Chapter 82: Victor’s Blueprint

Victor stood outside the village constructed under Morin’s supervision, his heart brimming with joy. This was the first village under his command, the initial step toward governing a vast domain. The village was built by the river, stretching over seven hundred meters in length and five hundred meters in width, covering an area of approximately thirty-five hectares. Around its perimeter, a moat had already been dug—four meters wide and more than two meters deep. Once the river water was diverted, it would form a natural defensive barrier.

Victor noticed that the village’s palisade differed completely from that of the hill encampment. The palisade here was horizontal. Its base was built from crushed stone, and every few meters stood an eight-meter-tall black pillar. Connecting these pillars were tightly joined horizontal planks, securely fastened to the black supports, forming sections of the wooden fence.

From the side, pairs of black pillars were joined by thick boards, making the palisade a robust eighty centimeters thick—both sturdy and aesthetically pleasing.

“Morin, this fence is quite unusual! Why are they black?” Victor asked, turning to Morin.

“My lord, those pillars are made from the hardest iron oak, and the planks from slightly lesser iron fir. All have been carbonized and oiled to prevent insect damage. This fence is not only strong but also conserves timber, though it is labor-intensive. We cut down iron fir, section it, shape thick boards, and carve mortise and tenon joints. To ensure their strength, we hammer in round wooden pegs,” Morin answered with pride.

“You’ve put in great effort,” Victor replied with a smile. Morin truly had gone to great lengths for the construction of this village.

“My lord, this design was proposed and improved by two freedmen—they also innovated the carriage chassis and wheels. I hope you might grant them the status of vassals,” Morin pleaded.

“Oh? How do their carpentry skills compare to yours?” Victor asked, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Those two freedmen were actually his own alchemical auxiliary soldiers.

“My lord, their skills surpass mine, even those of the veteran carpenter I apprenticed under,” Morin declared.

“I’ll consider it,” Victor nodded.

Morin had originally been chosen as the villagers’ leader because of his carpentry skills, gaining Victor’s favor and becoming the first promoted village chief. If he had discovered someone more skilled back then, jealousy might have led him to suppress them. Now as a village chief, he hoped for more craftsmen within the domain. Such is the way of ambition.

Surrounded by the villagers, Victor entered the village. Aside from six newly erected arrow towers, the ground lay empty.

“Why haven’t you started building houses?” Victor asked in surprise.

The group of village leaders exchanged glances, but Lilia stepped forward to explain in a low voice, “My lord, you instructed that all houses within the village be built with bricks. Most people are currently working on constructing the brick kiln. Thus, there are no houses yet, but our current shelters suffice.”

Victor recalled that this was indeed an order he issued before leaving for Black Castle Town. Many had found the order perplexing; several village leaders even advised against it, believing brick-making a wasteful endeavor. Yet Victor was resolute. Once the lord had decided, even if they didn’t understand, they had to obey.

“Let it be for now. Building with bricks must be carried out—not just this village, but future livestock, smith, carpenter, and textile villages as well,” Victor firmly emphasized.

“Since this village lies by the river, let us name it Riverside Village. Eventually, we’ll convert the freedmen’s temporary settlement into a farmstead. That way, the hill encampment, Riverside Village, and the temporary settlement will form a triangular region,” Victor said, unfastening his sheathed longsword and drawing a rough map on the ground.

“We will reclaim twelve thousand acres of farmland in this area, to be distributed as fiefs and managed collectively to supply the domain with grain.”

The village leaders’ eyes lit up, gathering around eagerly. Land was their greatest desire. After exchanging looks, Dean, one of the leaders, mustered his courage to ask, “My lord, with a little modification, the freedmen’s settlement could become a village. May we ask whom you plan to appoint as its chief?”

Victor glanced at their expectant faces and laughed, shaking his head, “You’re all so eager to farm? No one wants to run the smith, carpenter, or textile villages?”

“My lord, I know nothing of those trades and fear I might hinder your plans, but I am an excellent farmer. If you entrust the village to me, I guarantee a good harvest!” George, leader of the second group, promised, thumping his chest.

“My lord, let me have it! I—”

“What do you know of farming? My lord, give it to me; I used to manage a manor for a knight back home.”

Their self-recommendations soon erupted into a heated quarrel.

“Enough! Let’s head to the Brick Kiln Village and talk along the way,” Victor cut off the dispute, turning toward his carriage.

