Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 672 - 671: The Age of Harvest

The footsteps of autumn have tread upon the lands of the West Continent, the sweltering summer has finally ended, and almost overnight, the weather has turned cooler.

As the dawn barely breaks, the giant sun has yet to spread its rays, the lingering coolness of the night still envelops the streets and alleys of Aldernon. A refreshing breeze blows along the streets, lifting a few fallen leaves and scraps of paper at the corner, swirling between buildings, and then moving back to sway the bell hanging in a window, creating a tinkling sound.

Sam looked up at the bell making the noise, glanced at the sky outside which was far from bright, and then lowered his head to continue quickly swallowing a breakfast that could hardly be described as delicious — a small bowl of sticky vegetable soup, with pieces of hard, coarse bread soaked in it.

Soaking bread in soup can effectively speed up eating, provide a rather effective feeling of fullness, and reduce the gastrointestinal discomfort caused by rapid eating. This can be considered the wisdom and experience accumulated by the common folks in life.

His daughter sat across from him, gobbling down breakfast in the same manner, while his wife had already left a quarter of an hour ago — the owner of the textile factory had once again advanced the work hours, now female workers must rush to the factory half an hour before sunrise.

After swallowing the last mouthful of vegetable soup, Sam smacked his lips and then let out a deep yawn.

He’s very tired, his waist and arms ache terribly, and he feels he needs to lie down and have a good sleep for one or two days — but he knows this is not realistic.

There are piles of boxes and barrels at the dock that need to be moved daily, he doesn’t have holidays.

His daughter also finished her meal. The girl with flax-colored curly hair stood up and deftly tidied the table, her wrists seemed overly thin, making one worry if the wrist would break when she picked up the largest plate.

Sam couldn’t help but glance at his daughter: "Next week... we should be able to eat some smoked meat."

The flax-haired girl looked up, revealing a surprised then joyful expression after a moment of astonishment, she brushed back her hair, eyes wide open: "Really? Dad?"

"They’re building a station in the south of the city, lots of stuff gets transported to the nearby dock and then loaded onto vehicles and taken to the site every day, I should be able to earn a bit more."

The daughter laughed, with some light yellow patterns appearing in her eyes and on the inside of her lips.

Sam noticed these patterns but said nothing — when they first appeared months ago, it indeed made his wife and himself feel nervous, but now, months later, his daughter hasn’t felt any discomfort physically, so it shouldn’t be anything significant.

Time is tight, the father and daughter don’t have much time for post-meal conversations, they soon tidied up their belongings and then left the rented small house.

Another breeze blew through the streets and alleys, lifting Sam’s collar, he tightened his soon-to-be-thin coat for the season and nodded to his daughter heading in another direction: "Be safe, come straight home after work tonight, don’t linger in the street."

The daughter nodded, pressed her soft cap on her head, and quickly headed in another direction — at the end of that direction, a towering chimney stood vaguely in the iconic thin mist of Aldernon, with rolling smoke rising continuously in the mist, drifting into the sky.

She works at the Pyrostone Acid Plant, as a child who hasn’t come of age, her job is not to manipulate the furnace or push the cart, but to clean the cooled air ducts and recover fragments of flammable stone from the waste that can be processed again — the air duct is narrow, adults can’t fit in, such work is done by children, wages are low, but neither physical strength nor skills are required.

Sam kept watching his daughter move past the distant corner before turning back and swiftly heading in the direction of the docks.

As the slightly cool breeze blows through, he can’t help but recall some things —

He once had a piece of land just outside the city, though not large nor very fertile, at least it could sustain the family’s meals, with watered-down milk and a bit of sugar for breakfast, and certainly smoked meat every week, but when did life turn into this?

Sam walked in the wind, the scent of autumn compelled this man born a farmer to recall the harvest scenes, but "harvest" no longer has much to do with him. That piece of land has become part of Lord Dule’s cotton plantation, which employs hundreds of serfs — and naturally, serfs are more useful than freemen.

Now Sam can only reminisce about his land, yet cannot do anything: Lord Dule purchased that land from him with thirty-seven silver coins, rather than seizing it. The contract was clear with the town’s judge and two councilors as witnesses, fair and proper.

Sam just hadn’t anticipated that thirty-seven silver coins would be spent so quickly — city houses are so expensive, clothes and food are far more costly than he imagined. He tried to start a small business, only to find that money wasn’t enough to process a permit... He once thought he had exchanged his land for a fortune, but didn’t realize the "fortune" in his eyes was nothing beyond the town’s confines.

Many people dressed similarly to him emerged from their homes, their figures moving in the dim pre-dawn light and the thin mist of Aldernon, heading toward various factories, docks, and construction sites.

Sam walked forward, slowly blending into the crowd, becoming one among them.

A discarded newspaper, carried by the wind, flew over Sam’s head and was blown onto a nearby fence. The newspaper unfolded, with striking and beautiful black letters on it:

Salute to this era of harvest.

...

"To this bountiful era, a salute to our farsighted Emperor, the diligent parliament, and the wise scholars; the Empire’s accumulation over the past decade is like a long cultivation, now finally bearing fruit... Truly brilliant words, don’t you think, Master Daniel?"

Viscount Hemir sat in his favorite reddish-brown chair, lifted the newspaper in his hand slightly, and smiled at the arcane master sitting opposite him, the most renowned scholar in the imperial capital.

The refreshing scent of incense lingered in this luxurious and private reception room. Gentle, soothing court music floated from the crystal device in a corner of the room. A nearby window was open, but a thin barrier over it filtered out the unpleasant smell of fine smoke in the air, allowing only the fresh, cool morning breeze to enter the room.

