Chapter 164: Winter Construction Plans

Heddy’s worries weren’t unfounded given the era’s context. For most people—and even by the facts of this time—winter meant only one thing: everything withers, life slows, work grinds to a halt. Humans would stockpile enough food and fuel beforehand, then cease all labor, retreating home to simply consume what they had stored.

Just like animals that stash food in tree hollows and hunker down in caves to survive the cold months.

This way of life was dictated by reality. Despite the existence of all sorts of seemingly magical “black tech” powers, those belonged only to a tiny elite. The vast majority of society remained firmly tied to the land. Farmers produced nearly all the wealth, and agriculture—and all production based on it—was the backbone of the economy. When winter came and farming stopped, about eighty percent of the population became idle. The outdated noble order forbade these commoners from freely trading or engaging in any “side jobs unbefitting their status.” Without noble permission, even fishing in rivers or hunting and gathering firewood in the mountains was severely punished.

On top of that, most commoners had only limited food reserves for winter, often barely managing half rations throughout the season. They dared not waste energy on any “improper” activities—each breath of warm air they exhaled was a drain on their already scarce strength, risking starvation or freezing to death before spring.

But in the Cecil domain, things were completely different.

The Cecil family currently had no extravagant expenses, greatly reducing costs. New production methods ensured ample supplies before winter. Pittman and his alchemy apprentices worked tirelessly to guarantee food abundance. Combined with grain purchased from Tansang Town and royal aid, the people of Cecil’s lands had no need to worry about consumption during winter.

It’s worth emphasizing the royal support—Gawain admitted he’d slightly taken advantage of King Francis II. The agreement with the crown covered the domain’s initial development expenses, but didn’t specify population size or rapid growth. So Gawain had openly requested extra supplies from the royal treasury multiple times…

With food secured, Gawain had plenty of work to offer.

No work in winter? That was other domains. Cecil’s lands were bustling. The steel mill was expanding, two large new factory buildings were added beside the mechanical workshop to house new production lines, and the furnace area for smelting Rebecca crystals was converted into a formal factory called the “Mana Crystal Smelting Plant.” It not only produced Rebecca crystals but also housed a lab testing new substances synthesized from minerals mined in the Dark Mountains. The “silly reindeer” happily threw over two hundred fireballs daily into crucibles and small furnaces in the lab…

Besides that, the eastern iron mine and countless construction sites across the domain all needed workers.

Winter hardened the ground and froze water, slowing construction progress, but work didn’t stop. Rebecca’s experimental “otherworldly cement” had low output but performed well in cold weather. Plus, there were no massive buildings underway, so projects continued steadily. And a major project was about to begin—

As the Whitewater River entered its dry season and water levels dropped, Gawain planned to build a sturdy, permanent bridge to replace the temporary crossing. This would enable smooth development on the river’s northern bank come spring.

He even worried that, despite the refugees in the wilderness, there still might not be enough manpower—after all, those newcomers needed training. At first, they couldn’t handle working alongside a powerful mana engine constantly churning nearby…

After laying out all these plans and supporting documents before Heddy, she was stunned for a long moment.

“So, no more worries about the refugees being idle, right?” Gawain smiled. “We have plenty of jobs to keep them busy all winter. And through this, everyone will adapt to Cecil’s straightforward new laws. What else is there to worry about?”

Heddy glanced silently at the plans on the table, then took a deep breath. “Worried about them working themselves to death…”

Gawain: “…ahem…”

Seeing the pressure his eldest granddaughter faced, Gawain tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry. Viscount Andrew managed to recruit a group of down-on-their-luck knights, bankrupt merchants, and scholars from his lands. He paid them to come work here. I plan to assign half to teach at night school, and the other half to assist you. That way, when winter comes, you can get the internal affairs department up and running.”

