Ch.55Spring’s Beginning

Year 8 of Amurtart.

Winter’s chill still gripped everyone, but those with keen senses could feel it.

Spring was gradually drawing near.

Of course, those working in the steelyard complained about the tremendous heat—sweltering in winter and deathly hot in summer—but since not everyone worked there, it wasn’t much of a concern.

What demanded attention instead was the completion of parts for the clock tower.

The completion of the clock tower itself was significant, and with so many artisans tied up in the project, continuing to focus solely on parts production could impact the steelyard’s overall productivity.

Moreover, it wasn’t just time-consuming. For a structure boasting an impressive width and height of 300 meters, the materials required were enormous—steel reinforcements for construction, weights to operate the clock, and bells to announce the time. The costs and materials were staggering.

The materials alone required hundreds of tons of steel, and with reinforcements added, it would exceed 1,000 tons—comparable to equipping an entire army.

If we had sold those 1,000 tons of steel, we would surely be enjoying handsome profits by now. Instead, we were throwing away future earnings for the sake of building a clock tower.

But what good would it do to regret sunk costs? I just had to close my eyes and think of it as an investment for the future.

The common people’s discomfort from craning their necks to see a 300-meter clock tower wasn’t important.

What mattered was that the tower needed to be 300 meters tall so I could see it from the castle.

After pouring all of January and February into parts production, news finally arrived with the beginning of March that the parts were complete.

“So the parts production is finally finished. Prepare a lavish feast for the blacksmiths.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The quarry and steelyard have also completed their materials and begun storing them in the warehouse, so you’ll be able to inspect them soon.”

“Good. I’m starting to feel it now.”

To be honest, forget immortality or whatever—this dimensional storage alone made the Monarch race absurdly overpowered. A warehouse that couldn’t be stolen from, was infinite, and where nothing deteriorated…

If such a warehouse existed on Earth, wouldn’t nuclear wars have broken out to claim it?

Dictators who monopolized resources and maintained power by rationing tiny amounts to their sycophants were common enough. Considering Earth’s overwhelming war technology and the enormous resources required by modern technology, unlike here where people at least had the option to leave, technological dictatorship could have become reality.

“Well, it’s fortunate this world is Fantasia.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. By the way, are food imports proceeding properly?”

“Of course. We’ve already established contracts with Fahrenheit and other cities. There’s no need to worry.”

“Good. That’s a relief.”

This year, we won’t collect taxes from immigrants to secure their loyalty.

Considering that taxes from farmers came in the form of grain or livestock, I was putting all my efforts into stabilizing food supplies to prevent major fluctuations in market prices.

If the market’s inventory were to run out for even a single day, the citizens of Amurtart would surely riot.

Let me clarify—there are no refrigeration facilities in this world, and most households solve their daily meals with food purchased from the market that same day. Some homes store preserved food, but that means they have enough wealth to afford it. For lower-income households, even one day without inventory means going hungry.

In this world where physical labor predominates, most people require twice the food intake of modern times. If food prices rise, people will choose to take to the streets to somehow secure money.

…Though that’s not much different from why people in modern times end up on the streets. But isn’t there a saying that people’s lives are pretty much the same everywhere, regardless of time and place?

*

As time passed, spring of the 8th year of Amurtart dawned.

Many things had changed in Amurtart during this time, but one thing remained constant: the sight of farmers sowing seeds for planting.

Swish! Swish!

After all the seeds were sown, a bucket of water was sprinkled on each plot to promote growth. The farmers, who had spent the day pulling weeds that had grown over winter and removing stones and pebbles, had beads of sweat and bright smiles on their faces.

It wasn’t simply about finishing the sowing—they were experiencing the joy of planting the first seeds in “their own land.”

The farmers of Elisia, distributed among ten villages, had been victims of one-sided exploitation throughout their previous lives. Finally having land where they could live without worry was like a blessing from angels.

Moreover, this harvest would be tax-exempt to help the immigrants establish their foundation. For the first time, they would be able to consume what they produced themselves.

“Well, a year passes quickly. If we consider it an investment, it’s not bad.”

Pouring money here and there, handling administrative work—months fly by in an instant. A year is just a succession of months, and between the clock tower, the alchemists’ guild, and all the paperwork, the seventh year had already passed.

This year will probably fly by just as quickly with new developments and various affairs.

“Ordinary people would want a year to pass as slowly as possible, Your Majesty.”

“Why?”

“Because a passing year means their lifespan is shortening.”

“I won’t die, so I’m fine.”

I joked, but my advisor, who had already grown old, didn’t seem to appreciate it.

“Others besides Your Majesty are not fine,” he said.

The time perception of immortals and mortals differs.

Just this past winter in Amurtart, some people froze or starved to death, others departed this world naturally at the end of their lifespan led by angels, and some succumbed to illness or injury.

Without my blood transfusions, my advisor would likely die any day now, and Michaela, who has maintained her youth through contact with me over these eight years, would instantly be covered in wrinkles.

“Hmm… Michaela with wrinkles… truly horrifying to imagine.”

“If wrinkles are horrifying, am I some kind of monster?”

My advisor pouted as he said this.

“Ugh, disgusting. Is it proper for a grown man to sulk like that?”

I teased him with this response.

“Well, at least I can still stand up,” he retorted.

Urgh… this bastard. To mention erectile dysfunction, the taboo of aging men—this is clearly an attempt to oppress an immortal with mortal characteristics.

Well then, I have no choice but to counter with knowledge gained as a 21st-century modern person.

“You may stand now, but you stood well in the past, didn’t you? You’ve held male power for decades, so you can’t make a one-to-one comparison with female aging.”

“What nonsense is that? Women can still receive even after menopause, but men with erectile dysfunction can’t even give!”

“Tsk, menopause? It’s ‘completion of change.'”

“Who on earth uses such terminology?”

My advisor asked incredulously.

Tsk tsk. This is why the medieval period is problematic.

So ignorant of modern society’s trend of ‘gender sensitivity’!

“Tsk tsk. To be so insensitive to women’s fears and difficulties—you too are trapped in the tilted playing field that cultivates misogyny.”

“What in the world are you talking about? Men have their own hardships too!”

“Despite men’s hardships, they still hold social power. Women are always inevitably social minorities.”

“Hah!”

My advisor looked at me with disbelief.

He rolled his eyes and then uttered a very familiar phrase.

“This is misandry.”

“If you understand that, get back to your paperwork, Hassan.”

“Who the hell is Hassan…”

Whew… the sensation of enlightening a primitive medieval person with modern gender sensitivity is truly exhilarating.

Perhaps from our lengthy conversation, I was beginning to feel thirsty.

“Michaela! Bring some alcohol!”

“Yes, master. Right away!”

After all, the best part of drinking is having a beautiful woman pour your drink.

I won’t accept any objections.

Because I am the monarch.