Chapter 70: The First Step

At midday, the hillside camp was always quiet and desolate. Most of the tenants, under the guidance of their group leaders, were out working in the fields. Only at dinnertime would they return to the camp.

The great dining hall, which could accommodate over a hundred people at once, was equally deserted. Only about thirty tenants were there, enjoying their free lunch; they were the members of the second group, who were on a rotational break.

“Sweet potatoes again?”

A middle-aged tenant frowned at the two steaming baked sweet potatoes in his bowl. The taste was passable, but eating them every day was tiresome, and they caused quite a bit of flatulence.

“The camp’s flour stores are running low. If you want black bread, go eat at the small canteen,” the kitchen worker replied, tossing a piece of sizzling roasted wild boar into the man’s bowl. His tone was curt and indifferent. As a bona fide work-point tenant, he had little patience for those who could only eat in the great hall.

“That’s some fine roast—crispy on the outside and tender within. Your skills are almost on par with the head chef at the small canteen,” the tenant flattered, unfazed by the kitchen worker’s rebuke. He understood well enough that offending the kitchen staff would mean no chance of getting a good cut of meat in the future.

“At least you know talent when you see it. You did serve as a group leader once, after all,” the kitchen worker replied, glancing at the tenant with a haughty tilt of his nose—a posture befitting the head chef of the small canteen. Lord Victor had said it: a good cook could be called a chef, and an outstanding chef, a master—just like a painter. Henceforth, all kitchen workers in the camp, regardless of skill, began to look down their noses at people.

At the kitchen worker’s words, the middle-aged tenant stiffened for a moment, then composed himself, carrying his bowl to sit alone in a corner.

“Oh, I nearly forgot! This is the sugarcane wine the group leader gave me as a reward last time. Come, let’s all have a taste!” a young man exclaimed loudly, surrounded by the rest of the second group.

“Little Robert, I hear the group leader has recommended you for the work-point system. Now you just need Lady Lilia’s approval,” another tenant said enviously, taking a sip of the sugarcane wine.

“Ha, as long as everyone works hard, anyone can have the chance,” Robert replied modestly, but his pride was plain to see.

“Robert, can you explain what exactly the work-point system is?” asked Wood, who, unlike his son who only cared about eating, was curious about everything in the hillside camp.

Wood and his son had been promoted by the second group leader, naturally becoming part of the second group. As newcomers, Wood didn’t know much about the work-point system—only that joining it was exceedingly difficult.

“Heh, the work-point system is just trading labor for points. As for what you can do with those points... well, that’s the real prize!” Robert paused, enjoying his slight superiority over this older newcomer. Still, he remembered the group leader’s instructions to win over these ordinary members.

“Do you know why the group leader and the veteran members never eat in the great hall? Because they eat in the small canteen!”

“You know the small canteen? No? Never mind. Just know that the delicacies there are out of reach even for most noble lords!”

“To eat at the small canteen, you need work points!”

“See those beautiful wooden houses in the camp? You need work points to live in them!”

“Ever heard of a bathhouse? Don’t look at me, I’ve never been inside either. But you’ll need work points to get in!”

“Each work point can also be exchanged for a copper sol—but only a fool would do that.”

As the surrounding tenants gazed at him with envy, Robert took a sip of wine and smiled coolly, uttering the final sentence:

“Work points can be exchanged for land. Fiefs, at that!”

With a clatter, a pig bone fell into a wooden bowl—dropped by Paul. Both father and son stared wide-eyed, mouths agape in identical shock.

The other tenants laughed; they were well used to such scenes.

Had Wood misheard? Land grants—fiefs—were only awarded after a family served a lord for three generations. To receive a fief was to become a vassal, to step into the ranks of the gentry! It was every tenant’s dream.

Wood had once thought that if he worked hard, and his son did the same, and he had a diligent grandson, perhaps his great-grandson might become a vassal. But he would never live to see it. Many tenant families missed their chance at nobility for precisely this reason. What if my grandson’s a layabout? Every family could have a black sheep.

Wood tried to speak, but his throat caught, unable to utter a clear word. He grabbed a cup of water and gulped it down, clearing his throat. Just as he was about to speak, a familiar voice asked the question on his mind.

