Ch.225Towards the Sky. Peledias (4)

I boarded the Sky Warden again and entered the captain’s quarters.

The first thing I saw was my wife, with tear stains clearly visible on her cheeks.

She rushed toward me as soon as she saw me, but I stopped her and said:

“Not yet.”

“…!”

“My duties aren’t finished yet.”

I pressed my index finger firmly against her lips and then released it, causing her pink lips to dent momentarily before returning to their original shape.

My wife swallowed her tears and retreated to the corner of the bed, pulling the blanket around herself like a caterpillar. When I announced my presence in the captain’s quarters through the voice tube, officers gradually began to enter.

“Lord Victor.”

“Colonel.”

“Have you decided on a company?”

“Yes. Millingfam seems to be the best option. Make a contract with them.”

“Understood…”

I followed the colonel’s trailing gaze, which landed on my wife who had transformed into a caterpillar in the corner.

Sniffling sounds were creeping into the room, suggesting she had started crying again. I exhaled sharply through my nose and said to the colonel:

“Pay no attention to that.”

“But…”

“Colonel.”

I deliberately furrowed my brow as I spoke.

“Is it appropriate for a subordinate to meddle in a superior’s domestic affairs?”

“N-no, sir!”

“Then go and finalize the contract. I will not tolerate any further interference.”

“Understood. I apologize for overstepping my bounds.”

“Hmm.”

After the colonel bowed at a 90-degree angle and left, other officers and non-commissioned officers began to enter in succession.

I wanted nothing more than to settle matters with my wife right away, but I had far too many duties to attend to.

“My lord. We’ve filled all 10,000 positions, but when the Sky Warden enters repairs, the soldiers will need somewhere to stay.”

“And we’ll need storage for ammunition, clothing, and cargo as well.”

“Have you found any suitable locations?”

When I asked, an officer with a major’s insignia and a non-commissioned officer with a warrant officer’s shoulder board unfolded a map of Peredias and pointed to areas marked in red.

“From our research, accommodations for about 10,000 people should be possible here… here… and here, while cargo storage can be arranged with these two companies.”

“However, they’re demanding double the usual storage fees from us.”

“Double? Why?”

“It’s military cargo, sir. Setting aside clothing and food, they claim it’s a risk premium for storing dangerous materials like shells and bullets.”

“Hmm… Are there no other options?”

“The remaining companies are either too small or their warehouses are already full…”

“The earliest warehouse availability is two months from now.”

“Tsk… I suppose we have no choice. It’s in our best interest to complete repairs quickly… Very well. Proceed with that arrangement.”

“Understood. Oh, and about that young man you ordered to be enlisted…”

“Yes?”

“I’m asking where to assign him. Given what happened to his mother… and your use of the sword, he seems to be struggling emotionally. If we assign him to ammunition duty in this state, we might all end up as minced meat.”

“Hmm.”

Is a mother’s death really such a shock?

Street children would first check their dead mother’s wallet for money, rummage through her clothes, and look for any remaining food before finally wailing. I couldn’t quite understand why this well-off fellow was sobbing over losing just one family member.

But placing someone with mental issues in a dangerous position would only lead to harm. Since he must serve the Sun for the next three years, I decided to assign him to a non-combat position (like food service or observation duty) before addressing the remaining agenda items.

“By the way, distribute this month’s wages in advance. When we enter repairs, we’ll need to move around 1,000,000 gold coins, so we should reduce the amount beforehand. I’m not sure how much we can cut back, though.”

“Understood.”

What seemed like a meeting that could have ended in minutes stretched beyond two hours.

The officers departed to sign contracts with various companies and to distribute countless gold coins as wages to the soldiers.

They handed portions to the non-commissioned officers, who in turn distributed them to the soldiers.

The monthly wage for each soldier wasn’t much.

Just one silver coin—the minimum wage for physical laborers.

Considering how I typically spent gold coins as if they were copper, this seemed ridiculously small. Surprisingly, though, it was enough to feed a family of ten, assuming one lived frugally.

