Chapter 135

“Now then, this here is a contract.”

Flap, flap.

Lloyd waved his hand. The papers in his grasp fluttered for all to see.

Naturally, the eyes of the refugees followed the movement of the documents.

He continued speaking.

“What kind of contract is it, you ask? Well, I won’t beat around the bush. I’ll tell you straight. It’s a ‘Participation Application for the Eastern Mountain Range Terraced Farmland Reclamation Project.’”

“……”

Terraced farmland… what?

The name was long and complicated.

Most of the refugees tilted their heads.

A faint smile tugged at Lloyd’s lips.

“Let’s just call it the ‘Reclamation Project Participation Application.’”

“……”

Ah.

So they were going to develop farmland.

And he had brought a stack of applications for them to fill out.

But why?

The refugees glanced at one another in confusion.

Lloyd went on unfazed.

“I brought these for all of you. Why? Because you need to settle down. You shouldn’t live your entire lives in cramped refugee camps. Even if you move into apartments later, you’ll still need your own land to work, to earn, and to live like human beings again, won’t you?”

“……”

“I’m sure none of you wish to keep living as you are now.”

Lloyd’s words dropped like small pebbles into their hearts, sending ripples through them.

Every refugee thought the same thing.

He was right.

They had all been thinking the same thing themselves.

They were tired of living like beggars.

‘I… wasn’t meant to live like this.’

That was the honest feeling surfacing in their hearts.

They had lost their homes and lands.

Refugees in name — beggars in reality.

People who could only survive by relying on the charity of the Frontera Estate.

Their future seemed bleak.

And it stung their pride.

Because most of them had not lived like this before.

Among them were former landowners who had once possessed wide fields.

Farmers who had tilled the soil with their families.
Woodcutters, shepherds, and craftsmen.

Even tenant farmers — humble yet hardworking fathers who had earned their living through sweat and effort.

They had never lived as beggars dependent on handouts.

Nor did any of them want to continue living that way.

‘Of course not. That’s human nature.’

Lloyd thought to himself.

Even if they had to toil under the sun, better to live in one’s own home than in a communal tent.

Better to live with one’s family than with faceless strangers.

To live as a person once more — that was an ordinary, rightful desire.

‘I was the same.’

His mind drifted back to his days in Korea.

To the time right after he had lost both his parents and his home.

It had been the most miserable period of his life.

‘I had nowhere to go.’

At first, he’d stayed at friends’ apartments, relying on their kindness.

But that couldn’t last forever.

His friends said it was fine, but he couldn’t bear the guilt.

He didn’t want to keep leeching off them.

So he left.

He stayed in the university club room for a while.

But that was even worse.

‘The awkwardness was unbearable.’

So he worked part-time.

Saved up what little he could.

And moved into a small study dorm.

It was uncomfortable, but his heart was lighter.

‘I needed a space that was mine, even if small. These people must feel the same way.’

A place where they didn’t have to feel like freeloaders.
Where their pride wouldn’t be trampled.

That was surely what they wanted.

Lloyd planned to turn that very desire into the driving force of his development plan.

This was the purpose behind the reclamation project he was now announcing.

“It’s simple to explain. Participate in the reclamation work. Those who work diligently will be granted a parcel of land when it’s done. In other words, you’ll gain farmland to settle on. This document is simply our written promise of that.”

Flap!

He waved the contract again.

Before the murmurs could die down, he swiftly set up a signing table.

“Alright, it’s first come, first served! If you’re late, all the positions might be taken!”

That one line was all it took.

First come, first served — the magical phrase that stirred people anywhere, anytime.

The refugees began to approach one by one.

“Excuse me, if I sign this, I can work?”

“Of course.”

“What kind of work will we do?”

“You’ll be helping build terraced fields.”

“Construction work, you mean…?”

“Digging. Shoveling. Carrying dirt. Ever used a shovel before?”

“Yes, I have. I’ve worked the earth all my life.”

“Perfect. You’re exactly the kind of capable man I’m looking for.”

“R-really?”

“Of course. Now sign here.”

“Yes, sir.”

That was one.

“Um… can women work too?”

“Of course. In labor, there’s no such thing as men’s or women’s work.”

“Then I’ll join.”

“And your husband?”

