Chapter 135
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Prime Works
Chapter: 135
Chapter Title: There's No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“There you go, this is the contract.”
Flutter, flutter.
Lloyd waved his hand.
The contract in his grip fluttered dramatically for all to see.
Naturally, the refugees’ eyes turned toward it.
His words continued.
“This is a contract for—what, no beating around the bush. I’ll get straight to the point. It’s an ‘application to participate in the Eastern Mountains terraced farmland reclamation project.’”
“......”
Terraced farmland participation…… what?
It was a long and complicated name.
Most of the refugees tilted their heads.
A wry smile tugged at Lloyd’s lips.
“We’ll shorten it to ‘reclamation project participation application.’”
“......”
Aha.
They’re doing reclamation work.
That’s why he brought so many applications.
But why?
The refugees glanced at one another.
Even as they did, Lloyd’s words kept flowing.
“I brought these for you all. Why? Because you need to settle down properly. Not just scraping by in these cramped, messy camps forever. Even after moving into the apartments. You need land to farm for your families, a way to earn money, and a chance to live like human beings again, right?”
“......”
“I don’t think any of you want to keep living like this.”
Lloyd’s words tossed a small pebble into everyone’s hearts.
Ripples spread from where the pebbles landed.
Every refugee thought the same.
He’s right.
That’s exactly what I was thinking.
I’m tired of living like a beggar like this.
‘I…… I wasn’t meant to live like this.’
That was the honest sentiment rising in their hearts.
Sure, they were refugees now, having lost their homes and livelihoods.
Refugees—might as well say beggars, living in abject misery.
Their lives now depended entirely on the one-sided charity of Frontera Territory.
The future looked utterly hopeless.
And that made them resentful.
Because most of them hadn’t lived like this before.
Some who were now refugees in rags had once been landowners with vast fields.
Others had been farmers tilling their plots with their families. Some woodcutters, others shepherds raising flocks.
Even the tenant farmers had been hardworking heads of households, sweating diligently to feed their families.
At the very least, none had been beggars who lost everything and had to rely on refugee camps.
No, no one wanted to remain in this dependent state forever.
‘Of course not. That’s human nature.’
Lloyd thought.
Even if it meant hard labor, they’d rather do it from their own homes than communal tents.
With their own families, not strangers.
Living a proper, human life together.
That was a natural wish for anyone.
‘I was the same.’
Suddenly, memories of his time in Korea surfaced.
Especially right after losing his parents and home.
The most miserable period of his own life.
‘I had nowhere to go.’
At first, he crashed at friends’ places.
He leaned on their friendship, but that wasn’t sustainable.
His friends said it was fine.
But he felt like a burden.
He couldn’t keep imposing forever.
So he left his friends’ place.
He stayed in the school clubroom.
But he regretted it quickly.
‘It was even more awkward there.’
So he worked part-time jobs like crazy.
Saved up a little money.
Used it to rent a coin-operated motel room.
His body suffered, but his mind felt freer.
‘I needed my own space, guaranteed independence. These people probably feel the same.’
No need to watch others’ faces while freeloading.
No blow to their pride.
That was probably everyone’s mindset.
Lloyd planned to turn that psychology into motivation for development.
And that plan was the reclamation project he was announcing now.
“It’s simple to explain. Join the reclamation project. Those who work hard will get a plot of reclaimed land. In other words, land to farm and settle on. This contract is just to make that promise official between us.”
Flutter!
He shook the contract again.
Before the murmurs could settle, he quickly set up the contract table.
“First come, first served! If you’re late, the jobs might fill up!”
That one line started it all.
First come, first served.
A devilishly effective phrase for any crowd, in any world.
Drawn by it, refugees began sitting at the table one by one.
“Uh, if I sign this contract, I can work?”
“Of course.”
“What kind of work?”
“You’ll help build the terraced farmlands.”
“Building…… you mean……”
“Digging with shovels. Pickaxe work. Or hauling dirt. Ever used a shovel before?”
“Yeah, I have. I’ve handled dirt my whole life.”
“Perfect. Exactly the kind of candidate I’m looking for.”
“R-really?”
“Obviously. So, sign here?”
