Chapter 588 unedited and unmemed (Patreon)

Donneeeee. There was a lot of information I wanted to get through in this chapter, and I'm not 100% sure I covered it all, so if something doesn't make sense, or if you have any questions whatsoever, please do bring them up, either here or on Discord. My answers may sound snippy, but that's only because I'm too lazy to type them out properly, and not at all because I am annoyed. I love your questions regarding the most inane things in SD, cuz it lets me share all the stupid details I thought of and have no place in the story :D

Anywho, again, no chapter sunday, next update is Tuesday May 19th. See ya!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jZGjxJL9mRyGEPzlFeWTyAC3zXbdd7XLn92WFQTfUnM/edit?usp=sharing

After months of planning and preparation, I finally unveiled my devious financial schemes to the world at large, and all I got was a smattering of polite applause and courteous smiles.

On the plus side, things went way better than predicted. I half-expected some poncy nobles to decry the practice of selling land to commoners, but Luo-Luo assured me there wouldn’t be an issue since there are plenty of farmers working their own lands. The only thing is those lands are usually a good distance away from proper civilization, as any valuable real estate in or around an Imperial City is usually owned by the Emperor or were snapped up years ago by the wealthy bourgeois. The only thing controversial about what I’m doing is lending coin to commoners to buy land outright, which turns out is a lot cheaper than paying a premium to convince them to work on my property which sits adjacent to a violently contested border.

I mean, it’s kinda obvious once you think about it. Why pay workers higher salaries when you can keep paying them a pittance and charge a premium from transportation?

Personally, I thought my grand scheme was pretty clever and worthy of a gasp or three, but it feels like everyone is still humouring me like I’m some eccentric relative with more money than sense. Hopefully, people will see the brilliance behind the idea and still have faith in my War Bond venture, because I still have more plans and will need more money to see them through to completion. Although I’ve netted a tidy sum today, almost all of the investors are my family or friends, which means the general public still doesn’t see the value in War Bonds. That said, today was nothing if not success, as the initial batch of 400 War Bonds sold for 1.8x to 3x, or an average of 2.2x their actual value, netting my Office a total of 8.8 million gold. Add in my personal investment of one million gold, and I have almost 10 million gold to play around with and a debt of 5 million in one years time, so I intend to make the most of this seed money and make sure it’s used to the people of the Empire.

Though to be fair, I am technically one of those people, and so too are my friends and family...

On this note, before hobbling off stage to mingle and pander with the crowd, I bring Mom, Dad, Akanai, and Husolt aside and signal them to put up a sound barrier. Hugging them each in turn so everyone just thinks I’m privately thanking them for their sizable investments, I say, “Sorry I didn’t tell any of you in advance, but I had to play this one close to the chest.” All four nod in agreement, but I can tell they don’t wholly understand the significance of what I’ve done here, because they, and therefore the People whom they represent, are not all too interested in putting down roots in Central, but times are a changing. “We need to move fast now, before other people catch wind. How many skilled tradesmen are living out at the farm? People who could make a living with what they contribute to the community? Scratch that, include people living in the citadel too, but exclude enlisted Sentinels.”

If this had something to do with her Sentinels, Akanai would have an answer immediately, but she is less informed about Sentinel families, which is more in Mom’s wheelhouse. “Dedicated tradesmen like Chakha?”

Huu’s dad is a carpenter, but he’s not the only skilled worker in the family. “Elia fits too, assuming she’s interested in opening a commercial bakery.” They way it is now, she only sells baked goods when asked and most days only prepares the dough and tends to the ovens, while every Sentinel household sends someone to make their own bread, buns, and whatnot. Communal efforts are great for bringing people close together, but at some point, specialization is just more efficient, and the People have long since crossed that threshold. “No need for exact figures, just your best guess.”

“Three thousand easily, perhaps thrice that depending on how wide your definition of tradesman stretches.” Which is far more than I expected, considering we only brought fifteen-thousand Sentinels in total, but Mom looks less than pleased by the news. “Does this have to do with what you just announced? Will you be needing the land back?”

