TL: Check back in 8-10 hours for the next chapter. Reading something atm.
Chapter 108 – Trentheim and the young lord (8)
Bosley’s initial surprise quickly abated.
“My lord, perhaps these refugees do exist, but the majority of them are sick and old. The strong workforce that you want to have are of value to the nobles too, so you wouldn’t be able to get them. I’m afraid these refugees would not be of much use to you.”
“Accepting and spending money on the sick and elderly proves that we are sincere in accepting everyone. It also doesn’t mean there are no able people amongst the refugees. Some of the youths would want to stay together with their families, and most of the nobles would not accept them because they have to feed every mouth. The women are capable of farmwork, sewing, and many other things, while the young are the future of this territory.”
Brendel had already made long-term plans for Aouine’s feature. Not many people did so in this generation because of the civil war.
“In any case, I have considered these issues before and it’s not a big problem. The people we have will be the future of this region. I’ll even give these foolish nobles a free lesson who can’t see this point. Therefore, I’m requesting that you get as many people as you can to come to this region.”
“Fine, you have the population, but what about the food?”
Bosley was still not fully convinced, though he had to admit that Brendel’s methods captured the populace’s heart very well as he continued to stay in Firburh.
Regardless of whether it was his own personal selfish reasons or for righteousness, he did not wish to see the youth’s efforts come to a blinding halt. In his heart, he had often wondered when it was deep in the night, was the youth really chosen by the Lionheart?
The latter’s actions caused everyone to support him, and at times he felt as though he saw a mythical figure of the past.
The kind king who raised his sword to swear an oath under the flags and banners.
Indeed, Bosley could not believe that it was true.
“The food is a problem, but Grandmaster Bosley, when did you become so concerned about this issue?” Brendel nodded and quickly eyed Bosley with a strange look.
“I’m just asking out of curiosity.” The old blacksmith felt embarrassed.
“I see. Well, the plan, hmmm. It’s a really big problem, but when I think about the refugees losing their homes, I really do feel pained, and it’s difficult for me to sleep and no matter hard it is, I have to keep on persisting, right, Grandmaster Bosley?”
Brendel’s words were solemn and dignified, but his eyes were laughing like a little fox, teasing the old man.
“You…..” The old man became angry: “Cut the crap, you damn scoundrel! Tell me your plan!”
The girls giggled again.
“Since we have the support of Schafflund’s silver mines, we won’t really have a problem for the time being.”
“You can’t rely on buying the food supplies. Are you not afraid of the northern dukes’ embargo?”
“One, the merchants in Ampere Seale are all ‘merchants’.” Brendel put one finger up, and shot up another: “Two, the northern fleet is still in the princess’s hands. Certainly, there’s a worst-case scenario, but Trentheim isn’t really a barren land.”
Brendel had the druids in his hands, so why would he worry about farming? They were even better than the Elementalist when it came to agriculture.
Even though it might be a little difficult to convince the druids who believe in being neutral, he had already set up a trap for them to jump into. The contract that they signed earlier would mean that the druids had to protect Firburh against all wars, and that included a war concerning the city’s food.
Brendel’s smile was really wide and twisted when he thought about it.
“I really don’t understand why you need so many people. Trentheim already has a strong population. If you conquer this place, creating an army wouldn’t be difficult.”
Brendel merely rubbed his forehead.
Bosley would not understand that his ultimate end goal would be conquering the endless Wilderness. It was not limited to just the kingdom’s area, or stopping at Valhalla, but to lead an army towards the Wilderness and expand Aouine till it became a powerful empire.
This opportunity could only be found in the Wilderness.
[Perhaps one day everyone would understand my reasons for doing this if I’m still alive.]
“Grandmaster Bosley, when have you become so interested in my territory? Are you interested in joining my banner wholeheartedly?”
Bosley choked on his saliva and started coughing loudly. When he finally got his breath back, he hurriedly spoke: “What are you thinking about, you rascal? I’m only worried that you’re going to lose everything in this investment and drag my career— No, I mean you’re going to block the princess’s efforts from making this kingdom strong again.”
“Why, that would be strange indeed. But if you’re not interested in joining me, why are you the one who keeps on talking about unrelated topics?” Brendel found it a little amusing and asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Are we not focusing on how to get the refugees over to this land? Why are we talking about food now? Would you like to exchange jobs with Amandina?”
