Chapter 55: Laying the Foundation

Amber’s mouth was, as usual, oscillating wildly between irritating and downright infuriating. In the past, at this moment, Gawain would have already grabbed the Sword of the Pioneer, ready to smack her against the wall. But this time, he didn’t bother arguing back.

Because he was in a genuinely good mood.

He even had the patience to discuss something a bit more serious with Amber. “Do you know how valuable that magic circle is?”

“How valuable?” Amber blinked. To be fair, this half-elf lady was quite confident in her own magical knowledge—mainly because she was very sure she knew absolutely nothing about it. So she admitted without a hint of embarrassment, “I can’t even tell how many types of magical runes are used there. How would I know its value…?”

Gawain hadn’t expected such blunt honesty and nearly choked on his own surprise. But having lived through the internet age in his past life, he quickly adjusted his mindset. “Alright, let me put it another way—if magic became something everyone could use, or at least ‘borrow,’ how valuable do you think that technology would be?”

Amber froze. After a good thirty seconds, she said in disbelief, “You mean… that magic circle could turn everyone into a mage? You haven’t been staring at the sun too long these past few days, have you?”

Gawain ignored the snark and shook his head with a smile. “It can’t turn everyone into a mage, of course. But it might let everyone access the supernatural realm. I don’t think Hetty even fully realizes what that circle means. It’s not just ‘a lousy caster piecing together a big magic circle with basic runes.’ Its greatest significance is a breakthrough—a breakthrough in making magic ‘universal, accessible, and easy to use.’ To let his daughter, who has no magical talent, receive mana, that wild mage designed a self-charging circle that provides a constant, adjustable mana output to any mana-consuming unit. Before that… no great mage in the world had even conceived of this, because they always relied on their own hands to do it.”

Amber looked puzzled. “If you can control mana freely with your own power, isn’t that way more impressive than needing a huge magic circle to achieve something similar?”

Gawain met her gaze. “A mountain gorilla can crush a bear’s skull with its bare hands, but humans need a war hammer to do the same. Which do you think is stronger?”

Amber: “…Huh?”

Gawain didn’t respond to her stunned silence. Instead, he stood and walked to the tent’s entrance.

The treasure left behind by that unknown wild mage wasn’t just the magic circle—it included a wealth of research notes. As someone extremely limited in casting ability, he had to compensate with calculations and advanced concepts. His notes were full of this, and when Gawain first saw them, he was deeply surprised. He could hardly believe such ideas came from someone living in a backward, oppressive medieval world.

Automatic operation, compatible transmission interfaces, “idiot-proof” external controls, rune arrangements based on geometry, simplified rune formulas…

Without the broad perspective from another world, most people here would have tossed these “clumsy struggles” into the trash. Any mid-level caster could skip those steps with their advanced magic techniques—they never even thought about “letting those without magic or with low talent control mana” as a possibility.

Those great mages who wielded fire and thunder with their own strength were formidable, but to Gawain, true advancement came the day a lousy wild mage separated magic from personal talent and freed his hands—turning it from a fist into a club.

Like when humans first tied a stone to a wooden stick and used that crude war hammer to kill beasts many times stronger than themselves. It was a leap forward.

Unfortunately, after thousands of years, humans here were still making war hammers.

Gawain felt it was time to strap a rocket booster onto that war hammer…

Putting aside Rebecca, who was overjoyed and studying the magic circle’s original blueprint to figure out construction, the third day—when enough hands had arrived—marked the official start of the Cecil Territory’s land reclamation.

Food is the foundation of survival. No matter how many grand plans Gawain had—based on multi-layered steel and rocket-powered hammers—he first had to make sure everyone in the territory had enough to eat.

They had already stocked enough food in Tansan Town, and the king promised grain and cloth supplies for the territory’s early years. But those were only temporary. For long-term survival, self-sufficiency was essential. Sure, they could trade mineral resources for grain with neighboring lords, but as a pioneer from the Celestial Empire, Gawain shared a common obsession:

No grain, no peace of mind.

Land reclamation! Farming! How could anyone sleep without first breaking ten acres of land? How could you say you’ve settled in if you haven’t planted two vegetable gardens behind the base? Since ancient times, the only true standard for expanding and settling new lands has been—breaking new ground!

Of course, this was a natural thought. But in a world with supernatural powers, Gawain knew he still had much to learn.

A simple truth: knowing that humans here use runes to smelt iron with straw as fuel, who could guarantee that piling up manure would beat the local primitive techniques?

Moreover, without fully understanding this world’s fundamental rules, Gawain couldn’t be sure how much of his Earth knowledge would apply. What if the microbes here didn’t follow the basic laws?

But regardless of these details, the basic idea of “settle down by farming first” was sound.

Gawain arrived at the reclamation site. Everything was still very basic. Rebecca had come yesterday and spent half a day casting a massive fireball to burn the overgrown weeds and shrubs, completing a perfect controlled burn. Today, the serfs began deep plowing to turn the nutrient-rich ash into the soil and clear stones mixed in the earth.

Gawain was pleased to see that the system he had ordered was being implemented here. Every hundred steps, wooden stakes marked the vast wasteland, dividing it into evenly sized plots. Workers labored within these plots, while other groups prepared to dig irrigation ditches between them. At the edge of the reclamation area, a temporary wooden shed had been set up. Hetty and a few others stayed there, recording progress and managing tool checkouts and returns.

The shed also housed a large cooking stove, where the workers ate their midday meals nearby.

The workers no longer found Gawain’s presence strange. This “somewhat odd noble lord” liked to wander the noisy, chaotic worksite and chat with the peasants. At first, this made many nervous and uneasy, but now…

The nervousness remained, but the unease had faded considerably—especially after Gawain fulfilled his promises that “everyone who works seriously will eat their fill” and “those who work extra hard get meat.” The commoners and serfs of the territory had grown to trust and feel close to their new lord, who kept his word and had a growing reputation.

Gawain walked through the bustling labor scene and entered the wooden shed at the edge of the fields. Hetty stood nearby, talking seriously with a dark-skinned farmer, while Knight Philip stood guard.

Gawain’s nearly two-meter frame made his presence impossible to miss. As he approached, Hetty looked up and stood, and the farmer turned around. Seeing their lord, he quickly bowed. “My lord…”

“No need to be nervous,” Gawain waved him off. “I’m just here to check on things.”

Curious, he looked at the man who appeared to be a farmer but was discussing matters with Hetty. “Are you an expert in farming?”

In the common tongue of the Loren Continent, “expert” and “scholar” were the same word. Hearing this, the farmer became even more nervous and shook his hands. “I could never compare to those learned gentlemen… I’m just a farmer.”

“He’s Norris,” Hetty introduced. “A farmer in the territory with excellent farming skills. I came to him for advice on land reclamation and cultivation.”

Gawain sized up Norris. A typical medieval peasant—dark-skinned, thin, with rough hands and feet, and a humble expression. He looked around forty or fifty, maybe older, but Gawain couldn’t be sure. The harsh labor and malnutrition aged every commoner prematurely. Although humans here lived longer than on Earth—nobles averaged 100 to 150 years without magic or other life-extending means—90% of the population was unhealthy. Many laborers looked old and worn out in their twenties.

At least the peasants in Cecil’s territory had enough to eat and lived longer than those elsewhere, but premature aging from hard work was unavoidable.

Norris shifted nervously under Gawain’s gaze and gave a humble smile.

That simple, humble smile made Gawain pause for a moment.

How long had it been since he’d seen a smile on the face of the poor in this world?

(End of chapter)