Chapter 258: Recovery and Rejuvenation

The hot summer winds ravaged the lands of Baron Jean, with the scorching sun shining down on the land. Serfs worked tirelessly in the fields, their sweat dripping onto the soil, carrying their hopes for a bountiful harvest and representing their hard work and livelihood. Serfs toiled, paid taxes, and offered tribute, while knights collected taxes, fought battles, and provided protection, forming the entirety of their lives.

The only way up for the serfs was through war. By being conscripted into the army, fighting enemies, they hoped to be noticed by the nobility, promoted to a sergeant or even a mounted knight, changing their destiny.

The serfs began their work at five in the morning, and by around ten o'clock, due to the heat, they would cease their labor.

Two serfs sat under a thatched shelter, drinking water from a crudely made clay pot, taking turns with a bowl.

"Ugh, I'm dead tired."

"Why work ourselves to death?"

"Yeah, today was really exhausting."

"I don't want to farm anymore~"

"Yeah, me neither."

The serfs complained, always finding work hard. But in reality, today's farm work was all they had to do, with the rest of the day for rest.

Serfs weren't as diligent and hardworking as imagined. Many often went hungry, but they preferred starvation over toiling in the fields. The reason was simple: the tithe system drained nearly all their efforts, with the kingdom's resources concentrated on the knights, neglecting the serfs.

"There are pros and cons to this situation. My baron, in the Empire, we have thirty percent of the population as vagrants," Ryan, Olivier, Lopes, and Carsonberg discussed while cooling off on the second floor of a tavern at the edge of town.

Olivier had performed exceptionally in the war, single-handedly dealing with several Grave Guards and Blood Knights.

In the war, the elite troops following Francois suffered significant losses, with about fifty casualties, including twenty wounded who could rejoin the ranks, while the rest were either dead or maimed.

The disabled soldiers could join the patrolling units responsible for maintaining order or receive a pension.

"Vagrants, with no property, unwanted by anyone, are landless peasants, homeless exiles, defeated deserters, and bankrupt nobles," Ryan said, adding ice to his wine. "Unlike in Brittany, where every serf has a lord responsible for their unconditional acceptance and protection when needed, Empire nobles detest these unproductive vagrants, who are chased away, living off odd jobs, with corruption spreading among them."

"Yes, I deeply felt this when I was studying in the capital, Brunswick," the ranger knight Hex nodded. "Brunswick, a massive city known as 'the heart of the Empire,' is built over slums and swamps, with tens of thousands crowded in every dock district, where chaos, degradation, and corruption spread."

"Much like Marienburg. Once a city's population exceeds a certain threshold, it's inevitable. From sanitation to security, the city faces severe challenges. The effect of urban aggregation isn't as simple as 1+1," the steward Carsonberg added.

"The serfs' enthusiasm seems quite good, not lazily shirking their duties," Olivier, more interested in discussing warfare, said. "Baron, I think we need to reorganize the army and recruit excellent soldiers during the Midsummer conscription."

Ryan had no objections to recruiting new soldiers: "We plan to recruit fifty to a hundred people. Hex, the recruitment is up to you."

"Understood," Hex nodded.

"My baron, several new windmills are now operational. We only collect a small windmill tax but require serfs to undertake the maintenance if damaged," Carsonberg reported, adding, "Also, wood elves have recently tried spreading the faith of Isha and Kurnous among the serfs, which I stopped."

"Rightly so," Ryan said impatiently. "The wood elves weren't genuinely spreading faith but trying to lure children to serve them. Warn the wood elves: if they need labor, that's normal hiring, but if they plan to use children for rituals or sacrifices, I'll flatten their lookout!"

"My baron, your statement is illustrious, and after my negotiation, they have already apologized and promised not to do it again," Carsonberg added.

"That's good." Ryan's reputation in the Knight Kingdom had soared after killing the Red Duke, even known among the Empire and southern nations. Under such circumstances, the wood elves wouldn't want to conflict with him, their sole trading partner.

Ryan began to ponder his domain's affairs.

His domain was thriving, with orderly ongoing projects and trade with the wood elves bringing wealth and a hospital, while sheltering dwarves brought three workshops. But it wasn't enough.

After the war, Ryan realized the need for a strong army to combat evil. A few elite squads had risked their lives just to destroy a few siege engines; he couldn't always rely on such tactics.

