Mother Said, Learn a Trade (2)
Though his beard was thick and white and the wrinkles on his face were deep, the old man’s body was remarkably sturdy—hardly what one would expect from a prisoner who had spent so long behind bars. His only flaw was his short stature, but even that was a point of pride for him.
'I’ll show them this time just how precious the blood of a Dwarf is!'
Life in prison is nothing if not tedious. Because of this, most prisoners keep their ears pricked for any gossip shared by the guards or news brought in by fresh arrivals. Lately, there was one story that everyone kept hearing.
That the new acting administrator of the North was a man obsessed with work. And that if he discovered talent, he would drag that person under his wing by any means necessary.
'At this late stage in my life, the heavens have finally answered my prayers!'
Because of this, the old prisoner considered this upcoming mine labor a stroke of divine luck.
"Aigoo! A mine? We’re doomed, we’re totally doomed!"
From the neighboring cell came the wails of prisoners crawling on the floor, lamenting that they would rather die, but the old man was overcome with excitement, snorting with anticipation as he waited for the coming day.
Meanwhile, in the office of the Lord’s Castle, the lights remained on, as they did every night.
"The prisoners are heading to the mines tomorrow. Shouldn't you go and see them off?"
"Forget it. It’s not like they’re anyone special that I need to bid them farewell."
"I suppose that’s true."
"Double-check the list of prisoners being sent to the mines. It doesn’t feel right to send those who committed minor offenses to mine labor."
"I’ve only marked those with clear, serious crimes, so don’t worry too much."
"Right, right. Oh. What about that swindler old man?"
"I marked him as a 'Grade 1' worker. Hehe. Since he used to be a blacksmith, I thought he might serve well as a leader among the laborers. The guard said he’s absolutely thrilled, thinking he’ll earn a pardon by performing well in the mines."
At Jamie’s words, Aiden couldn't help but let out a dry laugh.
"Performing well? They’re going there as punishment for their crimes."
"But blacksmiths are rare, aren't they? So it’s only natural he’d think that way."
"Still, a swindler is a swindler."
"His skills are the real deal, though."
"Didn't he ruin an entire territorial war by skimming off the materials with those 'real' skills?"
"Well, that is true..."
The old man’s name was Faber. He had run a large smithy in a territory near the North, and it was said he could manipulate metal as if it were playdough. The problem was that he never hesitated to use that talent to commit fraud.
"What does that mean? A master at making them look genuine?"
"He’d fill the insides with cheap scrap iron or packed dirt. He’d just wrap the outside in steel, like plating."
"Why would he do that? It sounds like an incredible amount of work."
"Steel prices were skyrocketing back then. It wasn't long after the Empire’s territorial wars ended."
"...So he did it to sell the real stuff on the side?"
"Exactly. And then he ended up in the dungeon because he wrecked an entire territory."
"Huh?"
"There was a territorial war. One side had real steel, and the other side had gear that looked fine on the outside but was a mess on the inside. How could they have fought properly?"
"It’s a miracle he didn't get his head chopped off."
"Well, he was a technician, so he managed to avoid the executioner."
Aiden shook his head, recalling the conversation he’d had with Jamie when they were selecting prisoners for the mines. He couldn't fathom what kind of mindset it took to skim off steel intended for a territorial war, no matter how much one loved money.
"Anyway, if he’s that good at handling iron, he might find a use for even the low-grade iron ore."
"I’ll contact the Cat-folk and tell them to keep an eye on him."
"Good. Let’s leave that issue there for now. How is the pilot complex coming along?"
"Here is the report."
It felt like spring was just yesterday, but it was already summer. Even in the North, this was the time of year when sweat would naturally bead on your skin if you stayed outside. It was the season of growth, where crops seemed to shoot up overnight.
"Doesn't look too bad."
Reading the report, Aiden began to click his tongue.
'It’s not a total disaster, but the results aren't exactly satisfying.'
Most of the special crops they had started cultivating in the pilot complex couldn't exactly be called a bumper crop. While one shouldn't expect to be full after the first bite, it was still disappointing.
"Still, the farmers are all happy because they have a new source of income. Even villages far away are expressing interest in running their own pilot complexes starting next year. Isn't this good enough?"
"If I were just going to compromise and settle for this, the administration wouldn't have stepped in to lead it in the first place."
Aiden calculated the numbers in his head and reached a conclusion. At this rate, it was as good as a failure.
'Income might be increasing, but that’s simply because the amount of land being farmed has increased. Even if they had planted the usual crops instead of special ones in the pilot complex, the income would have gone up anyway.'
The reason he had encouraged special crops, which required much more effort to grow, was to achieve a dramatic increase in farm household income. In that sense, it was clearly a failure.
"Let’s go out there."
He needed to see it for himself.
"Administrator! Please, take this! Hoho!"
"Oh my, you really shouldn't have!"