Bosley obviously knew that Brendel was making fun of him. Even though he had a good personality amongst all the nobles in this generation, he was clearly lacking in respecting his elders, and he did not seem like he would stop anytime soon.
“I’m not as shameless as my lord. For me to trying and steal the little girl’s job. We’re talking about the Elemental Forge and you were the one who…… Forget it, I’m not going to explain myself anymore!” Bosley suddenly realized if he continued to explain himself he was setting himself up instead.
He quickly sought to speak of something else: “Alright. I’ll get your request done. Let’s get back to the issues at hand. The suits of armor you requested me to make, would you like to inspect them?”
“It would be good if we can,” Brendel nodded; he was interested to see the completed product, “but not here. Is there a hidden room in this workshop? Or is there a place that would allow us to talk privately?”
“There is a place that’s closed off,” Bosley glared at him, “but what’s with all the secrecy? Are you up to no good?”
If the old man was honest, why would he have a secret room? He did not recall that he instructed him to make such a place. But he did not dare to speak about it, lest the stubborn old man got angry and chased all of them out. That would be a loss for him.
Bosley led the three of them across the sweltering workshop despite the snow and pushed open a door in the south building.
But Brendel quickly realized that he had mistaken Bosley’s words. The secret room was just as the latter described. It was more like a warehouse or resting room for Bosley to use privately.
The room was not very big, approximately ten square meters in size with many boxes and barrels in it. Bosley counted the boxes from the left, before getting a crowbar to open one of them and took out a strange armor.
It could hardly be seen as an armor because it looked more like a failed product of an apprentice.
“Just look at this. Can anyone wear this? The metal extends all the way to the head. There’s no opening to let the head come out, not even a neckline. The torso and backplate are sewn together too tightly. The holes to let the arms and legs come out are different from a normal human being. And it’s heavy as well.” Bosley nearly had to exert his entire body strength to bring the armor out. “I’m even willing to bet that the knights would not be able to wear this armor even if it’s made normally. This is just too heavy!”
Bosley threw the armor onto the table while panting hard. The armor crashed onto the table with a tremendous thud and he continued:
“Look at it. I assure you that I have followed your design completely without a single change. And I can assure you that no normal person would be able to wear this. Really, I have no idea what you want to do with this. And it’s not just one set. There are two hundred sets of this armor!”
Brendel grinned with delight as he studied the armor. He poked it several times and felt greatly satisfied. Bosley’s craft was truly the best blacksmith in Aouine; indeed, the only person who was recognized as a legendary blacksmith in the second War of the Black Rose.
Based on the armor’s craft, it had to be crafted by at least a level 60 Blacksmith. Ordinary NPC blacksmiths were people who did not even exist in the eyes of the gamers who chose to get into non-combat professions, but Bosley was an exception and was treated like a national treasure even twenty years into the future from now.
It was no wonder Brendel was grinning from ear to ear when he looked at him.
“Are you even listening to me, you damned rascal?” Bosley scowled, his fury reaching new heights.
“Of course I am. I’m completely satisfied.” Brendel nodded.
“I can see you’re satisfied, but I’m asking you what this is for.” Bosley felt exhausted. He found that it was an exhausting task to speak to Brendel; it was as if the youth was always thinking of something else.
“Don’t worry, you will get to know what it’s for in a few moments. I just don’t think that it’s better that I’m not the one to tell you about it—”
“What do you—?” Bosley was confused.
But someone knocked on the door right at that moment. The old man was rarely disturbed when he entered this room to rest. His eyebrows bunched up together and he roared: “Who?”
“It’s me, Grandmaster Bosley.” The voice outside the door sounded as though the person shrank back.
“How the blazes would I know who you are, you fool!” Bosley became angrier when he saw the youth in front of him looking like he was half-smiling: “Spit it out, what do you want, you better find a good reason to convince me or I’ll be tossing you out of the workshop!”
“Erm…… I’m looking for Lord Brendel……”
The old man blinked a few times and cast a doubtful look at Brendel, who nodded.
“Come in!” Bosley then replied.
The door opened with Bosley’s reply. The person who was standing outside was indeed the youth Mordenkainen. His duck familiar was not with him, but there was a strange looking person beside him.
A short body entirely covered by a long robe.
“A Dwarf?” Bosley muttered to himself.