Chapter 92. The Festival (1)

In my childhood neighborhood, there was a restaurant called the Water Mill House.

It was a restaurant with an interior reminiscent of a traditional house, specifically a thatched-roof house, and I remember it as a restaurant and pub that sold side dishes like pajeon and steamed eggs with makgeolli.

About once a month, I would go to that restaurant holding my parents' hands.

It was a gathering for adults.

I think it was either a church meeting or a parent-teacher meeting, but that's probably not very important.

While the adults ate and chatted, in a small room separated by a paper-screen door, children my age who had also come holding their parents' hands spent their time playing ttakji-chigi or gonggi-nori.

Running around on the floor covered with a thin bamboo mat, it would soon be time to go home.

In front of the restaurant counter, which I passed as I was half-dragged out by my parents' hands, a water mill, or a ‘sucha’ (water wheel), was turning, true to its name.

The sight of the water wheel spinning with a gentle whirring sound over a thin waterway, along with the unique smell of mixed wood and water, occupies a part of my childhood memories.

“A water wheel?”

“Yes.”

That water wheel is an important first step in the first act of my grand plan for developing the territory.

“To start another construction project right away, the work on the lord's castle where you are staying, Your Lordship, is not yet finished….”

“The lord's castle can be done slowly. As long as I’m not sleeping in the rain, it’s fine.”

“Uh… well, if you say so! We’ll build it quickly! We have all the experts. Hahaha!”

Old man Poodle said, scratching the back of his bushy hair.

For reference, the ‘experts’ he mentioned are the stonemasons and carpenters from Maenenwood.

At first, they were individuals who each created their own guilds and competed for rights and shares, but for some reason, they began to unite around old man Poodle.

According to old man Brol, who is building a respectable intelligence department, old man Poodle is quite popular among the craftsmen and laborers.

‘Our big brother is quite a character, isn’t he? He buys drinks well, he’s a good person, his faith is deep, and thanks to his acquaintance with you, my Lord Viscount, he brings in a steady supply of work. The popularity award is a sure thing, no, a given? What was that word again.’

‘A shoo-in?’

‘That’s it! Isn’t it a shoo-in?’

Well, so they say.

Come to think of it, even during his mercenary days, old man Poodle’s friendliness was good.

Even if his trait wasn't as crazy as old man Brol's, with his unique affable and likable personality and good skills, he had many connections here and there.

Although I did have a bit of a headache because he was always asking to go for drinks.

‘Master, I don’t think that’s the real reason.’

“Hmm?”

‘That old man’s face being puppy-like has a lot to do with it. Who in the world hates puppies? Right, Tick-Tocky?’

‘Tick-tock…?’

‘What? You like cats more? Is this treason?’

‘Tick-tock-aaack!’

Let's ignore the residents of the subspace who do foolish things every once in a while when it's quiet.

In just one day, old man Poodle organized and brought the basic blueprint for the water wheel and a list of necessary materials.

“Where are you thinking of building it?”

He asked, looking at the map hanging on the office wall, a map that held the sweat and blood of numerous reconnaissance teams.

In the Wolfskrig Viscounty, there are about three streams of water that could be called rivers.

The Mainwolf River, which cuts through the city.

The Oereu River, which meanders along the southern part of the territory, making the surrounding area fertile.

And a nameless stream that flows down from the north and leads to the swamp in the western forest.

“Let’s do it there.”

There was a place I had already marked.

***

There is a saying that civilization blossoms where there is a river.

It’s a plausible expression, considering that the ancient civilizations commonly called the world’s four great civilizations all began alongside great rivers.

Cities, which are a microcosm and a starting point of civilization, also tend to blossom by rivers.

Wolfskrig was no different.

The Mainwolf River is the largest river in the Wolfskrig Viscounty.

The river, with an average width of about 15 meters, cuts through the city and serves as a starting point connecting the villages and the city.

It's still a long way off, but if the western black forest is ever developed, it could become a long trade route connecting to the Theocracy and the City-State Alliance.

