Episode 111
"...Is this really how it's going to be?"
"I will entrust the training to Kai. Logan, I will also assign mercenary instructors to each castle to oversee the training."
"Alright."
"...Are you shocked by any chance?"
"Oh, no. It's all good. Learned a thing or two, Dwayne. Haha."
A sardonic laughter escaped Logan as he realized the absurdity of the outcome.
Sometimes, human desires take precedence over everything else.
Logan engraved another truth firmly into his heart.
The training of the newly recruited soldiers was completely entrusted to the mercenary instructors, former members of Logan's mercenaries, chosen for Kai's benefit.
Despite already having accumulated expertise, they found it challenging to handle twice the number of trainees all at once.
But their ordeal didn't end there.
[Organize militias in all nine castles and villages. Applicants will receive modest compensation and will only undergo basic military training focused on crossbow training by skilled instructors in the evenings.]
"Master! How many soldiers are you planning to recruit?"
"For now, the goal is 10,000."
Kai couldn't help but feel momentarily dumbfounded.
"10,000?"
"Yeah."
"Just militias, excluding soldiers, totaling 10,000?"
"That's right."
"Why?!"
It was a question heard often.
"...Are you becoming more like Dwayne? Why ask why. Because it's necessary."
"We're not going to war anymore, aren't we?!"
"Well... we don't know the future."
War.
This human, still thinking about war.
"10,000 crossbowmen. Alright. But not only are we short on crossbows right now, we don't even know how many magazines we'll need to constantly replenish. Are you considering all of that?"
"Fascinating."
"Yes?"
"You sound just like Dwayne. Are you two brothers?"
"...."
Kai felt his strength drain away at Logan's frivolous remarks.
"Ah. Well, never mind. Don't worry. I have a separate plan for that."
"...So, you mean to say you'll manage somehow."
"Yeah. I'll assign senior soldiers as instructors. Say what you need."
"But still..."
"It's not a joke. Even if we don't want it, there might be a war we have to fight. At that time, they could be our lifeline."
"What kind of situation are you imagining...?"
Despite Kai shaking his head in disbelief, Logan didn't smile.
It's still the early stages of civil war.
Not only Kai, but most people couldn't even imagine what the civil war, lasting three years, would eventually look like.
From a war fought with elite soldiers alone, it escalated into a war of mercenaries hired with all available property, and then turned into a full-scale conflict, where even ordinary people were armed and sent to the front lines.
Its gruesome sight was akin to hell descending upon the present world.
Logan was preparing for that time.
And even if that hell were to rise again.
"The 10,000 crossbowmen will only come from our domain."
Even if the design of the repeating crossbows were to be leaked, other rulers wouldn't allow it for ordinary civilians.
Logan was certain of that.
"No matter how urgent the situation is..."
Other lords wouldn't allow ordinary civilians to carry weapons capable of killing knights.
"The kingdom is a society with a strict caste system, and it could be a poison that undermines its foundation."
Absurd, selfish delusions.
If you let the commoners live well, even if they carry something stronger than crossbows, there won't be a rebellion.
"In the first place, the fundamental idea itself is wrong."
Digging into that thought, others create an unimaginable army.
That was one of Logan's strategies to overturn the civil war he had in mind.
And he had already taken the first step for it.
Thud, thud, thud.
"Is this it?"
"Seems like there are a lot of human scoundrels here."
"Shh. Watch your tongue. You never know who the owner here might be."
"Hah, like I care. If I die, I die... huh? Wait, are you telling me, a dwarf of some pride, to bow down to humans?"
"Ah, come on. Rather than that, I'd rather die."
"You lost a hand, and now you've lost all your pride too? Really?"
Bang!
"You dwarves there, keep it down!"
The dwarves, who were shouting recklessly inside the iron bars, fell silent at the touch of a hand against the bars.
And reading the atmosphere, Tamir stifled a laugh inwardly.
Even though he was equipped with a grappling hook instead of a fully functional hand, they were not in their right minds.
