Chapter 369 - 361: Where the Heart Settles Is Home

Chapter 369: Chapter 361: Where the Heart Settles Is Home

When the new issue of the Gray Swamp Weekly was released, it sold out almost instantly.

The three large words "White Tower Count" were printed in the most conspicuous spot on the front page, in bold font. Beside them was a woodcut portrait of Velin Klein. In the portrait, the young man held a scepter, with the majestic city of Minas Tirith as the backdrop.

Other villages and towns far from Mi Port learned of this exciting good news through the weekly gazette, even before merchants could spread the word.

There were no mandatory celebrations, no required monetary gifts. But as night fell, every settlement in the entire domain spontaneously erupted into a celebration more fervent than any festival.

「Newly Town.」

Inside the "Brother, Boar, and Beer" tavern, the place was abuzz with voices. Dozens of new-style glass storm lanterns illuminated the tavern as brightly as day. The glass was clean, the light was steady, and there was almost no annoying smell of lamp-oil smoke.

The tavern was packed to the gills. A carpenter was proudly showing off his masterpiece to the surrounding crowd.

He picked up an object the size of a wooden crate from against the wall. With a few deft movements, he unfolded it into a folding chair that could steadily seat two adults, drawing gasps of amazement. "Hey! Made some more room!" He squeezed the chair into the gap between two tables, and someone immediately sat on it. This small invention had already earned him thirty merit points.

"Barkeep! Another stein! From the ’Not-Sour’ barrel!" a regular shouted.

"Coming right up!" Tumo’s shirt was open, his dark face flushed red.

He stood behind the bar, skillfully operating a new contraption—several huge, new-style oak barrels were connected in parallel, linked by copper pipes to a multi-tap dispenser. With a gentle pull of a lever, amber-colored ale, rich with foam, poured into the wooden stein.

The inner walls of this new type of brewing barrel were specially treated, doubling the ale’s shelf life.

He personally carried the stein through the crowded room and set it down hard on the table.

"Tonight! All drinks! I, Tumo, am paying!"

A deafening cheer erupted from the crowd.

A newcomer who had just recently fled from the old territories, holding a clay bowl, sidled up to Tumo. He looked at all the novel items around him and asked in confusion, "Boss Tumo, our lord has been promoted, and we should be happy, but... but is there a need to spend so much?"

Tumo chugged a big mouthful of ale, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and roared with laughter. He threw an arm around the man’s shoulder, his boozy breath hitting him square in the face.

"Brother, you’re new here, you don’t get it!" Tumo pointed to Buck’s folding chair, then slapped his own new barrels behind the bar. "You think we’re happy for the lord?"

The new worker was stunned.

"We’re happy for ourselves!" Tumo’s voice cut through the din. "You don’t know shit! When the lord was a Baron, one of our merit points could be exchanged for a pound of black bread. Now that the lord is a Count, his word carries more weight in the Royal Capital, and our merit points are worth more! Maybe we’ll be able to exchange them for a pound and a half soon! Buck’s chair, this brewing setup of mine—it was all exchanged for merit points! The stronger the lord is, the more solid our merit points become! Get it? We’re celebrating our own net worth going up!"

He slapped the new worker’s chest forcefully, a brand-new light shining in his eyes.

"Here, every bit of work you do, every drop of sweat you shed, even a good idea, will turn into merit points written on your identity tag!"

The new worker nodded, seeming to understand yet not quite. But seeing the heartfelt joy on the faces of those around him—a pride in their own creations and the fruits of their labor—he tightened his grip on his clay bowl, let out a great shout, and downed the ale in one go.

Cheers rose and fell one after another, and every face was filled with hope for the future. Their stories were all different, but the core was surprisingly consistent: merit points, and the recognized value they represented, were completely changing their lives.

...

At the gate of Minas Tirith, Tristan Lorenzo stood on a viewing platform, looking down at the brilliantly lit city below.

The cheering crowds formed rivers of light, flowing through the straight, wide streets. Alchemical fireworks shot into the sky from time to time, exploding into splendid displays that cast flickering light and shadow across the entire great white city.

A faint smile now touched his face, which was usually calm and expressionless.

He had seen this kind of scene before. In the Royal Capital, at royal celebrations.

But the cheering there was hollow, a matter of ceremony, a brief clamor bought by lords with bread and cheap wine.

The cheering here, however, was real. It was white-hot.

Tristan could tell the difference.

Everyone here was cheering for their own interests. Velin’s glory was inextricably tied to their wallets, their status, and their future.

This was not loyalty born of fear, but a contract founded on hope.

A bond more unbreakable than blood or vows.

"My lord," Mage Elvin’s voice came from behind him. "It seems the people we’ve been waiting for have arrived."

Tristan’s train of thought was interrupted. He looked in the direction Elvin was pointing. On the distant horizon, a long string of light points was slowly approaching Mi Port along the newly built gravel road.

It was a massive convoy.

At the head of the convoy, several Knights held high banners bearing the royal crest of the Duchy. In the middle were dozens of heavy, cargo-laden horse-drawn carriages, their wheels rumbling loudly. A squad of the royal guard in chainmail escorted them on both flanks.

"The reconstruction aid group from the Royal Capital," Tristan said calmly.

The convoy stopped before the city gate to be inspected by the guards.

Elvin had sharp eyes. He suddenly pointed at a young man in a Mage’s robe at the front of the group and exclaimed in surprise, "Is that... Ryo?"

Tristan looked over as well. The young man, who looked a bit awkward and uneasy in the crowd but held his back ramrod straight, was indeed Ryo, the one Velin had sent to the Royal Capital Mage Academy for advanced studies.

Elvin quickly ran down from the terrace and rushed toward the convoy.

"Ryo!"

Hearing the shout, Ryo looked up. When he saw it was Elvin, a surprised smile immediately broke out on his face. He hurried over and gave Elvin a firm hug.

"Master Elvin! It’s been a long time!"

"You rascal, what are you doing back here with the convoy from the Royal Capital?" Elvin slapped Ryo’s back forcefully. Then, as if he’d sensed something, his hand froze. He pulled back in disbelief and looked Ryo up and down.

He could clearly feel the fluctuations of ether surrounding Ryo’s body were more than a level deeper than when he had left for the Royal Capital. The degree of condensation of his Spiritual Power was something no apprentice could possess.

"Your... your Mage level..." Elvin asked, astonished.

Ryo scratched his head, a little embarrassed, and said in a low voice, "The meditation method the instructor gave me is very efficient, and with the academy’s resources... I just passed the assessment a short while ago and was promoted to Level 4."

A Level 4 Mage!

Elvin sucked in a sharp breath. It had only been one semester! The boy who was once timid and had low self-esteem had already grown to a height that he had to look up to.

"My instructor had me end my courses for the semester early and come back with the teachers from the reconstruction aid group," Ryo explained, his eyes filled with anticipation for the future.

"He said I’ve learned enough from books. Now, it’s time to learn through practice how to build a real Ethereum Tower."