Chapter 45
Episode 45
"You want to drill a hole through the mountain?"
"And divert the river through it? With some kind of floodgate? Hahaha."
The dwarf and the mage's incredulous responses carried an unspoken Are you out of your mind?
Logan chuckled and answered with unwavering confidence.
"It's entirely possible. So, I'd appreciate it if you'd proceed as planned."
He couldn't blame Hamar and Clayton for their skepticism.
The MacLaine territory bordered the Southern Mountain Range to the south—a range so vast that no one had ever seen its end—while to the north, relatively shallow foothills formed rolling hills that blocked the Luther River from flowing southward.
The east and west lacked nearby rivers, leaving the land around the castle barren and surrounded by wasteland.
Logan's plan? Drill a massive tunnel through one of the northern foothills to divert the river.
To people of this era, the idea of flattening the mountain outright would've sounded more plausible.
But Logan pressed on without hesitation.
"We'll dig a tunnel—thirty meters in diameter—connecting directly to the Luther River and use it as a floodgate. It's a construction method from the western continent called a 'dam.'"
Technically, small dams were already in use in some parts of the western continent, so he wasn't entirely lying—though the method wouldn't become widespread in the Empire for another twenty years.
His plan was based on a dam he'd seen in the northern Empire, where they'd used a mountain as a natural embankment and drilled a tunnel to create a floodgate.
Of course, I don't know the exact engineering principles.
But Logan had something better—a dwarf and a mage.
In the future, the Empire had demonstrated the capability to reroute entire rivers in mere months.
But MacLaine didn't need anything that grand.
We just need a fraction of the Luther River's flow.
That alone would be enough to transform the western wasteland into farmland.
Still, even that wouldn't be easy—which was why he'd mobilized so many magic scrolls, mages, and laborers for the project.
"Hahaha..."
Even after the explanation, Clayton remained skeptical, but Hamar was different.
"...We'll need to pick the right location. The ground conditions matter. We'll have to consider water levels and channels too. Hmm... To prevent the tunnel from collapsing, we'll need arched supports and the mages' help..."
The dwarf muttered to himself, lost in thought, while Clayton stared at him in disbelief. Logan, however, brightened.
"So it's possible?"
"Huh? Oh... Haha. What was I saying? Hahaha. Lately, I've been talking nonsense without realizing it."
"No, even to someone like me who doesn't know much about construction, that sounded plausible."
"Ahaha. Must be from spending too much time in the mines. My mind's gone funny, Master. Ahahaha."
Hamar tried to laugh it off awkwardly, but Logan had already seized his hand.
"I knew it! I've seen things ten times this size before!"
"...What?"
Hamar gave him a What kind of nonsense is this? look, but Logan acted like he hadn't heard.
"Humans have built things dozens of times bigger—no way a dwarf can't do it. Right?"
Truthfully, if Hamar had refused, Logan would've just flattened a smaller hill and dug a canal instead.
It would've taken longer, but even a layman could manage it.
Though it would've cost way more gold.
Probably enough to buy a century's worth of food—unless they factored in war preparations.
Hamar's face grew increasingly ashen under Logan's confident gaze, but his foolish pride overpowered his screaming rationality.
"I-It might be possible... but it'll take an insane amount of manpower and money! Drilling through a mountain isn't as easy as it sounds...!"
His rationality tried to claw its way back, but it was too late.
"We have magic scrolls and mages."
"That's not something a couple of scrolls can—"
"One hundred and twenty per month."
"What?"
"One hundred and twenty 4th-Circle Collapse Scrolls every month. That's four per day, nonstop. Plus, Clayton here is a 5th-Circle Mage. More than enough, right?"
And with that, rationality's last stand crumbled.
"Now, let's find the best mountain for the tunnel. The one we can drill through fastest."
They had time before the food and scrolls arrived anyway—plenty to prepare.
"Don't tell me... I have to do that too?"
