Building A Human Empire By Creating A Clan [EN]: Chapter 12

Constructing the Human Empire with Subordinates 13

The Winds of Change

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After a few days, Kisler returned to Olimuth.

A group of settlers followed behind him.

Settlers who had fled when Raeragon came hunting.

Settlers who had joined from each village after hearing the proclamation.

Their total number was close to 300.

‘Too many.’

Kisler didn’t show it outwardly but worried inwardly.

The runaways were originally villagers of Olimuth, so there was no problem at all.

The problem was those who had joined from each village.

Olimuth was one of the smaller pioneer villages.

Could they accommodate them? That was Kisler’s concern.

‘If it were before the Lord arrived, I would have refused, but with the Lord here, I can’t arbitrarily stop the migration.’

Some had followed to confirm if the proclamation was true in each village, but most had migrated to settle in Olimuth.

‘They must think it’s safer around the Lord.’

Kisler saw a man pulling a cart with children and luggage on it.

Why would he decide to migrate when he has children and it’s the time to plow the fields?

It was because they had suffered such heavy looting that they took Raeragon’s hunt lightly.

Kisler recalled the villages burned and destroyed by the hands of other races and sighed softly.

‘Horbid, why do you only give us trials?’

He recited complaints with no faith left as a habit in his heart.

Kisler was a promising talent in the Church of the Wolf during his young monastic days.

But suddenly, he dreamed of becoming a prophet who led humanity to the western lands.

‘I wanted to become a prophet who received God’s revelation and become the shepherd of humanity.’

It didn’t take long to realize that it was a futile dream and to understand the harshness of reality.

‘I should have listened to my brothers.’

More than 10 years had passed since he became a settler from a monk.

The fierce faith and strong passion he had at the age of twenty had lost their light.

Kisler’s life was just living one day and then the next.

He was just experiencing life because death had not yet taken him.

‘But······.’

Kisler thought of Edar.

The young lord who was indifferent even when a hoof brushed his face.

He remembered his appearance of confidently claiming his own in front of the Elven prince.

‘Why did I feel faith at that time?’

The hand holding the reins tightened.

The spiritual resonance he had forgotten stimulated his heart again.

The thrill spreading from his chest made his body tremble, and he tried not to show it by straining his neck.

‘No. Now is not the time to have vain thoughts. When I arrive in Olimuth today, I need to talk to the Lord about the immigrants…’

Kisler pulled the reins and stopped the horse.

“Huh?”

“What’s wrong?”

The people following behind stopped and tilted their heads.

Anxiety arose on their faces, wondering if something had happened.

“No…”

Kisler, who was about to answer that it was nothing, blinked with his mouth open.

‘What is going on?’

He saw the changed scenery of Olimuth.

Kisler was so confused that he wondered if he had come to the wrong place.

‘There are more than one or two buildings that weren’t there before. Is that house… the Lord’s manor?’

There was a wooden house on the outskirts of Olimuth.

It was a fairly large single-story square house.

Wouldn’t it be similar if you combined four village houses?

Centered on the house, grid-shaped areas were divided long and wide.

It wasn’t blocking access like a fence, but marking the boundary by digging ditches.

‘What…?’

Such cases were rare not only in frontier lands but also inland.

Whether it was public or private land, the territory functioned as a single community.

Clearly demarcating land was uncommon.

In particular, dividing farmland into rectangles was a completely new concept to him.

“Hmm…”

Unable to understand the young lord’s intentions, Kisler lowered his gaze, following the furrows.

The area divided by furrows stretched south to the river, where a wooden building stood.

Kisler spotted a villager emerging from the building.

The villager held a set of brassware in both hands, filled with a white powder.

Kisler recognized the powder as ground wheat.

‘Did he fix the mill?’

When the elves came to Olimuth, they forbade entry to the forest and destroyed the mill and the communal hearth as examples, along with the smithy [a blacksmith’s workshop].

Unlike the smithy, the mill and hearth were facilities that could be repaired with spare labor, even without a blacksmith.

However, the subsequent looting by goblins and orc-like creatures left no spare labor to be had.

There wasn’t enough food to last until the next harvest.

They had to scavenge for food near the forest or river to stave off hunger.

It had been over two months since they had last eaten anything other than barley soaked in cold water.

‘Smoke… Since entry to the forest is possible, they must have gathered firewood.’

Smoke, seemingly from the hearth, was rising.

Just seeing the smoke gave him the illusion of smelling baking bread.

It had been a long time since he had even tasted meat, let alone freshly baked bread.

It seemed that a life that had been constantly heading downhill was returning to normal, so Kisler forgot his earlier worries and gave a faint smile.

“To already be taking such measures… Amazing.”

“Perhaps it might be real.”

“Hmm… I hope so.”

The village chiefs who had accompanied him from neighboring frontier villages whispered among themselves.

They, too, were well aware of Olimuth’s situation.

In frontier lands where everything was scarce, mutual exchange was essential.

When escapees came from Olimuth, they thought the worst had finally arrived.

However, they heard that the lord had taken office and driven out the elves.

It was hard to believe, but they wanted to see it with their own eyes, so they accompanied him.

‘Even I, who saw it with my own eyes, find it hard to believe. How could those who haven’t seen it believe?’

Kisler didn’t think the village chiefs’ doubts were foolish.

In the life of a pioneer, even with extreme caution, one could lose everything with a single small mistake.

Rather, it was unusual that they were already showing signs of easing their minds.

“Who are those people?”

“Judging by their attire, they seem to be the Lord’s retainers…”

Following the village chiefs’ gaze, Kisler saw several people who were different from the villagers.

They wore quilted armor or had weapons at their waists, distinguishing them from the villagers.

Kisler spotted the man who had accompanied Edar when he took office in the fields.

‘A retainer doing farm work?’

Was it just the fields?

People were setting up makeshift kilns in the fields and baking bricks, people were piling lumber felled from the forest next to the Lord’s manor, and even people at the far end were holding wooden hoes, making furrows, and marking off areas.

The people who were doing their assigned tasks faster than the villagers were Edar’s retainers.

‘Retainers, who are practically nobles, doing the work of commoners.’

He was as surprised as when he had witnessed the changes in the village.

Before becoming a priest, Kisler had lived as the son of a border noble.

Therefore, he knew better than anyone how much knights and retainers of lords, who put on airs, hated getting dirt on their bodies.

Even when conflicts arose between territories and they faced each other, these pseudo-nobles hated even digging trenches or going inside them.

No matter how short-handed they were, was it even possible for them to move so enthusiastically? Kisler doubted the retainers’ identities.

‘Are they mercenaries?’

As he pondered this and headed towards Olimuth, he soon saw the young lord.

“Lord Edar.”

As Kisler got off his horse and approached, a woman in armor blocked his way.

He recalled that she was the knight who had fought Raera and shown dominance.

She was beautiful, but her face was expressionless, and when her blue eyes turned to Kisler, he felt like he would realize what it meant for his soul to be chilled.