Chapter 331 - 326: Second Sons’ Alliance

On the outskirts of Minas Tirith Port.

A party of over thirty people rode on horseback, moving slowly along a recently compacted gravel road.

Tristan rode at the very front.

He had changed into a gray hunting outfit, better suited for movement. He held a riding crop, occasionally pointing it toward the construction sites along the road.

Most of the group consisted of young men.

They were dressed in fine clothes, their expressions a mixture of reservation and curiosity.

They were the younger sons from the major commerce associations, guilds, and the noble families of the Ring Grey Sea Territory.

The family titles and the bulk of the inheritance went to the eldest sons. As for them, they either had to serve a higher-ranking noble, become priests in the church, or strike out on their own to find a path.

The Grey Marsh Territory had made a name for itself in the recent war, so their family elders had sent them over.

"On the left is shipyard number three." Tristan reined in his horse, its hooves clopping twice in place. "The foundation was just laid, and we can lay the keel next month. The Golden Sail Commerce Association has already reserved the first three berths."

Several of the young men exchanged glances.

The news that the Golden Sail Commerce Association was moving its headquarters here was no secret in their circles.

The roadside was piled high with oak crates marked with the Golden Sail's insignia. Laborers, shouting in rhythm, hauled stone materials over.

"Mr. Tristan," a round-faced youth urged his horse forward a couple of steps, "I heard that the tidal flats over there are all going to be enclosed?"

He pointed to a long, dusty gray embankment in the distance.

Inside the embankment, a large area of seawater had been walled off. The water level was falling, revealing a dark, muddy bed.

Tristan glanced at him.

This was Raymond, the third son of a Viscount from the south.

His family was in the wool trade. They had money, but no land.

"The Lord Baron's intention is," Tristan gestured at the mudflats with his riding crop, "once the water is drained and two seasons of salt-tolerant crops are planted, it will be arable land. Whoever has the capital to contribute can plant their flag here."

Raymond swallowed hard.

He gazed at the stretch of sludge.

'In his eyes, that wasn't mud. It was a fief he could pass down to his descendants.'

With land, he would no longer be "that third son in the trade business," but Raymond the Knight.

"This is no small amount of work," another man said, his tone probing. "Can it be done with just the current prisoners?"

"There are never enough hands," Tristan said. "That's why the Lord Baron welcomes all of you."

He said no more, letting them connect the dots.

These men weren't fools.

The Grey Marsh Territory was short on people, money, and supplies.

If they brought those things, they could exchange them for a ticket into the Grey Marsh Territory.

'What did the lord call this again... "investment immigration." '

The group continued forward.

Tristan listened as the discussions behind him grew louder. His expression remained neutral, but his grip on the reins loosened slightly.

He knew what Velin wanted.

Only by tying these people to his war chariot could the Grey Marsh Territory truly establish its roots in the Western Territory.

「 ... 」

「Later, in the lowest level of the underground mine.」

This place had originally been a natural karst cave, which had been simply modified.

Velin sat at one end of a long table.

Across from him sat Korsh.

The former vanguard captain of the Bonebreak Clan wore no shackles, but his eight appendages were tucked neatly by his sides.

Tristan sat to Velin's left, a thick parchment booklet spread open before him.

"Are your accommodations satisfactory?" Velin asked.

"Better than I expected," Korsh replied, his voice raspy. "At least it's not one of those half-wet, half-dry cages."

"Then let's get down to business."

Velin tapped his fingers on the tabletop twice.

"I don't support idlers. Your clansmen, over four hundred laborers, consume a large amount of food every day."

Korsh's body tensed.

He knew the main event was coming.

"We can work," Korsh immediately declared. "Mining, hauling, underwater jobs—we can do it all."

"Just mining is too much of a waste."

Velin shook his head and looked at Tristan.

Tristan flipped open the booklet and pushed it in front of Korsh.

It was densely filled with the common tongue, accompanied by several complex diagrams.

"The territory is establishing a new department," Tristan said. "The Deep Sea Resource Development Division, under the Development Department."

Korsh stared at the words. Some he recognized, others he did not.

"Tristan will be the Division Chief," Velin said, pointing at Korsh. "You will be the Deputy Chief."

Korsh was stunned.

His eyes darted from Tristan to Velin, as if to confirm he hadn't misheard.

'Deputy Chief?'

'A prisoner of war?'

"Don't get excited just yet," Velin said. "This won't be an easy position."

He took out a nautical chart and spread it open.

