Chapter 91: The Problem of Manpower

At the tail end of the earth season, the weather had begun to turn increasingly hot. On days like today, when the sun blazed in a cloudless sky, the heat was so stifling that one could think only of hiding beneath the shade of a tree.

Yet in the Brickyard Village of Victor’s domain, there was not a single patch of shade to be found. Over two hundred robust farmers toiled ceaselessly under the blazing sun on the open ground. Bare-chested, sweat towels slung around their necks, their naked backs glistening with beads of sweat, they had no time even to wipe their brows. Countless green bricks were being carried from the drying rooms onto two-wheeled carts, the drivers straining to pull their heavy loads to the unloading yard, where a dozen sturdy ox carts waited to be filled.

On the southern slope of a hill beside the village, rows of houses had been built on the shaded side—this was the residential quarter for the villagers. Every house was built from brick; timber now served primarily as fuel, for the giant kiln down below devoured vast quantities of firewood every day.

Beneath a canopy atop the hill, Victor stood gazing down at the brickworks below. Each time an ox cart, laden with green bricks, departed from the yard, a sense of satisfaction welled up within him.

“My lord, ever since the giant kiln began operation, each firing yields sixty thousand bricks. Now, our daily average output is twelve thousand green bricks,” reported Dean, the village chief, with evident pride.

Dean had volunteered for the post. Though he’d once yearned to till the land, the colossal chimney—over thirty meters tall—had won his awe and respect. In truth, the other group leaders felt the same conflict; all this seemed miraculous to their eyes. In Brickyard Village, the entire process from forming to firing bricks took just twenty days—far beyond their previous experience, where just drying the clay could take four months. So, when the first batch of green bricks emerged from the giant kiln, hundreds of villagers cheered and celebrated, swept up in the excitement. Dean promptly volunteered himself as village chief, and soon the other group leaders vied for the role as well. In the end, Victor chose Dean, wishing to encourage such initiative.

Victor picked up a finished green brick and squeezed it hard—the brick did not budge. Intrigued, he quietly applied the secret strength of the Bull Form technique; only then did a crack appear in the sturdy brick, which finally split in two.

Dean watched in astonishment. He knew well the quality of these bricks—far sturdier than those fired by the old methods—yet in Victor’s hands they seemed almost brittle. Flustered, Dean picked up the broken pieces and squeezed them with all his might, but the brick remained unblemished.

The quality was beyond reproach; it was clear the lord’s strength far surpassed that of ordinary men. With that thought, Dean looked upon his lord with newfound reverence.

Victor’s expression remained calm, but inwardly he was wincing. His physique had reached a score of ten, and his mastery of the Bull Form technique was consummate, yet it had taken all the strength of his arm to break that brick. The bricks fired by the alchemical auxiliaries were exceedingly tough—snapping one barehanded was still too much for Victor. The arm he hid behind his back trembled uncontrollably; with his current muscle mass, he could not sustain such exertion for long.

If only he hadn’t tried to show off! Victor surreptitiously shook out his arm and said to Dean, “I am satisfied with the quality of these bricks. Do you have any difficulties managing the village at present?”

Dean’s eyes darted. He cast a sidelong glance at Arlo, but the chief craftsman stood motionless, wooden as a statue; this disappointed Dean. Arlo’s brick-making skills were superb, but he was hopelessly taciturn. Dean had hoped Arlo would help him petition the lord, but now he had to speak for himself.

Summoning his courage, Dean said, “My lord, we need more hands. The workload here is immense—everyone’s exhausted. I hope you can send more people.”

Victor was silent. It had been six months since he took control of these lands. Apart from the hill encampment, he had established two farms, a brickyard village, and a carpenter’s village. The flax village was under construction, and the blacksmith’s village was being surveyed. The greatest problem was a shortage of manpower.