What? Why would I kick the Sentinels off my farm? “No, I want to reorganize the entire area and sell land to those tradesmen.”

Mom looks relieved and pats my cheek, but Akanai’s scoffs and scowls. “The People are no farmers, boy, nor do we intend to put down roots in Central. There will come a time when the Defiled threat is lessened and Martial Law repealed, at which point I will bring my Sentinels and their families back home to the North.”

“Which is fine, but one, not everyone will go back, and two, even if they do, they can just resell the land.” Husolt looks like he’s getting it, but I’m still getting blank stares from the other three, so I slow down to explain it in plain common. “Purchasing property along the Western Wall right now is a risky proposition, but with how my Office is arranging things, all that risk is taken on by the Empire. Let’s pretend I want to sell the land for one gold per square kilometre. Chakha applies for a loan and is approved. Rather than giving him one gold, I simply hand him the deed to the land, and he signs a contract promising to pay two silver a year for ten years. The land is his, and I take one gold from the War Bond funds and put it into my own pocket, because the land was mine to begin with, and Chakha walks away as the owner of his land. Are you following me so far?”

Everyone nods, but I’m not sure if they actually understand or they don’t want to admit confusion. Left with no choice but to press on, I continue, “If the contract goes to completion, then he’ll have paid twenty silver, or two gold, at the end of ten years, which is twice what the land was worth on paper. That’s where the Empire’s profit comes in. However, if Chakha leaves at the end of this year, this means the Emperor deemed it is safe enough to repeal Martial Law, which means the land Chakha purchased with his loan will have appreciated in value.” Blanks stares all around, even from Husolt who is the most business savvy of the bunch, so I dumb it down again. “If the Wall holds, then people will feel safe living here again, so the land will be worth more, and Chakha can sell it for a profit even after paying off his loan.”

Frowning, Dad points out the obvious. “Then why take a loan and pay double the cost? Why not offer to let Chakha buy the land outright?”

“Because not all tradesmen have rich Martial Warrior wives,” I reply, unable to resist poking fun a Ghurda, “And more to the point, if he bought the land outright, then he would take on the very large risk that his purchase might be worthless by this time next year.” Meaning the Defiled break through and Central is lost, though it’s unwise to ever say those words out loud. “But, if the worst should come to pass, then Chakha and the Empire will both have bigger issues to deal with than a measly two gold debt. It’s all the reward with minimal risk. If things go well, then by the time Chakha finishes paying back the loan, his land could easily be worth ten to twenty times what he paid for it, earning him a tidy little sum for doing what he’s already doing. That’s why we need to move fast, because land and funds are both limited, so it would be best if we snatched up as much as possible. There are certain occupations that won’t work, and Sentinels themselves can’t apply since I intend to limit this to commoners, but tailors, coopers, tanners, brewers, and anyone else who might sell goods or services to the Army would be perfect.

I put a lot of effort into this, and the profits will be far more than a twenty or so gold for early investors, which means if there ever were a time to buy land, it’s now. Even though I purchased every piece of valuable real estate along the Western Wall at a bargain bin prices, mostly thanks to the current war-torn circumstances and my vaunted Imperial Status, a square kilometre of land will cost significantly more than one gold by this time next year. In fact, with the status quo in place, owners were already considering if they should put their land to work again, and I almost had to borrow money to see it through, but then two weeks ago, my sugar beets started paying off in spades. I’ve been selling crystallized sugar for about half the price of the standard alternative, and while that’s a significant discount for sweetener, it’s also a ridiculous profit because beets are dirt cheap to grow and process compared to sugar cane.

Now if only I could find maple trees and make me some maple syrup...

I’m not complaining though, because even if I sell the land at modest markup, I’ll still make enough money to buy myself multiple suits of Runic Armour from this single venture alone. I should buy one for Mila, one for Yan, and I suppose one for Zian, to pay him back for the one I took from him. BoShui already has a Runic Breastplate, a Clan heirloom given to him by his father, and the same goes for Fung, though he doesn’t wear his armour often. I should get a set of Runic Armour for Dad and Akanai too, so they can look fancy when they go to war, but I’m not sure either one would be willing to accept such an expensive gift. Face is complicated business, and even after learning so very much, I still have a long way to go before understanding all the complex nuances.