Daniel, in a relaxed posture, sat in the chair opposite Viscount Hemir. An artificial nerve cord peeped out from the hem of his clothes, staying obediently: "Mr. Havier Reston is an excellent master of grammar and a well-known poet. Even during my years of seclusion, I occasionally heard his verses circulated. Choosing this master as the editor-in-chief of ’The Imperial Report’ was undoubtedly a wise move by His Majesty the Emperor."

"A salute to His Majesty," Viscount Hemir laughed pleasantly. He picked up the red tea from the small round table, raising it slightly as a substitute for wine, then frowned a bit, "These newspapers are indeed good... It’s said that the Cecil Clan from the Anzu Kingdom first came up with the concept. Unfortunately, when I first heard about it, I failed to realize its significance, which allowed merchants like that tasteless Polberg become the first investor in ’The Imperial Report’... So many Councilors now have to pay that merchant to advertise their products, that’s a significant amount of money up for grabs!"

"Money knows no bounds, Viscount," Daniel said faintly, "Exploring new things is more valuable than that."

"Ah, you’re quite right," Viscount Hemir quickly suppressed his discontent, as if afraid that such a ’worldly act’ would cause the wise elder before him to take offense, "I am always keen to explore new things, such as the magical trains under construction, which I am considering investing in..."

"Trains... technology from Anzu, but indeed very worthy of investment," Daniel furrowed his brow slightly, seemingly uncomfortable discussing some new technologies even beyond his grasp but nodded nonetheless, "If you’re looking to invest, you’d better act quickly."

Viscount Hemir tasted the deeper meaning behind the words: "Are others competing?"

Daniel nodded slightly: "I have some inside information, keep it to yourself. I heard the southern nobles are determined to secure involvement rights in the two railway lines under construction, even pooling funds together and borrowing a large sum of money from Duke Sevin — enough to impress His Majesty the Emperor."

Viscount Hemir paused in shock, suddenly showing his anger: "Those vulgar Southerners! They want a hand in everything!!"

"There’s no helping it, my friend," Daniel replied calmly, like a true scholar, coolly analyzing the massive shift in interests, yet inherently unmoved by them, "The southern nobles have suffered greatly from cotton. The north is full of new plantations, and the cotton they planted last year hasn’t sold this year — now the Cecil Clan is building railways, and if the southern nobles miss this opportunity, they’ll be truly unable to recover."

"Railways... Railways... The railways must not fall into the hands of those Southerners! "Viscount Hemir was a very shrewd man, and his zeal for exploring new things gave him plenty of understanding about cutting-edge innovations, naturally knowing their respective values, "If they gain control over the north-south railways, even if only granted priority within His Majesty’s permissible range, the transport along that line will be at their mercy! His Majesty will not show favoritism towards the north in matters like this!"

"Indeed, they will then resolve transportation inconveniences, which was the biggest reason southern cotton lost in last year’s competition," Daniel assisted in the analysis, "Once problems associated with transportation costs are resolved or reduced... you know, Viscount, from quality to yield, southern cotton is indeed superior to northern; the plantations in the north simply cannot compete."

"In the name of the god of trade! I just invested a large sum of money in Earl Dule’s plantation! I even called on several friends!" Viscount Hemir couldn’t help but raise his voice; his noble demeanor nearly broke, "God, how could Duke Sevin lend money to those Southerners?"

"Duke Sevin runs a bank, and banks cannot refuse legitimate loans," Daniel couldn’t help but remind, "Moreover, as you know, Duke Sevin’s wife is originally from the south... He wouldn’t dare offend that formidable lady."

"That’s why I refuse to marry — it ruins a man’s dignity!" Viscount Hemir stood up, pacing uneasily, then suddenly stopped before Daniel, "My apologies, Master, but it seems I must cut this meeting short — this matter cannot be delayed. My personal loss isn’t much, but I don’t wish to face the wrath of my partners."

"I understand your concern," Daniel rose, the artificial nerve cords behind him writhing and retracting, "Moreover, I should take my leave as well — my apprentice is waiting outside. Also, before you go, I suggest speaking with Earl Dule — his connections in the council could be more effective."

"Thank you for the advice; you are indeed my mentor and friend," Viscount Hemir stepped forward, grabbing Daniel’s hand, shaking it up and down, "Without you, I wouldn’t know how many detours I’d have taken!"

Daniel smiled slightly, accepting the gratitude of this reformist aristocrat readily, then gestured to the nearby coat rack, allowing the Magic Wand and robes to fly into his hand and drape over himself, before departing the Viscount’s residence.

He went to the roadside and boarded the waiting carriage, where his apprentice, Mary, sat inside, seemingly having never left.

Moments later, a carriage bearing the emblem sped out of Viscount Hemir’s main gates, hastily heading to the distance.

——Although Typhon’s Magic-guided Vehicle technology had made breakthroughs, and practical vehicles had reached the attention of the upper aristocrats, due to priority given to the military and industrial construction, they had yet to become widespread among the middle and lower aristocracy, leaving carriages as the predominant choice for most to travel.

Through the gap in the carriage window, Daniel observed the street, wearing a slight smile on his face.

Mary noticed this smile and couldn’t help asking, "Master, you seem quite pleased?"

"Because I did Augustus His Majesty a favor..."

"Did His Majesty a favor?" Mary appeared somewhat puzzled.

"Yes," Daniel spoke softly, "I helped him avoid some pitfalls..."