Chapter 412: The First Day in Hosman City

With the battles within the southern territories finally over, the post-war work gradually began to unfold.

The Hosman Prisoner-of-War Camp remained the largest of its kind after the war, housing tens of thousands of Allied prisoners awaiting their fate. But keeping so many people idle in the camp, living off rations, was a tremendous waste. Once the manpower shortage for escorting prisoners eased, Duke Gawain ordered that the prisoners be sent in batches to the Kant and Cecil regions. Though the noble Allied army numbered tens of thousands, more than half were farmers and hunters conscripted from the fields—men utterly useless in battle but skilled at farming and labor. They held no loyalty to their former lords; with some training, they could be turned into a reliable workforce in the reconstruction zones.

At the same time, a contingent of two hundred soldiers, a dozen or so civil administrators, and several “guides” entered the Hosman territory.

These guides were a handful of former Hosman retainers who had survived the bombardment at Shattered Stone Ridge—likely the only survivors among the troops Hosman had taken with him. Under their lead, the “Southern Territory Post-War Reconstruction Task Force,” composed of soldiers and administrators, made their way to the count’s castle. The soldiers guarding the castle and the count’s household staff had long since heard the news of the noble Allied army’s crushing defeat and the Cecilians’ takeover of the south. It was impossible not to know—after all, a massive POW camp had been set up right on the border of their lands. For over ten days, these men had waited nervously inside the castle. When the Cecilians finally arrived, they offered almost no resistance, opening the gates and even binding the count’s two children to a carriage to be delivered to the Cecilian officials.

Following Duke Gawain’s orders, the noble heirs, family members, and former knights were all taken as prisoners and sent to Cecil proper. Meanwhile, the task force took direct control of the count’s castle, began restoring order, issuing decrees, and set about establishing a secondary administrative office.

Young civil officer Daedalus sat in the study that once belonged to Count Hosman. Alongside him were several colleagues. They had cleared out the gaudy, heavy wooden carvings and tin flower stands, storing them away in the warehouse. In their place, they set up a large table and chairs, turning the room into a temporary office. Using similar methods, they transformed several adjacent rooms. In these refurbished spaces, the Cecilian administrators were painstakingly planning the new order for the land.

Watching his colleagues bent over their desks, and glancing around at the remaining ornate murals and bookshelves, Daedalus couldn’t help but feel a pang of emotion.

He was a Hosman man—at least, he had been.

The son of a merchant from Hosman territory and an apprentice to a respected historian, he had once been the envy of his peers and the family’s hope for climbing into high society and forging ties with the nobility. If not for his teacher offending Count Hosman during research into southern noble lineages, and Daedalus’s youthful impulsiveness leading him to the castle to defend his mentor, his fate might have been entirely different.

Yet, he owed a strange gratitude to those terrible days—though at the time, he had thought them the worst of his life. Those experiences forced him to leave Hosman, drifting to the town of Tansan as a down-and-out copyist. In hardship, he took a job on a merchant ship bound for Cecil for a paltry two gold coins. At that time, the Cecilian lands were still poor, and he became one of the earliest administrative apprentices there.

From clerk to secretary, then to assistant in a secondary department, and finally to civil officer—the territory’s rapid development in its early days meant the administrative team grew quickly as well. The shortage of personnel and his own abilities allowed young Daedalus to achieve enviable promotions within a year. And in the end, he returned to Hosman territory—not as a banished scholar’s apprentice, but as an official responsible for receiving the land and establishing the secondary administrative office.

The past year felt like a dream; now, he was in the deepest part of that dream.

But a triumphant return did not mean he could afford to relax. Daedalus knew this well. Cecil’s legal system and administrative regulations were exceptionally strict. This new power structure was not built to plunder the territory’s wealth but to maintain order and protect citizens’ rights. The visionary lord who had founded the administration had clearly anticipated the corruption that power and status could bring. Every level of management was subject to rigorous cross-supervision and evaluation. Daedalus knew no system could completely eradicate corruption, but at least he was willing to abide by these rules—rules that had made Cecil strong, ensured its victory, and ultimately allowed him and his team to sit here, governing land that once belonged to a count.

After searching the entire castle and locating the count’s former advisor and steward, the soldiers quickly found the records of the territory’s affairs. Calling them “records” was generous—they were pitifully crude, basically a few large ledgers crudely stuffed with land deeds and rough descriptions of the regions. They were a far cry from the well-organized, detailed, and easily accessible archives of the Cecilian administration, but better than nothing.