Logan had no knowledge of geology himself.
"Then who will?"
"Ughhh..."
At Logan's shameless reply, Hamar slumped to the ground in defeat.
Two weeks later.
"Here—this should work, right?"
Logan asked, exhausted, on a ridge of the second-lowest foothill north of MacLaine.
Given Hamar's size—only able to ride ponies—and his utter lack of motivation from overwork, Logan had spent the past two weeks hauling him around on horseback.
It was the only way to leverage the dwarf's geological expertise while comparing it to Logan's memories of future dams.
The result? Both of them looked like they'd been dragged through hell.
"Ugh... Yes. The ground and geology are stable, and the elevation is low. Plus, the Luther River is close—good for digging channels."
Finally, Hamar nodded.
Even he, looking even more exhausted than Logan, seemed slightly relieved.
But then—
"Great! Let's head back and start preparing."
"Let me rest, damn it!"
Hamar's face darkened again at his master's relentless attitude.
Logan ignored him, effortlessly hoisting the dwarf back onto the horse.
"At least it's a low-elevation area with existing mountain paths. Makes tunneling easier."
"That just means the ground's harder! Don't talk like it's nothing when you're not the one doing it!"
Ignoring Hamar's protests, Logan rode back to the castle with a refreshed expression.
Three days later, at dawn.
—By decree, all those obligated to corvée labor shall assemble. MacLaine Castle's western outer gate, Tesron Castle's eastern outer gate. Those who refuse without valid reason shall...
The sudden proclamation sent both territories into an uproar.
"So it begins..."
"Nobles are all the same, huh."
The residents of Tesron Castle—essentially a conquered territory—reacted with grim resignation.
They saw it as the conqueror finally beginning his exploitation, and fear spread rapidly.
But the atmosphere in MacLaine Castle—the conqueror's own domain—was even worse.
"Corvée labor? If I go now, my children will starve!"
"We barely survived the war, and now the lord wants to kill us? Damn it..."
"Should we just run?"
"Where would we go?"
"So our choices are die running, die working, or starve to death?"
The mood was bleak, but they had no real options.
The Southern Mountain Range was crawling with monsters, and the wasteland couldn't support farming.
They literally had to choose how they died.
Having lived passively their whole lives, the despairing commoners had no choice but to obey.
Three days later, at the castle gate.
"Maybe we can run when the chance comes..."
"Or fake an injury to get out of it..."
Some among the gathered crowd eyed their surroundings nervously, looking for an escape.
"If I go to corvée, my children will starve! Please, stop this, milord!"
"We've been surviving on roots and weeds! We don't even have the strength for labor!"
Others, either fearless or desperate, openly protested.
With nearly four thousand people gathered, the atmosphere quickly turned chaotic.
"There's enough of us to rush them, right?"
"But if the knights—no, those bastard knights—come at us..."
"We're dead either way. Right?"
"Yeah. Might as well..."
The air grew thick with tension, and madness flickered in the eyes of the oppressed.
From atop the walls, Dwain sighed at the restless crowd below.
"Was the forced conscription really necessary? You could've just said we'd give out food if they came."
"Then less than a quarter would've shown up."
"Huh?"
"Because they wouldn't believe us."
Dwain didn't understand Logan's bitter smile.
"What? That can't be. Not to boast, but our territory has always handled administration fairly and smoothly."
"I know, but this isn't about competence."
Logan knew his father had never exploited the commoners without reason.
The MacLaine family had fallen into decline four generations ago due to their ancestor's atrocities.
Back then, the MacLaine Count—still a count at the time—had squeezed his people dry to fund a war, only to be betrayed and defeated, losing much of his land.
The next count, desperate to recover, became even more ruthless—like a demonic noble—but failed again, driving away even his remaining vassals.
That was why the main family had been forced to settle in what was now MacLaine Castle—originally just an occasional fortress.
