Chapter 180
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Translator: Prime Works
Chapter: 180
Chapter Title: A Sturdy Patron (2)
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Full-scale construction had begun.
‘And the anchors I ordered came out perfectly.’
It was the day after he had turned down the Namaran Count’s proposal.
The castle blacksmiths had come to him early in the morning.
They had hauled in a steel anchor about seven meters long, grunting with effort.
‘For a prototype, the quality was incredibly good.’
As expected of the blacksmiths the Namaran Count had recommended so highly.
The anchor’s specs and performance were mostly satisfactory.
In particular, the wedge at the end, designed with reference to wedge lock bolts, was so well-executed that it drew gasps of admiration.
It had been made almost exactly to their specifications.
‘The helical groove on the end wedge was carved perfectly.’
Thanks to that, the construction schedule gained momentum.
He ordered them to mass-produce the same anchors based on the prototype.
That was when it started.
Lloyd broke ground on the full-scale project.
“Alright, everyone. This is your first time working on a project with me, so it might feel a bit awkward. So, let me ask upfront: any skeletons new to construction?”
“…….”
“Since you can’t talk anyway, just raise your hand. Those for whom this kind of work is a first, hands up.”
Clack!
All 200 members of the engineering corps—no, the bone corps—raised their hands.
Lloyd’s eyebrow twitched slightly.
“What? You’re all total rookies?”
Clack!
“Why?”
He’d suspected as much, but all of them being construction newbies?
As Lloyd looked a bit troubled, the bone corps leader, Turtle Neck, stepped forward with paper and charcoal.
- Don’t worry too much. It’s because we’ve all lost our memories from life.
“What? You can’t remember?”
- Yes. Even I’m the same. I can’t recall what I did when I was human, or what kind of person I was. Nothing comes to mind.
“Ah, so that’s why you’re all called things like Turtle Neck or Frozen Shoulder?”
- Yes. We’ve forgotten our old names too.
“Tch. Blank slates, huh.”
- Still, plenty of us must have done construction in life. It might come back as muscle memory once we get going.
“Well, here’s hoping. Ahem! Anyway.”
Lloyd’s gaze swept over the bone corps again.
“Some of you might be total newbies, and others might recall old experience. But this is everyone’s first project with me.”
Clatter!
The 200 bone corps members cheerfully clacked their lower jaws and raised hands again.
Lloyd gave a wry smile.
“Ah, no need to raise hands anymore. Anyway, from now on, as we work, I want you to etch this one thing into your bones: safety first. Safety is the most important thing on site. So don’t rush or flail around. That’s bad for your joints. Take it slow, safe, and precise. Otherwise, the one who gets hurt will be you. Got it?”
Crack!
“……You’re actually etching it into your bones?”
The bone corps member who had carved “Safety First” in tiny letters on his ribs picked up a shovel.
Haviel, who had been watching Lloyd’s briefing from the side, also drew his sword.
It was time for the slope stabilization construction to begin.
And Haviel was taking on the most crucial role in that phase.
“You know? Pierce.”
Lloyd picked up a large brush.
He slathered thick red paint in spots across the cliff face.
It looked random, but every stroke was precisely calculated and designed.
Of course, Haviel knew that well.
Thanks to his experience on projects with Lloyd.
“Direction, angle, depth, and diameter, please.”
“Straight down. Depth twelve meters, diameter one meter.”
“Understood.”
The silver-haired knight gripped his sword, inputting the data values(?) needed for vertical shaft drilling—or rather, the ogre crane equipment did.
Lloyd stared intently at the spot he had painted.
Strength entered his sword hand.
A faint anger flickered in his eyes.
Always treated like construction equipment?
No.
The opposite.
‘Shameful.’
He was angry at himself.
He had no right to complain about being stuck doing construction.
This was the only thing he could properly accomplish.
He had struggled against a powerful enemy he couldn’t handle alone.
Even if it was a Hell Knight.
