The Cycle of Poverty (1)
Whoosh-.
Even today, the biting wind showed no signs of stopping.
Clack, clack, creak-!
“It’s going to break at this rate. Good grief.”
Aiden had been buried in paperwork until late into the night. He had always thought that wrestling with documents was his favorite way to spend time, but the window, which looked like it might shatter at any moment, had finally managed to break his concentration.
Rumble-.
‘Ah, right. I should eat.’
Only after he set down his pen and stretched did the hunger finally hit him. He stood up and headed to the kitchen.
“The cafeteria… well, there’s no way the chef is still around at this hour.”
It had already been thirty years since the last noble who was granted the North as a fiefdom had returned the land to the Emperor with his own hands. Since then, the rank of the administrative officer sent to serve as the acting lord had only continued to plummet.
— There were no applicants, for one.
— Besides, it’s not like the North has any proper industry to speak of, right?
— The population is, what, two or three thousand at best?
— It doesn't border any other countries, so there’s no need to waste the Empire’s talent on such a godforsaken place.
— Indeed, indeed!
The result of the continued tacit approval of the high-ranking officials who pocketed bribes was simple: they sent someone with no power, no connections, and no ability to curry favor with superiors. However, since Aiden had a reputation for doing his job reasonably well, his appointment as the administrative officer of the North was perhaps a natural sequence of events.
Creeeeak-.
The thick wooden door, lacking any lubrication, groaned everywhere he went. The kitchen was no different.
He scanned the pantry, but—
“Pathetic. Truly pathetic.”
This was, in name, the Lord’s Castle, and the center of the North—a region with a massive landmass—yet look at the state of the kitchen supplies. A few sacks of famine-relief crops, some stale bread of unknown origin, and a piece of mysterious smoked meat hanging from the ceiling in a somewhat grotesque posture…
When working overtime, one naturally craves something greasy and stimulating, but there wasn't a single spice to be found anywhere, leaving him with nothing but a sigh.
“Still, at least there’s protein.”
Aiden was a man who accepted reality quickly.
“Hum, hum, hum~!”
Before he knew it, he was humming a tune, bustling about to make a sandwich. The bread was coarse and crumbly due to the high rye content, but once he toasted it golden-brown on a cast-iron pan, a decent enough aroma filled the kitchen. The smoked meat hanging from the ceiling didn't taste half-bad once he sliced the edges thinly. The only fresh vegetables were a few greens, but after adding some pickled vegetables, it started to look like a proper meal.
“This is excellent enough.”
There were no fancy sauces, but fortunately, he found a jar of olive oil.
‘Olive oil and salt are more than enough.’
In the 21st century, people even went out of their way to eat that for health management, didn't they? It would have been perfect if there had been black pepper, but one couldn't expect such luxury here. Unfortunately, it seemed spices were precious in this world as well.
Chomp-.
Aiden took a mouthful of the sandwich with such delight that anyone watching would have involuntarily swallowed their saliva. The meat was greasier than he expected, and the gamey smell was a bit strong.
‘Can’t be helped.’
It was unavoidable since he couldn't find enough spices or herbs to mask the scent. Still, it was enough to fill his starving stomach.
“The Earl of Sandwich, was it? There was a reason that guy invented this.”
He recalled the origin story of the sandwich—whether true or false—about a man so addicted to gambling that he found eating a waste of time, so he stuffed meat between bread. The reason he remembered it was because he had started his self-imposed overtime again, with a sandwich in one hand and a stack of documents in the other.
‘If only I had Excel, I could have finished this in no time!’
As with most administrative work, it started with data organization. One might expect him to sigh at the documents he had spent nearly two weeks compiling since arriving in the North, but Aiden was actually excited.
‘They say people even did paperwork by hand in the 90s. This has its own kind of romance, right?’
Scratch, scratch.
Although he didn't have a ballpoint pen or high-quality, glossy paper, he was fortunate to have sturdy wrists.
“…Sigh. The occupational composition is even simpler than I thought.”
He had heard until his ears grew calloused that the North was desolate, but Aiden hadn't imagined the documents would be just as barren. Starting with a census had been an unavoidable choice.
‘Without it, I wouldn't have the minimum information needed to build administrative infrastructure.’
It seemed his damn predecessors had literally done nothing. They acted as if coming to the North was some form of exile, so it was no wonder they had no desire to work. The lack of a proper administrative system meant there were no eyes watching the administrative officer, so who would have complained if he did nothing?
‘Idiots.’
Aiden found such predecessors utterly pathetic.
‘Because there’s nothing here, it’s even more fun!’
Huh? Originally, the golden rule of tycoon games was starting from nothing.
“This isn't the time for that. Focus!”
He had lost his way for a moment while daydreaming. He had intended to finish the occupational distribution survey by dawn, but at this rate, it was impossible.
“Still, there are quite a few people who farm, surprisingly?”
This was unexpected. He had assumed that because it was a cold region, it would be far removed from agriculture.
‘Well, even the Jurchen or Khitan tribes tried to farm somehow, I suppose.’
It seemed that no matter how barren the land, the basic human desire was to settle down and farm. Everything else besides farming matched what he had expected. Almost no one knew how to read, and few possessed specialized skills. Because the market wasn't properly formed, they had to make everything they needed through cottage industries, so many had learned basic crafts, but—
‘It’s not enough to call them experts.’
