Ch.147Northern New City Development

Cities are fundamentally consumptive spaces.

Whether it’s human resources or material ones. Once something enters the black hole that is a city, it rarely ever comes out again unless something extraordinary happens.

Only cities possessed the talent to transform farmers into citizens and flour into soufflé pancakes.

However, even in cities where resource consumption and capital expenditure were considered virtues, there were many productive activities. Among them, the greatest was the city’s own growth.

In other words, cities expand on their own.

Well, that might sound metaphysical, but let me explain.

Once a city reaches a certain population threshold, it begins to suffer from population pressure. Gradually, houses and shops start to appear on the outskirts, and the city’s boundaries begin to expand.

What was an empty plain ten years ago could become a high-density urban area filled with houses and shops ten years later.

Neither elves nor dwarves could match humans’ talent for expansion.

And when population pressure builds in these expanded urban areas, first the buildings grow taller, then redevelopment begins, and then the urban area starts to spread out again.

Like cancer cells, there was only one time when a city’s expansion would stop.

When further growth could no longer guarantee the city’s survival.

Cities that grew to this extent typically had populations of at least several million and were like treasure chests with enough to explore even if one lived there from birth until death.

Amurtat and Fahrenheit were prime examples. Though different in details, they shared the common trait of being specialized cities that had completely abandoned primary and secondary industries in favor of pushing tertiary industries to the extreme.

Primary industries were essentially no different from importing flour from rural areas, so let’s skip that. The divergence between the two cities began with secondary industries.

Amurtat relied on the Steelyard, Boneyard, and Brickyard in the northern mountains for its secondary industries, while Fahrenheit’s numerous national dungeons served as factories.

Now for tertiary industries—just to clarify for anyone who might not know, tertiary industries refer to the service sector.

Food service, accommodation, real estate, rental, transportation, distribution, traffic, communication, civil service, international trade, security companies, facility investment, finance, insurance, tourism, and so on…

In short, tertiary industries—or the service sector—encompass everything that creates value allowing humans to live as humans.

Oh, and for reference, healthcare and education also fall under the service sector.

Cities where these service industries congregate attract and embrace countless people.

And so cities lengthen, widen, and constantly search for resources to sustain themselves.

Just like cancer cells.

*

“You’re saying you want to build a new city in the north?”

“Yes. Now that all the redevelopment is complete, it’s time to create the next city.”

“Well… understood.”

With three yards in the north, one might think the area would be bustling, but that wasn’t the case.

As mentioned repeatedly, each zone had an area of 50,000 km², which was equivalent to half of South Korea.

No matter how massive the three yards were, they were just industrial complexes built with medieval—at best early modern—technology. Compared to industrial complexes built with modern technology, they occupied laughably small areas.

Of course, by this world’s standards, they would be mind-bogglingly vast facilities, but at least I still had the perspective of a modern person.

Besides, building a new city in the north would be beneficial for the entire nation.

Regardless of how vast a territory might be, controlling it ultimately requires people living there.

Even though the northern mountains were a confined area, a minimum resident population and basic infrastructure were essential, which led to the conclusion of building a new city in the northern mountains.

“Currently, there’s nowhere to get medical treatment in the northern mountains. Even to buy simple food, one has to come all the way to Amurtat. How inconvenient and inefficient is that?”

In truth, each of the three yards had their own infirmaries, canteens where simple cooking and dining were possible, and shops operating within the facilities, so strictly speaking, my statement could be considered incorrect.

However, my aide didn’t challenge my words, primarily because I was his superior.

Furthermore, he also viewed the construction of a new city in the north positively, so he had no reason to object.

“So, do you have any ideas?”

When I gave my aide the opportunity to speak, he eagerly unfolded a map of the northern mountains and began his explanation.

“Ahem! Hmm! First, looking at the detailed population distribution in the northern mountains, most of the population consists of transient rather than resident population. And the key point here is that there’s a spot where this transient population converges.”

Tap!

He pointed to a spot on the map with his pointer.

At first glance, it seemed unremarkable, but upon closer inspection of the map, one could see that the surrounding terrain cleverly guided people to converge at this one point.

While other paths were either too narrow or passable but unstable due to rough terrain, this spot had solid ground and gentle slopes, making it easily accessible even to ordinary people without martial or magical training.

“A bottleneck point.”

“Exactly. If we build a city at this point, it will surely grow into a major city.”

“Hmm.”

I nodded.

The idea of establishing a village or city where many people pass through was so basic and fundamental, yet it remained one of the unchallenged common-sense principles. My aide, true to his century-plus years of life, was meticulously analyzing the surrounding terrain to explain how the city’s form should be shaped and its boundaries drawn.

“Good. Then we should first summon a magician.”

“A magician…?”

“Yes. When people gather, they need water, and places to dispose of contaminated water and garbage. That’s when magic comes in handy.”

“Ah…”

At my words, the aide sighed as if he hadn’t thought of it.

This wasn’t particularly his fault. That’s precisely why the review process exists.

He was a planner, not a practitioner.

If operations didn’t proceed according to his plan, it meant either the plan or the implementation was flawed, and once a problem was identified, it could be corrected.

In his position above all but one and below none, he could certainly wield that authority.

“Now we’ll need a second seawater desalination facility. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, it seems so.”

*

“Use an anti-tremor spell before engraving the magic circle. If your hand shakes, you might end up creating a completely different spell.”

“Yes, Master.”

Over decades, Amurtat’s magic tower had continued to grow.

Children who once toddled about had become adults who strode confidently, acquiring skills that would earn them recognition as magicians by anyone’s standards.

Thanks to this, Bladek didn’t even participate in the construction of the seawater desalination facility. The magicians building it were his direct disciples and his disciples’ disciples.

Even a great magician cannot be in multiple places at once, so hundreds of magicians drawing magic circles for the seawater desalination facility progressed at a significantly faster pace than before.

Of course, “significantly faster” was relative, as the facility itself was so large that it was like drawing in a desert.

Particularly in the north, where they had to tunnel through mountains to create waterways, the construction time had to be extended.

Moreover, due to the characteristics of the mountain range with its numerous buried minerals, its durability was extraordinary, leading to situations like this:

“Don’t we have dynamite or something? The ground is too hard for pickaxes to make any difference.”

“We tried that, but it didn’t even make a dent.”

“…Then how do we dig?”

“We call knights to infuse aura into the pickaxes.”

Indeed.

Knights suddenly found themselves not only dismounted but also stripped of their armor, having to channel aura into pickaxes—not swords or spears—to break rocks under the blazing sun.

Of course, many knights expressed dissatisfaction with this, but…

“This is a task ordered by His Majesty the King, you know?”

This first counterargument sank their complaints.

“If we don’t complete this, the residents of the north won’t have water to drink.”

This second counterargument delivered the final blow.

Knights exist to serve the people.

Regardless of the form it takes, if the benefit ultimately returns to the people, can’t a knight’s muscles get a little dirty?

And so, thousands of knights exchanged passionate knightly valor with adamantine rocks throughout the construction period—how could this not be a spirited endeavor?