By March, temperatures had risen above ten degrees Celsius. The winter snow had long since melted, and the once rock-hard frozen ground was now soft enough to dig into, so the road construction crews picked up speed. Although many temporary workers had returned home for spring plowing, there were still plenty of laborers without land, so the overall progress wasn't too badly affected—though some impact was unavoidable.
But now, with the added task of building houses and setting up farms, manpower was being stretched thin.
When the construction company first took on the Sardinson road project, they thought they'd have steady work for at least a year or two.
What they hadn't expected was that the scope of the project would keep expanding. At this rate, even five years might not be enough to finish everything. First, it was roads, then houses, factories, now farms and ranches—it was as if Sardinson County was trying to trap them there for good.
Still, steady work was a blessing. Even if it meant no time off anytime soon, the good pay made the exhaustion a little easier to bear.
After all, when the client was a generous earl who never delayed wages, how could they possibly say no?
"But we don't have enough people," grumbled Peter, the foreman's assistant. "We already pulled men off roadwork to build houses and factories. There's just no way we can spare more to start on farms—unless we stop road construction altogether."
The core construction team originally had only around thirty long-term members. To handle Sardinson's massive roadwork, they had recruited a large number of new workers, and with the help of Sardinson's own conscripted labor, the crew numbered in the thousands during the winter. That's how they managed to build a road from Dingle to Sardinson Castle in the dead of winter. At that pace, they figured they'd be able to finish all the county's main roads in a year or two.
But that was during the off-season. Now that spring had come, most of the peasants—serfs and freemen alike—had gone back to farming. Over half the crew had vanished. Another group had been reassigned to continue the housing construction, replacing the serfs originally tasked with the job. Now they were being asked to provide more men for farms and ranches—but from where?
Faced with this problem, the head of the crew, Nissen, was silent for a long time. Recruiting more people was the only solution, but where to find them?
He'd already recruited everyone he could—from Sardinson and the neighboring fiefs. Some were even from his hometown, carefully selected workers who were diligent and trustworthy. The rest he had no interest in hiring.
Beyond those familiar areas, recruiting was risky. Locals were wary of outsiders. Even if people believed their recruiting claims, the local lords might take offense at others poaching their labor force and could send knights to chase them off—or worse, throw them in jail.
To a noble, people were wealthy.
After long consideration and no answer, Nissen finally said, "I'll go talk to Abel."
Abel was another contractor like him. Their teams came from neighboring noble fiefs and were known rivals, often competing and mocking each other. Nissen didn't particularly want to work with Abel, but unfortunately, of all the construction leaders he knew, Abel had the best manpower and skill. The others either didn't have enough workers or weren't very professional.
Peter's expression changed. "You want to work with Abel? You think he'll agree?"
Their relationship was that bad—they nearly came to blows last time.
Nissen raised an eyebrow. "If a lucrative job came to you, would you say no?"
Of course not. Earl Williams paid top dollar—clients like that were rare. Only a fool would say no.
"But still… maybe we could find someone else?"
Peter didn't like Abel either. That guy had stolen several big contracts from them over the years. Their two teams were practically arch-enemies.
Nissen snorted. "As annoying as that guy is, he's got skills. And I heard Old Pierre just got another commission from the earl. Once the blueprints are ready, chances are he'll call Abel in. Better we go offer him some work now—build some goodwill—than have Pierre recommend him and push us out entirely."
He didn't yet know what this new project was—Pierre was being unusually secretive about it, which only confirmed that it was a big job. Nissen would've loved to take it himself, but they were already stretched thin.
Pierre was a senior architect, and while they'd worked together often in the past due to being from the same hometown, the earl's current needs were bigger than any one team could handle. If Nissen's crew was too busy, Pierre would go with another trusted team—and Abel was next in line.
So instead of giving up a potential future project, better to hand Abel the work they couldn't handle now—then maybe Abel would free up more manpower and help them speed up what they were doing. If that freed them up later, they might still have a chance at Pierre's new project.
With that calculation in mind, Nissen felt a little better about making peace with his old rival.
As for the earl himself, Felix didn't care who built the farms or the roads. As long as the job got done on time and passed inspection, it didn't matter who got paid.
He had more important things to worry about.
