Inside Shen Mo’s main tent, having taken off his armor and changed into comfortable clothes, Shen Mo was talking with Qiao Xiao.
“The limestone deposit we located earlier is nearly depleted.
We have to find new sources.” “Clay and sand are still plentiful, but if we want to increase cement production, we need to build more lime kilns.” Looking over the report Qiao Xiao handed him, Shen Mo nodded.
“Gather whatever labor you need, but don’t let it interfere with other tasks.” “Our next area of expansion is to the north.
Try to encompass that large river within our city borders.” The river Shen Mo mentioned lay north of the settlement.
After riding west for a full day and night, they had located its source, though where it led to the east remained unknown.
“It will still take some time to finish compiling the maps drawn by the Onyx Crowmen.
Once that’s done, we’ll have a clear picture of our surrounding environment.” A proper map could not be drawn relying on a single method.
Gathering intelligence from the locals, surveying on horseback on land, and aerial mapping by the Onyx Crowmen—combining all three yielded the comprehensive map Shen Mo required.
“What about ironworking?” “Thanks to a nearby iron mine, our weapons and armor reserves are more than sufficient.
Most of our remaining production capacity is currently being directed toward forging agricultural tools.” As Qiao Xiao spoke, he couldn’t help but marvel, “This really is a blessed land.
Though it’s covered in year-round snow, the mineral resources are exceptionally rich, and it isn’t true permafrost either.” “I heard Miss Zhao say that the soil here is actually quite fertile.
Even without magic to assist, as long as it’s cultivated with care, it will yield a fine harvest.” Beyond his awe, Qiao Xiao’s tone carried a sense of profound relief.
Shen Mo agreed.
Had this place not been so abundantly blessed with natural resources, their current living conditions would be far more dire.
The resources required for nearly ten thousand people were staggering, and Shen Mo’s expeditionary force to Kislev had happened to bring an immense store of supplies with them.
It all felt like fate…
or perhaps, a deliberate arrangement.
The words spoken by Shi Yanmo in his dream made Shen Mo wonder whether he bore some greater mission on his shoulders.
If so, his upcoming plans might need slight adjustments.
The Wall…
how exactly should…
“Ngh…” Shen Mo raised a hand to press against his temples, easing the sudden burst of pain.
“My lord, are you sure you don’t need medicine?” Qiao Xiao asked with concern, watching Shen Mo massage the sides of his forehead.
“It’s nothing.
Just some muscle soreness.
I had Miss Zhao take a look at it; it’s nothing serious.” “In that case, I’ll return to my duties.” “Go on.
Don’t fall behind on the work.” Qiao Xiao bowed and withdrew, leaving Shen Mo alone in the grand tent once more.
Aside from meals and council meetings, Shen Mo preferred to be alone when he pondered.
As the throbbing pain at his temples gradually faded, feeling much better, Shen Mo stood up, lifted the kettle from the stove behind him, and refilled his teacup with hot water.
He sat back down, staring blankly at the roof of the tent.
The completed houses in the settlement were allocated first to the craftsmen and veteran farmers, followed by the soldiers.
To be honest, Shen Mo didn’t know how to build a city from scratch, and neither did the craftsmen in the army.
They knew how to construct individual houses, but had no idea how to execute urban planning.
In Cathay, there were officials specifically dedicated to such matters, but clearly, none were by his side.
Furthermore, with an abundance of stone mined every day standing idle, Shen Mo had simply waved his hand and declared that no one would live in tents anymore—everything would be built of brick and stone.
Thinking back on it now, structures built without proper planning would inevitably have to be torn down and rebuilt later.
*Ah, well.
I’ll deal with it when the time comes.* Shen Mo closed his eyes, and before long, drifted off to sleep.
*** What kind of clothing was this?
Blackhand touched the indescribably soft fabric he was wearing, a massive question mark popping into his head.
Beside him, his son Grion was walking awkwardly with his legs spread wide—the two burly men who had scrubbed them earlier had used so much force that Grion felt like the skin on his inner thighs had been rubbed raw.
Blackhand had never seen such fabric, nor had he ever heard of it.
He was merely a Wildling, born into a world of endless white and destined to die in a world of endless white.
Aside from black, gray, and white, he rarely saw any other colors.
The teal garment he now wore was something he had never encountered in his life.
“Excuse me…
where are my old clothes?” Without realizing it, Blackhand’s tone had taken on a layer of awe and respect.
“Oh, those ragged furs?” replied the soldier of the Jingsai Guard who had brought them to bathe.
“They were burned.
They were too filthy to ever be washed clean.” He tossed two bundles of clothing in front of them.
“Put these on.” Blackhand and Grion put on the padded cotton clothes.
For a moment, they felt somewhat unaccustomed to garments that bore no foul odor.
It was too clean—so clean that they didn’t look like Wildlings at all.
Blackhand looked at his son.
Grion wasn’t old enough to grow a beard yet, but looking at him now, Blackhand almost didn’t recognize him.
“Follow me.” Blackhand followed the soldier out.
Though a bitter wind blew past, he felt no cold; the clothes he wore were far lighter than layers of stacked animal pelts, yet held in heat just as well.
Blackhand and Grion arrived before the largest tent.
After reporting to the guard at the entrance, they stood waiting at the doorway.
While waiting, they saw Logan, the ranger brought back earlier, being led to the tent entrance as well.
The two men, who by rights should have brawled on sight, now stood in the open space before the grand tent, staring blankly at each other.
Before long, the soldier who had gone inside stepped back out.
“His Lordship permits you to enter.
Follow me.” Following behind the soldier, Blackhand led Grion, with Logan close behind.
The tent flap was lifted, and a wave of warm air billowed out from inside.
A cup of tea was set before Blackhand and Logan, while a cup of milk tea sweetened with sugar was placed before Grion.
Shen Mo sat opposite the three of them, a smile on his face.
“I don’t hold with tedious rules here.
I ask, you answer.
Understood?” “Understood, my lord,” Blackhand and Grion said almost in unison.
“Good.
First, you, Wildling.
What is your name?” “Answering your request, my name is Blackhand, and this is my son, Grion.” “Ah, he’s your son.” Shen Mo looked at Grion and smiled, though the boy seemed entirely absorbed in the taste of the sweet milk tea.
“How many people are in your tribe?” He withdrew his gaze and turned back to Blackhand.