Chapter 43: The Limits of an Era

“Come take a look at these crystals.”

The moment he saw Hetty, Gawain tossed a pale purple standard-issue crystal into her hand without preamble.

The lady glanced curiously at the object, her face quickly lighting up with surprise.

“So this is what you told me about—the treasure trove hidden in the mountains…”

“That’s right, these came from there,” Gawain nodded. Though he hadn’t brought Hetty along this time, he had already briefed her back in Tansan Town about the treasure vault in the Dark Mountains. “These crystals are a technology from the days of the Gondor Empire. Take a look and see if you can figure out their rune structure.”

Any mage with a functioning mind would immediately recognize the value of these crystals. Hetty was instantly captivated by the beautiful pale purple stones. But after handling them for a while, she could only shake her head with a hint of shame.

“Ancestor… I’m sorry. I’m ashamed to say I’m only a level-three mage. I’m afraid I can’t create something so advanced.”

Gawain met her eyes. “I’m not asking you to create them, just analyze the rune structure—and if possible, draw it out. As for manufacturing, I doubt anyone in this age could replicate these. They’re directly infused with magic from the Deep Blue Well.”

“The Deep Blue Well…” Hearing the famous name, Hetty repeated it softly, then looked at the crystal in her hand with eager eyes. “If it’s just about reading and mapping the rune patterns inside, that’s not too difficult. You just need a crystal resonator to project the inscriptions. But simply reading the rune structure… is that meaningful? Without the corresponding energizing techniques and activation methods, the runes are just a bunch of geometric shapes…”

“We’ll get to that later,” Gawain nodded. “These crystals can’t be reproduced anymore. At least before they’re all used up, I want to preserve as much information as possible.”

Hetty gave a soft “oh” and carefully put the crystal away. Though fatigue still showed on her face, learning the exact details about the mountain treasure vault had clearly lifted her spirits, making her complexion look healthier. Gawain took the opportunity to ask about the camp’s progress.

“All the tents will be up before sunset, and we’ll have a fence around the perimeter. I plan to set up some magical traps and early-warning runes around the camp—more than enough to keep wild beasts at bay. The lumberjacks found plenty of quality timber in the western forest. For now, the rough-cut wood is piled upstream along the Whitewater River. After cutting more tomorrow, we can float the logs downstream directly. Also, based on the intel you provided, I sent two men east and they did find iron ore. But we don’t have smelting capabilities yet, so we’ll have to take it slow. The biggest problem right now is manpower. The advance team is mainly here to scout and set up the outpost; resource gathering will have to wait for reinforcements.”

“The main force arrives in three days. By then, the manpower shortage will ease—and tools and materials will catch up,” Gawain said, turning to look at the camp taking shape.

He had many plans, many strategies. The broad perspective of a time traveler combined with Gawain Cecil’s extensive knowledge filled him with confidence. So, seeing the camp’s initial form, a surge of ambition naturally welled up inside him.

Tents were neatly arranged according to plan. Drainage ditches had been dug around the camp; once the Whitewater River’s water was channeled into them tomorrow, they would help prevent the most dangerous threat to a new camp—fire. Craftsmen were working the timber, nailing pieces together to build crude fences. These fences wouldn’t hold up well against real monsters, but they’d be somewhat effective against wild animals. The lumberjacks who had gone to the western forest had returned and were resting now…

Everything looked good on the surface.

But after walking through the camp and taking a closer look, Gawain couldn’t help but frown.

He saw the numb, fearful expressions on the faces of the craftsmen and laborers, along with their various, often clumsy shortcuts. The seemingly neat tents and fences were riddled with signs of shoddy workmanship—missing nails was the most common issue, and some tents weren’t even properly secured.

Under Hetty’s supervision, the craftsmen could complete their tasks accurately, but the civilian laborers were just winging it. Gawain had anticipated that most commoners in this era were illiterate and innumerate, so he had carefully explained to each person how to pitch the tents and how the camp should be laid out. But now it seemed that aside from placing tents and fences where he strictly designated, almost every other detail was subpar!

Didn’t they realize these tents and fences were their only shelter in the wilderness? Their guarantee of survival for the foreseeable future?

Gawain’s frustration boiled over—then he suddenly came to a clear realization:

No, they didn’t know.

