Ch.116Repair (2)

The magician who had specially requested to come for the repair of the Golem Armor that entered my field of vision…

Though it might be rude to think this upon first meeting, he looked like some deranged engineer or mad scientist no matter how I considered it.

He was clearly introduced as a magician, but his sturdy physique was immediately noticeable, draped in what appeared to be a crimson prop coat. Beneath the coat, I could see he wore what is commonly called a suit—formal attire.

But more than his attire, which seemed completely out of place for this era, something else drew my attention even more.

It was the metal components attached to various parts of his body and the horse-shaped mechanical mount he was riding.

About half of his face, including his right eye, was fitted with a red lens reminiscent of modern optical equipment. Hanging over his prop coat were armor reinforcements and tools made of what appeared to be brass.

His left arm seemed to be wearing armor similar to a Golem Armor’s arm section, but upon careful observation, I realized that it wasn’t armor at all—it was an actual prosthetic limb.

In other words, instead of regenerating his severed arm, this man had simply attached that Golem prosthetic to his shoulder.

‘Ohhh…’

Of course, the man’s Golem Armor-like prosthetic was incredibly stylish—or as they say colloquially, it had “swag”—with its cartridge-style power source and power transmission hoses adding to its impressive appearance.

If one could attach such a magnificent prosthetic to a severed arm, many people in this harsh world would probably opt for it without hesitation.

Anyway, perhaps because I was staring so intently at his prosthetic, the magician seemed to notice my gaze.

After stopping his steam horse—elegantly decorated with brass and copper components and various ornaments—he jumped down from what I presumed had no suspension whatsoever and approached with somewhat heavy footsteps.

‘…The replacement isn’t just superficial, is it?’

Judging by his stride and how the ground sank beneath him, I estimated his weight to be around 150kg.

Yet looking at his exterior, which only showed him to be slightly taller than average, I finally realized that a significant portion of his body must have been replaced with machinery.

And it was around that time.

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Alzar. I am Malakai Falten, a ‘Knight of Merit’ of the Holy Empire… and a mid-level magician of the Metal Faculty at the Magic Tower, Golem Meister.”

As he extended his hand politely, leaning on a staff that was certainly enchanted—adorned with vacuum tube-like components and various magical elements—I recalled the Frankish Kingdom’s manners from my memory and gently took his hand in response.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Malakai Falten. Though you may already know, allow me to introduce myself again. Camille de Alzar, a knight currently leading this small village, inadequate as I may be.”

Typically, a mid-level magician would address me with moderate respect since I’m a ‘noble’ and they’re ‘quasi-nobles,’ but with ‘Lord Falten,’ the situation changes completely.

‘Knight of Merit.’ A title not found in the Frankish Kingdom… but in the Holy Empire, a knighthood bestowed upon mid-level magicians who have achieved certain accomplishments.

The fact that he mentioned being a Knight of Merit before explaining his status as a Golem Meister suggested he was quite attached to this position. Since we were both nobles anyway, showing him proper respect wasn’t a bad idea.

Even in an employer-employee relationship, basic social etiquette is essential. It costs nothing, and if he treats me—much younger than him—with courtesy, I’ll reciprocate with K-Confucian spirit.

‘…Success?’

Perhaps he was satisfied with how I, a future territorial noble, showed him respect.

Looking at him smirking subtly while trying to appear otherwise, I calmly recalled what I knew about his Metal Faculty.

The Metal Faculty—I’d heard of it due to its fame.

They were essentially magical engineers, dealing with metal-related alchemy, earth techniques, and magic connected to the earth.

In particular, they seemed to have forgotten the current time period (medieval fantasy) and developed in a direction close to arcane punk through their interpretation of the ancient empire’s magitech.

From automata and golems to mechanical prosthetics, they had reached an unparalleled position in magitech tool-related technology.

As a result, they had essentially bought out the council of the free city where they were based, and in exchange for transferring certain rights to the Holy Empire, they had obtained autonomy, becoming one of the major factions of the Magic Tower.

While nominally part of a single Magic Tower organization, each faculty operated independently, making their influence truly remarkable.

And… who could this magician be, who had earned an actual title, even if a lower one, from an organization that essentially operated independently from the Holy Empire?

“By any chance… have you previously served as the head of the faculty?”

“Oh! How perceptive of you. Yes, that’s correct. Although I’ve stepped down to focus on research… I once held that position.”

While his words suggested surprise at my insight, his expression showed he was quite pleased that I had recognized this fact.

Looking at Golem Meister Malakai Falten, I was inwardly astonished when…

“Lord Falten. I apologize, but may I first attend to the prisoner escort matter?”

“Oh, of course! Lord Gafrang, please proceed with your business!”

After Lord Gafrang, who had accompanied us, belatedly brought this up, I went with him to retrieve the 80 pieces of free labor being held in the territory and the petrified mid-level mercenary.

In retrospect, those 80 laborers were extremely ‘useful’ resources from my perspective.

At a time when the village population was barely approaching 200, suddenly having 80 people I could use however I wanted without any consequences was truly a windfall that I exploited to the bone.

While the official justification was ‘spiritual reformation through labor,’ the reality was simply using these men who were destined for penal battalions anyway.

With the logic that these invaders of my developing pioneer village deserved neither sympathy nor compassion, I used them as free labor—essentially slaves.

For instance, they worked on preparing farmland for the four-field crop rotation system I was planning to implement.

Outside the village, at some distance, there was farmland enclosed by a simple fence, which served as a means to test and promote the four-field crop rotation agricultural method.

The four-field system—alternating barley, wheat, clover, and turnips to farm without fallow land—was an excellent agricultural method, but would the farmers readily adopt this system if I introduced it to them?

I could state with certainty that they absolutely would not.

When your survival depends on your harvest, ‘innovative farming methods’ and ‘new crops’ are mostly seen as tremendous threats.

To be frank, even I couldn’t be certain that this four-field system would be as efficient on the Frankish Kingdom’s soil. If such a method failed, I would lose all social trust and influence in this village.

I was confident they would never follow my instructions unless forced through violence.

Anyway, for these reasons, these 80 laborers were used in various useful ways beyond cultivating experimental farmland.

Expanded grazing land for pack horses and sheep. Personal barns for chimeras and korins. Medieval-style chicken coops doubling as poultry farms. And even somewhat unsavory sewage management work.

The ability to work them without pay while feeding them only thin soup with unnamed herbs was the decisive reason for deploying them in virtually every possible location and working them to exhaustion.

“They’ve… gotten quite thin?”

“Grain is wasted on such creatures. Don’t you think?”

“Well, true. I wonder how many of them… will even survive?”

As a result, more than half of them had become so emaciated that their ribs protruded, and Lord Gafrang was concerned whether he could keep them alive during transport.

Of course, knights like myself and Lord Gafrang, well-adapted to this barbaric age, had no reason to concern ourselves with the welfare of mere criminals.

“A… statue?”

“A mid-level mercenary petrified by my subordinate’s magic. He’s alive… probably.”

In addition, there was the mid-level mercenary whose body had been petrified while his mind remained intact—technically alive, but with no guarantee of being sound.

And with Lord Gafrang’s matters concluded at this point:

“May I… speak now?”

“Of course, Lord Malakai Falten.”

Finally, we could discuss the ‘Golem Armor’—the reason this mid-level Golem Meister had been summoned.