Translator: Cinder Translations
...
Large, newly cleared fields stretched out in orderly square plots across the plains, filled with wheat that was now in its green phase. The whole landscape looked lush and green. A wide gray-white road cut straight through this seemingly endless expanse of green, stretching northward.
The road was meticulously constructed, with bright white stones lining the surface, and young trees planted on both sides.
A carriage slowly approached from the south, with the driver leisurely puffing on a pipe and blowing out smoke rings from time to time. He held the reins in one hand, his head turning left and right as he admired the scenery around him.
"Unbelievable, just a few years ago, this was a vast, desolate forest," the driver sighed in amazement.
The driver was a tall, burly man with rosy cheeks and high cheekbones, his thick stubble extending from his chin to his ears. He wore a blue, single-breasted, high-collared coat over a white shirt, white riding pants, and black boots—clearly identifying him as a member of the Alden military.
The thick linen coat had epaulets stitched on the shoulders with yellow thread forming a bar and two stars, indicating that the man held the rank of lieutenant.
"Whoa there, whoa," the driver gently tugged on the reins, bringing the carriage to a slow halt by the roadside.
A woman's voice came from inside the carriage. "Why did we stop, Boris?"
Boris Markalov jumped down from the carriage and responded, "Just taking a quick bathroom break, dear!"
He strolled to the roadside, looking for a place to relieve himself. He noticed a group of farmers digging a drainage ditch beside the road in the distance. The ditch served both to drain the road and to irrigate the nearby crops.
Finding no better cover, since the saplings were still too small, Boris jumped into the ditch, quickly doing his business. Satisfied, he returned to the road and glanced at the distant farmers who had paused for a break.
Stomping his feet on the road and jumping a few times, he remarked, "This road is solid, really well built!"
Squatting down, he brushed aside the pebbles on the surface, revealing the yellow-gray soil beneath. He recognized that the roadbed was made of a mixture known as "mortar"—a combination of lime, clay, and fine sand, an invention of Earl Grayman, often used in military fortifications.
The woman in the carriage window called out again, "Boris, hurry up! We don't want to travel by night!"
"Don't worry, dear, we have plenty of time. Why don't you step out for some fresh air while I go chat with the workers? We're going to be living here soon, so it's good to get to know the locals."
With that, Boris approached the group of farmers.
Seeing the unfamiliar man approaching, the farmers turned their attention to him, noticing his military attire.
"Hey, relax, fellas!" Boris waved.
As soon as they realized he was a soldier, they straightened up respectfully. Due to the policies of Alden Town, soldiers of the Alden army, from officers to common soldiers, held great prestige, comparable to the knights of old.
In addition, the army didn't discriminate based on background; even children of serfs could enlist. Once enlisted, their entire family would immediately gain their freedom.
In the past, being freed wasn't always a good thing, as it could lead to poverty, but now, gaining freedom through military service was different. Their honorable lord, Earl Grayman, would grant them fertile land, seeds, and iron tools. If lucky, they could even use large machinery like harvesters and threshers if there was a nearby farming cooperative.
If they chose to leave their ancestral villages, they could be assigned to new-style farms, where they would learn to operate machines and work with livestock. Though they were still farming, they earned a monthly wage like factory workers, sometimes in grain.
In short, enlisting brought many benefits, and during each recruitment season, countless families awaited the arrival of a thin enlistment notice.
Markalov quickly gained their respect. Though they didn't understand the stripes and stars on his epaulets, they knew to show respect.
"Sir..." they greeted hesitantly.
"I'm no 'sir,' you can just call me Lieutenant Markalov."
"Hello, Lieutenant Markalov."
The lieutenant asked, "Are you digging ditches as part of your labor service?"
"Oh, thank the Lord of Light!" one farmer said, touching his forehead. "There's no more forced labor; it was abolished before the last festival. Now, when we work for the lord, we get paid."
"Yes," another farmer agreed. "We're just doing some side work during the off-season. If you keep heading down this road, you'll see more people digging."
Markalov replied seriously, "Thank Earl Grayman for his kindness! I've never heard of a lord paying his people for labor."
"We've got a good one," the farmers said earnestly. "May the Father of Heaven bless him with a long life."
Someone asked, "So, Lieutenant Markalov, what brings you to our town?"
Markalov smiled. "Is this the road to Northview Town?"
"Yes," they confirmed. "We're residents of Northview. Your carriage should reach the town in just over an hour."
"Ah, great!" Markalov said happily. "I'll be living in Northview soon too, so let me call you neighbors in advance."
"A soldier? We're honored. But aren't soldiers supposed to be in the barracks?" the farmers asked, welcoming him but also curious.
Patting himself, Markalov explained, "I'm now in the reserves and have been assigned to serve as the principal of Northview's public school."
"Oh, the place where kids learn to read!"
The farmers nodded in recognition and stretched out their hands.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Markalov."
(End of the Chapter)
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