Leaving Luo-Luo with Mom to hammer out the details, I head off to greet my fawning public with a smile. While I’ve yet to overcome my intense loathing of social interaction, being surrounded by bootlickers is oddly addictive. I mean, who doesn’t love being praised and flattered? Luckily, I have my family and friends to keep me grounded, but I can see why most young nobles let it all go to their heads. It’s tough keeping my ego in check when strangers and acquaintances are always going on about how incredible I am, but I like to play this game when I force my bootlickers to be extremely specific. If someone tells me I look heroic, I make them narrow down exactly what about my appearance makes me look heroic. Do my new boots make me look taller? Or is it the rakish angle of my dragon circlet giving me an air of mystery? Perhaps its my pose combined with the wind flapping through my cloak (which is the worst part of my Imperial ensemble considering Central’s stifling summers)?

Making people back up their statements with objective proof has earned me something of a reputation for honesty, since it makes it look like I refuse accept any undeserved praise or unfounded compliments, but really, I just like watching people flounder for answers.

The good thing about today is that aside from friends and family, only my closest supporters and the most desperate of bootlickers stuck it out for this long, though I predict an influx of returnees once everyone figures out how profitable this War Bond venture will be. I mean, right now, I’m the one benefiting, since I own all the land which is about to be sold, but most people will put two and two together and realize that not only do I intend to actually invest the gold in the Empire like I’ve been claiming I will, those investments could easily benefit them as well, if they happen to know what I’m about to invest in.

Honestly, I’m a lot better at making money than I thought I’d be. To balance it out, I’m also great at spending money, but I try to focus more on the good I’m doing, rather than all the riches I’m throwing away.

One such opportunity comes around as Taiyi ZhuShen steps forward to greet me with his Eldest Disciple in tow. Li TieGuai, or Iron-Crutch Li, is an aged and wizened Martial Warrior with ruddy, wrinkled skin and a surprising bright gaze, signs his body deteriorated before its time. This wasn’t the name he was born with, but one he took up to own after his Mentor’s body-strengthening experiments rendered him unable to move without using crutches, a luxury he can no longer afford now that his symptoms have worsened. Despite his tragic circumstances, it’s clear Li TieGuai still adores his Mentor and adopted father, and smiles brightly as Healer ZhuShen wheels him about in his fancy new wheelchair, complete with shock-absorbing springs and fancy rubber wheels. “You’re looking well, brother Li,” I exclaim, once all the pleasantries are complete, and for once, I actually mean it. “The fresh air and sunny skies are doing wonders for your complexion.”

“No, all this is thanks to you, Minister, and your esteemed Teacher.” Grateful to the point of ignoring his Mentor’s face, TieGuai almost topples over while trying for a world record number of seated bows. “Three months ago, I could barely move for fear or tearing muscle or rupturing organs, but look at me now, haha. Even then I would not be able to get around so well without your help, designing this chair and these wondrous wheels. I barely feel a bump while going over cobbled roads, and I dare say I could survive being rolled down a flight of stairs!”

His one eye twinkling in sheer delight, Healer ZhuShen fondly pats his Disciple’s head, despite the both of them being old enough to be grandfathers themselves. Sadly, if one were to guess, the would mistake TieGuai for the father and ZhuShen as the son. A tragic thing, this failed experiment, but TieGuai doesn’t blame his Mentor, so who am I to step in? “Manners little Li,” ZhuShen says, flashing a grateful smile towards me. “Can’t you see you’re making our good friend uncomfortable? He honours you by calling you brother, and you thank him by calling him Minister?”

“Of course, of course, this Li is wrong.” Gently slapping his cheek in recrimination, TieGuai clasps my hand with a grin. “Thank you, brother Rain.”

