Chapter 313

Chapter 313 - Archipelago Naval Battle (2)

Eugene and Homi inspected the bridge construction site. This was the most vibrant place in all of Britainia. The sweat alone from thousands of people and livestock could fill a small pond every day.

The construction began with the pillars. Twelve piers to support the bridge had to be built one at a time from each side, six rounds in total.

"It's always amazing no matter how many times I see it."

Homi clasped her hands before her chest and watched the pillar work.

First, hexagonal pilings were driven in to form the foundation for a pier. This kept the river water from flowing in, transforming it into a kind of pool enclosed by the wooden walls.

When the water inside the pilings was pumped out, dry land appeared within the river. Workers then entered and built the pier by combining stone blocks and cement.

What had impressed Homi was the method of draining the water inside the pilings.

"When I first saw it, I was puzzled. I wondered why there were waterwheels at a bridge construction site."

"You have to automate as much as possible. If you do everything by hand, the schedule will double."

On the outer wall of the hexagonal pilings, massive waterwheels turned. The river's current was converted into power and fed to pulleys on the inner wall, which were fitted with eighteen large water buckets in an endless-chain arrangement.

Grrrrrrr.

Splash!

Creaaak!

As the waterwheels spun, the buckets inside scooped water from the bottom and dumped it outside.

Vroooom!

Homi's eyes sparkled as she watched the pulleys, and her tail twirled in a circle just the same.

"Technology is great."

Eugene, who had been watching, murmured.

"Technology is great."

"Technology is great."

"Technology is great."

Homi, the escort knights, and the maids all thumped their fists against their chests.

It was more frequently uttered by Eugene than the official Meyer family maxim: "No one can predict what we'll do next." While the maxim was a warning meant for the enemies of the Wandering Castle, his reverence for technology served as a warning to his subordinates.

When prestige and wealth continually raise the quality of life, any group is prone to a sense of privilege. If that privilege leads to contempt for engineers and craftsmen, that group has no future.

Just then, merchants from a trading company who had been delivering supplies to the site spotted Eugene and hurried over.

"Count! We are the Liese Trading Company. We are truly honored that you've visited the site in person."

"You all work hard as well. Thanks to you, there's a lively energy at the workplace."

"It's all thanks to your loyal devotion, my lord."

The merchants' flattery existed for a reason: not just anyone could sell goods at the construction site.

Only trading companies with the lord's permission were allowed to conduct business, and in return, price gouging and substandard goods were strictly prohibited.

The licensed merchants might lament that they couldn't run wild, but even so, they were raking in enormous profits.

However, a merchant who knows contentment is no merchant at all. There was one more right they truly had their sights set on.

"My lord! Please grant us permission to erect buildings on the bridge before construction is complete. The bridge will be crossed by countless travelers, merchants, and salt wagons. Once shops open there, the money that would flow in is beyond imagination."

In this era, bridges didn't merely serve as thoroughfares. Shops, inns, religious facilities, and guard posts were commonly built on them.

"Denied. The bridge will be used solely for transit."

But Eugene cut them off without hesitation.

"The bridge is an inexhaustible gold mine. Isn't it a terrible waste to leave it unused? This would line your treasury handsomely."

"But the more buildings go up, the more traffic is disrupted and the greater the load on the bridge."

"A little slower, and only the common folk are inconvenienced."

"Then my heart would ache as well."

"..."

The image of a magnanimous lord was convenient for times like these. Then a priest from another order who had accompanied the merchants stepped forward.

"My lord. Please grant permission to build a sanctuary on the bridge. It will become a fortress to spread the word of God to wandering lambs."

This was a pretext even Eugene found difficult to refuse. But he had something prepared.

"The moment a bridge becomes a residential area, several hundred people will be living there. The waste they produce will pour into the river, and this is upstream. Are you saying you want polluted water flowing past Haven's front gate?"

"W-Well, that..."

The priests were well-versed in scripture and numbers, but the concept of pollution was a blank page to them.

"There will be more people falling sick from contaminated water than those hearing the gospel. This is something the gods would not desire either."

As the priest and merchants withdrew, looking abashed, Homi approached.