Victor now ruled over twelve hundred people: nearly seven hundred able-bodied men, more than two hundred young women, the rest being children and the elderly. Only about nine hundred could work. Of these, a hundred were guards exempt from labor, leaving eight hundred for the rest. Two hundred and fifty were assigned to the brickyard, eighty to the carpenter’s village, two hundred to building the flax village, and another two hundred, led by Morin, were clearing land, gathering crops, tending cattle and horses, harvesting purple cane, brewing spirits, and refining sugar. The remainder handled transport.

Now, every group leader was clamoring for more workers. At the last meeting, they had quarreled fiercely over manpower. Dean’s request for more laborers drew a barrage of criticism. Morin pointed out that the domain’s main income came from raw sugar and purple cane liquor, so he needed more hands. Fero, the carpenter’s village chief, sneered that his wheels sold well in Blackcastle Town and, with more workers, his village could easily surpass Morin’s income. Kent, who led the flax village, proudly displayed a piece of fine linen, saying his men had woven it and that nobles would surely pay handsomely for such quality. Even Nelson, swept up in the mood, was eager to speak, but Victor glared him into silence.

In truth, the greatest shortage was among the transport crews. Bricks, timber, and purple cane all needed hauling, and soon even clay would need to be moved. Victor had purchased over forty strong oxen in Blackcastle Town; the carpenter’s village made the carts. The carts were ready, but there weren’t enough drivers, so Victor had to assign the transport duty to Nelson’s guards. This was also why Nelson wanted to expand his squad.

According to Victor’s plan, the brickyard must expand to two giant kilns—vital for his castle project, and not to be compromised. Moreover, once the blacksmith’s village was underway, he would need hundreds of miners. With all these new workers, the domain would require even more people for logistics: transport, farming, tailoring, as well as guards and peacekeepers. By his calculations, Victor needed at least five hundred more laborers—about eight hundred people including their families.

Dean looked at Victor anxiously, knowing his request would offend the other group leaders, but as chief, he had to fight for his people.

Victor pondered a moment before responding, “There’s a shortage of manpower everywhere. Your village already has the most, so for now, no more will be assigned to you.”

Dean was disappointed, but pressed on, “My lord, the villagers are indeed working hard. Their enthusiasm has waned, and if we don’t take measures, I fear we may see a drop in productivity.”

Victor understood Dean spoke the truth, not as a threat. At present, the workers received no wages, and mere meat tickets were not enough to inspire them.

“Very well. I’ll allow you to promote thirty villagers each month and recommend two for merit points. Also, every time we recruit women, your village may select twenty first. These women can also help with forming bricks. We’ll soon recruit more people, but in the meantime, you must cultivate more key workers within your village.”

With this decisive concession, Dean beamed with joy, nodding repeatedly.

Victor offered further encouragement before departing the brickyard, surrounded by his guards.

Inside the spacious, comfortable carriage, Lilia wore a white linen dress, her hair loose, as she fed Victor a candied fruit preserved in cane sugar.

“Victor, why don’t we continue recruiting more people? Our monthly income now exceeds a hundred and fifty gold solars—we can easily support more,” Lilia said sweetly.

Victor smiled faintly. The raw sugar from his lands sold briskly, fetching two silver solars per pound, and the unremarkable wheels even sold for ten silver solars each. Still, this was too little; he needed much more. Victor knew the best way to make money was to form a caravan. The fine linen dress Lilia wore, if taken to the Sasanian Empire, would be worth ten times as much; bringing cheap Sasanian sheepskins back would yield fivefold profit.

But building a caravan couldn’t be rushed; it depended on the lord’s network. What Victor urgently needed now was manpower. Yet before recruiting new subjects, he had to solve one problem: spies.

According to reports from Old John and others, the York family had recently conducted a census of the freemen outside the city, taking away many skilled individuals. The Yorks hadn’t valued these skills before, having better craftsmen themselves, but now they recruited these people, clearly suspecting that Victor’s innovations came from the freemen’s craftsmen. This meant Brickyard Village, Carpenter’s Village, and Flax Village were all under the Yorks’ scrutiny.