Vampires, indeed fond of attacking, had come again after one failure. Ryan smirked at the thought. Now, Mousilon's vampires would need quiet years to recover, especially after losing Blood Knights and Bloodthirsters.

Blood Knights required decades, even centuries, of training and high elimination rates to qualify. The war, including in Charlon Forest, cost the vampires dozens of Blood Knights, a significant loss for Mousilon that would take years to recover.

Bloodthirsters and Dire Wolves also required nurturing from a young age.

"Baron, the town's blacksmiths are complaining. The quality and fair prices of dwarf-made goods have left them without work, leading to conflicts," Carsonberg reported.

"Let them learn from the dwarves. They all rely on craftsmanship; those inferior naturally get eliminated. Dwarves haven't forbidden taking human apprentices," Ryan calmly decreed. "Those unwilling to learn can leave."

"Yes, my baron. Also, the craftsman Delron reports another group of dwarves, hearing of the treatment here, seeks to settle. He asks if you're willing to accept them?" Carsonberg presented a parchment.

"How many?"

"About four hundred."

Ryan considered the number manageable but didn't want to decide hastily: "Let's visit the dwarves' new home first. Delron seems to be resting today."

"Let me lead the way, my baron," Carsonberg stood, and the group set off under the sun.

After about half an hour on horseback, they reached the dwarf community.

An independent community, the dwarves built their homes beneath a hillock. As Ryan followed the cobblestone road into the community, he found the dwarves had hollowed out the hillock, creating extensive underground living spaces, with only a few preferring above-ground homes. Dwarf houses, though simple in material, were neatly and aesthetically built without lavish decorations, except for a statue of the dwarf main god in the community center.

Two dwarves, armed with long rifles, greeted Ryan from a watchtower: "Greetings, Lord Ryan, may your beard grow long and splendid."

Both ranger knights chuckled at the jest; Ryan, who had shaved his stubble after returning from war, hadn't reached the age for a beard.

Ryan merely smiled, "Thank you. Is Master Delron here?"

"Oh!

 My old friend~ Lord Ryan," the dwarf rune craftsman Delron Feynson emerged: "Welcome~"

Entering the community, Olivier was as amazed as if discovering a new world, while Hex and Carsonberg, though curious, tried to remain composed. Many dwarves looked down on the humans' curiosity, considering them naive students.

Indeed, while dwarves generally had good relations with humans, they viewed humans as slow learners. Since the "Sacred Alliance" with the Empire, humans had learned weapon-making, siege technology, gunpowder, and steam weaponry from dwarves.

Thus, dwarves saw humans as friends but also as less talented students. Whenever humans made technological advances, dwarves felt compelled to unveil new inventions, overshadowing human achievements and boasting their superiority.

Delron noticed Ryan's interest and explained, "Building houses is an art, my baron. Too thin walls make it hot, too thick, and it's cold."

Unperturbed by Delron's indirect answer, Ryan followed him into the largest and most luxurious house in the community. Inside, Delron served malt beer, smoked meat, and bacon: "Sorry, my lord. I should've had Bugman's beer for you, but I don't have any now. However, I've ordered some from Breezecastle."

"Seems like Master Delron is doing well!" Ryan commented, finding the beer strong and the meat salty but manageable.

"Quite alright. As you see, many kin prefer living underground, fearing the sky might swallow them," Delron stroked his beard. "I used to feel the same, fearing falling into the endless stars."

"I never felt that. Instead, staring at the stars makes me feel insignificant," Ryan replied. Delron, unfazed, continued, "Lord Ryan, you're here about Sven, right?"

"Yes, I'm not against welcoming your people. I just want to understand their background and what they need from me," Ryan said calmly.

"Of course." Delron nodded, "Sven is my friend, Sven Novigrin, a powerful dwarf chieftain and rune smith. At eighty-seven (dwarves live at least four hundred years), his fortress was destroyed by night goblins, and many kin died in wars. After a decade of hopeless struggle, Sven realized the remaining four hundred couldn't reclaim their ancestral fortress. They needed a place to recover, so I suggested they come here."

"The Novigrin clan has few left, but they're excellent warriors, willing to exchange their labor for necessities, whether through craftsmanship or combat. Provide them a place to live peacefully, with enough malt beer," Delron tried to earn Ryan's trust.

"Recover and rejuvenate?" Ryan pondered before nodding, "Alright, let them come. I approve."

His domain needed time to recover and rejuvenate too.

Then, a knight's attendant arrived on horseback with news.

The king's envoy had arrived.

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