“No need for thanks, I’m just glad I could help.” Unlike with TieGuai’s junior brothers, but hopefully, that changes today. Rummaging through my handy-dandy waist bag, I pull out a small chest filled with medicinal unguents Lin-Lin and I prepared yesterday and offer it to Healer ZhuShen. “I spoke with Teacher yesterday, and we came up with a new treatment plan for brothers Qiong and Guo.” Unlike with TieGuai, ZhuShen’s other two surviving Disciples are still healthy, but their bodies are covered in hardened, calloused skin, thanks to a series of medicinal baths they steeped themselves in some four decades ago. Aside from making them tougher than leather and having a plethora of issues with mobility and flexibility, the coarse, dark skin also gives their features a rough, irregular, and almost Demonic cast. They aren’t ugly, but they are imperfect and somewhat terrifying, which is a grave sin for a Martial Warrior since it’s a sign of Defilement. They’re not Defiled, but rumours being what they are, they tend to never go our or show their faces for fear of harming their Mentor’s status.

That’s why they aren’t here today, and why they didn’t come to the wedding, but I met them both around two months back, when Healer ZhuShen brought them to the bamboo grove to see Taduk. We tried our best to help them, but it’s complicated. The callouses didn’t grow on top of a healthy layer of skin, but rather their regular skin was turned into one giant callous, which makes moving somewhat painful as callouses tend to do. Holding onto the box to make sure I have Healer ZhuShen’s attention, I catch his inquisitive eye and say, “Since previous treatments failed to make any headway, this will be a much more aggressive approach. Rather than medicines, it would be more appropriate to call these unguents caustic agents, which will hopefully abrade away the inflexible tissue to help them regain their full mobility. It will be painful, especially considering their unique circumstances, and considering they both are more or less in good health, this is not entirely necessary.”

Most people his age would bristle at being instructed by a man seventy years junior, but Healer ZhuShen lacks pretension and understands age and wisdom do not always go hand in hand. Nodding as he considers my words, he says, “I see, I see. I will leave the decision to them. Thank you for your efforts, my friend.”

“Again, it was nothing.” And not without value. In return for my help, ZhuShen is not only exceedingly generous in our business dealings, he also shared all his research regarding body-strengthening methods with me. Although all of them ended in failure, they are still a treasure trove of detailed information from which I can draw from. I’ve yet to come up with a method I’m willing to try, but I’m making headway and have eliminated a lot of ideas thanks to his research, which has saved me time, money, and heartache. What’s more, if I can come up with a way to perfect ZhuShen’s methods, I too could have a body which can block steel swords with bare skin and thick, sturdy bones able to withstand tremendous impacts.

And maybe, just maybe, survive a night with my beloved wife without restraints or bruises. The former are for her, and the latter are all mine, as a painful twinge in my waist reminds me of last night’s unfortunate events. For two nights, Mila’s indomitable bondage device held firm and we made love like rabbits in heat, but then we overdid it and stressed the steel monstrosity until it snapped. Just one restraint, and Mila had the forethought to build several redundancies onto her device, else I’d be suffering from worse than a possibly fractured hip.

I gotta say though, I have never felt more alive than in that split second of impending death...

...I have a real problem, but who doesn’t?

After saying farewell to Taiyi ZhuShen and Li TieGuai, I continue glad-handing all the War Bond investors until I reach the last of the bunch. The three members of the merchant consortium stand out in the crowd, and not just because they’re the only people I don’t recognize. Having slid into last place at eighteen-thousand and one gold, they beat out multiple bids from more affluent groups thanks to what I can only assume was research and forethought, since they also had the gold on had to pay for the War Bonds before someone could come along and bully them away. Unlike the rest of the crowd, the middle-aged merchants are neither dressed like the uber-rich nor are they Martial Warriors, with both men and the singular woman bearing the tell-tale marks of commoners. Age spots, blackheads, pockmarks, and the like, again, I wouldn’t call them hideous, but they fail to meet the super-model beauty-standards I’ve grown accustom to. Still, I only make a note of this because it’s surprising to see a group here who isn’t represented by Martial Warriors, since they tend to always be at the forefront of these events. “Hi there. Thank you for your generous support, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” I say, smiling brightly as I extend my hand. “Might I have your esteemed names?”