The fact that he couldn’t defeat it solo remained unchanged.
The fact that he’d needed protection from Lloyd, the one he was supposed to protect, hadn’t changed either.
That filled him with guilt and shame.
His true duty.
His obligation.
His mission.
He had failed at every one.
‘I was arrogant.’
It had started after becoming a Swordmaster.
Somehow, without realizing, he’d grown complacent.
This was good enough.
He’d reached a sufficient level.
Had he been stagnating without knowing?
‘Can’t deny it. No—if I deny that self, I’ll never progress again.’
Himself, struggling against the Hell Knight.
The fight he couldn’t have won without Lloyd’s help.
Reflecting on those moments, Haviel deeply repented from his heart.
And vowed.
He would advance further.
He would never put his lord and territory in danger again.
So even in this construction, he would never slack.
No—even this moment would be training.
He etched it into his chest, his eyes blazing with resolve.
The next instant.
His sword flashed.
Whoosh!
He moved like the wind.
Thrust like lightning.
Exploded like thunder.
Boom-crack! Boom!
Every time he struck the ground with his sword, a blast detonated without fail.
But these blasts were markedly different from before.
Previously, blasts were just crude explosions underground.
Now, they didn’t even deliver the shock of a harp string beyond the specified range, as Lloyd had instructed.
Because Haviel was using every ounce of skill to control the shock radius down to the millimeter.
Of course, it was incredibly difficult.
Exhausting, too.
Yet Haviel kept doing it.
‘Control the force. Adjust the range. More precisely. Destroy exactly where needed!’
Each sword strike became training.
Even swinging a sword for construction.
Daily breaths.
Ordinary steps.
From now on, every process would be training.
A stepping stone to hone himself further.
With that ironclad resolve, Haviel’s sword danced fiercely and delicately.
Dozens of smooth vertical shafts, one meter in diameter and twelve meters deep, lined the Namaran cliff face.
Next, it was the bone corps’s turn.
“Alright! Move!”
Creak!
At Lloyd’s call, the bone corps sprang up.
On their shoulders rested a log thirteen meters long and one meter in diameter.
“Focus! And remember! Step in sync with my cadence so legs don’t tangle! If I trip and lose balance, the ones ahead and behind get hurt, and everyone carrying this log could get crushed! Etch that in your chests!”
Creak!
The bone corps nodded their skulls.
They stepped carefully in time with the cadence.
Hauling the large, heavy log.
It was a circular friction pile to jam into the vertical shafts Haviel had drilled, securing the ground.
‘Like a toothpick stuck in a burger at a handmade burger joint. If you skewer it right, the patty, bun, and lettuce don’t slide off. Same with the ground. You drive it deep to connect the solid bedrock below with the soft surface.’
And not just one pile, but many.
Lined up for dramatic effect.
Plus, Lloyd was thrilled with the logs for the friction piles.
Thanks to the local climate in Namaran.
‘High elevation means it’s dry and cool year-round. Iron pines grow wild—hard as steel and resistant to rot.’
One-meter-diameter iron pine logs.
More than sufficient for friction piles.
Lloyd had confirmed it dozens of times via simulation options.
“Alright, next is Kkoming!”
“Kkoming!”
When the bone corps reached the shaft with the friction pile, Lloyd shouted skyward.
Kkoming, hovering above, responded.
Fluttering tiny wings, it descended.
It bit the rope firmly.
The other end was tied to one end of the pile.
Kkoming flew up, rope in mouth.
The rope tautened.
The pile rose vertical.
“Bone corps! Align the pile!”
Creak!
The bone corps swarmed the upright pile.
They adjusted the bottom to fit the shaft.
Lloyd confirmed and shouted.
“Kkoming! Down!”
“Kkoming!”
Kkoming flapped down slowly.
The friction pile sank inch by inch into the shaft.
Minutes later, it filled the shaft completely.
‘Perfect. Spot on.’
Lloyd clenched his fist, eyeing the fit.