"It’s nothing special! I baked it with plenty of butter I made myself, so it should taste good!"
Aiden’s hands were full of gifts as he headed toward the pilot complex. It was because every resident he encountered came running out to press something into his hands. Though their attitude toward the acting administrator was a bit too familiar, Aiden thought the feeling was actually quite nice.
'I feel like a politician during election season.'
There were loaves of bread baked at home, a link of freshly boiled sausage, a few handfuls of wild berries picked by children, and even children who hung flower necklaces they had been playing with around his neck.
"I don't think there’s another acting administrator in the entire Empire who is as popular as you, sir."
"Just take some of this. My hands are full. Take the food to the kitchen later. I guess I’ll just replace dinner and a late-night snack with these."
"Is 'leaving work on time' completely absent from your mind, Administrator?"
"What would I do if I left work?"
"Well, that is..."
"See? You don't have a family, you don't have friends. Just do your work, with me. The castle gives you food, gives you snacks. How great is that? Don't you think?"
"......"
Leaving a wounded Jamie behind, he arrived at the pilot complex. Despite the scorching sun, the farmers were pouring out sweat. They were pulling weeds by hand, picking out stones one by one, rebuilding broken ridges by hand, and scraping the soil on the sloped fields with their palms—
Aiden doubted his own eyes.
'Is this a hidden camera show?'
If not, how could this make any sense?
"...What is that?"
"Sir?"
"Why are they all doing that with their hands? Is there some custom I don't know about?"
At Aiden’s question, Jamie scratched his head.
"We’re short on farm tools, that’s why. Things like hoes and plows have to be used on the original fields where we grow rye or barley. So for small-scale fields like the pilot complex, we have no choice but to use human hands. Hehe."
"This is insane."
He had miscalculated. He had thought that because he had successfully led the census, the market, and the hunting competition, money was flowing into the North.
'They’re still poor. Still.'
Aiden couldn't help but sigh as he watched the farmers using their two hands to replace plows, hoes, and sickles because they were short on tools.
'I should have paid attention to this first.'
It was his mistake. He had experienced everything from small town administration to managing a major city, but he hadn't thought that a problem would arise from something as simple as farm tools.
It made sense now why the crop status in the pilot complex was falling short of expectations. They say a master craftsman doesn't blame his tools, but you have to blame your tools until you become a master.
"First, I need to check what kind of farm tools they use."
At Aiden’s words, Jamie immediately borrowed various tools from the farmers working in the rye field next to the pilot complex.
"This is insane."
Aiden felt a wave of dizziness at the sight of the worn-out tools. They were all incredibly crude. The sickles were just dull pieces of metal stuck into sticks carved from wood, and the plows, which should have had steel blades, were just a few pieces of heavily corroded metal of different sizes and shapes attached to them—and they were all bent in different directions, making it questionable if they could even scrape the soil.
The other tools were in a similar state. Iron was used only sparingly on the edges, while most were made of wood and tough vines. And the farmers used these to level slopes, build ridges, and scrape away weeds.
"Even so, this area is better off because we use steel blades, even if we’re short on them. In villages further from the Lord’s Castle, they can't even get those, so they sharpen stone blades or use bone fragments."
"......"
Aiden thought deeply. He had at least expected it to be on par with medieval Europe, but this was still the Neolithic Age. Stone blades, for heaven's sake!
'Damn this fantasy world.'
Technological development was a complete mess.
"What is the reason for this? Is it a lack of iron, a lack of technology, a lack of money, or a lack of people?"
"All of the above, sir."
Jamie shrugged, as if asking why he was asking such an obvious question.
"At least that’s a relief."
"Sir?"
"Since everything is lacking, if even one thing improves, the situation will get better."
"Oh, a shift in perspective!"
"A shift in perspective my foot. Ugh!"
"Hehe."
"Let’s post an announcement immediately. The title—yeah, 'Northern Farm Tool Improvement Prototype Contest' should do."
He couldn't stand to see the residents digging in the dirt with their bare hands anymore.
Soon, an official document was sent to every village.
Document Number: No-NG201-NorthernTechImprovement
Purpose: To encourage the development of practical and creative prototypes to replace outdated farm tools for the improvement of agricultural productivity and farming environments across the North.
Contest Category: Farm tool prototype proposals utilizing resources locally available in the North.
Evaluation Criteria:
- Feasibility of production
- Practicality
- Cost-efficiency
Eligibility: Any sentient being with an interest in the North, including Northern residents.
"What is this, meow?"
The document reached the Cat-folk village as well. After all, it was an official village of the North. And that news soon reached the prisoners laboring in the mines. Naturally, the swindler blacksmith old man cheering was just a bonus.
"I’m going to escape soon, wahahahaha!"
The old man’s eyes were gleaming with madness.
"That old man is at it again."
"Leave him be. He needs at least that much hope."
It was a madness that even the other prisoners cautiously avoided.