There is a superior, A.

A boss who assigns overwhelming workloads but hasn’t shown their face in over half a year. Such a boss returned after a long absence with 8,712 tasks.

What might the subordinate’s feelings be at that moment?

The answer can be read clearly in the expression of Shabin Emure standing before me.

Trembling hands.

Eyes fixed in a rage.

And...

‘Murderous intent...?’

How could an ordinary person manifest such killing intent?

I have no idea, it’s utterly baffling...

“I... I’m going to quit—”

Before she could finish that sentence, I hastily cut her off.

“Shabin! Calm down for a moment! Without you, our tribe would collapse!”

“If one person leaving means collapse, wouldn’t it be better to collapse early?”

Uh...

Not exactly wrong, but...

“W-Why say that between us? I’ve treated you well so far—”

“So you mean I haven’t been treated well?”

“No, not that...”

The ‘family-like culture’ is typical in small to mid-sized companies.

But I quickly discarded trying to persuade with loyalty.

I know better than anyone how to solve labor shortages in such companies.

To hold back those tired of a ‘family culture’ and planning to leave, moral appeals won’t work.

“Double it.”

“Double?”

“Yes, double the salary you’ve been receiving!”

At the shocking news of a salary increase, a slight crack appeared in Shabin Emure’s cold expression.

“...That won’t change my mind—!”

Here came the combo.

“I’m not just talking about from now on!”

“...?”

“I’ll pay you double even for the time you spent struggling alone in the holy ground while I was gone!”

“...!!!”

Even an employee who’d lost willpower would open their eyes wide at such a performance bonus promise.

“...”

She didn’t answer immediately, seeming embarrassed, but her face showed complete disarmament.

So I stopped pestering and quietly gave her time, and slowly she spoke.

“...I’ll do it.”

A tiny voice like an ant crawling.

“What did you say?”

“...I accept! The position of Chief Administrative Officer!”

Shabin then shouted loudly like someone who had made up her mind, then blushed shyly.

And added an excuse.

“W-Well... I’m also at the age to prepare for marriage now.”

Completely unexpected reason.

“Uh...”

Not just an age to prepare—quite late, in fact?

I thought she’d be almost forty in a few years...

In modern society, a late first marriage might be normal, but in this social era, it’s definitely late—

“Hmm.”

At that, Amelia nodded as if agreeing.

“At that age, it’s about time to think about it.”

...Good thing I said nothing.

Chief Administrative Officer, Shabin Emure.

Today, she truly earned the highest authority in administration and clerical affairs.

“I have land I planned to sell next year. It might be a bit cramped, but it can accommodate these people.”

At the moment she had decided to quit, Shabin seemed to have already prepared to house 8,712 refugees.

“The roof is an issue... but I have materials ready to quickly build a temporary cover.”

“Quickly? No matter what, it’s a lot of people. Can you really manage?”

“Of course. Bjorn, you’ve been away a long time, so you don’t know... Barbarians are born workers. They might be better at labor than fighting.”

“...What?”

Though it sounded like pressing a button as the barbarian chief, I had to accept the results.

Like warriors who prove they’re worth a hundred men.

“Behel—laaaaaa!!”

Warriors lifted giant logs with a shout and carried them alone.

“Make sure the center pillar is well secured! Like our muscles!!”

Building homes in the holy ground had become trendy, so they even had building skills.

Not quite on par with dwarves, but...

“Hey! That’s crooked!”

“Too much trouble—just set it up straight!”

“Good!”

Maybe it’s a limit of their nature.

The dwarves’ meticulous craftsmanship in metallurgy and architecture is unrivaled.

But...

“Fast, right?”

“I see...”

All the barbarians rushed the work; calling their speed ‘crazy’ wasn’t enough.

At this rate, all the temporary shelters for refugees would be completed in a few days.

‘Though if built hastily, they’d likely collapse in a year...’

Still, I realized one fact.

‘Barbarians are cost-effective...!’

No, not just good—this is insane.

Very, very cheap labor.

And yet, physically able to do the work of several men alone.

And above all...

‘No complaints.’

Even exploited cheaply, they just accept it positively.

I had no reason to take offense at Shabin’s words about them being natural workers.

If anything, her praise was even insufficient.

I can say without doubt, barbarian warriors are the strongest laborers of this era—.

“Yandel.”

At that moment, when I was marveling at this new possibility, someone spoke behind me.

A familiar voice.

“...Rotmiller?”

“Long time no see. I wanted to visit earlier but you looked busy.”

“Why are you in the holy ground?”

I asked out of genuine curiosity, but Rotmiller looked at me as if he’d heard something strange and answered.

“Yandel, wasn’t it you who asked me to teach exploration techniques to the young warriors here?”

“Ah...”

That’s right.

I really...

“Sorry. I’ve been too busy recently and forgot for a while.”