"Do you only maintain your dignity by not using honorifics, you lot? Well, it just makes your situation even more pathetic."
Until he lost his hand, he had tried to maintain his dignity like that.
But only after losing a hand and seeing his blacksmithing skills decline did he manage to discard that useless pride.
That's why a dwarf who couldn't even properly perform the duties of a blacksmith survived until now.
But whenever he looked at his hook hand, his thoughts always ended the same.
"Why. Why did my ancestors stay and not leave during the Great Exodus...?"
Was it because they couldn't foresee the situation their descendants would face?
Or was there another reason?
A sense of doubt about his own existence and fundamental skepticism about the current situation of his race.
The end of his musings always led to futile, unanswered questions.
And eventually.
"Should I just... die?"
It always ended with thoughts he could never act upon.
As Tamir once again brooded over his despair.
The wagon transporting them came to a halt.
Heeeyyy!
"Whoa, whoa. This is it."
"Ah, you've arrived. Here's your payment."
"One, two, three... it's correct. Thank you for the good deal."
"No, we should be thankful. Hey, inform Lord Hamar! Tell him that the comrades he mentioned have arrived!"
Tamir's ears, which had been listening quietly, perked up.
'Lord Hamar...?'
He had just heard "Lord" now.
The man who had traded them the money, after a name that sounded like a dwarf, attached an honorific.
This unusual occurrence sparked curiosity.
The eyes of the other dwarves, who were silently lining up outside the wagon's iron bars, also gleamed with curiosity.
"Hey, human. Did you just say Lord Hamar?"
"Oh, dwarf. Do you know Lord Hamar?"
"Oh, no, not really. Is he... a dwarf?"
"That's right. He's the top craftsman in our domain."
At that statement, the eyes of the ten dwarves drawn by his words all lit up simultaneously.
'A dwarf as the top craftsman in a human domain?'
'Is it not forced labor?'
'Or perhaps the skill is extraordinary, even if it's forced...'
While they were lost in various thoughts and speculations.
"He's truly remarkable. The things he creates are changing the domain. That's why everyone has high expectations of you too."
The words of the furry guide human, guiding them, further excited them.
'So, dwarves are treated well in a human domain.'
'If it's here, then we too...'
'There must be an exceptional dwarf.'
A paradise where they could be treated as craftsmen, not just as machines producing goods.
Various hopes arose in the minds of the dwarves as they watched.
And at that moment, a voice with a distinctly different accent from humans captivated their ears.
"Oh... Finally, my kin have arrived."
Tamir and the dwarves turned their heads together to one place.
There, a dwarf with an unmistakably middle-aged appearance, wearing rugged work clothes, was walking towards them.
Efficient work clothes, with pockets full of tools for carving and shaping wood and iron to make them easy to carry.
And the varied expression in the eyes of the owner of those work clothes was certainly not that of a dwarf forced into labor.
'Perhaps we too...'
As the dwarves watched the scene, their eyes sparkled.
"Welcome, slaves."
...Huh?
"As long as you do as you're told, there won't be any bloodshed."
The grin in the fellow dwarf's eyes sent chills down their spines.
In the span of a few days, Hamar's workshop in McLaren Town expanded several times over.
The existing five human craftsmen and their apprentices.
And with the arrival of ten new dwarves in McLaren, nearly thirty people gathered to live and work together.
Fortunately, since the workshop was located on the outskirts of town with that in mind, expanding its size wasn't difficult.
And.
If you work your hardest for twenty years, I'll grant you freedom.
Hamar had made the same offer to the other dwarves as he did to Hamar, so the morale of the newcomers was naturally high.
But the first words the new dwarves heard upon entering Hamar's workshop were quite different from their expectations.
"From now on, you're not craftsmen. You're assembly lines."
Assembly lines?
The dwarves were all puzzled by a word they had never heard before.
But Hamar didn't care.
"I'll assign one part to each person, and you'll only make the designated part. I call this division of labor."
"What does that mean...?"
"The efficiency of the work has been proven, so I won't entertain objections."