Rather than shake my hand, the three flustered merchants almost bump heads trying to bow over it, like they were going to kiss my ring or something. “This one is Cixi,” the woman begins, a grim, confident woman who has seen better years, but carries herself with dignity. Not only does she speak for the group, she also holds the envelope containing her group’s War Bonds, which means the others trust her. “And this is Gwangjong and Cao Cuo.” Not a single family name amongst them, which again points to humble origins, but they’re doing well enough if they have 180,010 gold to spare. “Together, we represent the Chun-Qiu consortium,” she continues, bowing again now that her comrades’ heads are out of the way, prompting her comrades to follow suit.

There’s something about Common naming conventions which really speaks to me. Chun-Qiu translates to the Spring and Autumn, but it’s not just a fancy name. It’s derived from the Spring and Autumn Annals, a little known collection of classical treatises that was once considered the ultimate primer on trade, but has since fallen out of the public eye. Whoever picked the name is educated, or trying to appear educated, and considering how modestly the three merchants are dressed, I’m going to assume it’s the former until proven otherwise. “A pleasure to make your acquaintances. You say you represent the consortium? How many more members are there?”

Trading sheepish glances amongst themselves, it’s Gwangjong who answers, speaking with the stilted and almost curt tone so commonly heard from the denizens of Central. “Three-hundred and seventeen. We have representatives from every facet of industry. Construction. Transportation. Fishing. Farming. Mining. Forestry.”

“The Minister has better things to do than listen to you yammer on,” Cixi interrupts, in a matter of fact tone which is neither angry nor rude. “That’s why only three of us are here, to not take up too much of the good Minister’s time.”

Well, at least I know how they came up with the coin for their War Bonds, though I have no idea how they intend to split them three-hundred and seventeen ways. Still... “Well, this won’t do.” For a brief second, the three merchants look horrified before I realize how that just sounded, and I hurriedly continue, “I would love to meet the patriots who pooled their money together in support of the Empire. Coin is easy enough to come by, but men and women of noble bearing and generous spirit? This morning, I would have said they were as rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns, but now I hear there are three-hundred and fourteen more I have yet to meet? Please, be sure to leave your contact information with my subordinate, Junior Yimu over there, so I will know where to send all the invitations.”

The small banquet I was planning just got a whole lot bigger, but it’s a small price to pay. These are exactly the kind of people the Empire needs, the kind of people I’ve been hoping to elevate, not the rich, established merchant families, but the small business owners of the Empire. Two-hundred thousand gold is nothing to people like Taiyi ZhuShen and Yuzhen, or groups like the Han Clan and the Yo Family, but Cixi and her companions probably had to scrape the bottom of the barrel to get the coin together. What’s more, even though I disparaged their clothes, they’re probably wearing their Sunday best, and I should feel proud to have them amongst my initial investors.

Unable to resist, I eye Kuang Biao and signal him to throw up a Sound Barrier before asking, “I’m curious to know, what does your consortium expect to achieve with this investment? You must know that even though I call it an investment, the guaranteed return is only ten-thousand gold, and you paid eighteen thousand per War Bond. You might be able to sell it for more, but not for enough of a profit to be worth risking the financial well-being of three-hundred and seventeen merchants.” Shrugging as I gesture around me, I explain, “They’re doing this to support me and for face, but what about you? Please, speak freely without fear of offending me, for no one besides us four will hear it.”

Again, the three of them trade glances, before Cixi explains, “Well... what we want is to speak with you, esteemed Minister sir. My Lord.” Oh god, is that what I used to sound like when I was floundering for the right title? Never again. “Cao Cuo figured it out first, and he told Gwangjong who came to me, and then we put the consortium together because it only seemed right.”

Maybe I should install a suggestion box or something. “What did he figure out?”

“Well, Lord Minister, Sir –”

“Don’t worry about honorifics.”

