Chapter 141
Chapter 141
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 141
Chapter Title: Greater Freedom and Happiness
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Pour.
A golden wyvern with spread wings etched in relief on an anti-gold goblet.
Red wine aged for over a century in the skies above the Rabiter Empire's imperial wine cellars frothed as it cascaded into the cup.
"Drink."
"I am honored, Your Majesty."
In the Rabiter Empire's imperial palace.
Wine flowed back and forth in the emperor's office, where he handled state affairs.
The young emperor Hardveria, whose blond curls suited him perfectly.
With a quiet, gentle voice, he offered a drink to Duke Rubidium.
The duke extended both hands carefully to accept the emperor's proffered cup.
The duke who upheld the empire—even a seasoned noble past seventy—treated the emperor with utmost deference.
Like a knight meeting the emperor for the first time, not as a duke.
"Did things go well on your trip?"
The office was filled with the sweet, nose-tingling aroma of grape wine.
The emperor brought the cup to his lips and asked casually.
"Y-Yes, Your Majesty. We successfully negotiated the prisoner exchange."
The emperor, a Blade Master in his mid-forties, looked no older than his mid-thirties.
Duke Rubidium stood rigidly tense before him.
He knew.
The moment one fell from the favor of this refined, quiet-tempered emperor, a ducal house would vanish like morning dew.
"Well done."
The emperor took a sip of wine.
Sweet wine-scent wafted from his mouth as he spoke.
"I am honored."
The duke held his cup but dared not drink.
Sweat beaded on his forehead before long.
"So, did you meet Neruman's lord?"
Duke Rubidium had flown straight from meeting Neruman's lord to the palace.
He answered the emperor's question cautiously.
"I did."
Hardveria's eyes gleamed at the words.
Like a hyena spotting prey in the dark, a sharp, shooting-star flash in his gaze vanished in an instant.
"What kind of man is he?"
Pour.
The emperor finished one cup and refilled it.
His movements were slow, but that slowness choked the air from one's lungs.
The emperor's invisible authority.
Anyone but Duke Rubidium would already be gasping for breath.
"He's on guard...'
Having served the emperor for so long, Duke Rubidium knew him better than anyone.
He could tell from the emperor's feigned leisure that he was deeply concerned about Neruman's lord.
"A remarkable man, Your Majesty."
Duke Rubidium's curt reply.
"..."
The emperor's hand paused as he set down the bottle.
The emperor knew, too.
Few on this continent would earn such praise from Duke Rubidium's lips.
"Hoo, that impressive, is he?"
Hardveria sank deep into his gold wyvern-leather chair and brought the cup to his mouth.
"Enough to best Prince Imperial and Duke Yanobis."
The emperor wanted honesty now.
Rubidium conveyed exactly the impression he'd gotten from Neruman's lord, Kaiyer.
"Heh..."
Hardveria let out a short laugh, lifting the cup to his lips.
"We must regard him as the empire's top priority. And deal with him swiftly, at that."
Rubidium assessed Neruman and its lord as dangerous, based on what he'd seen firsthand.
"So... Neruman is more dangerous than Bazran right now."
"In my view, yes, Your Majesty. If left alone, in mere years he'll become untouchable."
"Hmm..."
The emperor groaned at Duke Rubidium's words.
He closed his eyes.
He'd considered it, but not to this extent.
"Then we prepare. Best to uproot the weed before it grows."
The emperor murmured with eyes shut.
Gulp.
Duke Rubidium swallowed dryly at those words.
He knew this casual remark sealed Neruman's fate.
Knew it was a death sentence for every soul in Neruman.
'Kaiyer... we'll meet again soon.'
When the emperor moved, he wouldn't march in blindly like the second prince or Duke Yanobis.
Duke Rubidium finished speaking and brought his cup to his lips.
Thinking of Neruman's lord, Kaiyer, whom he'd soon face again...
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
"The top-performing team today will get smoked pork hindquarters—thick with meat—along with bread and soup. But the last-place team gets week-old hard barley bread and water."
Gulp...
The captive mages drooled at the thick pork hindquarters offered as prizes.
Their eyes blazed like lasers at the meat, oblivious to all else.
'You should thank me. Who else drills the value of food into you like this?'
Twenty mages per team made ten teams total in the mage unit.
After nonstop spear repairs and magic grunt work since capture, they'd forged a mental toughness rivaling Duke Bukpa's warriors.
Ruthless before food, no high or low.
Ironclad teamwork and organization, ignoring rival teams' misery for their own.
Ruthlessness that brooked no methods for the goal.
They'd suffer aftereffects long after release.
Just hearing "Neruman" would make them piss themselves; they'd spread terror to Rabiter mages and towers, never trusting fellow mages again.
A perfect virus.
"Targets for today. Each team, follow the knights and dwarves' orders to finish the hangars faithfully. From now until sunset. Knights, lead the captives!"
"Yes, sir!"
No mana bracelets needed.
The outer walls perfected in the past fortnight.
