10 — 1 (9)

“They’re keeping pace with us?”

Hansen was so dumbfounded he blurted out after reading the report. It listed the yield trend; at this rate, Louis would surpass him within a week. In the wheat-sowing test—i.e., the seeding phase—Louis’s late charge was beyond belief.

‘It makes no sense.’

By common sense, they had the same number of farmers. Louis’s canal had been smashed, and even the farmers he did have were split off to haul water. Half a month had passed, and he had offered no incentives. All Young Lord Louis had done was hire a hundred mercenaries and raise a stele praying for a good harvest.

Even now, Hansen had more farmers working than Louis. Yet Louis’s smaller workforce was more productive.

‘Young Lord Louis.’

He had received three years of intensive administrative training in House Pontina, was dispatched as governor to Anpotium, and ruined it through incompetence. After a period of reflection, he got another chance and was sent to Proia—only for barbarians to turn it into a sea of flames. But Hansen recalled that in both cities, at least the food supply had always been adequate.

‘When it comes to agriculture-related administration…’

‘A genius.’

A truth unknown to anyone else. In that case—

‘A genius who had no luck.’

‘If this weren’t about sowing wheat… I’d have been overwhelmingly favored.’

Hansen had no idea what magic Louis had used. But he judged the present situation was not mere luck. At least in administration—food—Louis possessed outstanding talent. Each of the duke’s sons excelled in one or two things: the eldest, Fred, in military affairs; the second in commerce; the youngest had been unclear—until now.

Did Hansen have no path to victory left? Not so. On paper, he still led. Louis’s earlier odd choices and Hansen’s sabotage had made his sowing speed very slow.

Many sabotage ideas crossed Hansen’s mind, but he could use none of them now. There were a full one hundred mercenaries.

‘Ah… of course…’

He had not understood why Louis brought so many mercenaries—until now. To block sabotage at the root? With ten men, a risky attempt might still net results; Hansen’s men were well drilled for such things. But around a hundred… They were only mercenaries, not regulars, and lacked polish—but the sheer number was far too large. If he got caught, he would be disqualified from the test.

“Ahem…”

Impressive. However many moves ahead Louis had looked, Hansen finally grasped the meaning of the hundred mercenaries. What he had thought Louis’s blunder was tightening around Hansen’s neck. A master of sabotage, he could not use his specialty at all.

“In that case, the straightforward way…”

He needed another tack: increase payouts to farmers, add tax relief—some new carrot of hope.

“Pay an additional bonus.”

“…More, my lord? We already pay quite a lot. Not one man shirks during hours. Everyone’s desperate to earn a few more coins…”

“Then what are these results?”

“That’s what I… can’t believe either. I asked a few farmers—Young Lord Louis offered no guarantees. But they were highly motivated. And, strangely enough…”

“What?”

“It felt like something was helping. When they cast the seed, not a single grain missed; each fell in its place. The soil tilled easier than usual. As if… the goddess of plenty were helping.”

“You mean that useless stele?”

“At least the farmers love it. They even gather there to eat.”

Hansen raised the bonuses, but productivity did not rise. His patience ran out; he watched the farmers daily and shouted. With each day, the pressure and surveillance grew harsher—and the farmers’ productivity began to plunge. Pushed to the brink, Count Hansen only increased their fatigue.

Louis watched clearly as Hansen went under. Thanks to the Monument, Louis had three hammers of production; Hansen had two—and now one. Hansen’s weakness stood laid bare. With his daily hovering, yelling, and lashing, the farmers’ discontent had already hit 3. Louis’s held steady at satisfaction 3—worlds apart. Satisfaction mattered greatly: once it flipped to discontent, an individual’s productivity could drop from 70% to 50%. What of Hansen’s simple bonus policy? It targeted satisfaction: the more you paid, the easier it was to bump satisfaction by 1–3. But once a threshold was reached, it would not grant +4. That was the hard limit of a reward-only policy—something Louis learned from Hansen’s behavior.

‘I’ve won.’

Though a few days remained, the verdict was essentially in. You could now see with the naked eye how far each had sown. Louis’s fields filled more each day, while Hansen’s stalled.

By tomorrow, Hansen’s hammers might fall below one.

And the next day brought a curious sight: not a single laborer worked Hansen’s land. Discontent had dropped—i.e., spiked—to 6. Hansen had refused to keep paying the extra bonuses. Once the outcome looked clear, he paid only the originally promised amount, and the farmers, feeling deceived, grew enraged. Hansen’s production fell to zero.

‘So when discontent breaks 5 and crowd psychology flips to anger, this is what happens.’

Duke Remitri read the comparative report on Louis and Hansen.

‘Louis. You have grown.’

Hansen had seemed a tough opponent, but Louis overcame him well. Hansen’s sabotage ended with the canal; beyond that, nothing—because Louis’s mercenaries kept vigilant watch.

Deprived of his forte, Hansen resorted to the straight path, which laid his weakness bare, and in the end he inflicted near-ruin on himself.

Thus ended Remitri’s evaluation of Hansen. Louis’s growth, by contrast, was admirable. Hansen had done his best—his perfectly timed strike on the canal proved as much. It was Louis’s counter that was astonishing.

‘…Proia. I will entrust it to you again.’

Louis smiled at the glowing Civilization System. Remitri had said nothing yet, but the quest’s reaction meant the outcome was decided—his post as governor of Proia reinstated.

His remaining points returned to 105.

He could invest again. The crossroads began now: save a bit more for the next tech, or unlock a Social Policy in Honor or Commerce.