The carriage, drawn by a massive rhinoceros beast, was spacious enough, but crowded with nine people—six village leaders and Nelson, who squeezed together, leaving Victor and Lilia most of the space.

“This trip to Black Castle earned me three months’ worth of grain in exchange for purple cane wine. Purple cane is more valuable than you imagine, so I won’t build more farmsteads—some of you will have to manage other villages,” Victor explained.

Except for Morin, the other leaders looked uneasy. Victor understood their concerns; as farmers, they lacked confidence in smithing, carpentry, or textiles, fearing failure and instability. Yet Victor’s alchemical auxiliary soldiers were already deployed—it was simply not something he could disclose.

Victor produced a wooden box, opening it to reveal sparkling cane sugar.

“You’ve always wondered what I do with so much purple cane each month. Now, I can tell you—this is our domain’s specialty: cane sugar. Try it.”

Victor passed the sugar to the others, inviting them to taste. The time for secrecy was over.

“Sweet—so sweet!”

“Delicious!”

“Better than honey!”

The group exclaimed in delight. One comment from Hager, leader of the fifth group, caught Victor’s attention. He smiled, “Hager, you’ve tasted honey?”

Hager paused, then bowed, “Yes, my lord. In the Eastern Province, I’d search mountain wild beehives and harvest honey, giving it to the town elder. It not only covered my rent but earned me rewards.”

“I see,” Victor nodded, continuing, “Honey is very expensive—a pound fetches ten gold sol in the capital. Our cane sugar is even purer; I believe it can sell for two gold sol per pound.”

“My lord, does that mean we’ll be rich?” Nelson’s eyes sparkled.

“Yes, we’ll prosper. So, even if these professional villages don’t produce immediately, I’ll subsidize you for two years to guarantee your livelihoods. I’ll also recruit more craftsmen—so you need not worry,” Victor smiled.

His words dissolved the faint rivalries among the leaders. Chatting and laughing, they soon arrived at their destination.

As Victor stepped off the carriage, Linda approached with several guards, saluting him, “Good day, my lord.”

“Thank you for your hard work,” Victor nodded, and though it was a courtesy, it was also the truth. Following his orders, Brick Kiln Village operated nonstop with two shifts. No one could return to the hill encampment—they camped outdoors until the first large kiln was finished.

Brick Kiln Village was the first professional village Victor needed to build—a place dedicated to brick-making.

Though called a village, it was presently a massive, rudimentary encampment. There were not even fences, only simple stakes at the perimeter for defense.

The village covered about two square kilometers, bordered by the river, surrounded by earthen hills ideal for soil and water collection.

On the open ground, hundreds labored tirelessly. For a long stretch, they would eat and sleep here.

Some chopped brushwood from the hills, stripping branches for drying and eventually using them as fuel for the kilns. Others dug clay from the hills, dried it, crushed and sifted it, leaving only fine pure earth. Some fetched water from the river, moistening the clay, kneading it repeatedly like dough, then molding it into bricks to air-dry. Others baked bricks in mound-like earth kilns.

“Bring me a finished brick,” Victor ordered his attendant.

Soon, a baked brick was brought to Victor. With his strength approaching level nine, he squeezed it, and the brick crumbled in his hand—alarmingly brittle. He frowned.

Dean picked up the fragments, weighed them, and spoke, “My lord, the method is flawed. The clay needs to air-dry for at least six months before molding. Otherwise, it stays brittle like this.”

“Oh? Will bricks fully dried be sturdy?” Victor asked.

“They’re sturdier, but still not as tough as hardwood palisades. Even a 1.5-meter-thick brick wall can be dug through by gnoll hands—it’s just too fragile. The firing process is also lengthy and labor-intensive. We generally don’t build with bricks, though brick houses are fireproof and resistant to rot, so many nobles use them for estates,” Morin added, gently persuading Victor to abandon the brick kiln plan. But Victor would not give up—it was the foundation of his development strategy.

“Fetch Arlo and Yase,” Victor commanded calmly.

Arlo and Yase were both alchemical auxiliary soldiers, loaded with construction skills, specially promoted to oversee the kiln village.

“Arlo, explain the brick-making plan.”

“My lord, the first batch will be used to build a small kiln to replace the earth kilns. The second batch will construct drying rooms, wind tunnels, and a large kiln—these facilities will boost efficiency tenfold. The third batch will be proper bricks.”