“Yes Mini – err. Yes.” Pulling out a well-worn copy of my book, full of dog-eared pages and scribbled notes, Cixi riffles through the pages as she explains. “See, most of us made good coin following your instructions and selling things we read in here, and for a time, that was all it was. But then Cao Cuo put the pieces together, and when the rest of us heard, we unionized to form the Chun-Qiu consortium, just like your people were saying we should.”

I am completely lost. Eyeing the thus-far silent Cao Cuo, a pasty, wide-eyed youth who couldn’t be much older than twenty, I ask, “And exactly what did you piece together?”

Urged on my by stare and Cixi’s prodding, Cao Cuo stammers, “What y-you m-mean to-to do. Sir Minister Lord Sir.”

“And what is that?”

Again, Cao Cuo needs ample encouragement before he’s able to speak up again, his ghostly complexion slick with sweat from nerves. “You t-talked about it, during the Grand Conference,” he whispers, eyes darting back and forth. “About improving the lives of commoners through literacy and education. I thought it was all lip service, but then I kept reading and rereading, and then I did the math, and it just made sense. You’re looking to raise the standard of living for the common people, and in doing so, increase their spending power and tap into a previously untouched source of wealth.”

Oh thank god. I thought he was going to say I wanted weapons to equalize the balance of power between commoners and Martial Warriors. The last thing I need is a group of wannabe rebels thinking I’m their commander-in-chief. “A rising tide lifts all ships,” I quote, and it’s gratifying to see how impressed Cao Cuo is. He’s a smart cookie, which kind of makes me nervous, because I spout off a lot of ‘smart’ things, but I don’t really understand the mechanics behind them. I’ve gotten away with it thus far thanks to luck and a dearth of questions, but I’m less confident about keeping up the charade around big-brained Cao Cuo here. “The wealth is gathered amongst the top 1% of the population, with Martial Warriors and their affiliated partners. Increase the buying power of the bottom 99%, and they’ll spend coin like water buying things they previously went without. Cast iron cookware, paper and ink for lessons, beet sugar for their tea, the occasional meal out, there is a vast fortune to be made from this, but I can’t do it alone, which is why the people need to unionize. Even a pride of lions must tread carefully when a herd of cattle is on the stampede, and if the people work together to demand higher wages and better treatment, the nobility will have no choice but to listen.”

There’s more to it, but that’s the basic gist. Trickle up economics, because a million people spending one gold each does a hell of a lot more for the economy than one guy buying a single one-million gold piece of artwork.

Essentially, the Chun-Qiu consortium put their money together to invest in War Bonds so they could make a direct connection with me, and have someone help direct them on what to do next. They’ve worked out most of it for themselves by banding together in certain business dealings to secure better group rates, but there’s still a lot more which could be done. Unfortunately, before we can even begin to get into the thick of things, Kuang Biao informs me I’ve been summoned by the Legate, so my capitalistic agendas will have to wait.

Though the Legate’s office is in the building directly behind the stage, I still have to call for my litter because I can’t do stairs. One of these days, I will become strong enough to make love to my wife without need for mechanical restraints, but until such a time, I will accept these bruises and fractures with pride. Well, actually, not really, because I am so deeply ashamed of these injuries I haven’t asked anyone to help Heal me, because I’m terrified that they’ll laugh me out of the room. Even Taduk is a no go, because he’s like a second father to me, and will eventually be my father-in-law for real, so I can hardly ask him to Heal my sex-related traumas.

Still... totes worth...

Inside the Legate’s meeting room, I go through all the motions as per usual. First comes the greetings, then I pour his tea while we chat about rumours and gossip, until finally, it comes time to get down to business. “I expected you were up to something with all the purchased property,” he begins, smiling as he leans back into his chair. A good sign, all things considered, because he tends to loom when he’s angry, even if he’s smiling. “Though I must confess, this loan program came as a surprise. It leaves me in something of a quandary however, as the return on your investment will be years in the making and I have made time-sensitive promises to certain parties which I can no longer keep.”