“Ah, yes.”
One person down.
“Um…… can women work too?”
“Of course. Construction doesn’t discriminate by gender.”
“Then I’ll do it.”
“Your husband?”
“Bad back.”
“I see. Must’ve been tough. Sign here.”
Two people.
“We brothers will all join!”
“Uh, that’s a problem.”
“What? Why?”
“One person per household. Demand will be high, as you can see.”
“But……”
“Were you hoping all your brothers joining would get you more land?”
“Yes……”
“Drop that expectation. But you brothers can rotate shifts, right? Less grueling that way, and you get land with less effort than others. Be satisfied with that for now.”
“......”
“Don’t like it?”
“No, no! We’ll do it.”
“Okay. Sign here.”
Three people.
Then five.
Ten, then a hundred.
Hundreds turning to thousands.
The contracts filled up with names.
Lloyd’s smile grew ever more satisfied.
‘Good. Great response. Contracts going smoothly.’
These were refugees he’d inherited anyway.
They’d become residents eventually.
Now he could mobilize them naturally, legally, in a win-win for the reclamation.
“You didn’t come to camp just for contracts from the start, did you?”
“Uh, obviously.”
They were heading back from the refugee camp.
Haviel followed, carrying the box of signed contracts.
Lloyd shrugged at his question.
“There’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world, right?”
“......”
“What? You think I’m being cheap?”
“No. But—”
“But?”
“For some reason, I feel lucky you were born in this rural backwater.”
“Huh? What’s that mean?”
Lloyd turned to Haviel.
Haviel wore a cryptic smile.
“If you’d been born in the capital, you’d be some scheming politician by now.”
“......”
“Or a sycophantic courtier.”
“......”
“Or maybe a con artist ruling the back alleys with his silver tongue.”
“I look like that kind of guy to you?”
“Yes.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
“Whoa. Didn’t even hesitate a second.”
“Honesty’s the best policy.”
Haviel grinned there.
Then added something Lloyd hadn’t expected.
“Good thing you use that sly cunning for good. I’m grateful, even.”
“......”
“Why that face?”
“Trying to figure out if it’s an insult or a compliment.”
“Obviously an insult.”
“Knew it.”
“Not mad?”
“Nah. Timing’s off. Chiming in late would be lame.”
“It was actually a compliment.”
“Don’t buy it.”
“Really?”
“Want me to squeeze out some belated tears of emotion?”
“Please spare me. Gives me chills.”
“Right? Even I think so.”
Lloyd chuckled too.
And so they walked side by side.
Both thinking.
A family once crushed under massive debt.
A pathetic rural territory with nothing to boast about.
Now it had grown this much.
How much had they changed?
Were they slightly better people now?
Lloyd and Haviel alike couldn’t say.
♣
The next day dawned.
Lloyd dove into full preparations for the reclamation project.
The first step, as always, was surveying.
“Whew. Steeper than it looks.”
He’d headed out early, past the coal mine to the Eastern Mountains foothills.
The land to become terraced fields via reclamation.
He meticulously checked its slope, soil, and drainage.
‘It’ll be tricky to build, but this is still the best spot.’
Some might ask why reclaim the mountainside.
Doesn’t the territory have other land?
Aren’t there plenty of flat empty plots?
They might voice such obvious doubts.
But Frontera Territory had little space left for large-scale fields.
‘The south’s done with Marez Reclaimed Land. West? Not our territory. Even promoted to county, we can’t touch outside land. That’s King Sis’s domain.’
Reclaiming there recklessly?
Treason, in the worst case.
Not quite that bad, but he’d face reprimands or scandals.
‘No need for that political hassle. North then? Soil’s no good for farming there.’
He’d considered the northern zone at first.
But scrapped it once apartment construction began.
The soil was worse than imagined.
‘Not fit for crops. Barely weeds could grow.’
So only the eastern mountainside remained.
Fertile, at least.
Built up over years with leaf litter and humus.
Clear the vegetation, level it?
It could yield plenty.
Plus, outside territory borders but not kingdom land.
No royal claim, so no development burden.
Success would even earn minor credit for expanding kingdom territory.