“You mean the Mainwolf River, right? I thought so.”

The territory's first water wheel is scheduled to be built on the bank of this river.

Roughly at a point midway between the mine and the city.

“Give me a couple of months, and I’ll finish it.”

Old man Poodle said, scratching his bushy sideburns.

It had been proven long ago that he was a man of great ability as well as character.

Even during his days as a mercenary captain, he was a man who had signed a formal contract with none other than Archduke Gabir.

The construction progressed quickly.

In three days, a revised blueprint was made to fit the terrain, and in another three days, the materials were prepared.

I was worried about the transportation of materials, but thanks to the manpower of the immigrants constantly flocking to the city, it was easily resolved.

I visited the site.

In front of the constantly piling up materials, the craftsmen from Maenenwood were nodding and exchanging opinions.

“The current is moderate and the river is wide, so the construction won’t be difficult. Since there's an inn nearby, let's connect a road between the two.”

“Carts carrying iron ore will be coming and going, so let’s make it wide.”

“We’ll dig the drainage well and pave it wide and sturdy with stone.”

The purpose of the first water wheel is to accelerate the steel industry.

Currently, the biggest driving force for the territory's development is, without a doubt, the steel industry.

By operating the explosive mining method with a copy of the dwarven-made demolition charges, the large quantities of mined iron ore are being forged into high-quality steel through the blacksmiths.

However, gunpowder didn't solve everything.

A prime example would be the separation and refining process of the ore, which takes the longest time in this industry.

The demolition charges only break up the ore veins cleanly; it's ultimately up to people to break the rocks containing the ore and sort them.

This process of splitting rocks with hammers and chisels and picking them out by hand is not efficient at all, even if you try to replace it with magic.

The reason for building a water wheel for minerals, a stamp mill, on the way from the mine to the city is to solve this part.

Looking a little further ahead, I am planning the industrialization of the city.

I have heard that the first factories in human history were powered by water.

Starting with the stamp mill, I plan to create a large-scale casting complex using water power within the city as well.

It would be truly a dream come true if, in the distant future, we could even introduce the dwarves' secret technology, the steam engine.

“A one-man industrial revolution… hehehe……”

“Uh, my Lord Viscount. Are you alright? Your expression….”

“Ahem. Hmm? What is it?”

“Ah, no, it's nothing.”

‘Master, your expression just now was very perverted.’

‘Tick-tock!’

What nonsense are they spouting?

Have they all been day drinking?

Anyway, while the construction was in full swing, another piece of good news arrived.

It was the fourth week since I had been appointed to Wolfskrig.

The rice planted in the purified farmland had been harvested.

“Reporting, my Lord Viscount. The harvest results show a yield of about two and a half times that of other regions that grow rice!”

It was a bountiful harvest.

“It’s a bountiful harvest, my Lord Viscount!”

“Does this mean we can be self-sufficient in food? We can fight anytime now.”

“Hahahaha! My Lord Viscount, shouldn't we have a grand festival for this?”

“I agree. For the sake of the Viscount's dignity, it is necessary to hold a festival.”

Starting with old man Brol, talk of a festival swept through the staff meeting.

Come to think of it, we haven't all had fun together since I was appointed to the territory.

Considering that a lord usually spends the first few days after their appointment with a festival, one could say I have been quite harsh on my subjects.

It couldn't be helped, as the situation was that desperate, and there was a mountain of things to solve….

“Bart. Brol. The two of you, take charge and hold one.”

…Now that I have a little leeway, it should be fine.

Immediately after the meeting, a public notice was posted.

A week later.

After the harvest was completely finished, the entire city would take a three-day break from work to enjoy the harvest festival.

It would be a matter of course for the news to spread to other territories through fast-moving merchants.

However, I didn't think it would cross the border.

Jiiiiiing-

For the first time in a very long time, Kkumteuli trembled.

‘Master, a call is coming in.’

“Can you tell who it is?”