“No need to apologize, I understand. You’ve had your share of big troubles recently, haven’t you?”

“I appreciate that, but anyway... Have you been staying here since then?”

“Unless I have business in the city, yes. Teaching the young warriors suits me and fits my nature.”

“Oh, really?”

“Not a joke. When they come back alive from the labyrinth and give me stones as thanks for my teachings, my heart fills with joy...”

Suddenly Rotmiller trailed off and cleared his ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ throat awkwardly.

“Ahem! Anyway, I’m living a pretty decent life, so don’t worry.”

“Is that so...?”

“Oh, and recently I’ve had some time to help with administration after work.”

“Administration...?”

“Emure struggles a lot. It’s hard to just watch a young friend struggle...”

“Huh? Shabin Emure is... young...?”

“Didn’t you know? She’s two years younger than me. Not that age matters, but she’s accomplished much more....”

Rotmiller chuckled bitterly.

That made a lightning bolt strike my head.

‘...Could this be related to Shabin’s marriage preparation?’

I thought so but didn’t do anything tactless like ask about their relationship.

They’ll handle it themselves—they’re not kids.

“Oh, right, Yandel... Do you know what’s happening in Viphron? Everyone’s nervous but not showing it.”

“I’ll tell you when I know. I have no information at the moment.”

“I see...”

After about 30 minutes of chatting with Rotmiller, Shabin Emure came looking for me.

“Bjorn...! Oh? Rotmiller is here too?”

“Good to see you, Emure. He finished the survey I asked yesterday and stopped by on his way to chat with Yandel.”

“Oh, really? The survey’s already done?”

“No reason to delay. I know you’re busy, Emure.”

“Thank you always, Rotmiller...”

Shabin covered her mouth, smiling like a lady.

‘Hmph, something’s definitely going on here.’

My warrior instincts said so, but since it wasn’t my business, I changed the subject.

“Shabin, why did you come find me?”

“Oh, my mind’s all over. Three letters arrived this morning. Three.”

“Three?”

I took the letters she handed me and checked; each had a different sender.

“One’s from the royal family, one from Melbes, and one from...”

No idea.

What could this be?

While pondering, knowledgeable Shabin added an explanation.

“The seal means it’s an official letter from the races. Judging by timing, likely an invitation to the Racial Conference.”

“Racial Conference...?”

Oh, right, there was such an event.

Representatives of six races gather for a conference.

I should have gone long ago but was trapped underground for so long, missing it.

“Did the conference happen while I was gone?”

“No. I believe it didn’t happen. The tradition is that everyone must attend to hold it.”

“...I see.”

My question answered, I opened and read the other letters one by one.

Coincidentally, all contained official matters. Briefly:

Notice granting permission to attend the royal meeting.

Invitation to Melbes’s regular gathering.

Consent form for the Racial Conference.

Is it because I’m both tribe chief and baron?

Receiving such letters makes me feel like a high-ranking politician.

...Not exactly wrong.

“Wow...”

Shabin, after checking the senders and contents, exclaimed in admiration and muttered oddly to me.

“Truly an impressive person to receive these...”

It sounded like praise but also a jab.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing. Just amazed someone receiving these letters is right here.”

“...Suddenly shy.”

Feeling awkward, I focused again on the letters.

“So, what do you plan to do?”

“Do? You mean...?”

“You got three invitation-like letters. Will you attend all?”

“Probably. They’re all official matters.”

“Then where will you start?”

Ah, that unfortunately isn’t mine to decide.

“Let’s see, the earliest is...”

I picked up one letter.

“This one is the earliest.”

An invitation to the Multiracial Nobles’ Alliance, Melbes’s regular gathering.

Having returned to the city after a long time, there’s so much to do.

But the most pressing issue among them is this.

Not originally planned as a quest, but...

[Make money using the refugees living in the barbarian holy ground.]

All the refugees became my vassals.

Under royal law, vassals of noble families cannot hold side jobs.

Well, secretly they might, but...

I have to be careful not to give the royal family a reason to accuse me while employing all 8,712 for side jobs.

‘If we’re to pay taxes next year, we need to generate profit somehow...’

This is the biggest problem.

If I were a great noble with businesses, I could provide jobs to them there, but I’m not.

‘What to do?’

Surprisingly, a clue came from attending the Melbes regular gathering just to report survival.

“Ah, the next agenda is about bidding on the reconstruction of Districts 7 and 13. As you know, the royal family announced they will select three noble companies to carry out the rebuilding.”

“......”

“Since huge profits are involved, many noble families will participate, and Melbes plans to select a family to support behind the scenes.”

“......”

“To that end, we plan to participate in the bidding with the Count Goldbeard family, owners of several construction companies, and if there are no objections, we will hold a vote—.”

I uncrossed my arms, which I’d folded to nap, and stood.

“I object!”

Our family must win the contract.