‘Perfect spot. Save internal scraps for later.’
Gaps between villages.
Unused fringes.
Those would become expanded residential or commercial zones later.
For the territory’s growth, don’t touch now.
Lloyd harbored a Korean-style new town blueprint and continued surveying.
Post-survey: decide construction method.
Lloyd holed up in his bedroom for days.
Pored over results, deep in thought.
‘Retaining walls. That’s the key to this reclamation.’
Steep mountainside.
Carving it into farmland.
Naturally modeled on Southeast Asian terraces.
But he didn’t know terracing well.
Couldn’t half-ass it.
‘Then do it my way. Think continuous large-scale retaining walls.’
Retaining walls.
Everyday structures anyone sees.
On hills or mountains.
Concrete walls holding back cut slopes.
That’s retaining walls.
Urban hillsides.
Highways, national roads.
Glance around—ubiquitous.
But not simple at all.
‘Look easy because they’re common. Just stack walls, right? Wrong. Deadly serious. Bad design or shoddy work? Collapses without warning.’
Roads wash out.
Houses buried.
Landslides.
Needed precise calculations, flawless construction.
‘But doable. Use design skill.’
Massive terraced fields.
Vertical walls supporting each level.
Lloyd decided on ‘gabion walls.’
‘Ideal here.’
Driving highways, you see them.
Cut mountainsides.
Rock faces.
Wire mesh covering them.
‘Fall rocks’ signs as bonus decor.
That’s gabion walls.
‘Simple to build. Pre-make wire mesh frame, dump in coarse gravel and rubble.’
Originally considered concrete walls.
But two issues nixed it.
‘Winter construction. Too cold. Guaranteed freeze-thaw damage. Cement won’t cure right. Plus Bangul needs rest. Been overusing volcanic blast for apartments.’
Bangul was exhausted.
Push more?
‘Nope. Rest him. Or his butt’ll chafe.’
Even farts need moderation.
Lloyd faced new worries.
‘But…… gabions have issues too.’
Material for the mesh.
‘Wire? No, Bangul rests. Rebar? None spare. Apartment stock’s tight. Rope? Too weak, degrades in sun.’
Lloyd’s brow furrowed.
No answers.
‘Even if sourcing wire for mesh, galvanize it. Or rust. Rust=crumble, snap, mesh fails, walls unstable, families shake, society crumbles…… no.’
Just galvanize.
But too expensive.
Pockets already tight.
Kingdom aid wasn’t generous.
‘Galvanizing last resort. Find cheaper material or method.’
Then began his espresso-deep.
Gabion mesh.
Not pricey galvanized wire.
Cheap, tough, durable, corrosion-proof.
‘Think. Ugh, think.’
A day of worry passed, then two.
Three, four.
No solution.
Lloyd barely ate, furrowed brow constant.
His attached fantasy beasts grew worried.
Maybe that’s why.
“Podong? Podong?”
Fed up, Podong stepped up.
Gave advice to brooding Lloyd.
“Podong! Podong? Podong!”
“......What? Pull a new friend now?”
“Podong!”
Podong bobbed his round head vigorously.
Lloyd, chin on desk, turned only his head toward Podong.
“You mean try Fantasy Beast Gacha?”
“Podong!”
“Like, hoping for one to solve my mesh material dilemma? Something tough?”
“Podong!”
“Hmm, not sure it’ll work.”
“Podong?”
“It’s random. No telling what comes out.”
“Podong?”
“Will it perfectly match what I need? Skeptical.”
True.
Fantasy Beast Gacha.
Pure random.
“Lucky so far, but no guarantee this time.”
Lloyd smirked.
True.
With Podong, Bangul.
Hamang too.
All insanely lucky, he thought.
Then.
Bangul, who’d watched, chimed in.
“Bangul! Bbangul, Bangul!”
“......What? It’s not random?”
“Bangul!”
Bangul nodded.
The three fantasy beasts each added a word.
“Hama-mang? Hamang, Hama-mang!”
“Podong! Podong!”
“Bangul!”
Lined up, advising him.
Lloyd’s eyes widened as he listened.
“......What? There’s a special way to influence the gacha results?”