Chapter 17
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 017
Chapter Title: Heretic King (3)
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Once the bustling heart of the Sternberg territory's villagers, the village below the castle now lay shrouded in an eerie silence, like a massive grave.
A acrid stench of charred wood stung the nose. Where the flames had raged, only blackened pillars jutted up like grotesque ribs, skeletal and bare. The streets were buried under ashes, strewn with broken bowls bereft of owners and melted farm tools.
"Oh God... how are we supposed to live now..."
A woman's dazed lament drifted away on the wind as she slumped to the ground. The villagers' eyes were filled with profound loss and utter hopelessness over their ruined homes.
But to my eyes, gazing down from horseback amid the devastation, the scene looked entirely different.
'This is actually perfect.'
It might sound cruel, but it was the truth.
Medieval villages were the epitome of inefficiency and filth.
Winding alleys that sprawled like amoebas without plan. Muddy streets reeking of mingled human and animal waste. Shoddy wooden houses that could burn to the ground from a single spark.
Now it was all gone, swallowed by fire. With the old decayed, this was the perfect chance to build anew.
Nothing's better for starting fresh than a blank canvas.
"Is there anyone here who knows about construction? Masons, carpenters—even someone who's dug a well before, step forward."
A murmur rippled through the villagers.
Moments later, a hunched old man shuffled timidly out from the crowd.
'Huh? I recognize him.'
He was the one who'd questioned me about bread and beds right after the battle, when I declared responsibility for the refugees.
"This humble servant... is Stefan, my lord. In my youth, I helped build the village well and church. Learned to work stone because of it."
The old man's outstretched hands were thick with calluses, like tree bark worn from a lifetime of shaping stone.
I nodded in satisfaction.
"Stefan, I need your experience starting now."
I led Stefan and the able-bodied men to the village center, now an empty lot. The villagers, clueless and anxious, trailed behind with uneasy glances.
Scrape, scrape.
I took a long branch I'd prepared and began scratching lines into the ash-covered ground.
Black soot parted, revealing red earth beneath. Soon, a neat grid of orderly squares emerged on the soil.
The villagers stared in bewilderment at their lord drawing strange patterns on the ground.
"This is the new Sternberg we'll build."
I jabbed the branch tip into the center—the largest square.
"This is the plaza. Where markets will stand and festivals held. Radiating from it, straight roads wide enough for two wagons abreast, running east, west, south, and north."
"You're... going to make the roads on purpose?"
Murmurs of disbelief erupted everywhere.
To them, roads were just worn paths from foot traffic—not something planned and built.
I ignored them and pointed to the thin lines between the grid.
"And behind every house, we'll dig ditches. One fed by clean spring water from the hill above—an aqueduct. The other to carry household waste out of the village—a sewer."
"S-sewers...?"
Stefan's eyes bulged.
"You're saying... collect the waste separately and pipe it away? Why not just dump it in the street or the river...?"
To a man who'd spent his life scattering shit on fields or roadsides, this was world-shaking.
I shook my head firmly.
"That's how you keep the village clean and free of plague. Stagnant water and filth breed all diseases. No one in my territory dies from dirty water again."
The crowd buzzed at my declaration.
A lord caring about serfs' hygiene? But the real shock came next.
"Every house built square to this grid. No more walls of twigs and thatch. Strong, fireproof bricks."
Silence fell like a dousing of cold water.
After a long pause, potter Pavel burst forward, face pale as death.
"My lord! Bricks? Brick houses are for churches and nobles! How dare wretches like us live in such finery... and where do we even get that many bricks?"
I chuckled at Pavel's panic.
"Pavel, remember the clay you dug up for firebricks? That mountain of dirt you hauled out to reach the kaolin."
Kaolin, key for the blast furnace, lay deep under layers of ordinary clay. We'd piled it up like a hill, left abandoned.
Pavel blinked in realization.
"You mean fire that scrap clay? But my lord, the fuel for all that... it'd cost more than it's worth! Bigger than the belly itself!"
"Bigger than the belly, eh..."
I turned with a leisurely smile, ignoring his fretting.
My gaze fell on the dense forest behind the village, thick with dark green.
"Pavel, what do you see there?"
My finger pointed to the treeline. Pavel blinked blankly.