‘The sacred relic of the Many-Handed Superior… so, I think it’s Hebrun von Zarhill.’

My neighbor, the 8th-level necromancer of the Vampire Archduchy.

The Princess of Blood.

“Kkumteuli.”

‘Yes?’

“Can you go on silent mode?”

***

Three hundred years.

That was the length of time Wolfskrig had been under the rule of the Vampire Archduchy.

Like in human territories, the transfer of ownership of a territory was not uncommon within the Vampire Archduchy.

This was especially frequent for fortress cities near the border like Wolfskrig.

Before the now-dead Count Calvenia, the number of vampires who had ruled Wolfskrig was well over ten.

Hebrun was one of them.

‘Was it about two hundred years ago?’

Hebrun searched her memory.

She thought she had taken over temporarily for about ten years because someone had died.

Anyway, because of that period, she knew the terrain and climate of this area quite well.

One of the features she remembered was that it was very windy.

Just like today.

Hwoooooo-!!

The strong wind shook the sail as if to tear it off.

Her well-groomed hair was instantly disheveled.

Hebrun brushed her jet-black dyed hair with her fingers.

She was on a boat.

The small boat going down the river was easily shaken by the wind.

“Whoops! Everyone be careful!”

Splash!

No sooner had the boatman shouted than river water splashed over the side of the boat.

Her sleeve got wet.

“……”

Hebrun clasped her wet sleeve with her other hand.

‘Tsk.’

It was not a difficult task for her to generate heat with her mana and dry it.

‘This is annoying.’

She just had to turn her head to check if there were any priests or inquisitors, then lightly generate mana to shake off the water.

‘Should I just flip this whole thing over?’

But even this simple task made her feel a surge of irritation.

‘Haa, he’s serving under some mercenary viscount. If he's nearby, he should at least show his face. When on earth is he going to keep his promise?’

About a year ago.

She had made a contract with a necromancer.

In Gunterburk, she had killed the beastmen's warchief, saved the mercenary and the priest, and then brought him Kashutal’s Amulet from the lord's castle vault.

In return, the necromancer was supposed to tell her how to awaken her father from his long slumber and restore his power.

The ‘method to awaken him from sleep’ received as an advance payment had been effective.

Her father, the Vampire Duke, had woken up from a sleep of over a hundred years and made his presence felt in the bloodline.

The Vampire Archduchy, which had still shown signs of division even after Count Calvenia's death, had instantly solidified as firmly as before with just the fact that its master had awakened from sleep.

Now, if she could just receive the other half of the payment and restore the Duke's power and legion, the Vampire Archduchy would be able to regain its former glory.

Her elite legion, sealed along with the Duke's legion, would also rise again.

However, there was one problem.

The person who knew the method had gone into hiding.

‘Ha, really. Why isn't he answering my calls again? He did this back in Gunterburk. This time, it's not even like he's avoiding me. Is he thinking, ‘I'm also 8th-tier now, I'm confident,’ or something?’

If it were up to her temper, she would have just stormed in, destroyed everything, and captured him like in Gunterburk.

But she couldn't do that, as her opponent was also an 8th-tier necromancer.

Moreover, considering he had copied a 6th-level unique spell, it was possible that the fellow had reached an even higher realm.

So she infiltrated across the border.

Taking advantage of the harvest festival, a time when both security and the church's surveillance would be lax.

Thanks to that, she was getting soaked on a shaky boat, and her diligently dyed hair was being messed up by the river wind.

It was then that she heard a grumble.

“Ha, really. Why isn't there a reply again?”

It was a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties.

A shaggy bandit's beard.

Armor worn under old clothes stained with soot.

A short sword naturally tied to his waist and calloused hands.

He was holding a crumpled letter, similarly stained with soot like his clothes.

As if sensing her gaze, the man turned his head towards her.

“What are you starin’… no, what are you looking at?”

Come to think of it, it had been two hundred years since she had come to this city.

Maybe having a guide wouldn't be so bad?