12 (4)

Ding.

Louis thought it was some kind of warning and read the notice. But it wasn’t a warning at all. It was a phenomenon even Louis had never seen before. According to the description, the population concentration had triggered a random chance event—a fixed period called a Golden Age. When he checked the added details, even Louis had to click his tongue. +1 Food across all regions—meaning every farm across the entire territory of Louis’s 11 cities would receive +1 Food for six months. And the half-upkeep effect was a bonus.

Just the Colosseum’s upkeep dropping sharply was enough to pull him out of deficit. On top of that, the stall fees and taxes from the merchants flooding in flipped the books into surplus almost instantly.

‘I’ve been undervaluing religion more than I realized…’

As if mocking Louis—who usually just bribed priests and was stingy about building religious structures—the changes brought by the Pope’s visit were too fast to track with the naked eye. Even Beiherobo, the bridgehead city ruled by House Batenberg and famous for the highest immigration in the Duchy of Eron, had likely never experienced anything like this.

‘Damn. I need to check the city interface.’

Louis opened the city interface. His enormous territory appeared as a map, each section divided into puzzle-like tiles—and every tile currently under cultivation had gained one more green dot marking Food. And Pontina, where Louis lived and where the population concentration had started, was even crazier: the farmlands near the Hanging Gardens of Babylon received an additional +2, turning into numbers you could only call divine.

The only downside was that the Hanging Gardens’ support applied only to the closest plots, even within Pontina. But Pontina already occupied fertile land alongside a river—good enough to support the whole territory. In other words, it was already an agricultural powerhouse. Even before, the wheat output was Food +4. And if you looked only at the five best plots now producing the most—those lands were sitting at Food +6 for the next six months.

At this rate, wheat production would explode. If he didn’t prepare now, he could end up with grain rotting in storage—a ridiculous “problem” to have. It was the perfect window: feed all 11 cities and still have surplus to stockpile or sell.

‘My timetable just moved up.’

Louis planned to build up the treasury to the limit, then either launch a rebellion or found a separate country. Even his territory could no longer be called “small”—it was mid-sized. If he founded a country now, it would still be a tiny nation, but stepping beyond the title of Duke was the direction he intended to take.

“Jordan.”

“Bring me every architect you can find nearby.”

“How many should I recruit?”

“All of them.”

“…All of them? Understood.”

Louis judged that the infrastructure needed before the Pope arrived was massive. The more valuable the place looked, the more money it pulled in. This was the moment to leverage the opportunity and build overwhelming infrastructure and housing at speed.

“And while you’re at it, bring Sweet Harris back here.”

“Sweet Harris’s confinement should last at least a few years, in my opinion.”

Louis understood Jordan’s intent, but he needed Harris’s administrative talent. An Administration rating like that was irreplaceable among Louis’s officials. And Harris’s pedigree was impeccable—high nobility. Louis could hunt talent with his own methods, but he didn’t have time to personally scour the world right now.

Sweet Harris swallowed hard as he answered the summons. He had watched what happened after his confinement with his own eyes. Louis wasn’t just a war prodigy—his domestic governance was almost unnatural. Staring out at the packed streets, he muttered honestly without meaning to.

“I wonder how far he’s going to grow.”

The domain he’d dreamed of his entire life was spread out before him. Was this real? No matter how many times he asked himself, the world didn’t change.

It was real.

Louis’s structures. The flood of people. The Pope’s visit.

Only now did Harris truly understand: none of this was “luck.” You could only resist someone if they were beatable. What Louis was showing was the founding Duke of Valpur’s ability to wage war—plus the domestic governance no one in House Pontina had ever possessed. A complete vessel.

He wouldn’t stop here. He would keep expanding.

But the terrifying part was this: there might no longer be a place for Harris—or House Sweet—inside the prosperity that was coming. One misjudgment, and House Sweet’s key posts had been stripped away. Harris himself didn’t know whether he’d die, or spend the rest of his life confined at home.

“Come with us now, Count Harris.”

“……How do you think Duke Louis is feeling?”

The thought kept gnawing at him—Louis might erase him to match the new, booming city. The assassination of old powerholders in conquered cities was infamous. To citizens, Louis was a savior. To nobles, he could be merciless.

“I don’t know. It’s implicitly forbidden to speak lightly of Duke Louis… but if I had to guess, he looked as he always does—pushing forward a mountain of work.”