Only then did Heddy finally relax. “Thank the ancestors…”

“That sounds just like what those barbarians used to say,” Gawain said with a strange look. “Back then, no matter what they did, they’d always start by praising their ancestor spirits…”

Heddy thought for a moment. “I’m different. My ancestors really can hear me thanking them…”

“And then your ancestors reduce your workload, right?” Gawain gave his rare joking granddaughter a wry look. “Alright, get to work. When the next batch of workers arrives from Tansang Town, I’ll pick some assistants for you first. Just don’t say ‘thank the ancestors’ in front of me again… I got psychological scars dealing with those barbarians. Every time I hear that phrase, I feel like I’m turning into a restless spirit…”

Heddy: “…”

Not long after Heddy left, Amber’s figure materialized nearby.

Gawain smoothly swept all the valuables on the desk toward himself, then raised an eyebrow at the half-elf thief. “So, have those two mercenaries we caught started cooperating?”

“Not yet. Since you forbid mistreating prisoners, they’re still stalling with the soldiers,” Amber sauntered over to Gawain’s desk, pouted when she couldn’t get her hands on anything, and said, “Why don’t you just consider tying those two stubborn mercs to a post and whipping them a few times? Mercenaries like that are easy to handle. They act fierce in front of refugees, but if you’re tough, they’ll sell out their employers in a heartbeat. Right now, they won’t talk because you neither whip them nor bribe them…”

“The kind you’re talking about are mercenaries who steal and scavenge for a few silver coins, basically armed militia,” Gawain glanced at the half-elf. “But the two we caught… didn’t you notice? One’s a level-three knight, the other a level-two arcane mage. Plus the low-level knight and mage who got shot to death earlier. Though low-level, these professions in the South can easily become commanders or occult advisors for some lord. If they earn battle honors in the East and curry favor with the Silas Loren family, they could even be ennobled as barons or viscounts. Yet they choose to be mercenaries in this backwater. Why do you think that is?”

Amber thought hard. “For ideals? Look, I’m a powerful shadow master, and I still dig up graves…”

Gawain didn’t expect a serious answer from this “shame of all things.” After Amber finished her nonsense, he continued, “There are strong professionals among mercenaries, but those groups usually operate near the Northern Holy Dragon Duchy or the Eastern Typhon Empire—places with danger and opportunity. The wealth gained from quests and contracts there justifies this less-than-honorable path. The South has been peaceful for so long that mercenary groups here are usually weak and poorly funded. Those with several professionals and exceptional gear are usually ‘black hand’ squads serving one or more nobles.”

He smiled. “These mercenaries have strong mental fortitude and often have dirt or hostages held by nobles, so they don’t fear torture. Ordinary whipping won’t work.”

Amber looked curious. “Then how do you get them to talk?”

“Pittman says he has a method, but it requires special ointments and rituals, so I’m in no rush,” Gawain said with a smile. “Besides, I don’t believe you didn’t find anything useful on those two mercs. I know your personality—you can’t even fetch ink from the storeroom without drinking half a bottle on the way…”

Amber blushed furiously. “I never drank ink!”

“I’m just using a metaphor, get it?”

“Pfft,” Amber grumbled through clenched teeth, then reluctantly started rummaging through her belongings with a conflicted expression. “Look, these are my spoils. You have to give them back after you see them…”

“Give back? I just made a rule forbidding battlefield looting. All spoils go to the public treasury and are recorded for merit, remember?” Gawain examined the various trinkets Amber pulled out. “Don’t pout—you’re my personal guard. You want to lead by example breaking the rules? Besides, I’m not refusing compensation. There are rewards for merit… Hah, quite a haul. No wonder the soldiers reported finding no valuables on those prisoners… you got everything, huh?”

Amber’s eye twitched, heart bleeding at the thought, but she felt better after Gawain promised compensation.

Then Gawain’s gaze was suddenly drawn to a dagger among the small items.

Its hilt bore a mark resembling a noble family’s crest.

(End of chapter)