Those working in the camp quickly noticed that the "ancestor" from seven centuries past was indeed a peculiar individual.
The peasants and serfs had little to say about the shift in Cecil's leadership from Miss Rebecca to Lord Gawain. In this era, the lower classes were content as long as they could eat to their fill most days and were grateful for their lord's generosity and wisdom. The identity of the lord himself was a matter of little importance to them.
To them, the only thing worth discussing after Gawain became the lord were the strange rules introduced by this "ancient one."
The notion that serfs could ascend to the rank of freemen and that freemen could receive pay for their labor was taken with limited credence by most, who saw it as a generous gesture from the new lord. They assumed that these promises would be fulfilled in some particularly strict or shrewd manner: perhaps only one or two serfs would become freemen, or perhaps a few lucky workers would be paid, though their pay would likely be token amounts meant to show that the lord had kept his word.
But the peasants and serfs were not inclined to complain; after all, a lord who liked to show his generosity was preferable to one who asserted his authority through a whip.
Besides, they could always hope for a small benefit here or there, right?
What truly baffled them, however, were the so-called "rules and regulations" that Gawain had implemented.
Dividing them into workgroups, enforcing group competition, recording their work output, and conducting "evaluations"—such practices were unheard of.
Some secretly speculated on which part of these new rules might be the precursor to future taxes (even though the Cecil domain was currently so impoverished that no one could afford to pay any taxes), while others mused that perhaps the new lord's intricate methods of organizing labor were an eccentricity of the great nobles of antiquity…
Regardless, certain aspects directly affecting their daily lives were clear enough to understand. In the daily work assessments, the group in first place would get meat to eat, while the second and third groups could fill themselves with bread soaked in meat broth.
Those who completed their work satisfactorily received plain soup and black bread, although both were in ample supply.
But for those who drank the plain soup while watching others eat stew on the first day, the experience wasn't one they wanted to repeat.
Whether or not the outlandish promises of promotion and wages would come true, at least the lord had already proven that the promise of meat was real.
So on the second day, Heidi witnessed an unprecedented sight of diligent labor in the camp. Peasants and serfs alike threw themselves into their work with a fervor she had never seen before.
No overseer was needed; they completed their tasks quickly. And because they were organized into groups rather than working alone, they began unconsciously to coordinate with each other, further boosting efficiency.
Those appointed as group leaders quickly realized that if they wanted to eat meat, the only way was to improve the efficiency of the entire group, ensuring everyone could earn that meal. And those who used force or cunning to gain their position as leader soon found themselves replaced.
Instead of using whips to drive them, Gawain had incentivized them with competition and reward—a truly astonishing approach.
With the tents all set up, Rebecca led a small team to survey the nearby wasteland. Early in the morning, the logging team set off to the western headwaters of the Whitewater River to start chopping down trees.
By noon, the first batch of logs was floating downstream to a broad, calm section of the river. To prevent the logs from drifting away, Heidi handed over the inspection duties to Knight Byron and made her way to the riverbank to assist.
At the appointed time, the first batch of timber appeared, tied into rafts with thick ropes. Larger logs were placed on the bottom and smaller ones haphazardly on top, forming a mass that looked like a clump of deadwood floating on the river. Two nervous peasants stood atop the raft, using long poles to steer it along the river's now placid flow.
Soon, the peasants saw the raft moving steadily towards the shallows, as a large, translucent hand materialized by the side of the raft, gently yet firmly guiding it to the shore. One of the peasants yelped in surprise, but his companion quickly rapped him on the head with a pole and pointed to Lady Heidi standing on the shore.
Working together with their lady, they steered the raft to the shore, grounding it on the sandy bank.
Immediately, those waiting onshore swarmed forward to untie the ropes and haul the logs, preparing to turn them into planks for the camp's construction.
Ordinarily, the wood would need drying, insect-proofing, and various treatments before becoming durable planks. But given the temporary nature of many of the camp's facilities, they couldn't afford to be so meticulous.