Meaning he needs the coin for bribes and stuff. “If it’s a matter of compensation, I’m willing to split the proceeds from the sale of land.”

“Excellent.” Favouring me with an appreciative nod, he says, “Sale of land is a matter of record, so you cannot go overboard with the markup. Sell it for six times what you purchased it for, and we will split the profits in half.”

I’d been planning on only doubling the price, but I suppose we have different definitions of ‘overboard’. Then again, six times my buying price is still 30% of the what it was worth one year ago, so there’s still plenty of profit to be made. “I’ll need help. Clerks, mostly, but map-makers too, as well as planners to divide the land into individual properties with room left over to build towns for centralized trading. I’ll also need someone you can trust to guard the coin. I’ve got a mix of Sentinels and loyal soldiers watching it for now, because I’m pretty sure the Death Corps would let any random Imperial Scion stroll past them and pocket all the gold.”

“I’ll send a division of Royal Guardians.” The Legate smiles and adds, “Infantry, of course. No lion for you to spoil, I’m afraid. Speaking of which, how do you intend to respond to Rang Min’s insult?” Seeing my blank stare, he raises an eyebrow, then laughs. “Oh. I see. It wasn’t an insult, merely a precaution. I’ll handle it then.” While I still have no idea what he’s going on about, the Legate smiles and says, “You have not disappointed me, my Minister of Finance. Before today, your Office was seen as an empty title, a pretty ribbon adorning a lame horse, but how you proved them wrong. Not only did you convincingly exhibit the vast extent of powers your Office holds, you also made it all but impossible to remove you from Office, not without raising you to a higher one. The people will love you for saddling them with debt and packing them in close to the border as a distraction for invading Defiled, and the nobles of the outer provinces will work even harder to kiss your boots, because who knows what your next venture will entail?”

The Legate’s reasoning leaves a sour taste in my mouth, even though I’d long since considered it. Yes, if invading Defiled tribesmen break through the wall, there’s a good chance they will stop to torture, pillage, rape, and kill if the population is large enough to keep them occupied, which buys time for the Army to respond and deal with the threat before they scatter into the Empire at large, but... that’s not why I’m doing this.

It’s just... an added bonus, I guess?

Seeing his inquisitive stare, I inwardly sigh while outwardly smiling as if all is right in the world. “Well, this initial program is primarily aimed at bringing farmers and tradesmen closer to the Citadel. More food grown here means less food needs to be shipped, less shipping means lower costs and less spoilage, which means more food and coin for the Empire as a whole. This first batch should be enough to settle one and a half million families, but to ensure they’re more efficient workers, they’ll require service industries to fill in the gaps. That’s the next step, to incentivize the creation of bars, schools, restaurants, inns, and more, which will also help with soldier morale as entertainment districts crop up to serve them, as well as move some population density from the Citadels and forts to behind the lines of defense. I did some preliminary estimates, and another thirty million should cover the total costs, which would be paid in full within...”

While selling the Legate on large-scale gentrification, I keep my bigger plans to myself. One and a half million families means at least that many potential militia recruits, and I intend to put a crossbow into the arms of every person who can wield one. Yes, they might be bait now, but let’s see how long a Defiled army lasts with a million bolts flying towards them every six to twelve seconds. It’s not a perfect solution, since Demons and more Defiled Experts might make it through, but it’s better than nothing.

Sadly, this is a world without perfect solutions. Even my plan to enrich the lower classes comes at the price of bone-breaking debt, but I believe that this will improve things for the better.

Because if not, then what in the hell am I doing all this for anyways?

On the plus side, once our long and lengthy meeting is over, the Legate sends for a Healer without asking any questions. Somehow, I feel like he already knows, but it’s been nothing but pleasant working alongside him these last three months, which more than anything, makes me worried for the future. The Legate is a man driven by benefits, and the more benefits I provide him, the more he comes to expect. What happens if someday, I fail to live up to expectations? Something tells me I don’t want to find out.

Honestly, shit was so much simpler when I was a Martial Warrior. And to think, there was a time when I thought commanding a thousand soldiers was too complicated to figure out...