“He hurt his back.”

“I see. You’ve had a rough time. Sign here.”

That made two.

“My brothers and I will all participate!”

“Oh, that’s a problem.”

“Eh? Why?”

“Only one person per household. As you can see, we expect an overwhelming number of applicants.”

“Oh…”

“Were you hoping that if all your brothers worked, you’d get more land?”

“Yes…”

“Forget that. But look at it this way — you can take turns. It’ll be less tiring for each of you, and you’ll still have a chance to earn land. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”

“……”

“You don’t like it?”

“N-no! We’ll do it.”

“Okay, then sign here.”

That made three.

Then five.

Ten. A hundred.

Hundreds turned into thousands.

The application forms filled up quickly with names.

And the smile on Lloyd’s face grew broader with each signature.

‘Good. The response is great. Everything’s going smoothly.’

He had inherited these refugees anyway.

Eventually, they’d become his residents.

Now he could legally, voluntarily, and beneficially mobilize them for the reclamation project.

“You mean you came to the camp just to get these contracts signed?”

“Of course.”

They were on their way back from the refugee camp.

Javier, carrying the box full of contracts, shot him a look.

Lloyd just shrugged.

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch, right?”

“……”

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? You think I’m shameless or something?”

“Not at all. It’s just—”

“Just?”

“I suddenly realized how fortunate it is that you were born in the countryside.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lloyd turned to him.

Javier smiled faintly.

“If you’d been born in the capital, you’d have made a splendid con artist of a politician.”

“……”

“Or a sycophantic court flatterer.”

“……”

“Or perhaps a legendary swindler who ruled the back alleys with nothing but his silver tongue.”

“Hey, do I really look like that kind of guy to you?”

“Yes.”

“Even before today?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I’m just being honest.”

Javier smiled.

Then he added something Lloyd didn’t expect.

“It’s a relief that you use that crafty brain of yours for good. And… thank you.”

“……”

“Why that face?”

“I’m just deciding whether that was an insult or a compliment.”

“An insult, of course.”

“I figured.”

“Aren’t you going to get mad?”

“Nah. I missed the timing. Getting mad late just looks lame.”

“It was actually a compliment.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Truly?”

“Should I shed a tear of gratitude, then?”

“Please don’t. That would be horrifying.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

Lloyd chuckled.

The two of them walked side by side.

And they both thought the same thing.

A house once crushed under debt.
A humble rural domain with nothing to boast of.

And yet, it had grown this much.

How much had they changed?

Had they become better people than before?

Neither Lloyd nor Javier knew the answer.

♣

The next morning came.

Lloyd began the full preparations for the reclamation project.

The first step, as always, was surveying.

‘Phew. The slope’s steeper than I thought.’

At dawn, he passed the coal mine and climbed toward the base of the Eastern Mountains.

The land to be transformed into fields through reclamation.

He carefully examined the slope, soil, and drainage.

‘It’ll be tricky, but this is still the best spot.’

Some might ask why he insisted on developing the mountainside.

Wasn’t there other land?

Wasn’t there plenty of flat, empty space?

But the truth was, there wasn’t much room left for large-scale farmland in Frontera.

‘The south’s already developed — that’s the Marez reclamation area. The west? Not part of our estate. Even as a countship, we can’t touch land outside our borders. That’s Her Majesty’s territory.’

To develop that would be political suicide.

It might even be seen as rebellion.

‘No need to invite that kind of trouble. That leaves the north, but the land there is useless for farming.’

He’d once considered it.

But when the apartment construction began, he gave up.

The soil was far too poor.

‘Completely unfit for crops. Only weeds can survive there.’

So the only option left was the eastern mountainside.

It was fertile.

Decades of fallen leaves and rich humus had accumulated there.

Once cleared and leveled, it would make excellent farmland.

And though technically outside his territory, it wasn’t royal land either.

It wasn’t under anyone’s jurisdiction.

If successful, the development would even count as expanding the kingdom’s borders — a nice little bonus.

‘Yes, this is perfect. I’ll save the leftover patches of land inside the estate for future use.’

Those small empty lots between villages — they were reserved for residential expansion or future commercial zones.

To touch them now would be to sabotage the estate’s future growth.

Lloyd kept that modern city-planner’s vision in mind as he continued surveying.

