Arc II - Agrarian Revolution
Chapter 17 - The Concept of Progress
2 months and 7 days since the summoning
The morning dew glistened on the grass beneath the rising sun. Granted, there was less and less grass; a good portion of the untouched land had been turned into plowed fields over the last two days, though it was not even half of the total area. The beastkin, along with the local oxen, were already waking up, preparing for another day of labor.
Meanwhile, just as dawn broke, Alan and Kamelia stepped out onto the porch of one of the houses.
Alan stretched languidly, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. "Mmm... beautiful... Now, some coffee and a cigarette, to keep it classic, and this would be perfect," he muttered to himself.
"So, what was it you wished to show me?" Kamelia asked, adjusting the sword at her hip.
"Ah, right. Come on," Alan said, stepping onto the grass. The guard by the porch bowed silently.
"By the way," Alan began. "Where did Lorgi run off to?"
The Countess walked behind him, watching the beastkin as they began to plow another row. "He is currently training the militia and the new recruits."
Alan slowed his pace. "Why? Don't you have enough guards already?"
"We have enough guards, yes, but... this entire situation regarding the Duke's overthrow does not please me. It is far better to be prepared for any eventuality."
Alan nodded, looking down at his feet. "Ah... Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war."
"My thoughts precisely. A fine quote, indeed. Did you conceive it yourself, or is it from your world?"
"Pfft, from my world, of course. It's as old as time itself. Actually..." He froze.
'Wait... did the Latin translate?'
"Kamelia," he said.
The Countess stopped. "What is it?"
Alan narrowed his eyes. "Intelligisne me?"
Kamelia blinked. "What was that?"
"Do you understand me like this?" he asked in English.
She nodded slowly. "Yes... I understand. What was that? Is there... something wrong with the translation once more?"
"Verstehst du mich?" Alan asked again.
The Countess frowned. "Alan... what is happening? You are frightening me slightly."
Alan's eyes widened. "So that's how it works..."
"What works?" She stepped closer. "Will you finally explain?"
"The translation magic only works on English... well, I mean, the language I usually speak. But not on others. What could that even be about?"
Kamelia scratched her chin. "I do not know... Perhaps Svyatol willed it so. Could it be because you first spoke in that language?"
Alan was silent for a second. "Maybe... anyway, never mind that. Come on, let me show you."
'I don't understand shit... how does it even work?'
The Countess simply followed him.
Soon they came to one of the barns. Propped against its wall was a large board with a crooked charcoal sketch of a windmill. "Ta-da!" Alan said, gesturing toward the drawing.
Kamelia tilted her head slightly. "What is that? Some manner of building with... four protruding planks of wood. What is its purpose?"
Alan smiled faintly. "Remember back when we were in the carriage for the first time, and I talked about crossbows and windmills?"
"Yes, I remember. Which of the two is this?"
"A windmill. You guys usually use watermills, right?"
The Countess nodded. "Yes... Listen, if this is yet another co... cool thing from your world, perhaps we should show it to Tsinker as well?"
Alan froze. "Ah... completely forgot about that psycho. Where is he anyway?"
Kamelia stepped aside. "Hey, you!" she shouted to the nearest guard. "Find Lord Utew and bring him here!"
The guard nodded and vanished around the corner of a wooden house.
Alan scratched his forehead.
'Where did Tsinker get to? Oh... right, he only eats at dawn and sunset. He's a hundred percent stuffing his face right now.'
The guard returned about two minutes later, slightly out of breath. "My Lady, Lord Utew is currently eating his breakfast. He stated that he would join you shortly."
Kamelia raised an eyebrow. "Breakfast? Could he not have delayed it? We have matters to attend to here."
Alan merely chuckled. "Kamelia, there's a lot you don't know about him."
After about seven minutes, Tsinker finally deigned to descend to the mortals. He approached Kamelia and Alan with his hands behind his back. "I am here. What is it you have?"
Kamelia frowned. "Do you not wish to offer an apology?"
"For what?"
"For the fact that we have a matter of great import here, yet you deem eating to be of greater significance."
