Chapter 346: Skilled Immigrants

After seeing off the knights from Kant and finishing the day’s routine paperwork, the entire day had slipped away.

Gawain stood by the window, watching the massive sun slowly dip toward the horizon. No matter how many times he saw this otherworldly sun, it never failed to fill him with awe. He gazed at the faint, swirling patterns on its surface—likely atmospheric turbulence—and casually pushed open the study window.

A cold gust immediately swept inside, swirling through every corner of the room. Though it was already the month of Rebirth, the weather still had a long way to go before warming up. For now, the morning and evening winds remained sharp and biting.

Gawain didn’t mind the chill; in fact, he enjoyed the clear-headed feeling the cold breeze brought. He took a deep breath, facing into the wind. But not everyone here shared his tolerance for cold: a shadowy figure materialized almost instantly from the nearby air, rushing over to slam the window shut with a snap. Muttering under her breath, she scolded, “What’s wrong with you? Opening the window in this freezing weather—someone could catch their death!”

It turned out that besides throwing flashbangs, opening windows was one of the best ways to force a master of shadows out of stealth.

Gawain couldn’t help but laugh at Amber’s grumbling. “If you were a guard for any other lord, you probably wouldn’t last past your shift.”

“If you were any ordinary lord, I wouldn’t even bother being your lackey,” Amber retorted, hands on hips, clearly ready to tease him some more. But before she could say another word, the scent of food wafted through the door crack and into the study. The half-elf rogue immediately lost all dignity, sniffing the air and exclaiming, “Wow… the roast smells amazing today…”

Gawain took a careful sniff himself, frowning slightly. “That doesn’t smell like Betty’s cooking.”

“I’m not here to analyze it—I’m starving and want to eat!” Amber said quickly, waving him off as she darted out the door. Gawain shook his head with a smile and followed her out.

Many nobles were accustomed to imposing endless dining rules: strict seating hierarchies, precise servant placements, specific music selections, even exact arrangements of plates and candlesticks. They took pride in these rigid rituals as a mark of their “civilization.” But the Cecil family’s dinners were different. After a century of decline, their ancestral dining etiquette had been greatly simplified. When their forebear rose from the grave and expressed displeasure at having a crowd of people blowing horns and banging drums during meals, most of the remaining rules were discarded. Now, only two remained: the ancestor must be seated before the meal begins, and everyone must wash their hands beforehand.

When Gawain entered the dining room, he saw Hetty and Rebecca already waiting at the table. Even the usually reclusive sea witch was curled up patiently nearby, while Betty bustled about setting out plates, cups, and cutlery.

Gawain smiled at Tyr. “Rare to see you interested in joining us for a meal today.”

“I heard there’s a new cook,” Tyr said, wagging the tip of her tail. “I was curious, so I came to try it out.”

“A new cook?” Gawain blinked, glancing at Hetty, the steward. “What new cook?”

“Santis has returned,” Hetty explained with a smile. “The last caravan arrived this evening, but we hadn’t had a chance to report it to you yet. He brought his family along. His father, Mr. Bowside, is a chef, and since we’re short on cooks right now, I asked him to give it a try.”

“Santis is back… looks like spring really has arrived,” Gawain said with a pleased expression. Then he added, “But they just got here. They should rest for a day.”

“Mr. Bowside insisted,” Hetty said helplessly. “You have to understand—he left the capital and came to an unfamiliar place. He wants to settle into work quickly so he can relax.”

“That makes sense,” Gawain nodded, then looked at Betty with a smile. “How’s the new cook?”

“He’s amazing!” Betty nodded vigorously, admiration shining in her eyes. “Better than me!”

She said it so matter-of-factly, without a hint of jealousy or threat to her kitchen status. As long as no one touched her frying pan or interfered with her duties setting the table and serving the lord, she was perfectly content.

Gawain suspected that even if someone did challenge her “rights,” she wouldn’t know how to resist.

Before he could say more, Amber couldn’t hold back any longer. The half-elf, who never cared for rules and had long since gotten used to freeloading meals with Gawain’s family, quickly sliced off a piece of roast and stuffed it into her mouth. She sucked in air sharply, then mumbled through the heat, “Hoo… this… this really is delicious…”

“Is it really that good?” Tyr eyed Amber skeptically, poking at the food with her tail tip. She cut off a piece herself and chewed a few times, then swallowed with a blank expression. “Still pretty bland. I was expecting more.”