Though the techniques provided by the alchemical auxiliaries were ordinary, if Victor didn’t root out the spies, he would be at a severe disadvantage. Worse, the Yorks were now highly interested in him; if he began recruiting, they would certainly send more spies, who, together with those already embedded, could form an impenetrable intelligence network. Therefore, the spies within the territory had to be ferreted out first.

Of course, when Victor did begin recruiting, the Yorks would still send their agents, but those newcomers would be stuck at the bottom, with little chance of reaching the core, and with no protection, they’d be easy to expose and not much of a threat.

“We will recruit, but first, let’s see if that old fox Barol can truly help us flush out the rats.”

——————————————————

Robbie, steward of Baron Virpan’s house, walked nervously through the castle. He was about to meet his master, and anxiety gnawed at him.

Ever since the family steward was killed in Blackcastle Town, Baron Virpan had become especially irritable, whipping the servants over the slightest offense. Now, every attendant in the castle moved with utmost caution, afraid to become the next target of the baron’s wrath.

Within a stone chamber, a man draped in a crimson cloak stood gazing out the window.

“My lord, good day. I hear you summoned me,” Robbie said reverently.

The man turned. He appeared to be in his thirties, with a mane of golden hair, handsome features, and a broad, powerful frame. He wore a pale blue hunting coat, the fiery cloak secured at his chest with a ruby clasp, radiating both vigor and maturity. He was Baron Virpan, cousin to Queen Catherine.

Baron Virpan turned, nodded, and smiled graciously at Robbie. “Robbie, I have a task for you.”

The baron’s cordial and dignified smile eased Robbie’s nerves. He bowed and said, “I await your command, my lord.”

“I want you to go to Blackcastle Town and spread a message among the freemen. Regarding Baron Victor.”

The moment he heard it was about Victor, Robbie grew excited. He knew how much Baron Virpan hated Victor; the baron’s servants had suffered greatly because of him. Now, he relished the chance to help his master get even.

“My lord, what message shall I spread?”

Virpan smiled, “I want you to tell the freemen of the wealth of Victor’s lands, of Lord Victor’s benevolence, and of his system of promoting freemen to vassals through merit.”

Robbie was stunned, wondering if he’d heard correctly. He was used to spreading rumors, but never praise for an adversary.

“My lord, do you mean I should praise Baron Victor among the freemen?” Robbie asked cautiously.

Virpan nodded. “You heard me right—praise him. You needn’t concern yourself with the rest. Go now.”

“Yes, my lord, I shall go at once.” Robbie dared not ask further, bowing as he withdrew.

Watching Robbie ride away from the castle, Virpan smiled in satisfaction.

Baron Virpan was not the eldest son of his family and had no right of inheritance, but he had a powerful cousin. Catherine had once been the daughter of a minor noble, but when she became Queen of Gambis, the family quickly sought her favor. Yet Catherine had never indulged her kin, instead imposing strict discipline. After Ryan’s death, however, her attitude shifted dramatically. She swiftly appointed many relatives to court positions, and even Virpan, the second son, was granted a domain as a pioneer lord of the Centaur Hills.

Virpan was deeply grateful to his cousin Catherine and had sworn to serve her loyally. Originally, his lands and Victor’s had been adjacent, supporting each other, but Victor had simply swapped his domain for one under the Yorks, leaving Virpan’s surrounded on all sides. Now, every time Virpan’s caravans entered or left the Centaur Hills, the Yorks exacted heavy tolls.

Thus, Virpan hated Victor with a passion. When his steward was killed by Victor’s guards, he was furious, yet powerless.

He had written to Catherine, detailing Victor’s actions and hoping Her Majesty would punish this traitor. After a month’s anxious wait, Virpan finally received her reply. The contents filled him with admiration, and he immediately set about implementing her plan—the first step was sending Robbie to praise Victor among the freemen.

“Victor, you’re finished. Even if you are the Rose Lady’s lover, it won’t help you. Her Majesty’s scheme is flawless!”