CHAPTER 145: CHAPTER 143: DUST SETTLES, A CLEAR PATH

After bidding farewell to Duke Dane, Horn led his horse in silence, and when he reached the edge of the drawbridge, he turned back to glance once more at the castle.

Surrounded by a moat, between the curtain walls and towers, one could see shadows flitting on the corner tower of the castle’s main building.

Turning his head back, he continued to walk forward, the creaking sound of the drawbridge following his steps.

Horn felt something peculiar about today’s conversation with the Duke, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

Even though it was a mutually beneficial matter, with Horn providing the noble cause for the Duke’s uprising and the Duke offering Horn economic and military support, the Duke was truly hesitant and indecisive.

He had hoped to finalize matters today; otherwise, with this dragging on, who knows when a decision could be made?

Time waits for no one.

"Your Grace, are we heading back now?"

"No," Horn said, leading the horse in a different direction, "we’re going to bring the pharmacist and stonemason back to the camp and make a detour to the nearby guild church."

These days have been unstable, with the previous incident involving Qianqian serving as a warning to Horn.

From Citizen Road, they walked across the Yatol Bridge, where the guild church was situated at a turning point of the canal.

The Palladio façade made of rough stone, with niches on the second level containing eight marble angels or saints, prayed devoutly with their hands clasped.

Near the guild church, there were no priests, only artisans, accountants, and notaries from various industries.

The so-called guild church was not the church of a single guild but was built collectively by all the churches near Joan of Arc Castle.

This included the Notary Guild, Stonemason Guild, Tanners’ Guild, Dyers’ Guild, and many others.

Initially, what were called guilds were mutual aid organizations for craftsmen and artisans, somewhat like brotherhoods or alliances.

Their essence was to prevent malicious competition, protect trade secrets from leaking, set industry standards and scopes, and ensure most members’ interests by controlling the number of businesses and artisans.

When a member broke the law or fell seriously ill, other members would contribute funds to help and even had an obligation to conceal his crimes.

After the Hundred Years’ War ended, with both sides’ economies continually expanding, the Empire’s secondary industries rapidly developed.

This led to individual members within guilds possessing far greater power and voice than other members.

As a result, guild oligarchs emerged, using their family industries to monopolize a local industry and suppress and control other craftsmen for huge profits.

Most of the city’s councilors and power holders were these guild oligarchs and major workshop masters.

The guild church functioned as these oligarchs’ united headquarters, while also serving as a place for insurance, funding, and data storage.

As Horn entered the church, he could see new artisans swearing to the patron saint under a master craftsman’s supervision.

Ordinarily, an outsider like Horn would not be allowed in, but as a guest of the Duke, he was granted access to some unimportant documents.

Donning a typical commoner’s jacket, Horn piled a dozen thick account books on the table.

From time to time, he would open one, transcribe some data, and then calculate on scratch paper, working until the sun set before lifting his head from the pile of scrap paper.

"No errors in the calculations," Horn remarked, gazing at the data on the table, lost in thought.

The account books retrieved from the ruins had been calculated by those child soldiers and the bishop, showing an average investment return rate of 380% for the workshops and guilds at that trading port in Imperial Calendar 1425.

Horn had thought they made an error in calculation, but upon recalculating himself, it indeed came out to 380%.

Raising the overall investment return rate were four fur guilds and workshops.

Horn assumed that year was just a period of rapid expansion in the industry, possibly with the entire fur industry’s investment return rate being high, given the extraordinary world where common sense doesn’t always apply.

He came this time only to confirm the situation and visit the guild church out of curiosity.

But to his great surprise, that year’s guild data indicated an average investment return rate similar to normal times.

In other words, those four fur guilds were exceptionally profitable, or had those four happened to calculate or falsely report incorrectly?

After thinking it over, Horn found it somewhat amusing.

Just a few fur guilds miscalculating or falsifying accounts, why bother so much?

Seems like an old habit of being overly analytical came back.

Returning the account books and materials to their places, Horn glanced at the scratch paper on the table, hesitated a moment, and then collected and bound them together.

As he descended the rough stone stairs to the dirt road, the smell of wood smoke began to rise from the chimneys of nearby homes, and the guards with horses awaited by the road.

It wasn’t until Horn approached that he noticed a familiar ducal attendant awaiting beside the guards.

"What’s the matter? Does the Duke have a message for me?" Horn asked with a smile as he stepped forward.

The attendant stepped forward two paces, lowered his voice, and said, "Lord Dane asked me to convey a message that he agrees to your terms and promises to initiate actions as soon as November 12."

"Oh?" Horn was initially startled, then chuckled.

Even though he didn’t know why the Duke suddenly made such a decision, finalizing things early was still beneficial for Mr. Horn.

