The dwarves shouted in unison, startled by Ghislain's statement. “My Lord! A month is not nearly enough time!” “Oh, come on. Aren't you dwarves supposed to be the best craftsmen around? Don’t tell me you're backing out after promising to do whatever I needed. That would be... inconvenient.” “Ugh...” The dwarves wore expressions of deep frustration. Typically, humans made reasonable requests, ones that fell within the scope of their abilities. With their skill, the dwarves could easily fulfill those requirements, hence their confident promises earlier. They admitted to getting a little carried away and making bold claims. But they never expected someone to take their words so literally. “Isn’t it common courtesy for nobles to show some restraint and not take everything you say at face value? Especially nobles. They’re usually a bit more tactful, right?” But Ghislain wasn’t like any other noble they had met. He accepted everything they said at face value, and they realized this was going to be far more grueling than they had imagined. “Ugh, why did I run my mouth like that? I should have just kept quiet.” The dwarves looked despondent. They had already made promises, and it was clear that Ghislain wasn’t the type to take “no” for an answer. With no other choice, Galbarik tried to appeal to Ghislain’s better nature, playing up their predicament. “My Lord, this workload is simply too much. If we try to finish everything in just a month, we’ll all die from exhaustion.” “If you don’t do it, we’ll die anyway.” “Huh? What do you mean? Are you going to kill us?” Though they were legally slaves, killing them for not working seemed extreme, even for a noble. Ghislain shook his head. “We’ve caught the attention of Desmond, the Count of the North. A war is coming. If you don’t finish what I’ve asked for in a month, we’ll all be dead.” “...” “To be honest, you’ve probably lived a comfortable life under the nobles so far, right? That lazy attitude won't help you survive in the harsh North.” However, the name “Count Desmond” didn’t have much of an impact on the dwarves. “Even if a war breaks out, we won’t be in danger... will we?” Dwarves weren’t particularly afraid of human wars. Nobles wouldn’t kill valuable, skilled dwarves in battle. At worst, they’d be taken as prized assets. But Ghislain knew exactly what they were thinking. “If you don’t finish the preparations in a month, you’ll be thrown into the frontlines as part of the vanguard.” “Is this guy serious?” The dwarves stared at Ghislain in disbelief. What kind of noble would risk their precious dwarves in battle? It was obvious he was bluffing, trying to intimidate them. Ghislain, undeterred by their skeptical looks, smiled mischievously. “You’ve just arrived and don’t know me yet. Today, you can take the day off and learn more about me. Once you do, you’ll figure out what to do next. I always prefer to take the peaceful route, but people rarely seem to believe my words.” With that, Ghislain left the dwarves behind. They watched him go, bewildered, before bursting into laughter. “Does he really think those kinds of threats work on us?” Dwarves had encountered all sorts of nobles in their time, and none of them had ever scared them with such tactics. “Well, we’re not familiar with this place yet, so maybe we should take a look around,” Galbarik suggested. The dwarves wandered the estate, asking around about Ghislain. The townsfolk willingly shared what they knew. “The Lord? Once he makes a decision, he never looks back. He just pushes forward.” “He secretly gathered troops and ventured into the Forest of Beasts without anyone knowing. He’s also known for fighting on the front lines during wars, sometimes against orders.” “He even looted his father’s lands recently without permission!” “And don’t forget the time when Count Digald surrendered, but Lord Ghislain still had him executed along with his men.” “You know Marquis Branford, right? Ghislain even risked his life in a bet with him.” The more the dwarves heard, the more they realized something was off. The stories they heard weren’t normal by any stretch. Only someone mad would act this way. While the outcomes were successful, the methods seemed borderline insane. The final straw for the dwarves was when they stumbled upon the mages working on a construction site. “Are those... really mages? They look... like common laborers.” The mages wore ragged robes, and their demeanor was anything but dignified. It was hard to tell if they were mages or mere construction workers. One mage, standing with a slouch, scrutinized the dwarves from head to toe. “A month, huh? That’s generous. Why’d the Lord give you so much time?” “...Did you just say ‘generous’?” Galbarik asked in disbelief. “Why, what’s the problem? We completed a hundred mana concentration arrays in two days. You can’t finish your tasks in a month? Guess the dwarves aren’t that impressive after all.” “That’s... that can’t be real!” “Why wouldn’t it be? We finished crafting hundreds of runestones for the farmlands in a week. Hundreds!” the mage boasted, smiling proudly as his fellow mages nodded in agreement. Galbarik hesitantly asked, “Are you really a mage?” The slouching mage straightened up, conjuring a ball of fire in his hand. “I’m the heir to the Red Flame Tower, one of the North’s most prestigious towers. You can call me Alfoi, the man who never quits.” The dwarves stared at the fireball in silence. They hadn’t heard of the Red Flame Tower before, but there was no doubting that Alfoi was a real mage. Curiosity got the better of Galbarik, and he asked, “Why would an heir to a mage tower be living like this?” Alfoi’s shoulders slumped as he explained his situation. He had been forcibly dragged into the Fenris estate without even knowing what work he’d be doing. Now, as a slave, he couldn’t even escape. The dwarves were shocked once again. “The heir to a mage tower... a slave...?” Not only was he a slave, but even mages like him couldn’t escape and were worked to the bone. They couldn’t deny the truth any longer. “The Lord really is insane. That’s the only way he could come up with these wild ideas.” Alfoi grabbed Galbarik’s shoulder, speaking with a serious tone. “They said you’d be joining us on the