"I sincerely offer my apologies. What then is it you have?"
Kamelia opened her mouth, closed it, and simply stepped aside in silence, nodding to Alan.
Gothwald sighed. "Okay... look, Tsinker. This thing is called a windmill. It's another breakthrough, just like that plow."
Utew stepped closer to the crooked drawing. "Is the structure itself so warped, or is that merely your drawing?"
Alan pressed his lips together. "That's just my drawing."
Tsinker simply nodded in silence and continued to inspect the sketch. "How does it operate? And in what way is it superior to a watermill? Since it is a windmill, it operates on the wind, correct?"
Alan shook his head slightly, then held out his hand with fingers spread. "Let me walk you through the advantages." He bent his first finger. "This mill doesn't rely on a river. You can build it anywhere." A second finger bent. "A single windmill can do the work of twenty or even thirty people, entirely powered by the wind." He bent a third finger. "This thing is highly versatile. It can pump water during floods..." He smirked slightly. "In fact, in my world, almost an entire country reclaimed its lands from the sea using this technology."
Tsinker raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt.
Kamelia's mouth hung slightly open. "They drained the sea and created land for themselves... Very well, continue."
Alan nodded toward the drawing. "Aside from water, this thing can also saw wood ten times faster, but we'll get to that later." He bent his fourth finger. "And most importantly... in my world, windmills freed up an incredible amount of labor."
Kamelia scratched her eyebrow. "You also spoke of the four-field system... Is this, then, what you call... progress? When people are spared from backbreaking labor?"
Alan froze for a second, then clapped his hands. "Spot on! Yes! That's exactly what progress is! When things become so cool that people don't have to do grueling physical labor anymore."
Kamelia drew herself up, nearly smiling. "I guessed correctly, then... Your 'progress' is indeed marvelous."
Even Tsinker remained silent for slightly longer than usual. "An intriguing word... progress. So all that we do is for the sake of progress?"
"Exactly," Alan said.
The nobleman fell silent for a few more seconds, staring at the ground, before looking up at Alan. His face was as vacant as ever. "But first, we must learn to construct these mills. We only succeeded in making a proper plow on our third attempt... We must gain experience in this."
Alan's smile faded slightly. "Ah... yeah, that's true. Trial and error again. Still," he looked toward the forest, "we've got timber... right nearby. We can start building the first mill right here. Only five to seven beastkin are busy plowing the fields, so the rest can focus on construction."
Kamelia nodded. "Yes, there is an abundance of labor. I shall command the guards to bring carpenters and several skilled builders here... I assume we have a massive amount of work ahead of us."
Alan nodded. "Yeah, plenty. You go give the orders to the guards, and I'll go with Tsinker to check on how the work is progressing."
"Okay," Kamelia said, and walked off at a brisk pace to search for the guards.
Alan folded his hands behind his back and walked toward the beastkin, who were already tilling their third row.
Utew followed him, matching him step for step. "The four-field system, windmills, plows, the fight against the disease... how many more ideas do you possess, Alan? And more importantly, what do you plan to achieve during these six months before spring, and, consequently, Zinder's demise?"
Alan flinched slightly at the last remark, though he did not let his expression change. "Ah, I originally thought about resting, but so many ideas piled up... looks like there won't be much time for rest." He coughed. "Let's... check on the work first, then we can discuss it."
"They are a fair distance away. We have ample time to discuss it now," Tsinker said flatly.
Alan let out a breath through his nose. "Fine... here's what I've got planned. First, we'll finish plowing all the fields and leave them be, then we'll mess around with this mill until we figure out how to build it properly. After that, we're going to conduct a full census."
"Explain."
"Well... we'll go through the entire county, or rather, Kamelia's lands, and count every single person."
Tsinker nodded slowly, squinting as he looked at the rising sun. "It would indeed be useful to know how many people are under our rule, but... is that not an excessive amount of labor simply to know a number? It is far simpler to count by households or homesteads."