With nearly 20,000 repeating crossbows and triple that number of magazines to be made as soon as possible, Hamar's mind was solely occupied with that thought.
'The given time is only a few months. If we fail to achieve it...'
A chill ran down his spine as he thought of the demonically grinning face of his master.
But for the first time in a long while, his fellow dwarves didn't readily follow his words.
"Only make the same part. What does that mean!"
"Do we really have to do work that anyone can do?"
"We have the dignity of craftsmen. No matter how skilled you are, we cannot obey such words!"
"Huh..."
Hamar's grip tightened involuntarily.
"So, you can't do it?"
"We can't! It's better to make finished products one by one rather than just parts..."
"Right! Give us a chance. Let us make our best work..."
"If we have to make 200 repeating crossbows and three times the magazines in a day, even if the secondary tasks are handled by human craftsmen and apprentices, can I make 20 crossbows and 60 magazines alone? In a day? I can't even do it!"
Slightly crazed eyes that seemed to verge on madness.
As the dwarves, each trying to raise their voices, met his gaze, they turned their heads one by one.
But.
"The dignity of craftsmen? Well, if you're really confident, I'll give you a chance. But be prepared if you can't meet the quota."
Hamar's words, which stimulated their pride, were too much for the dwarves who couldn't do it.
Except for one.
"I will follow Lord Hamar's words!"
"Hmm?"
Everyone's gaze turned to the dwarf who flashed his hand.
And soon they nodded as if they understood, looking at the iron hook instead of a hand on his left.
Hamar was the same.
"You're Temar, right? Yes, it's difficult with that hand..."
"The division of labor seems like it could maximize efficiency in work."
"Oh?"
"If each person continues with just one task, naturally, the quality will improve, and the speed will increase."
"...That's true."
"Do we need to make things harder when it could be done easily? I will not be a craftsman, but a line."
Instead of making excuses for his disability, Temar praised the system he had built, prompting Hamar to nod continuously.
Upon seeing this, the other dwarves began to turn away from Temar, shaking their heads.
'He's brown-nosing.'
'He's not even one of our kin.'
'He hasn't lost a hand; he's lost his dignity. Tsk, tsk.'
As most of them entertained similar thoughts, Temar added.
"However, in order to understand the efficiency of that division of labor and to implement it properly, it might be necessary for us to make finished products properly at least once. Please give us the opportunity to understand that efficiency."
"Hmm?"
All the dwarves turned their attention back to Temar.
"If others are already well aware of the differences from the previous working methods, wouldn't it be more productive?"
"So, rather than simply asserting our dignity, isn't this also a process of accepting a new approach?"
"Yes."
Hamar looked at Temar with a surprised expression.
"...It's virtuous to consider one's comrades. Fine. I'll give you a week for now."
"Thank you."
"Three days to learn the process, and four days to try making them independently. After that, anyone who insists on working alone must adhere to the standards I mentioned earlier."
"What happens if we can't do it?"
Once again, it was Temar who asked the question.
Perhaps it was to ask the question on behalf of the others who couldn't muster the courage.
Hamar mentally noted Temar's consideration and forthrightness, uncharacteristic of dwarves.
"...Until you meet the daily quota, there will be no time for meals or sleep. And if that continues, you'll be 'returned.'"
Returned.
At that inhumane word choice, the dwarves collectively swallowed their saliva.
And with grateful eyes, they looked at Temar.
Temar, who had quickly become the focal point of the newly arrived dwarves.
Hamar, too, nodded approvingly at the unexpected discovery of talent.
However, Temar's request, made separately after the work explanation, shattered that satisfaction.
"Lord Hamar. As you can see, I believe I would be better suited for a supervisory role than directly participating in line work..."
Hamar replied sharply, swallowing his disappointment.
"No. Way."
"I-I'm sorry. I overstepped..."
In an instant, Temar's plea shattered Hamar's expression of satisfaction.
"The supervisor is my role. Where do you think you're going?"
"...."
This punk...
'He's cheeky.'
The same thought crossed both dwarves' minds simultaneously.