and had a rough surface, but was as flat as a whetstone.

Even though Count Karl, who had sent him to "take a look," had mentioned the special walls here beforehand, he was still somewhat shocked when he actually saw them.

"So it really is an alchemical creation..." Gavin thought to himself.

The man who opened the door in Grayrock Town was a scarred man, wearing patched old leather armor. His gaze swept over them, lingering for a moment on their swords and insignia. He said:

"Wait here." He said, then shrank back inside.

Gavin was a little embarrassed. He was, after all, a legitimate viscount and the third-generation lord of Ironstone Castle. The squire behind him, carrying the flag, was red with anger.

The captain of the guard took a half-step forward, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword. "My lord," he said in a very low voice, "there are many people on the wall..."

Sure enough, several heads could be seen moving around behind the barricade.

When the door opened again, it was much wider, revealing the scene inside.

Gavin's first sight was of twenty or thirty people in the open space, lined up in two crooked rows, holding long spears and thrusting them forward one by one, following the commands of a serious-looking man in front. Their movements were stiff, but no one was slacking off, and their shouts were loud and powerful.

These...are the militia? It looks like they're drilling?

His eyelids twitched, he handed the reins to a boy who came to greet him, straightened his sash, and went inside.

The road had indeed been repaired, though it was still a dirt road, but the terrain was very flat. Several half-finished wooden house frames stood nearby, the wood was freshly cut and still had bark on them, and there were piles of wood shavings on the ground.

There was a sawdust smell in the air, mixed with... an enticing aroma like something being stewed.

"This is unbelievable... Is this really a newly created territory?!" the old butler muttered to himself.

That's the strange thing. Logically speaking, the air in this newly formed refugee camp should be stinking, a mixture of excrement, sweat, and the musty smell of people huddled together waiting to die.

But here… Gavin quietly sniffed, and apart from the smells of earth, wood, and food, there wasn’t much else.

He even saw a thatched shed built in the corner of the wall in the distance, with a deep pit dug next to it, and a layer of grayish-white powder sprinkled around the edge of the pit.

"That's lime."

A voice came from the side. Gavin turned his head and saw that the scarred man had followed him at some point, a hint of smugness on his face: "The lord ordered it to be scattered, to prevent disease."

Gavin hummed in response but didn't reply. His unease deepened: "Disease prevention? When you can't even get enough to eat, who has the time to worry about that?"

As you walk through half the town, the clanging of blacksmithing grows louder and louder.

The blacksmith's shed was right across from the lord's stone house, open and visible from the bottom.

The furnace was burning brightly, flames licking at the rim. A lean young man, shirtless, his back soaked with sweat, was hammering a piece of red-hot iron.

The hammer fell, its sound deep and resonant, each strike like a dull thud into hard wood.

What stopped Gavin in his tracks was not the young man's strength, but the tool in his hand.

That hammer... had a strange design, one end flat and the other end curved up like a ram's horn. The young man would occasionally use that "ram's horn" to hook the red-hot iron block, and with a twist, the iron block would obediently turn in a different direction.

On the nearby wooden stump lay several other items: a pair of pliers, their jaws meshing perfectly; several wrenches of varying sizes, their tenons meticulously crafted; and even a small handsaw, its blade so thin it gleamed, its teeth densely packed together.

Not a single item was the kind he usually saw on his own land or at the market. Everything was designed as if it were "just right".

Gavin suddenly felt a dryness in his throat. He glanced at his captain of the guard, who was staring intently at the claw hammer, his lips taut.

"This way, please." The scarred man led them toward the stone house.

The stone house door was open, and the interior was dimly lit.

Gavin paused briefly at the doorway, letting his eyes adjust. Then he saw Lynn Cole.

The young man before me sat behind a rough wooden table, looking down at a piece of tanned leather with lines drawn on it. He was dressed no better than the blacksmith's apprentice, in coarse linen clothes, and looked nothing like a nobleman.

The other person looked very young, even a little naive. But when those eyes swept over him, Gavin felt a sudden emptiness—it was too calm. Those eyes were like a deep pool of water, without the flattery, fear, or feigned arrogance Gavin had expected; nothing at all, just a calm gaze.

"Viscount Gavin," Lynn put down the leather and stood up to greet him, "I didn't expect you to come. You must have had a long journey."

He spoke very politely, and his expression was full of smiles, which made Gavin even more confused.

Gavin's prepared remarks—"Having heard of your new appointment, I have come to pay my respects. If you have any difficulties, Iron Castle may be able to offer some assistance"—suddenly got stuck in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to spit it out, nor could he swallow it down.

He forced a smile: "Lord Lynn, you're too kind. As neighbors, we should visit each other more often."

After the guests and hosts were seated, a somewhat dazed-looking maid came over with a ceramic pot, poured Gavin a bowl of water, and then left.

"Greyrock Town is newly established and everything needs to be rebuilt, so we don't have much to offer." Lynn pushed the bowl over. "It's just simple food, please don't take offense, Lord Gavin."

As soon as she finished speaking, the maid brought in another wooden tray. Several rough earthenware bowls were placed on it, containing: a bowl of thick, unidentifiable paste, grayish-green in color; several pieces of hard, dark brown wheat cakes; and a small dish of dark brown stuff that looked like a sticky sauce.

"Thank you for your help, Martha."

"It's alright, it's alright, my lord," the little maid said with a grin, then skipped and hopped to a corner of the room to stand.

Gavin glanced at the somewhat clumsy maid with some surprise, then turned his attention to the food that had been brought to him.

The food was indeed crude and bland. Gavin's suppressed sense of superiority quietly resurfaced.

He maintained his composure, picked up a piece of tortilla, hesitated for a moment, dipped it in the brown sauce, and put it in his mouth.

Then, he froze.

An incredibly rich and mellow nutty aroma surged on his tongue. The rough tortilla, paired with this sauce, became an excellent complement, making the aroma even more prominent.

He took another sip of the porridge, his eyes lit up again, and the next moment, he took another sip of water without stopping.

Three items, three brand new flavors.

"These things...? What are they?" Gavin tried his best to keep his expression in check, but he couldn't help but ask.

Lynn smiled and said, "They are all specialties of Grayrock Town."

He would never tell Gavin that it was actually peanut butter, soup with chicken bouillon, and Sprite.

"How did spring planting go in Ironstone Castle this year?" Lynn asked, his tone as if discussing the weather. "I saw flocks of birds coming from the north the other day, earlier than usual. I was wondering if it's because the snow melted earlier in the further north, or... if there's some other activity."

Gavin's heart skipped a beat. A flock of birds? Melting snow? How could he have noticed that?

Moreover, is there some other meaning hidden in these words?

"Thanks to you, things went fairly smoothly," Gavin replied cautiously, his mind no longer on the food. He suddenly realized that from the moment he entered until now, the rhythm had been in the hands of this young exiled viscount.

This meal, this place, this person… nothing was the same as he had imagined before coming, even though he had prepared…

When we left, the sun was almost setting.

Gavin rode on horseback for a long time, and no one spoke. Only when Grayrock Town had completely disappeared into the twilight did the old butler spur his horse closer, his voice dry:

"grown ups……"

"I know," Gavin interrupted him, his voice sounding tired.

He knew exactly what the old butler wanted to say. Everything he had seen today made him realize that Gray Rock Town was not some easy target.

"I must quickly inform Count Karl of these observations..."