Which was why the current head, Patrick MacLaine, had sworn never to repeat his ancestors' mistakes—and never had.
Logan was certain of that.
"It's a more fundamental issue."
"What do you mean?"
"Because we're nobles."
In his past life, Logan had lived long enough as a mercenary to understand commoner life.
Nobles saw commoners as property—those who prided themselves on being reasonable nobles believed protecting them was their duty and that they were doing well at it.
Just like my father.
But to commoners, the difference between a good and bad noble was just who stole less and who stole more.
Dwain couldn't grasp that distinction.
"What does that have to do with anything? Even if our land is barren, we've always implemented the best policies. It can't be!"
Feeling his life's work dismissed, Dwain couldn't help but get angry.
"Does my father prioritize the commoners? No. The knights do."
"Th-That's because the head—"
"In this barren land, slightly better policies just mean slightly less suffering."
Unable to refute that, Dwain fell silent.
Patrick MacLaine was the type who measured his family's strength solely by its knights.
That was why, despite financial struggles, he maintained over fifty knights.
Their salaries alone cost over 1.5 million gold annually—more than half the territory's budget.
The bitter truth? Even then, MacLaine knights were paid below average.
So he couldn't blame them either.
As the financial officer, Dwain knew better than anyone that without Cairos' support, the territory would've gone bankrupt long ago.
He couldn't argue further.
"That's why I'm forcing them to gather—to show them proof they can trust."
"Hah..."
"Well, it's time. Watch."
As Logan spoke, Dwain's gaze turned to the scene below.
Creaaak—
"Th-The gates are opening!"
"Everyone, remember—united we live, divided we die!"
"Yeah! We're dead either way! Corvée labor at a time like this?!"
"Come on, focus! Tighten your guts!"
Though they were just untrained country folk, fear of starvation and death forged desperation into resolve.
As they patted each other's shoulders and glared at the gates, a glint of murderous intent flickered in their eyes—
THUD.
BOOM.
The gates swung open, revealing a procession of countless wagons.
"Hyah! Move out!"
"Hurry!"
Neigh—!
Led by a few armored knights, an endless line of wagons—stretching all the way from the inner city's eastern gate—marched toward the outer gate.
"Wh-What's all that?"
"Is that... grain?"
Murmurs spread among the bewildered commoners as the strange spectacle unfolded.
"Where's all that going?"
"It's coming this way?"
The murderous glint in their eyes faded as confusion took over.
Neigh—!
"Halt!"
"Prepare the rations!"
Sacks of grain were unloaded from the wagons and piled endlessly before the crowd.
"Wh-What's this?"
"Are they... giving it to us?"
"Don't be ridiculous! Since when do nobles—"
"Then why now?"
"I... I don't know."
Uncertain hope began to flicker in their eyes.
As tables were set up and grain sacks stacked behind them, that hope swelled.
Then, one of the knights leading the procession boomed:
"By the order of Grand Prince Logan, all who participate in corvée labor shall receive a month's worth of grain for their families!"
Silence.
Then—chaos louder than before.
"Wh-What did he say?"
"They're giving us food?"
"For real?"
"Distribution begins now! Form orderly lines!"
The knight's voice cut through the confusion again.
"WOOOOAH!"
A thunderous cheer erupted as the crowd surged toward the tables.
"Stop! No rations for those who don't line up! Hey, you! Get in line!"
What could've become a riot was quelled instantly as five knights stepped forward, flexing their authority.
"It's real grain! You're really just giving it to us?"
"Yes. You'll receive it monthly if you work."
"M-Monthly?!"
"By the Grand Prince's decree."
"Ugh... W-We're saved."
"Thank you, Sir Knight!"
"Thank the Grand Prince, not me!"
"Thank you anyway! Really..."
As commoners received their grain, doubt vanished, replaced by roaring cheers.
And finally—
"LONG LIVE LOGAN MACLAINE!"
The outer gates erupted in deafening praise for the man behind it all.