The leader of the refugee youths openly sneered when they caught sight of their city counterpart swaggering up the street, following by their own gang who seemed to delight in cracking their knuckles menacingly. Though, in Gunther's opinion, the intimidation from both sides slightly dampened by how both sides were basically swaddled with layers of clothing to stay warm in the heavy snowfall that blanketed Gabion. It was hard to really be anywhere sort of properly threatening when waddling through the snow.

  Though that being said, he knew for a fact that Mordred, who was standing next to him, could be wrapped up in a giant handmade quilt and probably still glare him into submission somehow.

  "What are you lot doing here? Sod off!" barked one of them now with a growl that didn't quite make it pass their scarf. "Gunther here promised to teach us how to be mercenaries, so scram! Get out of here!"

  "Oi, you really going to muscle in on what's supposed to be out training time with Gunter?' the other quipped back. "We won't let that slide so easily. Maybe you should run off now before you go crying home."

  "Both of you, quit it or neither of you get any of my time," the mercenary leader grumbled out, causing them both groups to hold in place. "I said I'd train you on how to at least hold the sword the right way. I didn't say anything about it being exclusive to only one of you. So both of you better put up and listen up to Mordred here if you want me to stick around and pay you in the lessons you want."

  They stiffened and hastily nodded. "Yes sir!"

  "Too eager to become sellswords, see?" he muttered to the adventurer, who sneezed.

  "Brr. Thanks for at least covering their payment."

  "Don't mention it, you've got it from here right? Think I see a warm beer with my name on it right over there."

  Mordred sucked in the cold air and instantly regretted it with how her insides instantly whined for heat. She absolutely didn't want to be out here in the snow, shivering and sniffing in the frigid air. Neither did any of the youths, who seemed to be freezing out here too. It made them more pliable to do whatever it took to get this apparent task was over and done with. Good.

  Time to get the blood pumping and flowing with some honest work.

  "Alright, you all! As you can see, the streets are buried in this snow and it's making everybody miserable. So!" Mordred kicked open a crate she had brought to reveal it full of shovels that she had procured from the guards for this. They had been more than happy to hand those and this thankless task over to the adventurer once she explained her plan. "Grab a shovel, and get to work!"

  "W-we're shoveling snow?!" one of them muttered.

  "That's it?!" another complained. "Ugh, what a waste-!"

  "You're getting sword lessons from the leader of the Eber Marauders as payment!" the woman barked, causing any would-be deserters to pause in that moment. "Think about it, especially if you work together in teams- you could get this done by midday, and get instructions on how to fight from Gunther for the rest. I'll even join in for those who want to learn a spear or lance. Not many can claim to have learned from the 'Blood Lance' after all."

  The mention of her moniker made the two groups pause in place, eyes widening when they recalled the likely wild rumors and gossips of her exploits. Now tempted by the offer of instruction by two prestigious fighters, their youthful desire to become warriors of renown won over the frigid cold and the slight heat between the two sides when they slowly approached to each grab a shovel for themselves. They then already began to divide into teams-

  "Ah, nope! You're not picking your teams!" Mordred interjected, stomping in-between and pointing. "You two, with those two. Those two with those two, tackle the street over there."

  So on she went, realization slowly dawning when these newly inducted snow shovelers realized that they were being forced to intermingle with each other, their appointed supervisor making sure to give each team an equal number of refugees and cityfolk. Any thoughts of disgust when looking at their supposed teammates were suppressed by Mordred's fierce glare, along with the reminder that they were being given those precious lessons as payment. Still, it was a barely concealed thing.

  But Kuch had given her a helpful piece of advice to really push this bonding through from just forced camaraderie to allies of convenience. "Remember that each team gets to clean a different street. The sooner you get done with yours, the sooner your team can get to practicing your weapon drills," Mordred hinted and saw their faces light up. "But of course, only if you do it right and proper! I'll be checking your work afterwards, and even if it's still snowing, it still should be mostly cleared. Understood?"

  "Yes ma'am," the groups said and turned away, only to freeze when they felt what was like a dragon glaring at their backs. Because it was, in a way.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you! What did you say?!"

  "YES MA'AM!"

  "Good, where was that energy the first time around! Get to it!"

  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------?

  "I see," the duke remarked with a low chuckle from where he watched the teams of youths scramble to shovel their respective streets. Gregori turned away from the castle office window and shook his head with a small smile. "Clever, to make it not a competition between city and refugee- but to make it between individual groups of them combined. So caught up in their task will they forgo their rivalries in their haste for reward."

  "It might not work, but I'm fairly confident that at the very least, they'll be kept busy all day so that the construction teams can resume their work safely," Kuch told, smiling beneath their helmet too. "Plus, I find it hard to hate a comrade in arms. Sure you can dislike an individual- but once you've shed sweat and tears alongside them, it's harder to think them wholly as the enemy."

  "Well said. But I have a feeling that wasn't what why you had called for this meeting."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Not in the slightest," Vio hinted with a knowing smile to her brother. "But we're missing out on someone. Where's Teodor?"