"The Duke asks when you would have time to discuss the specifics and sign the contract, like when you will leave and how much supplies the Duke will provide for your soldiers, etc."

"The day after tomorrow, I need to discuss this with the people in the camp."

"Understood, I will inform the Duke right away."

After bidding farewell to the minister, Horn did not ride a horse but walked back on foot.

Although the sky was still gloomy, Horn’s mood improved significantly, and he even began to hum a tune he hadn’t sung in a long time, "The Dream of the Celestial Kingdom."

The life in the old camp was secured, and the future of the new camp was arranged well.

Once things settle a bit in the Thousand River Valley, Horn will be able to bring the old camp to Swamp Town.

During the one or two years in Swamp Town, work on laying the foundation so that when these old camps arrive, they will be able to supplement labor force perfectly.

Nearly a thousand Alchemists, even in Black Snake Bay, are a force that cannot be ignored, let alone with Spring Technology.

Not long ago, Horn pre-ordered a catalog of alchemical products through Qianqian’s channels.

In his vision, with the Alchemists at the core, Swamp Town would establish one large alchemy factory after another.

After all, aren’t those alchemical processes just like physical and chemical reactions?

By then, can Joan of Arc’s industrial strength really compete against large-scale alchemical industries?

A single street in Swamp Town would be enough to astonish the entire Empire!

After finding Sessi and his disciples in the labor district, Horn hurried to the stonemason workshop.

Unfortunately, the guard told him that the city was too chaotic during this time, and the stonemasons had relocated to the countryside manor.

The guard would inform Horn, and by then, that stonemason should come directly to Horn’s camp.

As he walked out of the alley of the stonemason workshop, Horn steadied himself on the saddle and was about to mount the horse when he saw a familiar figure at the street corner.

"Harbin?"

Wearing tattered clothes and scraps hanging off him, Harbin was struggling to carry a bucket of slop to feed the pigs.

"Mr. Horn." Putting down the bucket of swill, Harbin took off his hat to salute the approaching Horn, "Didn’t think I’d meet you here."

"What’s going on with you? I gave you some living expenses before, didn’t I? To help find a mechanical engineer for me?"

"Actually, I found him," Harbin vowed confidently, "Absolutely related to mechanics and gears and stuff."

"You really found one, is he an engineer?"

"Uh, no, he’s a thief specializing in lock-picking, but not the kind who breaks locks. He uses techniques to open locks, any complex lock, and his skills are better than a locksmith’s."

Horn was at a loss for words at first, but then thought, after all, a lock is a type of precision machinery, having some hope is better than none.

"So where is he? Why didn’t you bring him to me for the bounty?"

"He took the deposit and ran away. I’m looking for him now, and once I find him, I’ll bring him to you." Harbin replied solemnly.

Horn couldn’t help but laugh: "Then why didn’t you come to me? How long do you think you can find him alone?"

"Wouldn’t that make me a swindler? By then, how would you know if I even scouted for you?" Harbin straightened up, "Doing business requires integrity. You pay, I do the work; there’s no messing up and then relying on you to back me up... You wait, I’ll definitely catch that rascal and bring him to you."

With that, Harbin put his hat back on, bowed to Horn, then picked up the bucket and was about to leave.

"Wait." Horn rubbed his forehead.

He suddenly remembered that the group of debt collectors who had previously troubled Harbin had been killed by him with a spring gun.

"Anything else? Mr. Horn." Harbin turned around, gazing up at Horn.

Horn took out dozens of Dinars from his pocket and handed them to him: "Those debt collectors of yours, I’ve killed them. It’ll probably take some time for new collectors to take over."

"Paying debts is only natural," Harbin shook his head without taking the money, "I won’t pay their high-interest loans; I’ll repay the principal and interest according to the current bank rates."

"Looking at the upcoming situation, for at least two or three years, they won’t have time to chase you for the debt. You take this money, and once my sword is fixed, you quickly take your father and leave."

"No, I can’t accept it." The swill in the bucket swayed with Harbin’s head shake, "The job isn’t done, I have no reason to take the money. I’m not a beggar, don’t want charity."

"Then for the next couple of days, help me find the old account books of various guilds around the year 1425, will this deposit be acceptable?" Horn forcibly placed the money into Harbin’s hands.

Looking at the Dinars in his hands, Harbin looked up at Horn, then silently put the Dinars into his pouch before taking out a gold ring.

"Sir, this ring is a token from the Count of Frrangipani Mountain, and it’s definitely worth no less than 20 gold pounds. I’ll pawn it to you. Unless I die, I’ll definitely come back with 20 gold pounds to redeem it."

Watching Harbin’s departing figure, Horn couldn’t help but laugh, Harbin was indeed a stubborn Dwarf at heart.

"Let’s go. It’s time for us to return. After hosting Grampwen and Diya’s wedding, we really should be leaving."