Using these rudimentary records and intelligence gathered during their journey through the territory, the team quickly drafted a plan to take over all noble estates and farmlands. Once the population and land surveys were complete, they would begin land redistribution and population relocation, all while maintaining basic order. The task force had many responsibilities, but everything had been planned in advance, and with experience from the Kant territory, Daedalus felt no overwhelming pressure.

After finishing a new document draft, Daedalus looked up and stretched his slightly stiff neck just as the office door was pushed open. Two soldiers entered, escorting a tall, thin man with black hair.

These soldiers were not only the task force’s guards and the “anti-bandit unit” after the takeover but also the administrative enforcers before the secondary office was fully operational. Thanks to ongoing education efforts in Cecil, every soldier in the combat corps had basic literacy skills. While not yet at the level of clerks or administrators, ordinary Cecilian soldiers were already more capable than many noble officials elsewhere—most of whom were illiterate.

“What’s this man’s story?” Daedalus asked, eyeing the newcomer. He was sure he hadn’t seen him before.

“We found him hiding in a cellar,” one soldier reported. “He seemed to be trying to escape through a tunnel but was caught. He says his name is Green. He’s a fur trader in the territory who was imprisoned by the lord for failing to pay taxes. He heard about the lord’s defeat and tried to flee in the chaos.”

“Green…” Daedalus raised his eyes to the black-haired, hooked-nosed man. The man returned a wary, humble smile and bowed slightly, speaking in a tone designed to avoid hostility. “Sir, I’m just an honest merchant… I was planning to do business in Cecil, but as you know, Count Hosman hated the Cecilians. Merchants trying to trade in the southeast were often extorted or detained on various pretexts. That’s why I…”

“Greenwolf, Hosman’s intelligence advisor, low-level infiltrator, age thirty-two, male, thin, black hair, hooked nose. Once a somewhat notorious mercenary in the Hosman region. Nearly killed in a fight over an exploration contract but discovered a knight’s sword sealed in a wall during recovery, which led to his entry into the count’s castle…” Daedalus pulled a card from a stack of files and read aloud, glancing up at Greenwolf. “On the night of Count Hosman’s defeat, you had lamb stew with potatoes and drank two glasses of Karna wine, correct?”

Greenwolf’s smile froze. His eyes widened in disbelief.

As an intelligence chief, he knew exactly what that card meant.

“Mr. Greenwolf, Cecil is everywhere. Remember that,” Daedalus said slowly, locking eyes with him as he slid the card back into the folder. “You shouldn’t have lied at the start. It won’t help shorten your labor sentence.”

Cold sweat began to seep from Greenwolf’s brow. He instinctively repeated one word from Daedalus’s sentence: “Labor?”

“Yes, labor. By order of Duke Gawain of Cecil, all children, family members, retainers, and affiliated supernaturals of defeated nobles must undergo labor reform. Mr. Greenwolf, through great labor, you will come to understand the honor of being a Cecilian citizen.”

The two soldiers stepped forward, flanking Greenwolf.

“You should feel lucky, Mr. Greenwolf. Duke Gawain of Cecil is merciful and just. Our laws are strict but protect you even as they punish. You only need to work, unlike those who resist and end up buried in shell craters,” Daedalus said, pulling out a pre-printed document, filling in key details, signing it, and handing it to one soldier. “Send him to the POW camp first, then to the Northern Shore development zone—they’re short on labor there. This is his ID and transfer paperwork.”

“Wait… wait a moment!” Greenwolf suddenly realized the Cecilians’ methods were nothing like he had expected. None of his escape plans had worked. He was furious and uneasy about this unfamiliar “labor reform.” “I swear loyalty to Duke Gawain—I have plenty of property hidden in my rural estate. I can pay it all, sir. I can buy my freedom. I know how ransom works… Sir, I have an idea… no, a suggestion…”

“You will, of course, swear loyalty to Duke Gawain—after you complete your labor reform,” Daedalus interrupted with a formal smile, taking back the document from the soldier. “But as for your bold suggestion, Cecil has a complete legal system—attempting to bribe an administrator or evade labor reform will extend your labor sentence by two months.”

Greenwolf was stunned, watching helplessly as the new clause was added to the document and handed back to the soldier.

“Mr. Greenwolf, I wish you a smooth reform and hope you soon become an honorable Cecilian citizen. Farewell.”

After the soldiers led the former “intelligence advisor” away, Daedalus shook his head with a smile and said to his colleagues, “How could they have guessed that among their technologists building the magic network and the merchants operating in the territory, there were intelligence agents?”

“He’s supposed to be the head of intelligence?” a government official shook his head in disbelief. “Back home, we could catch a goose that’s better than a guy like this.”

“A goose?”

“No idea. That’s what the lord said—he claimed the intelligence chief is only marginally better than a goose.”

“…”

(End of chapter)