"That's the second time now."

"That's how much everyone covets it."

"Next time anyone comes asking again, I'll give them a good kick in the rear."

Homi mimed a soccer shot honed by practice. An elegant yet powerful motion.

"I'd rather you just try talking them out of it, like I did?"

"Is there really any need for that?"

Homi knew better than anyone just how much authority and power her revered brother possessed.

Yet outside of battlefields, he seldom wielded them. He stubbornly insisted on the tedious path of logically persuading even those with vastly inferior standing.

"You have to build up that presence in peacetime so that when the time comes to dance with a sword, it's easier. Everyone will think, 'If even a single merchant was lectured and persuaded, imagine what happens to us!'"

But Homi tapped her index finger against her lips and tilted her head.

"Isn't that presence already overflowing? Then there's no point in stockpiling more."

"Huh?"

Perhaps because she had lived with Eugene longer than Varda did? In some respects, Homi communicated with Eugene better than his own wife. Occasionally, she would deliver a remark so sharp it took him completely off guard.

Click.

Homi clenched both fists as she saw more merchants approaching.

"No."

"Heh heh."

When Eugene hugged her from behind, Homi splayed her hands open to show him. She hadn't truly intended to rough up the merchants. She simply wanted to feel her brother's embrace against her back.

But the merchants had stopped in their tracks and were staring at somewhere else.

"Cough!"

A guilty merchant had a whip coiled around his neck and was being dragged away. Stones and filth rained down upon his bare body from the crowd.

Cassandra was riding on horseback, whip in hand, completing a circuit around the construction site. Once the punishment was over, she planned to confiscate his assets.

She and Varda were the two pillars who acted on Eugene's behalf. The Good Cop, Bad Cop routine was a useful concept even for lordship proxies.

People with accusations sought out Cassandra, while those wishing to negotiate sought out Varda.

-Lady Cassandra! The Liese Trading Company has been watering down the beer they deliver!

-Do you have proof?

-Here is testimony from a slave who works at their brewery.

-That alone won't do. I need physical evidence.

-Here are brewmasters with fifteen years of experience and measuring instruments!

Cassandra's official title was Karakal Special Operations Commander—merely a field officer within the Black Hand tribe.

But she was a noble figure even Chief Alesa treated with caution. Half Dark Elf royalty ran through her veins. Though she held no princess title, she was of bloodline with succession rights.

When Eugene became the overlord of the south, he established diplomatic ties with the Dark Elf kingdom, and Britainia's nobility also treated Cassandra as a high-ranking aristocrat.

"I have committed a mortal sin!"

"I won't kill you. This isn't wartime, and you're a free man, aren't you? Can't very well execute you over watering down some beer."

Cassandra smiled brightly as she tugged at the leash around his neck. Even the merchant who had watered down his beer knew this. He was begging her not to confiscate his assets.

"Please, just this once! I swear I'll live honestly and never do such a thing again!"

"People don't change their ways."

"Please, have mercy..."

"Giddyup!"

Cassandra quickened her pace, and the merchant screamed as he was dragged along.

"That young lady sure is strong."

"She's pulling him with one hand?"

The workers murmured among themselves as they watched. Behind her alluring appearance lay grueling discipline. She was the ideal candidate for the role of bad cop.

Ahahaha!

Strictly speaking, she leaned more toward Cruel Cop than bad cop.

*

Bridge construction was a monumental project that required the king's mobilization power and wealth combined. Even a great lord displaying his might on his own territory wouldn't dare attempt such a venture.

With construction proceeding successfully, Eugene's authority soared to the heavens. Thanks to that, he could implement his next policy without worrying about what others thought.

It was the distribution of edible rats imported from Kajador. The name was Pigrat. Quite intuitive.

"Oh my, to have such a distinguished guest in our humble village!"

The village head prostrated before Eugene, and the serfs bowed deeply in unison. All of them showed both nervousness and respect, for they felt the effects of his benevolent rule on their skin every day.

"Gather all the villagers here. All except the sick."

"Pl-Please, mercy, my lord! If we have angered you in any way, it's only because of our ignorance! Please forgive us!"