Monster-hunting ex-captives mobilized across production lines.
Sand and cement, roadwork, brick-hauling, Aerial Corps construction, inner keep building—spread evenly.
"Move faster, please!"
"Let our team go first!"
Mages' pride from days ago? Sold off cheap. Veins bulging, they hounded their knight leaders for a single pork leg.
Some had quietly sabotaged escape attempts days back.
'Human potential is truly great.'
Tricked by the "three-days-three-months" ploy, the 180,000-strong labor force—mages, Neruman soldiers alike—worked diligently.
Add elf-dwarf collaboration, and Neruman grew visibly by the day.
"Light!"
"Levitation!"
The new Aerial Corps pad, five times larger than the foreigners'.
Logs atop sturdy brick walls bore integrated tile roofs.
Teamed mages fine-tuned mana to lift them whole.
'Who else but me thinks of this? Heh heh heh.'
Specially fired bricks shaped like tiles.
Wood frame base, tiles atop.
Dwarf carpenters made solid, seamless roof frames.
Magic-treated tiles weighed a tenth of normal; they slotted perfectly, floating down into sky-grooves.
Thud thud thud.
Hangars took shape one by one.
Not rickety Foreign Corps sheds—these rivaled Bazran's imperial hangars.
"My lord, incredible. Never dreamed the great fortress would rise this fast."
Derbal, voice dripping reverence as always, marveled.
"My orders being handled well?"
"Of course. Gold melted into bricks. Thousands done by now."
"Throw them straight into temple construction. Special care—it's for Neran-sama."
"As you command."
Near-perfect square outer walls.
Four klicks across, ten-plus meters high.
Even I was awed.
Finishing that in under a month? Twenty-first-century tech would struggle.
Level ground, stacked bricks, cement between—done.
No rebar or timber in cement joints, yet self-supporting strength? Tough even for modern tech.
But here: magic and spirits.
Earth high spirits instantly packed firm, angled soil bases for bricks, then cement-filled walls atop.
Structurally, cement should crack or burst as it set—but gravel reinforced it, laced with mithril alloy wires throughout.
Wires linked underground to the mana control room.
Defense and reinforcement magic arrays, sweated over ten days, hummed inside.
'Impossible without magic stones.'
To match years-honed imperial walls, poured magic knowledge and stones freely.
All twenty-odd grade-2 and -3 stones from Crisia used up a fortnight back.
Stones traded for time.
Worth every bit.
Walls were for show, inside and out.
To trumpet Neruman and me? No stone too precious.
'Problem is, I wanna live well.'
Few stones left in territory.
Most grade-4s ate up on new Blast Spears; grade-3s on bridge fixes, fortress defenses.
'For a twenty-first-century seven-star estate, high-grade stones essential. 24/7 hot water, purification/drying sewer arrays, inner climate control, high-tech kitchen with lights and magic stoves... Stones, damn them.'
Denfos' "modern" Foreign Corps HQ.
Even imperial provincial lords would scoff.
Now, building an inner keep to rival any capital, wowing visitors like new Neruman.
Ever-blooming gardens, pond and fountain bigger than a field, my petty(?) dream: paradise descended.
Strolling there with beauties, reciting Park In-hwan's "Thirsty Mare and Lady," sipping tea.
'Heh heh heh heh...'
Heart pounded in delight at the thought.
"My lord, salt flats done by afternoon."
"Yeah?"
'Finally operational.'
Salt, continent essential with grain.
Full flats running? Dominate salt market overnight.
'Glass factory next.'
Glass was rare luxury here.
Magic made earth-like clear panes, but treatments jacked prices sky-high.
Lubis merchant Jamer said window glass ran ten-plus gold a pane.
'Silica from sand, soda ash, lime for calcium. Crystal glass: lead oxide. Borosilicate: borax. Modifiers: potassium, aluminum, manganese... All local.'
Magic as comprehensive study.
Alchemy detailed ores.
Gandalf-master's transferred knowledge included modern mass glass production.
His bottomless lore.
Had to respect, humanity aside.
'Incredible guy.'
Mind's-eye great fortress.
Gold-coated temple one side; my golden palace, no envy of kings; wyvern hangar for a thousand.
Bliss just thinking.
'Time for inspection.'
Flats done? Fill with seawater.
Check roads too.
Elves' zeal paved from Haviss border to Orak Fortress.
Even monster-corralling east barrier got roads.
Robent River auto-split four sub-territories.
Roads done? Next growth easy.
Long-lived elves no flight risk; dwarves, now dependent, no strikes sans me.
"Bebeto!"
Krooooaaar!
Bebeto, at his vast personal hangar in the Corps pad, roared lustily at my call.
'Lucky punk. Got you a bedroom for two wyverns spare. Heh heh.'
He sensed my intent.
Thudded a lap around his hangar, then flapped to me.
Reward for hard work.
Man or wyvern, equal treatment.
Greater freedom and happiness—for the diligent alone.
My policy ruling Neruman.