  "I'm afraid I don't know. Maybe he's off receiving a raven," Gregori mused before gesturing. "Well, is his presence necessary?"

  "Not so, we can always inform him later," his sister told and glanced at Kuch. The doll considered it for a moment, then agreed with a shrug. "I think we're just a little bit too excited by our discovery to hold it in any longer!"

  "Then go on, sister, before you blow up a wing of the castle in your fervor." When she ignored the joking provocation and turned to her partner in this mysterious project, the duke knew that this was apparently quite something. He'd of course known the two had basically occupied part of the castle kitchens whenever it wasn't be used to prepare meals, but didn't know for what reason other than the apparent failures being used to help feed the horses.

  When they pulled out a small bag and placed it on his desk, Gregori raised an eyebrow. They soon revealed the contents to be some of brown powder, some particles almost as fine as dust while others were clumped together into something like tiny rocks. "What is this?"

  "Have a taste for yourself, my lord, and see what you think of it!"

  Her manner of address definitely put the vampire on edge, but he knew she surely wouldn't feed him anything truly suspicious or illicit. Not after he'd already had one poison scare for the year. So Gregori took one of the larger pieces and tentatively placed it between his lips. At the slightest moisture, it instantly crumbled and he tasted the bold flavor directly. "Sweet- wait. This lacks the mellowness of honey." His eyes widened when memories of visiting the capital surface, providing a more true realization. "Sugar!"

  "Brown sugar, to be exact," absently commented Kuch. "But given that would also likely be the product of ordinary sugarcane crops in the south too, the difference is moot."

  "Yet, and would you believe it, this was entirely produced in Gabion!" Vio declared, gesturing to the bag of almost-literal gold now on Gregori's desk. "And importantly, by means which require no restricted skills. Rather, it is something anybody can do so long as they have the recipe so!"

  "It's even rather quite simple." Kuch quickly launched into a simple summary of the method, involving dicing the up the beets thoroughly, but not too finely, and then boiling them in a pot quite thoroughly to extract all their juice. Then by filtering out the used vegetables out along with considerable reduction, they could make liquid molasses that then would harden into thin sheets of sugar once laid out. From there, one simply had to break it up to achieve turning it into sugar crystals like the bag before the duke. "Given what your daughter had mentioned about its incredibly scarcity yet addictive demand, I feel that this is a product that will sell very well."

  "At a high price, no less," he mumbled, already running the numbers. "And from such an ordinary garden crop no less."

  "For now, this is all I could reasonably make with the limited supply. However," the doll interjected, holding up a finger, "imagine then if we were to upscale it with the new settlement planned in the west, the one you wish to become a new breadbasket of the province. Even just a single field dedicated to beets would be a money maker, no?"

  Ah, he could see it now- an acre's worth of these beets, being processed by several workers in large vats and being turned into bags of sugar. They would then be exchanged for bags of coin in weighm then loaded on the back of merchant caravans and taken in other western regions. There, the nobility would pay handsomely for the valued commodity being made available now to them, instead of the long and perilous journey from the south where only sugarcane grew.

  To have a luxury that would usually appear on the regular at the emperor's table at one's fingertips, it would be both pleasure and prestige in one.

  Too bad that he would not get to see it, not with his son supposed to be the dutiful one leading this founding expedition. The thought gnawed at the duke but he set it aside for the moment, refocusing his attention to revolution brought forth by Puppet Atelier. "That, it would be," he finally settled upon saying before raising a halting hand. "But only one field, for the moment, as a test case. And we'd have to cycle it with other vegetables throughout the year to avoid overly taxing the earth, that much I know."

  "Hm, right. Crop rotation is a thing," mumbled Kuch before they shook their head. "I guess few would have access to [Renew Earth], if any. Oh well."

  [Renew Earth]? He had heard whispers of that skill from the northern parts of the empire, where his late wife had come from. Something on the level of [Quench] where one was said to be a true master of their field to acquire. But of course, leave it to a member of Lighthouse's era to know all about it.

  His sister was more upfront with her curiosity. "[Renew Earth]? That's a pretty rural folk story in the north," she commented. "When I lived there with my husband's family, it's not even a bedtime fantasy told to children because of how sparse and wild it is. But if you'd like, I did learn a bit about it."

  "Oh, I'm definitely interested in learning about it-"

  But before that conversation could continue, a knock at the office door interrupted them. Then it swung open, Teodor entering without waiting for permission to enter and Gregori was immediately put on alert with how frazzled his son looked holding a letter. "Father- ah, good. Everybody is present, I won't have to repeat myself."

  "Teodor, what's going on?" He asked, not wasting time with pleasantries. "News from our neighbors, have they decided to fight on despite the snow?'

  "No, but we have a different sort of battle on our hands now." The heir to the duchy cleared his throat and revealed the latest piece of correspondence he had just received. "Gionre, Commander of the Third Legion, shall be personally leading a detachment of merchant caravans, dispatched by order of Her Radiance, to the Duchy of Gabion. Father, we must prepare to welcome guests of the emperor!"

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