Now that Felix had officially been granted Slot County, becoming its new Count, he immediately sealed the prepared sugar-making recipe and his new letter in an envelope stamped with his family crest, handed it to the king's envoy, and began preparations to take over the fief.
After the former count of Slot had been demoted to baron, most of the land had reverted to the crown, leaving the territory without a formal lord. The freemen had long since fled. The only ones left were serfs—originally belonging to the former count, now baron. When the land was reclaimed, these serfs went with it and became the king's property.
But life as royal serfs was no better—in fact, worse. Without the ability to pay taxes through labor, their lives had only grown more miserable. If not for the nearby sea and mountains—allowing them to fish or hunt for food—they'd have starved long ago.
Now, fewer than a thousand serfs remained in Slot. Life was brutal. They weren't allowed to leave the county, so even though they knew booming Sardinson next door was full of job openings—some offering food, shelter, and wages—they couldn't cross the border to find work.
During the harsh winter, the population had shrunk even further. Now, even with spring upon them, the hopelessness in their eyes remained.
At this moment, the king's envoy made a detour on his return journey to personally visit Slot. He gathered everyone and made an announcement.
"Earl Williams of Sardinson is your new lord. He will soon send people to take over. You must cooperate with the new Count of Slot. From now on, this is his land."
Having received his thank-you gift from Felix, the envoy was in a great mood. He even took it upon himself to warn the serfs—no troublemaking.
Oh, and he had another task: informing the former Count of Slot—now merely a baron—that not only had he lost his land, but even the title of Slot had been reassigned. From now on, he could only use his family name or the name of his current, much smaller estate.
No telling whether the disgraced baron would drop dead from rage.
The envoy didn't linger in Slot. After making his announcement, he quickly left—leaving a dazed crowd of serfs staring blankly at each other.
It took a while before they understood what they'd just heard.
A new lord?
From Sardinson?
The young, wealthy, kind Earl Williams??
"I think… I heard that nobleman say Earl Williams is our new lord?"
"I heard it too…"
"Are we dreaming?"
SMACK!
One serf slapped himself hard and then cried out in joy, "Oh God! It's not a dream! We have a new lord! It's the Earl from Sardinson!"
The shout seemed to pierce the clouds. All the serfs trembled. The realization hit them like a tidal wave.
Earl Williams. They had a new lord. They no longer had to fear starving after paying taxes!
Cheers rang out… but soon, the cheering faded, replaced by tears, sobs, and wails as years of pain and grief came pouring out.
They had waited so long for a savior—but many hadn't survived to see it.
When the fief had been reclaimed, there had been over two thousand serfs and even more freemen. In just three years, all the freemen were gone, and only a thousand serfs remained.
So much lost, in so little time.
The survivors were tough, resilient people. And though they had wept bitterly at first, by the time Felix and Wei Wei arrived at Slot three days later—with knights and soldiers in tow—the sorrow had been hidden away.
Slot was farther south than Sardinson's southern border. Unlike Sardinson's rocky, reef-covered beaches, Slot had flat, open beaches, clear of hazards. On either side, cliffs jutted out into the sea, forming a U-shaped bay.
It was the perfect place to build a dock.
To Wei Wei, the place was stunning. If they built homes into the cliffs and added greenery around them… under the bright sun and blue sea, it could rival any Mediterranean city—an ideal future tourist destination.
But for the serfs who had lived there for generations, beauty meant little. They lived in crude thatched huts constantly battered by sea winds. Their fishing boats were old and falling apart. One big wave could kill a man. They feared and relied on the sea.
The dwindling population had forced them to huddle together. The remaining survivors had moved into two adjacent fishing villages, cleaning out abandoned homes and living communally.
The old count of Slot still had his castle and a few properties—those hadn't been confiscated. So Felix had no residence in the county. The fishing villages were filthy and overcrowded, and Felix, now trained by Wei Wei to be fastidious about hygiene, had no interest in entering. So they stopped outside and had the serfs come to them.
All the serfs came—young and old. They were eager, even offering what little food they had.
Fishing was their main livelihood, and though they did farm a little after the king's tax collectors came through, they barely had any grain left. Most of their food came from the sea.
The fish they brought were freshly caught. The Mediterranean wasn't the richest fishing ground, but it still had plenty of delicious species. Unfortunately, the serfs' cooking was rudimentary—boiling or roasting with only salt and no oil. Their skill was limited, so whether it tasted good depended entirely on the fish itself.