"That? Your forest, my lord."
His voice instinctively lowered.
In the Middle Ages, the lord's woods were sacred. Hunt or chop without leave, and it'd be your hand or neck by law and custom.
To them, it was no bounty but forbidden ground.
I shrugged lightly.
"Wrong. That's fuel."
"...Pardon?"
"It's all trees, isn't it? Centuries untouched, overgrown with prime firewood rotting from excess."
Comprehension dawned; Pavel went white. Gasps rippled through the villagers.
Stefan's wrinkled face trembled as he spoke.
"M-my lord! That's no jest! Those woods are the sacred preserve of your ancestors! If scum like us touch an axe to that holy forest, heaven's wrath... no, the king's law will have our heads!"
I clicked my tongue at their trembling.
People scared stiff over mere trees?
I fixed them with a stern gaze.
"King's law? I am the law of this land."
A chill fell over the crowd; none could argue.
On a lord's land, his word was law. Hitherto used for exploitation—but no more.
"And Stefan, you're mistaken on one thing. My most precious asset isn't some sticks of wood."
I slowly surveyed the ruined village and the people atop its ashes.
"Cut trees regrow. Plant seedlings next year, a forest in ten, giants in thirty. But..."
My eyes met the hungry, weary gazes of the villagers.
"People don't come back. Frozen or plague-dead—no replacing them."
"Ah..."
A sigh escaped someone.
"So chop. As much as needed. All of it."
I commanded firmly.
"Fuel the kilns with that forest. Fire the bricks, build your homes. Better a bald hill than my people shivering. That's my will."
No one spoke. They couldn't.
Awe and reverence shone on their faces toward their lord.
But I wasn't done.
"Also, all measures in Sternberg territory from now use this."
I raised the birch rod I'd held all along—precisely one meter long.
"Call this one rod '1 meter.' A thousand together: 1 kilometer. One hundredth: 1 centimeter."
"Meter... kilometer... centimeter...?"
"Yes. Cut all bricks and timber to this standard. Same sizes every time—building speeds incomparable to now."
Local units varied wildly by region and era.
King's arm, handspan, man's stride—vague, forcing reliance on craftsmen’s guesswork.
Pure inefficiency.
Stefan bent to scrutinize my rod: length, thickness, grain.
"My lord, my thick skull can't grasp it fully... but one rod measures everything?"
"Exactly. Sternberg's new 'span,' new 'inch.'"
I scanned the crowd.
"Jakub?"
"Here, my lord!"
Carpenter Jakub popped out.
I pointed to a nearby log.
"Measure that log five times with this rod and cut."
Jakub tilted his head, took the rod, marked the log carefully, and sawed.
"Now the next log the same."
He did. I had him stand the pieces side by side.
"...!"
A low exclamation rose. Perfect match, like from one tree.
Normally, eyeballing meant trimming mismatches.
"See? No more eyeballing and recutting. Measure with this—whoever, whenever—hundreds, thousands of identical timbers."
Stefan's eyes glimmered faintly. A lifetime stone-shaper knew the toil of fitting.
"Then bricks too... uniform sizes..."
"Right. Walls rise faster than ever. Even novices stack straight if they have strength."
A young man raised his hand.
"My lord! So with just the rod, can I help carpentry?"
"Of course. Cutting, measuring, stacking—anyone. Just trust the rod."
As I finished, faint energy stirred across the site. A spark lit in despairing eyes.
I handed Jakub the rod.
"Jakub, this is 1 meter. Make dozens identical—distribute them."
He took it solemnly.
"Yes, my lord! On my carpenter's honor, not a hair's deviation!"
I pointed again to the ash-drawn plan.
"This isn't just rebuilding. First step to a new Sternberg. Stefan, you're construction chief from today. Manage materials and men by this rod. I trust your experience."
"Yes, sir! This old bones will bury itself in the task!"
Stefan, moved to tears, bowed deeply.
Sounds of chopping to spec and digging soon echoed everywhere.
Then—
Horse hooves thundered through the din. Janos reined in, kicking up dust.
"My lord!"
"What is it?"
Leaping down, panting, Janos thrust a leather tube at me.
"Letter from Prague!"
The seal gleamed red: Prague city council's mark.