The pile was precisely cut to one meter diameter and thirteen meters long.
It filled the hole without gap or excess.
Meaning the entire process—from shaft drilling to pile insertion—was flawless.
“Great! Keep it up!”
“Kkoming!”
Creak!
With Lloyd’s cheers, Kkoming’s replies, and the bone corps’s bony applause, construction continued.
Over a fortnight, they drove piles every two meters, dozens in all. They added tie beams connecting the tops to share loads.
Next came the anchors on the slope.
First, they leveled the mounting surfaces.
Haviel drilled holes at 45-degree inclines, and they inserted anchors.
Scrape! Crunch!
Into the drilled holes.
Then, with the anchor fully inserted, they twisted the central rod.
The anchor head at the end rotated.
Following the screw-like groove, it spun into the anchor body. As the head retracted, the end expanded. It filled the hole tight, locking firm.
Lloyd then injected grout solution.
A hardening mix of premium glue from steamed slime and lime.
As the grout cured, they tensioned the anchor’s rope. The other end connected to a flat pressure plate on the ground.
The plate was carved granite, cross-shaped, two meters square.
Anchor buried in the earth.
Pressure plate on the surface.
Rope taut between, pulling the plate.
The large, flat plate pressed firmly against the cliff slope.
If the prior friction piles were toothpicks skewering the burger?
These anchors were like threading a needle through the burger, tying a plastic plate to the thread end, and laying it on top.
Anchor as needle.
Rope as thread.
Plate as plastic.
Tension the thread?
The plate presses the burger tight.
Creating powerful fixation.
Thus, they installed countless friction piles and anchors per design.
Sweat poured, bones creaked.
Kkoming’s wingbeats and Lloyd’s calls rang daily.
Days passed, then weeks.
Months flew: one, two.
Cosmos of late summer wilted.
The highlands turned autumnal.
Until the first snow fell.
The long construction ended.
The result: success.
The crumbling, sliding cliff face was transformed.
Now stable, no more collapses.
The Namaran Count, confirming with his own eyes, cheered.
“Here’s the promised payment.”
“This is…… a carriage?”
“Correct.”
“You’re not saying the carriage is the payment, right?”
“Hahaha, as if. Look inside.”
The Namaran Count smiled kindly.
Lloyd felt a twinge of anticipation.
‘Something big.’
A jackpot vibe swelled.
Heart pounding, he opened the carriage door.
His eyes widened.
“A small token of my gratitude.”
“…….”
Boxes filled the carriage.
Gold coins glinted from a cracked-open one.
Was this real?
Lloyd asked, dazed.
“……I can take all this?”
“Don’t believe me? Hahaha! I felt generous for once. Considering you saved my daughter and city, I thought of giving more, but you turned down this old man’s request, so I trimmed the generosity a bit.”
“Haha. No need to trim it.”
He grumbled playfully.
But his lips curled to his ears.
‘Yes!’
Lloyd secretly clenched a fist.
Five boxes brimming with gold and silver coins.
Enough to sustain the territory and refugees without royal aid for a while.
‘Nice. Super ultra nice.’
Nothing beat money.
Money was king.
With this, he could swim in honey the rest of his life.
Certain, Lloyd set off for Frontera Territory.
Driving the gold-laden carriage.
With the 200 bone corps.
Amid farewells from count and lady, departing Namaran boldly.
Twelve days into the journey.
Half a day from Frontera.
That morning, Lloyd sidled up to Haviel tending the campfire.
“Hey, Haviel?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“You know. This whole playing dumb thing—does it exist or not?”
“……Suddenly ‘playing dumb’? What do you mean?”
“Bet. Lady Ella. You agreed to return to the territory in that outfit, right?”
“…….”
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
“…….”
Honestly, he had.
The Iron-Blooded Knight’s heart sank.
Lloyd’s lips bloomed a mischievous, wicked grin.
In his hand dangled Lady Ella’s pre-packed dress and wig, gripped tight.