Because these things belonged to the lord, not to them. Even if they would live in these tents for now, they didn’t believe they’d stay forever. Sooner or later, once the wasteland was surveyed, they’d be driven out, and the tents would be dismantled to make way for the lord’s castle and stables.

That was the harsh reality of this era, and everyone accepted it as fact.

Despite the disasters that had befallen old Cecil’s domain, despite following the group into exile here, despite starting to build a new home, these peasants and serfs—hardened by a rigid, decaying age—had long since adapted to suffering and numbed themselves to it. They neither hoped for fortune after hardship nor felt the energy and vitality to build a new home.

Gawain realized he had been naive. He also understood that many of the plans he had painstakingly devised might not be easily realized.

He immediately called Hetty and Rebecca over.

In front of a tent that looked acceptable at first glance but was missing several supports and leaned crookedly, he pointed out the careless workmanship. “What do you make of this?”

Hetty didn’t immediately understand and thought he was blaming her. She lowered her head. “Sorry, ancestor, I was supervising…”

“No, this isn’t a supervision problem—you can’t watch every nail being hammered,” Gawain interrupted. “This is a problem with the workers’ attitude.”

“Ancestor, you can’t expect too much from peasants and serfs,” Rebecca said after a moment’s thought. “Most of them have little knowledge. Besides working the fields or mines like their ancestors, they can’t handle more complex tasks. The vast majority have never pitched a tent before—especially since you specified the tent standards and functions, plus the whole camp layout. That’s too complicated for them.”

Gawain shook his head. “Is it really that complicated?”

Hetty nodded slightly. “Only armies camp this strictly. Peasants and serfs can’t manage it.”

“No, it’s not complicated at all. I broke down every step to the simplest level. Each person only needs to do one thing—hammer nails, tie ropes, or saw wood. They don’t need to understand the whole camp layout. The tasks aren’t much more complex than manual labor,” Gawain said, looking at Rebecca and Hetty. “Do you really think peasants and serfs are so dull they can’t manage this?”

Hetty and Rebecca exchanged glances. They could tell Gawain was dissatisfied but hadn’t yet grasped the core issue. As for Gawain’s question—that seemed obvious to them, especially Hetty.

Of course peasants and serfs were dull.

They were born and raised in this era, and neither was a widely traveled, exceptionally gifted thinker. They couldn’t have insights beyond their time.

In fact, Hetty and Rebecca were already extreme progressives among the contemporary nobility—Hetty forbade knights and soldiers in her family from plundering peasants and serfs and tried to ensure everyone in her domain had enough to eat. Rebecca broke the iron law of serfdom, creating paths for serfs to become free citizens, and allowed peasants and serfs to move freely within her lands and engage in commerce…

Each of these reforms challenged convention, but the overall mindset still trapped them in a fixed way of thinking: peasants and serfs were inferior.

Maybe they didn’t consciously believe it, but subconscious biases aren’t so easily dismissed.

Gawain knew this too. Calling his great-great-granddaughters over wasn’t to scold or enlighten them. He wasn’t naive enough to think a few words could suddenly transform the camp’s peasants and serfs into clear-headed, motivated citizens.

This would be a long process. For now, he just needed these people to complete the tasks he assigned as quickly as possible.

“Gather everyone—peasants, serfs, soldiers—all of them,” Gawain ordered. “While there’s still daylight.”

Those working and resting were soon assembled. Even Amber, who was regaling Betty with tales of her mountain treasure adventures, came over out of curiosity—Betty following behind, looking confused.

No one knew what this ancestor from seven centuries ago intended. Even Hetty and Rebecca were puzzled.

The peasants and serfs simply obeyed numbly, gathering in separate groups, with soldiers standing by to maintain order.

Many assumed their “new lord” had another command—probably even more complicated than the “tent pitching regulations”—and some frowned, thinking they’d only get to rest after finishing the work.

Gawain stood on a large rock, looking down at the hundred or so people below. He spotted Amber sneaking around in the crowd, ready to cause trouble, but decided to stay silent for now.

Clearing his throat, he raised his voice so everyone could hear: “People of Cecil’s domain, I have something to say—about your future, and the new laws of the Cecil lands!”

(End of chapter)