Once the survey was complete, it was time to decide on construction methods.

For several days, Lloyd locked himself in his room, poring over the data.

‘Retaining walls — that’s the key to this reclamation.’

They were cutting into a steep mountainside to make farmland.

Naturally, the design resembled the terraced fields found in Southeast Asia.

But he didn’t know enough about those to replicate them.

‘I’ll just do it my own way. Think of it as large-scale continuous retaining wall construction.’

Retaining walls — common, but never simple.

Whether in the city hills or along highways, they held back tons of soil and rock.

‘They look simple, but they’re not. A slight design flaw, or a construction error — and the whole thing collapses before you can react.’

When that happened, roads vanished.
Homes were buried.
Landslides followed.

That was why retaining walls required precision and planning.

‘Still, I can do this. I’ll use my design skills.’

Each terrace of the massive farmland would need its own vertical retaining wall.

Lloyd decided to build them using a ‘gabion wall’ structure.

‘Perfect for this situation.’

If you’ve ever seen a mountainside wrapped in wire mesh filled with rocks, that’s what it is.

Those walls with “Caution: Falling Rocks” signs on highways.

That was a gabion wall.

‘They’re simpler to build. You just make wire frames and fill them with coarse stones.’

At first, he’d considered standard concrete walls.

But he quickly abandoned the idea for two reasons.

‘It’s winter. The cold will cause freezing and thawing — the concrete won’t cure properly. And Bangul needs a break. She’s been overusing her volcanic explosion skill for all that apartment construction.’

Bangul was exhausted.

Pushing her more could injure her.

‘No way. She needs rest, or she’ll burn out.’

Even heroes needed to pass gas in moderation.

So Lloyd faced a new problem.

‘But even for gabion walls, I need the right material for the wire mesh.’

That was the issue.

‘Wire? No, can’t — Bangul needs rest. Rebar? None left. Rope? Too weak, degrades in sunlight.’

He frowned deeply.

No solution came to mind.

‘Even if I somehow got wire, I’d have to galvanize it. Otherwise it’d rust. And when it rusts? It breaks, the wall collapses, families fall apart, society crumbles—no, can’t have that.’

Technically, galvanizing would solve it.

But it was expensive.

Even with royal funds, his budget was tight.

‘So galvanizing is a last resort. I need a cheaper, durable alternative.’

And so began his deep espresso-like contemplation.

A material tough, cheap, corrosion-resistant, and stable — to replace wire.

‘Think. Come on, think.’

A day passed. Then two.

Three, four.

And still, no answer.

He barely ate, his brow constantly furrowed.

Even his familiars grew worried.

Finally—

“Ppodong? Ppodong?”

Unable to stand it, Ppodong took the lead.

The little creature chirped advice toward the brooding Lloyd.

“Ppodong! Ppododong? Ppodong!”

“…What? You’re suggesting I summon a new friend?”

“Ppodong!”

Ppodong nodded eagerly.

Lloyd, resting his chin on the desk, turned his head lazily.

“You mean, do a random summon for a new familiar?”

“Ppodong!”

“As in, hope I get one that can produce a good material for the wire mesh?”

“Ppododong!”

“Hm, I’m not sure about that.”

“Ppodong?”

“It’s random, isn’t it? No one knows what’ll come out.”

“Ppododong?”

“What are the odds of getting exactly what I want? Doesn’t seem likely.”

It was true.

Random summons were, well, random.

“Luck’s been on my side so far, but that won’t last forever.”

He chuckled.

Ppodong, Bangul, even Hamang — all of them had been lucky draws, he believed.

But then—

Bangul, who’d been watching silently, suddenly spoke up.

“Bangul! Babangul, Bangul!”

“…What? That’s not true?”

“Bangul!”

She nodded firmly.

Then the other familiars joined in.

“Hamang! Hamang, Hamang!”
“Ppodong! Ppododong!”
“Bangul!”

The three stood side by side, offering their collective advice.

As Lloyd listened, his eyes widened.

“…What? There’s a special way to influence the results of a random summon?”

(T/N: Im not sure if this was explained in the manhwa but I’m glad it will be in this novel. )
(T/N: Also, starting next week it will be 5 chapters per week instead of 2! )