infodatos Chapter 71: On the Road
Chapter 71: On the Road
Thun stood on the other side of the courtyard, having Mrs. Moriel help him fasten the wooden scale armor newly issued to him by the lord's manor.
This set of wooden scale armor is light armor and has epoch-making significance for the territory, simply because it was handmade by the territory without Ron and Old Hall using any building magic.
The light wood scale armor plates are only one millimeter thick, half the thickness of the heavy wood scale armor plates, so it is much lighter. The main defensive area only extends to the groin, and it does not have skirt armor or arm armor, making it even lighter. A set weighs less than 20 pounds.
This will be the new standard infantry armor for the territory.
Mrs. Moriel set up an armor workshop to produce wooden scale armor, and the most labor-intensive task was making the wooden armor plates.
Old Hall solidified the hardwood, and the subsequent work of cutting and polishing the armor plates was all done by the artisans of the territory.
This brings us to the eighty-three artisans captured from the Dilong tribe.
There were fifteen carpenters, eight stonemasons, and the rest were blacksmiths.
With the help of carpenters, the hardwood was cut into armor plates, which were then distributed to people who were not working or had free time to polish.
One work point is awarded for polishing ten wooden armor plates, and one work point is awarded for drilling holes in ten wooden armor plates.
It can be said that almost every wooden armor plate produced by the armor workshop each day is claimed by someone, and then polished and returned to the workshop the next day.
At this rate, the armor workshop can produce thirty sets of light wood scale armor and five sets of heavy wood scale armor per month.
"My lord," Thun said, hanging the embroidered spring knife he'd received as a reward for annihilating three goblin tribes at his waist, "would the people of Gorubak Castle never have seen a Grimm before?"
"We've only met on the battlefield; let's meet again at the ball."
Thun nodded without asking any further questions.
Ever since Ron told him "your last name is Ashwood," he stopped asking questions like "Will I get kicked out as a goblin?"
All he needed to know was where the lord told him to stand, and that's where he would stand.
On the morning of their departure, Fanta, along with Leonardo da Vinci, Sanlier, and Thun, waited for them at the north gate of the barbican.
Neither Fanta nor Leonardo da Vinci wore knight's plate armor; instead, they wore uniform balsa wood scale armor.
This was also part of his plan to show off the military strength of his territory to other lords, and he was even considering whether he could use the wooden scale armor to open up markets for Doron.
Balsa wood scale armor offers comparable defensive capabilities to leather armor. While it may not be appealing to knights, it is a good choice for low-ranking mercenaries or knight apprentices.
Old Hall stood at the city gate and handed Ron a parchment envelope.
"Doron's reply arrived last night. He has rented a shop in Gorubak Fort and made arrangements at the city's key points, so he can be ready to assist at any time."
Ron took the envelope, didn't open it, and stuffed it into his sleeve.
Old Hall then pulled out a small cloth bag from his pocket. Inside the bag were two gold coins and a dozen silver coins. This was Old Hall's own savings, which he couldn't use in the territory anyway, so he might as well give it to Ron.
"Gold coins are widely accepted in Gorubakburg, while silver coins are convenient for small transactions. When you're out and about, money is more useful than a knife."
Ron took the money bag, weighed it in his hand, and then nodded at him.
Old Hall knew what that nod meant.
Ron mounted his horse.
The procession slowly passed through the barbican, the horses' hooves echoing dullly and rhythmically on the blue brick ground.
After walking a few hundred steps, he reined in his horse and looked back.
The morning sun had just begun to shine in from the east, bathing the entire Ashwood territory in a greyish-gold hue.
The city wall is intact, and the long arms of the catapults are quietly retracted behind the crenellations.
The blades of the windmill were turning slowly, and very faint white steam was rising from the mill chimney as the ovens in the bakery at the bottom of the mill were preheating.
This is a living city, not the planning map he drew on paper, nor the construction schedule he carved on the wall of the pit courtyard.
The city has eight thousand people, bread workshops and windmills, female workshop workers who line up to go to and from get off work every morning and evening, and old man Green who has just learned to write his own name.
He built it brick by brick from a barren wasteland where there was nothing at all.
He withdrew his gaze, turned around, and rode north.
Old Hall had measured the road from Ashwood to Gorubak Fort on the map; the straight-line distance was less than two hundred miles.
But there are no straight lines on the wasteland.
The group traveled in a north-northeast direction for a day.
Fanta is very familiar with this area; after all, when he was exiled, Fanta was in charge of scouting the way.
Sanlir listened with great interest, while Thun kept staring at the northern horizon, his lips pressed into a thin line.
The next morning, they encountered the first group of refugees.
A dozen or so people, dressed in rags, walked out from the eastern wasteland. There were men and women, but no elderly or children.
They stopped when they saw Ron's group, neither approaching nor fleeing, but simply standing at a distance, watching the mounted men with a numb gaze.
Fanta placed his hand on the hilt of the sword, but Ron shook his head.
He had Shanlier drop off a few pieces of black bread and a small bag of water.
After dropping his things, Shanlier pointed to the road they had come from and shouted, "Go straight down this road for about a hundred miles. There is a territory of ten thousand people there. You might survive if you go there."
The refugees, whose eyes were originally numb, showed no reaction when they heard that "there is territory a hundred miles away".
They had seen far too many "territories," villages of a few dozen people, worse than the villages they had fled from.
But the word "ten thousand people" sounded like a stone thrown into stagnant water.
Some people raised their heads, some took half a step forward, and some managed a glimmer of uncertainty on their dirty faces.
A territory with tens of thousands of people requires an extremely powerful lord to establish.
After they entered the wasteland, checkpoints were set up at the border to prevent them from returning to the kingdom.
Anyone who dares to force their way in will be mercilessly shot by the soldiers.
That's why they've been wandering around all this time.
On the third day, they passed through two territories.
The first one is abandoned; half of the stockade wall was burned down, while the other half still stands, covered with withered thorns.
The village gate was wide open, and you could see that the houses inside had been emptied, with a few pieces of smashed pottery scattered on the ground.
Fanta said this territory is called Stone Sheep Territory. He had just been there at the beginning of the year, when there were about a hundred people there.
There are no corpses left, only the wind blowing in through the broken gate, making the broken pottery shards on the ground spin around.
The second territory is still alive.
The stockade wall was made of rubble and wooden stakes, even more shabby than the earliest wooden stockade walls in Ashwood Territory.
A stubble-faced lord stood on the stockade wall, wearing patched leather armor, his sword so rusted it couldn't be pulled from its scabbard. He spotted Ron's cavalry in the distance, ordered the gates locked, and then shouted from the wall, "Passing by or here to plunder?"
Fanta replied "Just passing by," and only then did the lord allow the gate to reopen a crack, but the crack did not widen again until the procession had gone far away.
"He has fewer than fifty men," Leonardo da Vinci said to Ron in a low voice. "In three months, a new batch of pioneer lords will arrive, and those who join the new lords will survive."
"Heh!" Fanta sneered. "Who knows if they'll become the executioner's blade pointed at the new lord?"