Alan raised a finger. "Heh, yeah, that's simpler, but a census is way more effective. It's not just a digit showing how many people live here; we'll write down names, gender, race, age, skills, and all that. Thanks to this, we won't just know who pays taxes, but also how many men can join the militia, how many blacksmiths or weavers we have, and we can use that to figure out what kind of workers we're lacking... It's called analytics, buddy."
Tsinker stopped walking. "Analytics... Yes, if a census is conducted for such purposes, it is indeed a highly valuable tool. We would know absolutely everything about the county's potential, rather than ruling blindly. It is like a map, but for the population."
"Exactly."
Tsinker opened his mouth to speak, but Alan cut him off. "Let me guess, you're about to say something like, 'where are we gonna find enough literate and free people to tour every village and town to count all this?'"
Tsinker nodded. "That is precisely what I wished to ask."
Alan shrugged. "No idea yet... but maybe if we combine the heralds from your lands and ours, we can work something out?"
Tsinker resumed walking. "Unlikely. I possess little authority, and no heralds to speak of. But I shall conceive something." He paused for a second. "It appears another problem has presented itself."
Alan turned to him. "What other problem?"
"The census must be kept in absolute secrecy from the rest of the nobility."
"Can you explain?"
Tsinker looked around. There was no one in sight, only the fields and the distant village. "Mirey."
Alan froze. "What... what does he have to do with anything?" he whispered.
"So, you are already aware of who Mirey is and what relationship you have to him. Excellent, there is no need for lengthy explanations." He stepped closer. "The fact is, what you are speaking of, this census, is exactly what Mirey did. He counted the populace on his conquered lands so that his mathematicians knew precisely who could pay, and how much tribute they owed. Given your reputation, at the very least, they will demand your head, for they will draw comparisons between you and Mirey."
Alan turned slightly pale. "Fuck... what do we do about all this? How do we even conduct a census then?"
"To the peasantry, Mirey is a long-forgotten fable, but to the nobility, he remains a horror that slaughtered their ancestors, an event that still carries weight. The key is to conceal the existence of the census from the aristocracy, and to ensure the peasants do not realize it is a census and spread rumors. Regardless, I shall take charge of the census myself. It is a formidable task."
Alan rubbed his throat. "What a total shitshow... just constant problems. I hope you know how to pull this off without my head ending up detached from my body."
"We shall manage," Tsinker said and walked on toward the beastkin. His pace, however, was a fraction quicker than usual, and his eyes were narrowed.
Soon they approached three beastkin who were stabilizing the plow from behind, while in front, a human peasant, a robust man with short, greying hair, led the oxen. The owner of the oxen noticed Alan and Tsinker, immediately dropped his reins, and walked toward them. The beastkin in the rear let go of the plow, breathing slightly heavily.
"Good morning, Lord Gothwald, Lord... um..."
"Utew," Tsinker said calmly.
"Forgive me, Lord Utew." He looked up. "Lord Gothwald, the plow you conceived is truly a miracle! Never in my life have I seen soil, especially untouched land, tilled so easily! With an ordinary plow, we would not have accomplished even a third of this work!"
Alan raised a hand, carefully masking a smug smile. "Aw, come on, it is a pretty good device... ahem... how is the work progressing?"
The man wiped sweat from his brow. "Splendidly. Your plow cuts the soil easily, the strong beastkin push from behind, and the oxen barely tire. Moreover, they take turns relieving each other... We can plow everything in two weeks, rather than the month and a half we had anticipated. Perhaps we shall even finish before the new year."
Alan's eyes widened.
'Two weeks?! Holy shit, talk about blowing past the quota! Finally, a reward for my suffering!'
He folded his hands behind his back, maintaining a calm expression. "Do you think the other villages will like this plow?"
The man paused for a second, then gave a light chuckle. "Indeed, Lord Gothwald. Such a plow makes life far simpler. No longer will we be forced to labor from dawn until dusk."
Tsinker looked at the beastkin, who were resting and chatting among themselves. "Progress, correct?"
Alan nodded. "Yeah. Only this time, it's not just a theory; it's actual progress you can see with your own eyes."
