Ch.97Brickyard

Year 14 of the Amurtat Calendar, Winter.

Not long after the new year began, Amurtat was still covered in snow, but the enthusiasm of the numerous civil servants working inside the buildings was burning hot enough to melt it.

It wasn’t that they were particularly passionate, but rather because they had been promised bonuses if they handled this matter well.

“Has the proposal been submitted?”

“Yes! We just need approval now!”

“Good. Kyle?”

“Yes?”

“Just in case, have the second and third alternatives ready too! And how much longer for the industrial feasibility study report?”

“Just give me about 20 more minutes, please!”

Completely eliminating corruption was impossible as it would go against human nature, but at least it was possible to remove incompetent individuals and replace them with capable ones.

By removing those who merely occupied positions and replacing them with young, promising, and ambitious individuals, Amurtat’s administrative capacity—which had barely maintained the status quo—greatly improved. As a result, another yard was established in Amurtat.

The Brickyard.

To create a new industrial complex that would produce quality bricks using the clay found at the boundary between the northern mountains and the eastern coast, not only funds but also administrative capacity was essential.

And now, that administrative power was burning bright, working for a new source of income that would become another financial lifeline for Amurtat. Whether they liked it or not, the Brickyard had become an industry that could not be allowed to fail.

Preventing retreat like this was a bad move from an economic perspective, but politically, it was like establishing a last stand. Now, whether the Brickyard could achieve commercial success was no longer important to the civil servants.

So what was important?

Isn’t it obvious?

“Team leader!!! The proposal has been approved!”

“F*ck!! We did it!! It’s bonus time, everyone!! Discard all your cards and get new ones!”

What mattered most was the fact that they had made an effort.

Just as in sports or war there’s the saying “they fought well despite losing,” in politics there was the excuse of “we did our best, but things didn’t work out.”

Fortunately, the likelihood of the Brickyard failing commercially was slim.

Fundamentally, bricks were both sturdy and fragile, which meant they required periodic large-scale replacements.

And now, one massive industrial complex would monopolize the production of such items and even export them?

This was a structure that could only generate profits, and if it operated at a loss, it would mean either there was a serious defect in the Brickyard or someone was embezzling funds.

Whether it was a problem with the machinery or the workforce, the issue itself could be fixed. The Brickyard, officially authorized by the Amurtat administration, would become the third industrial complex to cover the northern mountains, alongside the Steelyard and the Boneyard.

Soon, the buildings of Amurtat would follow the patterns of stone rather than the fibers of wood.

*

“They say nothing in life is free, but… damn… isn’t this a bit much?”

“It can’t be helped. Until we hire more bureaucrats, we’ll just have to suffer through it.”

The aide handed Tiberius additional documents as he spoke.

Typically, corruption and misconduct occurred when convenience was prioritized over efficiency.

The moment “flexibility” is applied to principles, those principles soon become nominal, and when “compassion” is brought into law, the court degrades from a place of solemn judgment to a complaint consultation office.

Eliminating corruption meant confronting the true workload that had been hidden behind administrative convenience, without any defense mechanisms. Currently, not only the low-level civil servants but also the supreme dignitary Tiberius von Adler and his top aide were being ground down mercilessly, working an average of 16 hours a day.

“When do you think the additional bureaucrats will arrive?”

Along with the rustling sound of a pen, the monarch’s question was heard.

“Probably around March. Since we’ve allocated quite a number of additional personnel, it’s taking a bit more time to train them.”

“I don’t like it, but… we can’t entrust state affairs to amateurs…”

Even in companies, when new employees are hired, it takes at least three months of training and handover. In the current situation, where there was a shortage of personnel who could leisurely train newcomers, putting in unripe individuals would only reduce efficiency.

Even if it took a little more time, the administration needed people who could sit down and handle documents as soon as a position became available.

“Still, March isn’t bad. If reinforcements came in April or May, the subordinates would have been worked to death.”

“The trainers aren’t first-timers anymore. They’ve been training for over four years now, so they must have developed some expertise.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Even a village schoolboy can recite poetry after three years, so a person who has been in education for four years must have developed some know-how. At the very least, just recognizing that ‘in situation A, one should do B’ makes work easier. Tiberius was already looking forward to what brilliant opinions these educators, who were beginning to develop a knack for their work, would present at future academic conferences.

“Indeed, regardless of time and place, people must first learn, right?”

“A most wise observation, sir.”

*

In an elementary school located in Amurtat, neither in the east nor the west, nor in ancient times, but in the north, education was in full swing, teaching young children who had just enrolled the continental common script.

“Now, does anyone know what the common name for the continental common script is?”

“Me! Me! I know!”

“Yes, Michael. Tell us.”

“Unibet!”

Unibet, a combination of “universal” and “alphabet,” had been the continental common script for over 3,000 years without significant changes. Naturally, being literate meant knowing how to use Unibet.

Other scripts included the sacred script commonly known as church writing, Theomaton, and Futhark, based on the runic script used by wizards. However, these were more like ceremonial scripts not widely used in daily life, so ordinary people had no particular reason to learn them.

Some archaeologists deeply studied writing systems from before the establishment of Unibet, but due to the vast span of 3,000 years, the number of scripts whose word formation methods and grammar had been completely deciphered could be counted on one’s fingers.

“Then, what’s the common name for the continental common language?”

“Me!”

“Yes… James?”

“Commlish!”

Commlish, formed by combining “common” and “English,” was one of the main reasons why humans across this vast continent could communicate with each other despite enormous physical distances.

Reading Unibet in Commlish was exactly like pronouncing the alphabet in English, or Hangul in Korean. Some people confused Unibet and Commlish, but with accumulated knowledge, one could clearly recognize the difference between the two.

In the educational process from ages 7 to 15, the knowledge children could accumulate was limited to such miscellaneous facts, but it was precisely these miscellaneous facts that, when gathered together, enabled grand academic discussions—that was the effect of education.

Just as even a vast lake ultimately forms from continuously flowing streams, without the influx of knowledge, even the greatest intellect would eventually wither.

“Now, today we’re going to learn how to write our names, how to hammer nails, and how to sew. Everyone brought their supplies, right?”

“””Yes!”””

Along with the children’s high-pitched voices, nails, hammers, needles, and thread appeared on the desks.

And in the children’s bags were parchment and quill pens. The teachers firmly believed that perfect supplies would lead to excellent academic results.

Then what about children who couldn’t prepare supplies due to difficult family circumstances? How did they attend school?

The answer to that question was quite simple.

“Jeremy! You didn’t bring your supplies again today?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, teacher.”

“If you don’t have supplies, you can’t attend the lesson, so go stand outside the classroom.”

“Yes….”

Isn’t it enough that they attend school a little more intimidated and a little more unhappily than the other children?

Too harsh for young children, you say?

Well, perhaps.

But when has this world ever not been harsh to adults?

Harshness always breeds anger, anger breeds hatred, and hatred always becomes the trigger for change and revolution.

Those who resent their parents, hate society, and feel anger toward others are the easiest to manipulate. Society finds stability when these individuals become adventurers who plunge into dungeons or soldiers who charge into enemy lines.