Still, it was fortunate that there was a hunter in every other household.
“This seems to be a matter directly linked to survival.”
Even if there were surprisingly many farmers, one couldn't ignore the climate, environment, and technology. It meant that farming alone wasn't enough to support a family in this harsh land.
‘Still, I thought it would be common for large families to have two or more hunters, but that’s not the case.’
He had assumed that, like the legends of the people living in the rugged Northeast of the Korean Peninsula being born warriors and hunters, the people of this Northern land would be the same. But—
‘I guess that was just an exaggeration in alternative history novels.’
As his thoughts reached that point, a faint, dry laugh escaped his lips.
Scratch, scratch-.
The silent, empty kitchen was filled only with the sound of his pen moving.
***
Clatter, clatter.
“Umm-.”
“Are you awake?”
A gruff voice. It was familiar.
“Ah-.”
“Why are you doing this here instead of going inside to sleep?”
“Haha, I suppose so.”
Sunlight was pouring in through the window. He must have fallen asleep without realizing it while organizing documents all night.
“Wait just a moment. It’s almost breakfast time.”
Only then did he notice the chef boiling something in a large iron pot.
“I’m sorry. For entering the kitchen so carelessly last night.”
“…What’s there to apologize for? Is there any place in this Lord’s Castle that the administrative officer can’t go?”
“Still. The kitchen is your space, Brikal.”
“……”
The chef, Brikal, blinked at Aiden’s words. The back of his neck even turned red without him realizing it.
‘Why is he like that?’
As a born civil servant, this was something Aiden couldn't understand. In the civil service, they say that the unlucky guy ends up doing both his work and yours regardless of whose job it is, but shouldn't the roles between departments be clear? That was the only way to ensure accountability.
“I brought some bread and meat to eat yesterday.”
“…Since it was the administrative officer who ate it, you don’t need to tell me such things.”
“Still. I felt I had to let you know.”
Some might wonder why he would report such trivial things, but these matters were never about the size of the issue. Even when using a box of A4 paper, he was used to recording it; using another department’s supplies at will felt… well, it bothered him.
“By the way, what kind of meat was that? It was my first time eating it. It didn't seem like beef or pork. And it’s not… sheep, right?”
Was it goat or wild boar?
As Aiden tilted his head, Brikal grinned.
“Judging by how you ate it, it seems you stuffed it between bread.”
“Yes, as a sandwich.”
“This meat is usually boiled thoroughly. Otherwise, it’s a bit tough.”
“Ah, it was a bit like that, actually.”
“You’re probably the only person in this North who eats bear meat like that, sir.”
“…What meat did you say?”
“It was a beast I caught around last autumn, just before it went into hibernation, and then smoked. I caught it myself.”
“…?”
In Aiden’s mind, Winnie the Pooh and the Coca-Cola polar bear began to dance simultaneously. But more importantly—
“You caught a bear yourself, Chef?”
“Yes. I caught two at the end of last autumn. One was kept for my family to eat throughout this winter, and the other was butchered; half was set aside to be sold, and the other half was brought to the Lord’s Castle. As you know, the operating budget for the kitchen isn't sufficient, so we have no choice but to be self-sufficient.”
At Brikal’s words, Aiden felt as if he had been struck on the head with a hammer.
Rustle-.
Aiden began to spread the stack of documents he had worked so hard to organize across the large table.
“Why are you doing that, all of a sudden?”
Whether Brikal was flustered or not, Aiden’s eyes were fixed on the occupational survey samples and statistics.
Farmer,
Farmer,
Herbalist,
Hunter,
Carpenter,
Lumberjack,
Farmer,
Cook,
Hunter
.
.
.
“Brikal, what is your occupation?”
“Pardon? Why, I’m a cook, of course.”
“…But you said you caught a bear?”
“Well, I catch bears, wolves, and sometimes monsters, but I’m still a cook, aren't I?”
“Why is that?”
“Eh? That’s because…”
Brikal scratched the back of his head. He looked as if he had never thought about it before.
‘Wait a minute, this might be…’
A hypothesis popped into Aiden’s mind.
‘What if hunting is just like a passive skill to the people here…?’
Just as the Joseon nobles all knew how to shoot a bow but didn't call themselves archers, if everyone hunted but didn't consider themselves hunters, then it was understandable why the number of registered hunters was lower than expected.
— It’s just catching a few deer, so it’ll take a while to see if they can be trained as hunters.
Come to think of it, a resident had said something like that.
‘No, if everyone is a hunter, why are they so poor?’
The question naturally followed.
“Bear skin! Right, if you caught two bears last autumn, what did you do with the hides?”
“Well, I dried them well to sell, of course.”
“To whom do you sell them?”
There shouldn't be a market in this town capable of trading that much leather and fur.
“When winter ends, merchants come around to buy the hunted skins and fur. Sometimes they take the meat or bones, too.”
“You must make a decent profit?”
“Well, I haven't always received a fair price because they always claim there are defects. Since I’m not a professional hunter, after all.”
“?”
No, my good man.
If you aren't a professional hunter, you can't catch two bears.
Regardless, Aiden suppressed his bewilderment and thought.
‘Bewilderment is one thing, but…’
There was something here.