The village head wept bitterly, prostrating himself. The serfs wore expressions as if they might faint.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding. This is neither corvée, conscription, nor punishment. I simply have meat I'd like to feed you, and all I ask is that you evaluate how it tastes."

"???"

The villagers and serfs wore the expressions of people who had heard every bizarre thing imaginable in their lives.

Sizzle.

Soon, the aroma of roasting rat meat spread through the center of the village.

"It's livestock raised in the distant Dwarf kingdom. They have no fur, so they look unsightly, but other than that, they're perfect as edible livestock."

After the Pigrat's innards were removed, it was skewered from tail to head.

"It's a... rat, isn't it?"

"That's right."

The village head sniffed the air. The savory aroma was, of course, inviting, and the plentiful meat glistened with oil bubbling from every part.

"At this size, they're just slightly smaller than newborn piglets."

"When roasted on a skewer like this, there's hardly any difference. Same size, same shape, same taste."

The Dwarves had been selectively breeding rodents—a species with rapid generational turnover—since the Second Era. These were rats re-engineered from head to tail for consumption.

Before long, the serfs were tearing into the meat, one whole rat per person. Since the bones were edible too, the crunching sounds echoed everywhere.

"Ooooh!"

"Hehehe!"

Bright smiles and children's exclamations filled the air.

For a serf's child, "meat" meant one or two softened chunks floating in stew. Chewing a mouthful of meat like this—firm and abundant—was a first.

"It's so good! So, so delicious!"

Pigrat had fat marbled through every cut. There were no dry, tough parts, and it tasted remarkably similar to chicken wings.

Every last serf was enchanted by the flavor, and when Eugene brought out live Pigrats, they all gathered around.

"As you can see, their legs are far too short for them to walk well. They're lazy by nature, so a pen even a foot wide will keep them from escaping. They eat anything, and their ability to convert feed into meat is exceptional."

Everyone listened intently to Eugene's explanation. Even if he were not a formidable lord but merely a traveling merchant, they would have been equally focused.

"In one month they reach maturity, and they give birth to four to eight pups at a time. Three days after giving birth, they can conceive again."

The serfs stared at the rats with expressions of wonder.

"I shall bestow forty of them upon this village. Raise them well."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!"

"May God bless you, my lord!"

Eugene left the village behind with fervent farewells.

For a week, he toured the frontier regions, honoring mercenaries and knights, and distributing Pigrats to villages along his route.

After the tour of the frontier was complete, he summoned the village heads from the interior to Haven and had them taste-test. Naturally, Eugene joined them each time.

At first, the sight of furless creatures threw them off, but one taste and their eyes changed. After hearing how easy they were to raise as livestock, greed joined the mix.

"I never expected the lord to be this serious about it," Cassandra remarked, looking weary.

She took out a handkerchief and wiped the oil glistening on Eugene's lips.

"This is different from the corn business. This is rat meat. There are plenty who look down on it as inferior. There's nothing better than the lord himself eating it and introducing it firsthand."

"Some nobles are apparently convinced you've truly fallen in love with rat meat. They're even developing recipes."

"A futile effort, but I suppose the sentiment is commendable."

Eugene hadn't actually been won over by the taste of Pigrat. He simply wanted to feed meat to the serfs.

Chickens of this era hadn't been selectively bred yet and were inefficient. They laid eggs once or twice a week, and it took half a year for a chick to reach adulthood.

And apart from the occasional roasted trout served by the monastery during holy days?

No matter how hard he racked his brain, only Kajadoran rat meat offered hope—if he was going to give the serfs anything better than greens.

"It's exactly two years. If things go well for just two years, the people in the villages where I've distributed them will be able to eat meat every week."

"Hmmm."

Cassandra wore a peculiar smile.

'Is it really that wonderful?'

This young ruler looked more pleased than when he had defeated General Magnus and seized the King's Grief.

All over rat meat. Politically astute as Cassandra was, she simply could not understand this sentiment.

"Count. The recruitment of rowers is complete. The entire fleet is ready for deployment."

At the report from Haven's garrison commander, who had handled the conscription, Eugene licked his lips. Now came the most important task.