Still, Felix graciously accepted a roasted fish from the oldest among them—and then had his knights distribute some of the food they'd brought with them.
Two large sacks of beans and rye were handed out. Many of the serfs hadn't eaten anything but seafood in ages, and they stared at the grains with wide eyes and watering mouths.
The old serf chosen to speak for the group stared at the sacks longingly, then asked hoarsely, "My lord… these are…?"
"A thank-you for the fish," Felix replied.
The fish had been roasted on a stick and handed over—no extra dishes or utensils. Everyone in their party got a share, but only Felix and Wei Wei received whole fish; the others got portions. Likely, the serfs had gone without a meal just to offer this.
Felix took a bite. The fish was a little overcooked and salted with cheap, bitter coarse salt—possibly just boiled seawater.
Though Slot had no shortage of salt, most people still used the boiling method, as solar evaporation was rare and unreliable in their region. Coarse salt was the norm for the poor.
Those living near the sea often boiled their own. Few sold it—firewood was taxed, and it was easier to fish than make salt.
That salt was what flavored today's fish. Without it, they might have been forced to leave the territory long ago in search of seasoning.
But despite the king's absence, and the lack of guards, they didn't dare leave. The former Count of Slot, now a baron, was still nearby—watching. If any serf left, he'd have them captured, branded as runaway slaves, and dragged back. With the king gone, no one would stop him.
The county was now divided—one-tenth to the baron, the rest to the crown (and now Felix). Early on, some serfs had unknowingly crossed into the baron's land while hunting and were arrested for "stealing game."
"The man swore before God that he hadn't meant to trespass. But that baron still took him."
The former count had not been a good man. The serfs' hatred for him was palpable.
As Felix chatted with the elder, Wei Wei tried to stomach the roasted fish. Unfortunately, her enhanced taste buds rebelled. After a few bites, she quietly slipped the fish onto Felix's plate.
He glanced at her, said nothing, and ate it.
Years as a knight had trained him well. Even with refined tastes now, he could still eat anything when needed.
After the basic introductions, Felix dismissed the elder and his people to eat.
Once they'd left, Wei Wei sighed. "Things are worse than I thought. What's your plan?"
"I'm thinking… maybe we bring them back with us."
The serfs were emaciated—some ill. Leaving them here would mean more deaths. But there was nowhere suitable to house them, and they couldn't all sleep in carriages forever.
Besides, this trip was only to assess the situation. They hadn't brought enough supplies to properly support everyone.
"But even if we bring them back… where do we put them? They're good at fishing, but not much at farming. Their tools are outdated, and they have no animals. Even after Sardinson finished its spring plowing, these fields were barely touched. I asked—their average yield is under 150 jin per mu. That's not enough to survive, even tax-free."
"Sardinson's coast isn't good for fishing. If we bring them back, they can't fish. And they can't farm either. So what now?"
Wei Wei chuckled. "You're overthinking. Even if we bring them back, it's only temporary. They'll eventually return. What, you plan to leave this land empty?"
Of course not. Felix was already dreaming of building a dock. But that would take time—and money. Even with Sardinson earning well, a major dock would be a heavy investment.
"Then instead of bringing them back, we should keep them here. We'll send supplies, help them recover, and have them build new houses for themselves. There's nowhere decent to stay right now, and we're not sleeping in tents every visit."
"Also, we could start salt production. Slot is warmer than Sardinson. If we build some salt flats, we can produce coarse salt now and later refine it. That would save us a lot on salt expenses."
Salt was a constant need—for preserving meat, for cooking. Now that they had the perfect location, even if the salt flats only operated for a month each year, it would be enough for both counties.
"Salt flats?" Felix echoed.
Wei Wei nodded and explained the solar evaporation method. "It produces more salt and doesn't use firewood. You just need a big, flat space and good weather. Even without high heat, coastal wind helps evaporate seawater faster."
Felix was tempted—salt was expensive. But he hesitated. "Would that interfere with dock construction?"
"Just build them further inland," Wei Wei replied. "Too close to the water, and we risk high tide anyway. We don't need a huge salt field—just enough for our needs. It shouldn't interfere."