“How can we join the work-point system?” It was Paul.

Good lad! Thinking the same as your old man! Wood looked fondly at his young, naïve, but eager son, his eyes shining. Wood resolved, no matter how hard it was, he would give it his all to join the work-point system.

“It’s tough—really tough—to get in now. First, you need to be a tenant. Next, you need to be among the most diligent workers in your group. Third, you need a recommendation from the group leader and approval from Lady Lilia. The group leader can only recommend one person a month. And don’t think you can just curry his favor—Lady Lilia is watching him closely. So, if you’re thinking of playing tricks, forget it. I was recommended by the group leader, but tell me, how’s my work?”

“Outstanding. I can’t compare,” a tenant replied with a nod.

Wood agreed. Robert was always flattering the group leader, but when it came to work, he was diligent and meticulous. For example, last time they wove baskets, Robert made more than anyone else, and his were the most perfectly shaped. Wood had to admit, Robert was not only hardworking but skillful.

“Here’s another secret—I heard from the group leader that the work-point system will soon be capped at 700 people. There are already over 400 now. So, anyone who slacks off is done for.”

Robert’s words set the tenants glancing at one another, sparks flying in their eyes.

“Don’t just look at your own group. If you have the guts, compete with the other groups. The group leader said that if we do well and our group becomes the next to establish a village, everyone will join the work-point system. The last group to build a village will be left behind.”

With that, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and the atmosphere grew warm again.

Robert noticed their expressions and felt a surge of pride. The group leader had specially instructed him to inspire these ordinary members so their group could be the second to establish a village. When that happened, the group leader would become a village chief, and surely reward him well.

“Even after joining the work-point system, you’re not a vassal yet. The land we’ve opened up is only two thousand acres, and that’s already been granted out, mostly to guards and craftsmen.”

“So, whoever establishes a village first gets to pioneer more land, which will then be distributed according to work points. Anyone who receives more than ten acres becomes a vassal,” Robert added, seizing the moment.

“Let’s work hard! We’ll be the second to build a village for sure!” Paul announced excitedly, undaunted by the challenge.

“You two are newcomers—the group leader surely told you, but let me remind you again. The camp has strict rules: always walk on the right, never relieve yourself anywhere you please, use water properly. If you break the rules, you’ll be punished. Don’t expect the group leader to bail you out. Even he would be dismissed for breaking the rules. We’ve got a perfect example right here,” Robert said, nodding toward the middle-aged tenant sitting alone in the corner.

“I don’t know how someone can be so shameless—kicked out of the work-point system and still sticking with our group,” another tenant said in disgust.

Benson ate his lunch in silence. He heard every word, but showed no reaction. He was used to it.

Benson had been a group leader—once.

Back in the Eastern Province, he had driven a carriage for the town master. After coming to Victor’s domain, the tenants had elected him a group leader.

He had done the job well, contributing greatly to the camp’s development. But he fell—because of a woman.

Tenant marriages were little more than partnerships. If a man was useless, the woman would take the children and remarry. But Benson forgot that Lord Victor forbade group leaders from using their power to take another man’s partner. And Benson had committed exactly that offense.

So, he was dismissed. Benson protested, arguing that the woman was willing, too.

Lord Victor listened quietly and said only, “I decide.”

And so Benson was removed and expelled from the work-point system. Then Lord Victor gave him two choices: take the money from his exchanged work points and leave, or forfeit all his points and remain.

Benson chose the latter. He knew that to leave was to die, and he couldn’t bear to part with this beautiful, orderly camp where he had toiled and dreamed. He couldn’t let go.

So Benson continued to eat his lunch, though soon, he would not have to.

“Benson, the lord wants to see you,” a guard announced, entering the great hall.

Benson was surprised but rose at once. He tidied up his table and returned the leftover food to the kitchen—it would be his supper. Then, he followed the guard out.

Led by the guard, Benson entered the upper camp. He felt a flutter of excitement—it had been a long time since he was last here. But instead of the office, the guard led him to a fenced area and rang a small bell.

Benson’s pupils contracted. He knew this was the camp’s forbidden zone—something momentous must be happening, and it involved him!

