Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World
Chapter 453: The Principal Takes Office

Chapter 453: The Principal Takes Office

Expansive newly cultivated farmlands, arranged in regular blocks, lay tightly packed across the plains. The fields were brimming with wheat, now in its reviving green phase, making the entire plain appear lush and verdant.

A broad, grey and white road cut straight through this seemingly boundless green expanse, extending directly north.

The road was meticulously constructed, its surface covered with shiny white pebbles, and saplings planted along both sides.

A carriage slowly approached from the south end of the road. The coachman, leisurely puffing on his pipe, occasionally blew a ring of smoke.

Holding the reins in one hand, he turned his head left and right, admiring the surrounding scenery.

“Incredible, this place was a scarcely trodden forest just a few years ago,” the coachman marveled.

He was a tall, robust man with a ruddy complexion, high cheekbones, and a thick stubble stretching from his chin to his ears.

The man was dressed in a blue, stand-collar, single-breasted coat, a white shirt underneath, and white riding breeches, finished with black, knee-high boots.

This attire identified him as a member of the Alda military.

His coat, made from thick linen, bore epaulettes with tassels on the shoulders – a symbol of rank in the Alda military. His epaulettes were embroidered with a bar and two stars in yellow silk thread, indicating his rank as a lieutenant.

“Giddy up, giddy up,” the coachman gently shook the reins, bringing the carriage to a stop by the roadside.

A woman’s voice came from inside the carriage, “What’s the matter, Boris? Why have we stopped?”

Boris Makarov hopped down from the carriage, replying, “My dear, I need to relieve myself!”

He strolled to the roadside, looking for a concealed spot since he noticed a group of men, dressed like farmers, digging a drainage ditch near the road. These ditches not only drained the road but also irrigated the nearby fields.

Not finding a suitable place, as the saplings were too small, he opted to jump down into the roadside ditch – this side of the road was deserted, giving him privacy.

After relieving himself and rebuttoning his trousers, he returned to the road and glanced at the distant workers, now taking a break.

Makarov stamped his feet on the ground and even jumped a few times.

“Not bad, the road is quite solid!” he exclaimed.

He crouched down, brushing aside the pebbles to reveal the hard, yellow-grey soil. Recognizing the road base made of what he knew as “mortar” – an invention of Count Grayman, made by mixing lime, clay, and fine sand in specific proportions. The military often used this material for constructing defensive works.

A woman’s face appeared at the carriage window, calling out, “Boris, hurry up and get back on. I don’t want to travel at night.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear, we have plenty of time. Why don’t you come out for some fresh air? I’ll go talk to those fellows working over there. We’re going to be living here, so we should get to know the locals.”

After saying this, Makarov walked towards the group digging the ditch.

The farmers, seeing an unfamiliar figure approaching, focused their attention on the newcomer.

“Hey, fellas, no need to be nervous,” he greeted them with a wave.

They realized that he was dressed as a military man.

The group became respectfully attentive. Due to a series of pro-military policies in Lakeheart Town, Alda military personnel, from officers to soldiers, commanded high esteem on lands governed by the Administration Council, comparable to the erstwhile status of knights. 𝐑𝘼ＮỗᛒÈ𝙨

Moreover, the army did not discriminate based on background. Even children from serf families could enlist, and upon doing so, their entire family would immediately regain their freedom.

In the past, regaining freedom wasn’t necessarily a good thing, as a person with nothing might quickly become a beggar.

However, now, gaining freedom through military service was different. Their respected lord — Count Grayman — would allocate fertile land to these families, provide them with seeds and iron farming tools, and if they were lucky enough to live near an agricultural society, they might also get the chance to use large machinery like harvesters and threshers.

If they were willing to leave the villages where their families had lived for generations, they would be assigned to work in a new type of estate — or rather, a farm. Although they would still be farming, they needed to learn how to operate large machinery like harvesters, care for mules, horses, and oxen, and the harvest would belong to the farm. They would be paid a monthly wage, similar to factory workers, sometimes in the form of grain.

In short, enlisting in the army brought endless benefits, and each year, during the recruitment season, countless families eagerly awaited the thin draft notice.

Makarov instantly earned the group’s respect. Although they didn’t understand what the two stars and a bar on his epaulette represented, they knew respect was due.

“My lord…” they said cautiously.

“I am no lord; you may call me Lieutenant Makarov.”

“Good day, Lieutenant Makarov.”

The lieutenant asked, “Are you digging these ditches as part of corvée labor?”

“Oh, thanks to the Lord of Light!” one of the farmers said, hand to his forehead. “Corvée labor has been abolished since the last Day of Descent. Now, working for the lord earns us money from the officials.”

“Yes,” another farmer added, “we’re just earning some extra money during the agricultural off-season. If you continue along this road, you’ll see several groups digging ditches.”

Makarov spoke earnestly, “Thank Count Grayman! Thank his kindness! I have never heard of a lord who pays his subjects for their work.”

“We have a good lord,” the farmers sincerely said. “May the original Father bless him with a long life.”

Someone asked, “So, Lieutenant Makarov, what brings you to our area?”

Makarov smiled, “Is this road leading to the town of Northern Hope?”

“Yes.” He received a positive response, with someone adding, “We are residents of Northern Hope. If you follow this road for another hour or so, you should reach it.”

“Ah, that’s great.” Makarov replied cheerfully, “I, too, will soon become a resident of Northern Hope. Allow me to call you — my neighbors in advance.”

“A military man? We are honored. But aren’t soldiers supposed to be in the barracks…” The farmers welcomed him but also expressed their confusion.

Patting himself, Makarov continued, “I have been transferred to the reserves and, as per my superiors’ orders, I will be assuming the position of principal at the public school in Northern Hope town.”

“Oh! The place where kids learn to read and write.”

The farmers acknowledged, extending their hands, “Welcome, Lieutenant Makarov.”

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