construction sites, right? Let’s do our best together. One good thing about this place: they give us a lot of food. You’ll never go hungry.” It was the kind of statement only someone completely resigned to their situation would make. The mages, exhausted from endless labor, had found solace in the plentiful food they were given. They no longer cared about anything else. Seeing the peculiar gleam in their eyes, the dwarves took an uneasy step back. “We need to escape. There’s no way we’ll survive if we stay here. We have to get out.” Alfoi, sensing their thoughts, leaned in and warned them. “Don’t even think about running. You’ll be caught, no matter what. The Lord is a master of pursuit, ambush, and extermination. If even a mage like me couldn’t escape, do you think you can? Let’s stick together, yeah?” There was a sincerity in every word Alfoi spoke. He wasn’t just giving advice—he was begging for more hands to share the burden of work. He continued to console them. “We can gamble and drink together sometimes. Life here isn’t so bad. I’ll even teach you how to play.” “...” An awkward silence fell over the group. After what seemed like an eternity of deliberation, Galbarik finally turned to his fellow dwarves, his voice heavy with resignation. “...Let’s get to work. We don’t have time.” They had no choice. If they wanted to avoid being sent to the frontlines, they needed to finish their tasks within the month. Ghislain, meanwhile, was reviewing his plans, deep in thought. “It won’t be enough if only Fenris grows stronger.” No matter how rapidly Fenris developed, it would be impossible to match the military strength of the Duke’s forces, who had amassed considerable power. That was why Ghislain had allied with the Royalist faction. The northern territory of Ferdium needed to grow as strong as Fenris. Only then could they withstand the coming conflict. “I need to strengthen Ferdium as well. While I’m at it, I’ll have them learn the mana cultivation techniques too.” With his plan set, Ghislain loaded several wagons with food and set out for the northern fortress where his father resided. The northern fortress, Kaipillar, was Rutania Kingdom’s northernmost stronghold, guarded by the Ferdium Margrave. It was a desolate place, surrounded by wastelands, save for a small spring near the fortress. For centuries, the Ferdium family had defended this remote fortress against barbarian invasions. As a result, the Ferdium estate had fallen into deep poverty. Yet, the heads of the Ferdium family had always borne the cost, viewing it as their duty to protect the kingdom’s borders. This became a source of great pride for the family. When Ghislain arrived, Count Zwalter Ferdium greeted him with a furious expression. Beside him was the equally displeased commander of the knights, Randolph. The Count wasted no time in shouting as soon as he saw Ghislain. “Ghislain! I’ve heard the news! I’ve tolerated your actions until now because of your accomplishments, but you’ve crossed the line this time! How dare you plunder the forest of my lands!” Though Homer had exaggerated some of the details in his report, it was true that Ghislain had taken timber from the Ferdium estate. Count Zwalter had no intention of letting this incident slide. No matter how successful Ghislain had been, defying the authority of the lord and head of the family was unacceptable. He had to maintain his authority to lead the people and protect the northern territories. Zwalter’s hand moved toward the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it. But Ghislain merely smiled and said, “I apologize for that. I urgently needed the timber. In return, I’ve brought some extra provisions.” The wagons Ghislain had brought were piled high with food—enough to feed the fortress’s entire garrison for years. “I’ve also sent supplies to the estate. The people won’t have to worry about food for the next year.” As Ghislain spoke calmly, Zwalter’s eyebrows twitched. “Do you think you can gloss over this with a bit of food?” It was hard to scold him further, though, given the sheer amount of provisions. But Zwalter couldn’t simply change his stance in front of everyone. That would undermine his authority. He couldn’t reject the food either. The fortress had struggled with starvation for far too long. It was a delicate balance—a crisis, really. But Zwalter was a seasoned veteran, a man who had faced countless battles against the northern barbarians. With just a glance, he signaled to Randolph. Randolph, having served alongside Zwalter for decades, instantly understood. With a wide grin, he grabbed Ghislain’s hand. “Oh, my dear Lord! Why would you go through the trouble of bringing all this food? It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold. Brother, what are you doing? It’s not like we need the timber, right? Nothing’s more important than eating. Isn’t that right?” “Hmm, you’re right. I suppose I’ll let it go this time. But you must be more careful in the future. Now, come inside.” With that, the two men turned and walked into the fortress. Ghislain shrugged, while the knights and soldiers around him stifled their laughter. It was clear that their little performance wasn’t fooling anyone, especially those who had spent years with them. Once inside the office, Zwalter got straight to the point. “So, what brings you here? You’re not just here to apologize and bring food. Or have you perhaps found a bride?” As soon as Zwalter saw his son, he began to lecture him. Ghislain sighed. “...No, it’s not that. I’ve come to discuss something important.” Both Zwalter and Randolph tensed at Ghislain’s words. Whenever he mentioned something “important,” it usually meant trouble. Zwalter spoke seriously, “Whatever it is, can’t it wait? I’m enjoying this peace. I don’t want any trouble.” His voice was filled with genuine emotion. For the first time in a long while, things were finally stable. Zwalter had no desire for any more complications. He had endured too much in his life, and he had learned to be content with what he had. Sometimes, it was better not to overreach. Ghislain ignored his father’s heartfelt plea and spoke. “We need to change the family’s mana cultivation method.” Zwalter’s expression instantly soured.