Soon, the gate opened. A man looked out at Benson and said, “Come in.”

Benson recognized him: Busso, one of the few allowed to enter the restricted area freely, for he possessed many skills and was deeply trusted by Lord Victor.

“Don’t look around. Nothing here may be revealed outside,” Busso said as he walked.

Benson kept his head down, not so much as glancing about. He knew there were many secrets here, especially about the purple cane—and purple cane meant wealth.

In a small wooden cabin, Benson saw the lord and five others. One was familiar—a former group leader, Butz, who had also been dismissed.

“Benson, you’re here. Have a seat,” Victor greeted his former subordinate.

“Good day, Lord Victor,” Benson replied, suppressing his excitement and bowing.

Victor smiled at the two men. “Butz, Benson, I’ve called you here today to ask you to leave the hillside camp!”

Butz and Benson turned pale but did not protest. They waited for the rest.

Seeing their composure, Victor nodded in satisfaction. He stood and walked to a board with a map.

“Look here—this is our hillside camp. Forty-five kilometers east is the large so-called freemen’s camp. Fifty kilometers northeast is Lake Plain Village.” Victor tapped the map with a pointer.

“The ‘freemen’s camp’ to the east is really a front for the Chapman family, who are secretly mining silver there.”

“There are signs that Lake Plain Village and the Chapman camp have been in contact.”

“I plan to establish a freemen’s camp between the two, and you will be in charge.”

Victor tapped the map again.

“My lord, do you mean for us to cut off contact between the two camps?” Benson ventured.

“No. You need do nothing but build the camp for the freemen,” Victor replied. “There are about a hundred wandering freemen in the territory—mostly mountain folk. Once you build the camp, they’ll come to you. I want you to firmly control them.”

Victor was confident his alchemical warhounds could drive the mountain folk into the designated area, where they would be assimilated.

“My lord, the mountain folk are fierce and obey only the strong. I fear we may not be able to control them,” Butz said bravely.

“I have arranged help for you. These are Bull, Corbett, Conley, and Dave.”

Only now did Butz and Benson take a good look at the four strangers—each was burly, especially Bull, who was a match for the giant Reynold.

“Bull and Corbett are family-trained deadmen, as strong as apprentice knights. Conley and Dave are skilled craftsmen, also trained by the family.”

Victor watched their faces turn from pale to ashen, and smiled.

“By now you must have guessed—Reynold, Busso, and these men are all my secret assets. Not even Captain Nelson knows. This is a family secret.”

Butz and Benson froze. They’d heard of great nobles secretly training ‘deadmen’—utterly loyal, inhumanly strong, and ruthlessly trained. Now, such men stood before them, and they would have to work alongside them.

“Don’t worry. Now that you know these secrets, it means you are core members of the family. So long as you don’t betray me, you’ll never be purged. Would you betray me?”

Victor’s smile remained elegant, but Butz and Benson felt the danger in it. They hurriedly replied, “Never, my lord! We are at your service!”

“Good. Remember, you are leaving because you’ve been pushed out and are seeking your own path, not for any other reason. Never show any weakness before the mountain folk.”

“If Lake Plain Village or the Chapman camp contacts you, behave as a true freemen’s leader would. Understand?”

“Yes!” After their initial fear, Benson and Butz felt a surge of excitement. They were now core family members—had they leaped to the top in a single bound?

“If you need to contact me, tell Bull. Likewise, he’ll bring you my orders. Day to day, they’re under your command.”

“Any other questions?” Victor asked gently.

“My lord, when do we depart?” Benson and Butz exchanged glances, barely containing their excitement. It felt good to be this valued!

“Busso will take you to the temporary base and announce your exile. Once Bull joins you, you leave at once.” Victor’s face hardened. “Can you not look so excited! You’re being exiled, not ennobled!”

After Busso left with the two former group leaders—now wearing mournful expressions—Victor stood before the map, his hand covering Lake Plain Village. He sneered.

“Lake Plain Village: five hundred people, five thousand acres of farmland, six thousand acres of lake—do you really think you can escape my grasp?”

His gaze shifted to the Chapman camp, deep and cold.

“I am the true lord here.”