“Then my fate, and House Sweet’s fate, rests in the hands of God.”

Escorted by Louis’s soldiers, Sweet Harris arrived at the central plaza. Walking there, he couldn’t take his eyes off the city’s energy. He’d heard reports—he understood the situation in theory—but seeing it was a different world. He couldn’t even step freely; the streets were packed. Construction was everywhere. Buildings were being torn down to widen roads. In the distance, part of the wall was being demolished.

And then Harris saw it: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, a structure he had never seen in his life. Crowds were being held back; people were cheering someone with desperate fervor.

At the center of it all—receiving reports while the surrounding buildings were cleared away—stood Pontina Louis himself.

“Duke Louis. I came as summoned.”

Louis had been receiving updates from Hector—the man overseeing the demolition—before he finally turned his attention to Harris.

“I can read every thought on your face, Sweet Harris.”

“I’m ashamed. There hasn’t been a single night I slept properly while reflecting on my mistakes.”

“Hm. I left you alive because I know what you did wasn’t simply spite toward me. If we’d sent the food I ordered under normal Pontina production, the core domain would have starved.”

“I realized how shallow my judgment was. I can only apologize again.”

There were countless eyes on them—nobles from everywhere included. They recognized Sweet Harris immediately and began whispering.

“Sweet Harris—the one who got pushed out of power recently.”

“I heard he was dead. If he’s alive, it seems Duke Louis showed mercy. But why call him here?”

Most citizens knew Harris too. When Louis had been away, Harris had handled many matters as a high-ranking noble. And the story of House Sweet being purged from power right after Louis’s return had spread through taverns like spilled wine.

In that atmosphere, Louis stared at Harris with cold clarity. He desperately needed capable administrators for the expanding construction projects—but he had no intention of looking desperate.

“I’ll be direct. Do you want to be restored?”

That single sentence carried enough force to silence hundreds of citizens at once.

After a long pause, Sweet Harris finally spoke.

“I’ll be honest as well. I’m furious at myself for how foolish I was—for failing to judge the depth of Duke Louis’s character. But I don’t want to dodge responsibility for what I’ve done. If you order me to take my own life here, I will. However… if you’re willing to restore us, then please grant my son one more chance. He’s talented. More than me, he can do much for Duke Louis. I’ve grown old and failed to see the flow of change. My prejudice—and my rushed judgment—ruined my fate.”

Louis had met Harris’s son before—during the removals. His son’s ability hadn’t been impressive then. But hearing Harris now, it sounded like he’d steeled himself.

Sweet Harris dropped to his knees and waited.

Work across the plaza had stopped. The people—citizens and nobles alike—kept silent, but their excitement was visible. Every eye was locked on Louis.

“I’ll give House Sweet one final chance. Show me results—and I’ll decide what happens to you after that. Understood?”

Sweet Harris, sweating so much it was pitiful, heard Louis’s voice and burst into tears without meaning to. He had been certain his house was finished—yet Louis gave him another chance.

Louis, on the other hand, smiled inwardly at Harris’s reaction. He knew from past experience how politically hard and stubborn this man was. For Harris to break like this meant Louis had risen far beyond what even Louis himself fully grasped.

And perhaps the moment looked dramatic, because the crowd began to cheer. Louis understood that letting this play out in the open created stability in the political sphere—so even if chance had played a part, he didn’t stop it.

Louis took Sweet Harris out to Pontina’s agricultural zone—specifically to show him the Food +6 plots. Harris could hardly be unfamiliar with this region; it had once been his responsibility. The climate was good to begin with, but the sight of wheat rising dense across the wide fields was enough to shock him.

“This… this is impossible.”

It was the first thing Sweet Harris said after seeing the Food +6 land.

“It’s possible now.”

Louis replied as if laying down a verdict.

“Has a miracle truly happened? I can’t believe it. In my life—no, even digging through records from my ancestors—there has never been wheat output like this…”

“Enough gawking. It’s time to show me what you promised, Sweet Harris. I’m giving you this region back. But the difficulty of managing it has risen beyond comparison. You understand what that means.”

“At this level, we’ll have surplus wheat.”

“Exactly. You’ll handle the sales routes perfectly. That will decide your future.”

Sweet Harris’s face was stiff—but this was… doable.

Louis, knowing Harris’s capability from the interface, didn’t feel even a sliver of worry.