Ch.11Let’s work on something together.

“Your Majesty. I have gathered the merchants as requested.”

“Hmm.”

Seated on the throne in the audience chamber, I gazed at the merchants prostrating themselves before me.

Seeing these fly-like creatures, their lives hanging by a thread, desperately rolling their eyes in fear filled me with a sense of conquest. However, there were more important matters at hand.

“Are these thirty all of them?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. As you commanded, only the guild masters have been gathered.”

“Good. Everyone, raise your heads.”

At my command, the thirty guild masters simultaneously lifted their heads.

“I summoned you because I want something from you. Let me clarify—I do not desire wealth.”

“Then…?”

“I want people. Whether they’re refugees or slash-and-burn farmers, I don’t care. I need more population, and you will bring them to me.”

At my words, I could almost hear the gears turning in the merchants’ heads.

After a brief silence, one of them asked me.

“But Your Majesty, how many people do you require?”

“The current population of Amurtat is 20,000… so about 80,000 more would be perfect.”

“80,000…”

The merchants began exchanging glances.

In this world, human lives were cheaper than well-forged steel swords, but many small things add up to something significant.

No matter how trivial it might seem, when presented with a specific and substantial number like 80,000, the situation changes entirely.

A population of 80,000 was equivalent to combining two decent-sized cities. Not only would finding that many people be challenging, but attempting to extract them would likely result in city lords cutting off their heads.

“Of course, I’m not asking you to bring them all at once. Do it gradually. If we received that many people simultaneously, this city would starve to death.”

Although our farmland had expanded, if we didn’t farm properly this year, we would undoubtedly need to import food to survive the winter.

Even now, we were scraping together all the food the merchant guilds brought in, barely avoiding immediate shortages.

Amurtat’s productivity was still woefully inadequate to support a massive population of 100,000.

“Then, Your Majesty, what compensation will we receive?”

“Michaela?”

“Yes, master.”

I had Michaela distribute contracts I had prepared in advance on parchment to the merchants.

“Hmm, let’s see…”

As the merchants examined the contracts, they found that, in summary, they would be exempt from all taxes on commercial activities within Amurtat’s jurisdiction for ten years.

It was exactly the same condition I had offered to Ebenholz, and the merchants’ reaction was identical.

“We shall capture thieves if necessary to repay Your Majesty’s generosity!”

“Good, you may leave now.”

“Long live Amurtat! Long, long live!”

“I said leave.”

*

For merchants in this world suffering under high tax rates, tax exemption was a privilege they would lick boot soles to obtain.

Since I had essentially given away such a privilege for almost nothing, it was only natural that the merchants’ eyes would light up with excitement.

If they just gathered and sent people to Amurtat for the next ten years, they could not only suck honey but establish entire apiaries here. Those merchants would likely auction slaves at the market if necessary to bring people to Amurtat.

Besides, while 80,000 is a large number, there were 30 guild masters. Even if each brought just 1,000 people, that would exceed 30,000, so the population issue would be resolved.

So what should I do next? Obviously, I needed to lay the groundwork for increasing the city’s productivity.

SLAM!

“Your Majesty, are you really planning to develop this much farmland?”

“Of course. Do you think I selected these areas without thought?”

“But isn’t it too vast? Even anticipating population growth… this size is…”

At that moment, my advisor came to protest that the farmland area I had designated was excessive. Since I had essentially covered the entire southern district of the city with farmland, I could understand his objection.

“Well, listen, advisor. I have my reasons for doing this.”

“Reasons?”

“Yes. Do only humans eat grain? Livestock eat it too. They even eat more than people do. Many people live for the pleasure of eating meat once a day, but how miserable would life be if they had to survive on just hard rye bread?”

“But if that was your thinking, you should have also indicated where to place the livestock pens.”

“That’s for you to figure out now. I trust you’ll find suitable locations that are close enough to the city yet far enough that the stench doesn’t reach, that don’t damage the surrounding nature, and are spacious enough to produce meat that feeds 100,000 citizens three times a day with surplus for the market.”

“…”

The advisor stared at me with an expression that suggested he’d been stabbed with a spear rather than merely dumbfounded.

“Does my gaze hurt? Do you wish to meet the angels’ tribunal early?”

“…I’ll figure it out somehow.”

“If you can’t find suitable locations, you’ll lose your head. You know how your predecessor died, don’t you? Watch yourself.”

“Gulp!”

Although this was a game-based world, it was truly convenient that real-world division of labor was possible, as if my head had physically exploded.

Now I understand why the news was always going on about AI revolution and the Fourth Industrial Revolution. It all makes sense now.

There’s nothing more thrilling than passing your work onto someone else.

*

“Father! Father!”

“I told you to call me Chairman in public! What’s got you so worked up?!”

“You must see this!”

“A contract…? What worthless…”

The chairman’s eyes widened as he was about to dismiss it as a worthless contract.

What caught his eye was the purple wax seal bearing a mark that only rulers who wielded true power could use.

“Where did you get this?! Did you negotiate this contract yourself?”

Naturally, establishing a direct contract with a ruler was a major achievement that even large merchant guilds couldn’t easily accomplish.

And now his son, who had left saying he was going to a newly established city to stamp some documents, had returned with such a burdensome item?

“Yes, fa—I mean, Chairman! Just read the contract first!”

“Ahem! Let’s see…”

The chairman carefully unfolded the contract and examined its contents thoroughly. After finishing, he grabbed his son’s shoulders and said:

“I’m raising your allowance.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I’ll increase it substantially… but go to the slave market, hire mercenaries to capture slash-and-burn farmers, whatever it takes—just find people to send to Amurtat immediately!!!”

The chairman urged his son while clutching the rolled-up contract in one hand.

This was an opportunity.

An incredibly precious opportunity that couldn’t be exchanged even for a thousand—no, ten thousand gold coins. They say even mountains change in ten years, so how long would it take for a small-scale operation to become large-scale?

“Call everyone available! Gather all vagrants and beggars! Execute now!”

“Guild Master! We have a problem!”

“What is it?”

After sending his son away with a large sum of money, the guild master was about to implement his grand plan.

“Our rival, the Hurencia Guild, is suddenly sweeping up vagrants from the streets! I don’t know what they’re planning… but it can’t be good!”

“Oh no…!”

Someone once said that timing is everything in life.

Unfortunately, his son wasn’t the only one chosen by Tiberius, and he had no choice but to watch as his rival snatched up valuable assets from right under his nose.

One guild might go unnoticed, but when two guilds start kidnapping people from the streets, the authorities would surely intervene.

*

Meanwhile, in Amurtat.

In the vast forest now named the Western Forest, supervisors with whips strictly monitored and drove the laborers who were moving timber.

“Work harder!”

“Our master demands more wood!”

CRACK! CRACK!

Needless to say, this world had no concept of human rights.

In a world where men died by the sword and women died by beatings, mere whipping was considered quite mild.

“No quitting today! The 24-hour work order was issued two hours ago!”

“No!!! Please!!”

“And next is the third shift! The day after, the second shift! And the day after that, back to 24-hour duty!”

“Just kill me instead!”

“Don’t worry, we won’t kill you! Our lord cherishes even bottom-feeders like you! Be grateful you can work until you die!”

From the perspective of workers who found jobs only to die in them, there could be no greater deception, but that wasn’t my concern.

What was my concern? Obviously, more timber.

That day, the Western Forest logging camp received three skull ratings.