"Your mission is to retrieve things from the sea for me." Velin's finger swept across a large area on the chart. "Ores, special flora and fauna, valuables from shipwrecks. Places land-dwellers can't go, you will."

Korsh understood.

This was about making full use of their value.

But compared to being cannon fodder or hard laborers, this "Development Division" sounded... far more respectable.

"What... do we need to give in return?" Korsh asked.

"Labor," Velin said. "I'm giving you a new set of rules."

Tristan turned to the last few pages of the booklet.

"Merit Points..." Tristan tapped the bolded word. "You earn Merit Points for work. Mining one ton of undersea iron ore gets you 5 Merit Points. Taming a Deep Sea Transport Beast, 50 Merit Points. Maintaining the Leviathan, 200 Merit Points per month."

Korsh stared at the numbers.

"What can Merit Points be used for?"

"Anything and everything," Velin interjected. "Exchanging them for better food, for independent living caves. Save up enough, and you can even buy your freedom, going from prisoner of war to a free person."

He paused, then threw out the biggest lure.

"Your descendants can use Merit Points to exchange for learning opportunities. Learning the common tongue, mathematics, even... Alchemy."

The meeting room fell silent.

Korsh's breathing became heavy.

His eight appendages writhed unconsciously on the floor.

Learning.

This was something that lower-class clans like his couldn't even dare to dream of.

In the deep sea, knowledge was monopolized by Priests and nobles. They could only serve as grunts.

Now, a land-dwelling lord was opening the doors of knowledge to them.

The threshold was high, but the door was open.

"Are you serious?" Korsh stared at Velin.

Velin let out a soft chuckle and asked in return, "Do you think a free person is any better than a slave?"

He watched the hope igniting in the other's eyes and thought with disdain, 'Heh, so naive.'

Korsh pushed himself up from the table, took two steps back, and bent all eight appendages at once, prostrating himself on the floor.

This was the highest rite of allegiance of the Multi-Armed Race, previously used only for Unas.

"The Deep Sea Resource Development Division awaits your command."

His forehead was pressed to the stone slab, his voice muffled but firm as it came from below.

Velin sat back down in his chair.

Tristan took a piece of carapace, stripped from the corpse of a member of the Multi-Armed Race, out of an alchemical refrigeration box and placed it on the table.

Though separated from a living body, the carapace still emitted a faint energy fluctuation.

"Your 'symbiotic carapace' interests me," Velin said. "It's not a dead object, but living equipment. I want to know how to cultivate it."

Korsh looked up. Seeing the familiar carapace, his expression grew complicated.

This was one of the core secrets upon which his race's survival depended.

"This... is a secret of our clan, never shared with outsiders," Korsh hesitated.

"It is now my spoil of war," Velin stated plainly. "My goal is to initiate the 'Leviathan 2.0' project, to develop replaceable biological plug-ins for my War Giant Beast. Your symbiotic carapace is the best reference template."

He looked at Korsh and threw out a new condition.

"I need you to cooperate with the technology department to master the techniques for cultivating and grafting this 'bio-equipment.' This isn't manual labor; it's a technical collaboration. Complete this project, and the Merit Points you'll earn will be more than you'd get from mining for ten years. Moreover, your clansmen will be the first Warriors to be equipped with the improved carapace."

Korsh understood the weight of this offer.

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded in agreement.

"What do you need us to do?" Korsh asked, already slipping into the role of Deputy Chief.

"Assist Master Valerius in establishing a cultivation environment and screening suitable symbiotic substrates," Velin said. "Within one month, I need to see the first batch of usable carapace samples cultivated, and I need to know how to use them."

Korsh mentally calculated the difficulty and the manpower required.

"One month... is very tight," he said. "But if the materials and equipment are sufficient, we can try."

"Tristan will allocate the best resources to you," Velin said. "The Alchemy labs will be partially open to you and your people. I only want results."

Korsh nodded heavily.

"In one month, we will definitely produce results."

Velin waved his hand, dismissing him.

Korsh exited the meeting room.

The door closed.

"Look at him. He'll work himself to death for this job," Tristan said.

"Those with property have conviction." Velin leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Giving them something to hope for is more effective than a whip."

He stood up and looked at the nautical chart on the wall.

The framework on land was built, and the tentacles underwater had been extended.

The Grey Marsh Territory was finally no longer just some small place huddled in a swamp.

"What was the reaction from those younger sons of the nobles?" Velin asked.

"Their eyes were practically green," Tristan said. "I expect quite a few family letters will be sent out tonight."

"Excellent."

Velin turned and walked out.

"Let them compete. The fiercer they compete, the more valuable our land becomes."