*

There is a saying that you learn more from defeat than from victory.

But those who can say such words after truly breaking on the battlefield are few and far between. War is where the winner-takes-all principle manifests in its most extreme form.

The feet stumbling across rough terrain, driven to the wastes, were blistered.

The unwashed bodies, fleeing for their lives, were caked in blood, sweat, and grime.

With no time to treat their wounds, they supported each other through the stench, limping along.

-Fuck! Dammit! Aaaaaargh!

A warrior hurling his shield and kicking at everything in sight.

Shouts traded as they blamed each other for who had messed up more.

The immediate aftermath of defeat was perhaps the most wretched moment in a human life. Once you truly tasted it, enduring it a second time was nearly impossible.

"Forget about Britainia."

Thanks to this, the Vikings who had rallied to the raider archipelago were divided in their opinions.

"Then what about revenge?"

"Revenge requires strength too. The south is different from other regions. They've never once been victimized, their harvests are abundant, and the nobles are united under a single banner."

"So you're saying we just turn tail and run? Like cowardly cur dogs?"

"We should negotiate with the king of Britainia. Or at least try to talk."

The king they spoke of was Eugene. The Vikings did not use the peerage hierarchy of the five ranks and did not share the same religion.

Warlord or king—that was the Viking distinction. Especially among those who worshipped Valhalla, a leader of superior martial prowess earned tremendous extra points.

Separate from the fact that he was an enemy they wanted to tear apart, the Vikings all referred to Eugene as king.

"A wolf doesn't negotiate with a flock of sheep."

"They reek of beastly dung."

The chieftains with speaking rights were mostly hawks. Those advocating negotiation were few.

"Wolves and sheep? Ha!"

A pro-negotiation chieftain let out a hollow laugh.

-We are the wolves, and they are livestock scratching out a living from the dirt.

That was how the Vikings had viewed settled peoples for generations. The problem was that even as times had changed, they clung to these archaic notions.

"What era are we living in? In the old days, they might have been sheep grazing on grass, but it's different now. Bears stuffed with grain are swarming everywhere. We're outmatched in weight class and in strength."

"If you've got nothing but weak words, step down from your chieftain's seat and get lost. These are hard times. That's all the more reason to gather our courage and fight!"

"You don't have the guts to face the king's army, so you sneak around for raids—is that a warrior's courage?"

The hawks couldn't refute the ridicule, and shouting matches erupted. Viking councils were always like this.

With their ancient faith, warrior pride, and raider culture all mixed together, rational conversation was inevitable.

The only times things calmed down was when they debated where to strike and how to divide the spoils.

"We fight! If we win, we take our plunder and set foot on our homeland. If we die, we rest in the embrace of the gods in Valhalla!"

In the end, the decision was made to fight. Reluctant as they were, even the pro-negotiation faction had to comply. If they refused, they would be the first attacked.

Meanwhile, Eugene's fleet was approaching the island where the assembly was being held.

*

A silence hung beneath the deck of the galley. Just over a hundred rowers and overseers fixed their gaze on Eugene.

There were no slaves or criminals here. Contrary to common belief, most of those who pulled the oars were free men, and Eugene had mandated a hundred percent.

"Count. The total number of rowers is two hundred fifty. All are healthy and capable of hourly rotations."

"You handled a difficult request well."

After commending the captain, Eugene patted Homi on the back.

"You should step outside."

Homi lowered her head and climbed up to the deck. Muscular men stripped down to their loincloths were packed together, drenched in sweat, and the smell was staggering. For a beastkin with a keen sense of smell, it was torture.

"You have boarded this ship as free men. That means you will not row to survive, but to earn money. Remember: every time an enemy ship burns and sinks, your coin purse grows heavier. A chance to earn war pay without shedding your own blood is not easy to come by."

Corvée and conscription were exercised by every lord, but it was unpaid labor.

Being forcibly mobilized by the nobility was simply the fate of anyone living in this age. Not having to face arrows and blades on the battlefield was fortune enough.

That was why there was little despair on the rowers' faces. Among them were plenty of cool-headed fellows who figured, "Well, since I'm already here, might as well make some money."