My sense of money had become somewhat distorted from frequenting inns and shops popular with adventurers, and visiting only famous places that were among the world’s 52 scenic spots, where price gouging was inevitable. With 1,000 silver coins equaling one gold coin, one could avoid starvation if they earned at least minimum wage.

Of course, I couldn’t guarantee the quantity or quality of what they’d eat.

For someone working an average of 120 hours per week supporting a family of ten, earning one silver coin meant each person got 10 copper coins.

Unlike a well-prepared meal at an inn, if one bought raw ingredients from the market and cooked at home—especially volume-enhancing foods like soups or porridge—after paying rent, maintenance fees, and taxes, the money would be just enough.

Of course, the breadwinner wasn’t the only one working.

Children of a certain age could earn a few copper coins steadily by gathering firewood or doing odd jobs, and wives could generate decent income through piecework sewing or attaching buttons to dolls. In reality, a common household’s monthly income was about 3-5 silver coins.

Since I worked 240 hours a week to earn roughly that amount, I suppose I was doing the work of ten people.

If I had saved consistently, I could have accumulated one gold coin faster, but with expenses for sword training, literacy lessons, and cultural education, it inevitably took longer.

“Good.”

I rose from my seat, opened the door, and left.

It wasn’t yet time to settle matters with my wife.

I needed supplies first.

*

I arrived at a smithy that sold goods to nobles.

I had something to purchase.

As I opened the door and entered, a neatly dressed elf approached and inquired about my business.

“Welcome, esteemed guest. What are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for a whip.”

“Ah, a whip. Is it for pleasure? Or punishment?”

“For punishment. She dared to express her opinion in front of me—her husband and master.”

“My, that won’t do. Not at all. What would a lowly woman know? But it’s not my place to comment to someone already seeking a whip. Follow me. I have several suitable items.”

The elf maintained a servile attitude toward me. This wasn’t unusual.

Elves have their own concept of nobility, and they know what consequences await those who fail to respect it.

I followed his lead to the depths of the shop, where he introduced me to a section with hanging whips.

“This is a cutting-edge whip that administers potion while striking without damaging the skin. Of course, you’ll need to replenish the potion separately.”

“How powerful is it?”

“About average for a whip. Still enough to kill a person, though.”

I picked up the whip and tested it with a strike through the air.

Crack!

Hmm. Not bad air resistance, but insufficient.

“I need something stronger.”

“But… that might actually kill your wife…”

“My wife is a pain enthusiast. This wouldn’t even pop a pimple on her skin.”

“Oh…”

The attendant’s eyes widened before he nodded in understanding.

Dozens of minutes later, the attendant returned with a whip so intimidating that one strike would clearly kill an ordinary person.

“Now we’re talking.”

With a satisfied expression, I purchased the whip and returned to the captain’s quarters, where I made my wife kneel as I recited her crimes before beginning her punishment.

Daring to make personal statements in a public place, tarnishing a knight’s dignity.

Daring to obstruct her husband’s conduct as a wife, diminishing her husband’s prestige.

Daring to disrupt the world’s order by allowing someone of low birth to interfere with a noble’s speech.

The charges were roughly consolidated into three (I could have delved deeper, but it was bothersome, and this was her first offense), with 1,000 lashes sentenced for each, totaling 3,000 lashes to be administered.

Being my first time using a whip, I was clumsy at first, but with Simon acting as a fair mediator in the room, keeping count of how many lashes my wife had received, I could proceed with ease and soon became adept at flaying my wife’s skin.

Her once-delicate skin remained exquisite, as torn skin and flesh rapidly regenerated and new skin formed as soon as the whip left the wound.

Thinking once more that I had made an excellent purchase, I completed the 3,000 lashes, and only then was my wife granted permission to embrace me.

The blood, flesh, and skin fragments scattered throughout the room were cleaned up by Simon using magic.

Thank you, Simon!