This was Victor’s goal: to build large kilns, for only they could produce specialty bricks. Qualified bricks could also be used for furnaces; with those, alchemical soldiers could smelt iron and eventually forge silver equipment.

Victor would not immediately produce such advanced products, but he could lay the groundwork. Once his forces matured, he could endlessly manufacture strategic resources, build impregnable castles, and arm powerful alchemical militia.

Victor’s development blueprint was thus: trade purple cane wine for time and space, pursue huge profits with sugar and coffee, use wealth to create alchemical militia and warhounds, and fulfill the domain’s needs with infrastructure—smith village for weapons, freeing him from York family dependence. As for farmland, Victor had a solution; this world was unaware of terraced fields. With them, he could keep his purple cane groves and still feed his territory. Yet, now was not the time to build terraces, lest the York family retaliate.

When would he truly stand on his own? Victor believed he needed at least forty alchemical militia—such strength surpassed most viscounts, though still insignificant to the Yorks, who had over a hundred trainee knights. But Victor had another plan: with advanced technology, he could trade linen, ironware, sugar, carriages, and coffee, gradually forming a profit-driven alliance—perhaps even including the Yorks. Once his castle was built, he’d answer to no one.

At that point, Victor’s power would snowball—unstoppable. With money, he could create an alchemical soldier every twelve hours; no enemy could withstand such numbers. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step—Brick Kiln Village was that first step. Timber for bricks was felled from hills, clay gathered there—the developed hills then converted to terraces. The bricks would build all kinds of infrastructure, and everything would cycle positively. Environmental damage? What was that?

Thus, Victor addressed the leaders sternly, “I require you to manage these people in shifts—everyone must eat and sleep here until Brick Kiln Village is fully operational. Understood?”

Victor’s strict tone startled them; they quickly replied, “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Get to work—I expect the kiln village to be running smoothly in three months.”

As the leaders went off to confer, Victor called Nelson, who had been flirting with Linda.

“Nelson, you’re coming back to the hill encampment with me.”

Nelson hesitated, “My lord, some mountain folk returned recently, claiming to have encountered savage wolves. I’d like to stay and protect them.”

“I’ll leave Renault here; Old Ham is already alert, and most guards are posted here. There won’t be any trouble. Come—I have something to discuss.”

What trouble could there be? Victor was the mastermind behind the savage wolves, and besides, two monkey militia were mixed among the people.

Once in the carriage, Victor said, “Has Lilia told you about Barol?”

“She did,” Nelson replied honestly, while Lilia stuck out her tongue, admitting she had acted on her own.

“I meant to tell your brother myself; don’t do that again,” Victor said irritably, glancing at Lilia.

“Okay,” Lilia replied meekly, but edged closer to Victor—if Nelson weren’t present, she’d have pressed herself against him.

“I’ve brought you here to share some secrets—you must never reveal them! Understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Nelson replied solemnly.

“I have a hidden force—you may have guessed as much. Renault is mine.”

Victor had thought long and hard before deciding to inform Nelson and Lilia. The number of alchemical militia would soon grow, and secrecy wouldn’t last—but he could mislead them. It was normal for nobles to possess secret forces, as Barol’s misunderstanding had reminded him.

“My lord, Lilia and I long suspected Renault; after seeing his loyalty, we didn’t dare ask,” Nelson grinned. Victor telling him this secret proved he was regarded as family.

“Don’t ask for details, nor tell anyone—including Linda. Secrets only bring danger to common folk. Remember, many of our vassals are spies and agents of great nobles,” Victor warned.

“My lord, rest assured—we’ll never speak of it,” Nelson replied earnestly.

Victor sighed. He was not unaware Nelson might be a spy, but he chose to trust the mercenary—perhaps out of loneliness, needing someone to rely on.

“One more thing—Benson and Boots were expelled on purpose. They set up a freedmen’s camp to gather mountain folk at my instruction. That area need not be patrolled; avoid conflict.”

“I see. I’d meant to report it to you,” Nelson scratched his head. He’d already discovered the camp, situated between the Chipman estate and Lakeview Village, with over fifty residents.

“As for Lakeview Village, as long as they pay tribute on time, I won’t touch them for two years,” Victor added.

Lakeview’s output eased Victor’s grain shortage; he decided to let it be—after all, Jack kept them firmly in check.

“I understand,” Nelson nodded.

With matters settled, Victor closed his eyes, weary, reflecting to himself:

“Now, let’s see if Barol can root out those hidden spies and agents.”

(See the author’s note)