“You’re talking nonsense. Don’t you realize you have no sense of taste? You shouldn’t have such unnatural expectations,” Gawain rolled his eyes at the sea caterpillar, then sampled the new cook’s work himself. Nodding with approval, he said, “Not bad. Let’s keep Mr. Bowside here. But more than that, I want to know how many people Santis brought with him.”

Hetty anticipated his question and answered promptly: “About a hundred craftsmen and twenty-three scholars came with him, along with three mage apprentices and one low-level mage.”

Over a hundred craftsmen and more than twenty scholars was a manageable number for Gawain. Such intellectual and technical talent was invaluable to the domain. But hearing the number of mages and apprentices, he frowned. “Only one official mage? Just a few apprentices?”

Amber swallowed hard and widened her eyes. “Even someone like Kamail, an ancient magus, can’t attract mages from the capital?”

Hetty seemed to enjoy teasing them. Seeing their reactions, she smiled and added, “There are actually nine official mages and over twenty apprentices on their way here—one of them is even mid-level.”

Gawain recognized the rare sparkle in Hetty’s smile—his usually serious granddaughter was having a bit of fun.

Nine official mages and over twenty apprentices! Including a mid-level mage!

Though individual spellcasting levels held little weight in Cecil’s current magitech system, higher mage ranks usually meant greater talent and stronger mathematical skills—extremely useful traits.

Santis surely knew the demands of magitech industry and had carefully selected his team. This group of mages and apprentices was a treasure trove for the domain’s urgent need for skilled workers.

Arranging a trip to the capital for Santis had been the right call. Compared to the remote and neglected southern lands, Ansu—the kingdom’s seven-century-old center—offered far richer talent resources. The city housed the kingdom’s highest magical technology, along with the Royal Mage Association, the Wizards’ Guild, the Magic Research Society, and dozens of other magical organizations. Low-level mages and apprentices were plentiful there.

“Santis has already established a base in the capital to openly recruit talent,” Hetty continued. “Following your previous instructions, ‘Witch’ Jipri and ‘Quick Legs’ Pierce will maintain operations after Santis leaves. So we can expect a steady stream of skilled workers arriving. As the Cecil domain grows, talent inflow will only increase.”

Gawain listened with growing satisfaction, then let out a relieved breath. Looking at his granddaughter, he said, “Try not to get so out of breath when you talk next time.”

Hetty exaggeratedly bowed her head, adopting a solemn tone. “I shall heed your advice—”

“Alright, alright. If this keeps up, you’ll turn into another Rebecca,” Gawain interrupted with a laugh.

Across the table, Rebecca, who had been struggling with her meat the whole time, looked up in surprise. “What do I have to do with this?”

She’d been so focused on wrestling with her food that she hadn’t caught any of the conversation until her name was called.

Gawain was in a great mood and found Rebecca’s flustered expression especially endearing. “Go prepare yourself. Your magitech research institute is about to get busy. Didn’t you complain before that practical engineering needed too many hands and there was never enough help? Well, now you have at least a hundred apprentices to train. You’ll have to turn those runic craftsmen, mechanists, and runemasters into magitech engineers as quickly as possible.”

The hundred-plus craftsmen and scholars Santis brought were exactly the talent the domain needed. But adapting them to Cecil’s “technical requirements” wasn’t as simple as it sounded. Besides instilling Cecil’s laws, they had to learn a vast amount of magitech foundational skills and theory. Transforming traditional craftsmen into magitech engineers was the first step to making them true technical personnel.

Fortunately, Rebecca had already led a group of “problematic” novices with even less background through a rough but successful training process. Gawain had no doubt that this seemingly scatterbrained but gifted girl could handle a smarter, more obedient team.

The magitech research institute had been completed a few days ago, with several large labs and workshops ready. Now was the perfect time to train apprentices.

Of course, not everyone could be crammed into the institute. Gawain planned to select some scholars to work with Santis, turning them into teachers at the General Academy.

Those with exceptional theoretical talent among the runemasters would be sent to the Runic Research Institute.

Rebecca listened in a daze, a few drops of meat juice clinging to her lips unnoticed. When she finally grasped that she was about to lead a large team, she jumped up and cheered, “Wow!”

Then she flung her fork straight up at the ceiling.

Gawain looked up at the fork stuck overhead, then down at Hetty’s darkening expression.

He sighed. “Go ahead and hit her—but be gentle.”

(End of chapter)