Standing behind Heidi, Gawain mused, "Magic really is convenient…"
The voice startled Heidi, causing her to nearly fall off a rock, but Gawain grabbed her just in time.
"I'm… I'm sorry!" she stammered in apology, flustered. "I didn't realize you were behind me…"
"It's me who startled you," Gawain said, unconcerned. "By the way, that was a nice bit of magic just now."
Heidi blushed slightly. "The Hand of Shaping is a basic spell. I practiced a metamagic technique to extend its duration, allowing me to keep pushing for longer. Even heavy rafts can be guided to shore this way, as long as the water's not too fast."
Although Gawain was a knight, the demands of frontier life had turned everyone into something of a naturalist. He understood a little about magic theory, enough to appreciate that pushing a simple Hand of Shaping spell to this level of utility—and specifically training in metamagic techniques—was no easy feat and rather uncommon.
"I… don't have much natural talent for magic…" Heidi admitted, her face growing more sheepish. "I awakened an affinity for magic at a young age, but my mental strength develops slowly, and I struggle with complex spell models. So I've only reached the third level as a mage, and this may be as far as I get. I can only keep strengthening the basic spells over and over."
"Rebecca doesn't seem particularly talented in magic, either," Gawain remarked, recalling his stubborn great-great-great-granddaughter and her four variations of fireball spells.
"Her magic power is abundant, and her mental strength is strong, but she faces challenges similar to mine when constructing spell models, perhaps even worse…" Heidi's head drooped. "She can only master a single fireball spell or a bigger fireball with a similar model. She tries hard, aware of her limitations as both a lord and a mage. Though she seems carefree, she works quietly, knowing her struggles. But alas, limitations in talent are hard barriers to overcome."
Softly, she added, "That's why I was so moved when I found that wild mage's notes… He wasn't an exception. This sort of thing is common among struggling mages—those whose abilities to construct spell models don't keep pace with their theoretical knowledge, leaving them as low-level practitioners for life. For pragmatic mages, knowledge they can't turn into spells is worth nothing…"
"That's not true," Gawain interrupted.
Heidi looked momentarily confused. "What do you mean?"
"If casting a fireball or an ice arrow is the only measure of a mage's practicality, then there's little difference between a staff-wielding mage and a club-wielding monkey," Gawain shook his head. "Formulas are not zeroes; they are the one that comes before countless zeroes. You just haven't found where to place the decimal point."
"I… I don't quite understand. If formulas can't be used to construct spell models, then what's the use of all that theory? Can you even win a fight with it?"
"One day, you'll understand that 'winning a fight' isn't the sole criterion for evaluating mages. It shouldn't even be the primary one," Gawain chuckled. "I've sent a rider to Tanzan Town to instruct Knight Philip to buy some extra supplies. By the time the main team arrives, you'll have a magic lab set up."
"A magic lab?" Heidi looked at him in surprise, then frowned. "But those items are costly, and at this stage…"
"I took some mithril ingots from the mountain vault. They aren't coinage, so they don't need to be reminted, and they'll serve as currency when purchasing magic tools. It's enough to set up a basic setup for you. I know your old lab in the castle was destroyed, but we need a new one as soon as possible."
Heidi recalled Gawain's previous assignments for her. "Understood. Once the resonator crystals arrive, I'll start making copies of the rune diagrams you requested."
Heidi couldn't help but smile. Though she felt reluctant to part with the mithril ingots, the prospect of having her own magic lab again thrilled her.
After all, as the saying goes, "What's there to fret about when you're spending the old man's treasure?"
For Gawain, setting aside a bit of the ancestral fortune for his descendants' "pocket money" was no issue—though the phrase suited the serious, mature Heidi less than it did Rebecca, who'd likely use the lab to perfect her fireball technique.
With these thoughts in mind, Gawain returned to his tent to examine a few unusual crystals.