Amber's mouth was, as usual, teetering between "slightly annoying" and "extremely irritating." Normally, Gawain would have already grabbed his sword and chased her out for her snarky comments. But today, he didn't feel like bantering.
Because, for once, he was genuinely in a good mood.
He even felt inclined to discuss something serious with her. "Do you realize how valuable that magic array is?"
"Valuable? How valuable?" Amber blinked. To be fair, the half-elf had enough self-awareness to admit that when it came to magical expertise, she was in no way knowledgeable. So she confessed without a hint of embarrassment, "I can't even tell how many types of magic symbols are on that thing, so how would I know its value?"
Gawain nearly choked, but he had lived through the Information Age in his previous life, and had seen his share of peculiarities. He quickly composed himself. "Let me put it another way: if magic could become something that everyone could use, or at least 'borrow'—how valuable do you think such a technology would be?"
Amber was dumbfounded. After half a minute, she managed to stammer, "Are you saying… that magic array could turn everyone into a mage? Have you been spending too much time in the sun?"
Ignoring her skeptical tone, Gawain shook his head, smiling. "It won't make everyone a mage, but it could allow anyone to access the supernatural. I suspect even Hety hasn't fully realized the array's true significance. It's more than just 'a clumsy spellcaster assembling a large array with basic runes.' The real breakthrough lies in its 'general usability, accessibility, and simplicity.'
"In order to let his magically untalented daughter receive mana, that wild mage created a self-charging array capable of providing steady, adjustable mana output to any power-consuming unit. Before this, no mage had even considered such an idea. All the great mages handled that process themselves."
Amber struggled to follow Gawain's logic. "But if those great mages can effortlessly control mana on their own, isn't that way better than needing a massive array to achieve the same thing?"
Gawain looked her in the eyes. "A mountain gorilla can crush a bear's skull with its bare hands, but a human needs a warhammer to achieve the same. Which do you think is more powerful?"
Amber blinked, speechless.
Gawain let her ponder his words, walking to the tent entrance. The treasure left behind by the unnamed wild mage included not only the magic array but a wealth of research notes. As a "weaker" individual severely limited in spellcasting abilities, he had been forced to rely on calculation and innovative ideas to compensate for his limitations. His notes were filled with groundbreaking concepts, so advanced that even Gawain was stunned upon first seeing them. He could hardly believe that a man from a medieval society could conceive such ideas.
Automatic operation, standardized transmission interfaces, "user-friendly" external controls, geometric rune patterns, and simplified formulas…
Without the perspective of someone from another world, most of these "struggles of the weak" would likely be dismissed as useless in this one. After all, any mid-tier mage could simply bypass these processes using advanced magical techniques. They had never considered making magic accessible to those lacking talent or potential.
While it was impressive for the mighty mages to wield fire and lightning with ease, Gawain believed that magic truly ascended when it was transformed from a gift based on individual talent to a tool usable by everyone. The day that an unremarkable mage made magic into a tool, breaking it free from individual talent, was the day magic became truly transcendent—a club in every person's hand.
Just as humans once strapped stones to sticks to create crude warhammers that could kill beasts many times their size, this was a leap forward.
But sadly, in this world of hundreds of years, humans were still making warhammers.
Gawain felt it was time to add a rocket booster to that hammer…
Leaving aside Rebecca, who was clutching the original magic array blueprint like a precious relic as she figured out how to install it, Cecil Territory's reclamation efforts formally commenced on the third day after the arrival of new workers.
No matter how grand his plans involving steel mills and rocket-boosted power hammers, Gawain knew he had to address the immediate concern of food security. Survival depended on filling bellies.
They had purchased ample food in Tanzan Town, and the king had also pledged to supply food and clothing for the first few years. But these were only stopgap measures. Sustainable survival meant self-sufficiency. While they could trade ore for grain from nearby lords, Gawain, being a Chinese pioneer at heart, had an instinctive need for food security.
Clearing fields! Planting crops! How could they possibly rest before tilling ten acres? How could they claim a stable foothold without a vegetable patch?
Since ancient times, the measure of stability and growth had always been rooted in cultivated land.
However, Gawain knew that in a world of supernatural forces, there was much to learn. After seeing how people here could smelt iron with straw as fuel, who could say if piling manure would be as effective as the local methods?
Arriving at the clearing, Gawain found the work still in its early stages. Rebecca had been here yesterday, casting Fireballs to clear away the weeds and shrubs, a perfect burn-off. Today, the serfs began tilling the land, mixing the fertile ash into the soil and clearing rocks.
He was pleased to see that the division system he had implemented was working well. Large signs were staked every hundred paces across the clearing, dividing it into uniform plots. Laborers worked within these plots, while others moved between them, preparing to dig irrigation channels.
Nearby, a temporary shelter had been erected, where Hety and a few others were recording progress and managing the distribution and return of tools. Meals for the laborers were also prepared here, with cooking stoves set up.
The workers had grown accustomed to Gawain's presence. This "strangely hands-on noble" often wandered the busy worksites, chatting with the laborers. Initially, his presence had made many people nervous, but by now…
They were still nervous, but much less anxious. Especially after Gawain kept his promises—those who worked hard ate well, and the most diligent even had meat. The peasants and serfs were beginning to trust their honorable new lord.
Gawain strolled through the bustling scene, arriving at the wooden shelter at the edge of the fields. Beside Hety stood a dark-skinned farmer, discussing something earnestly, with Sir Philip guarding them.
With his nearly two-meter-tall frame, Gawain's presence was hard to miss. As he approached, Hety looked up and stood, and the farmer turned around as well. Realizing it was the lord, he quickly bowed. "My lord…"
"No need to be nervous," Gawain waved a hand dismissively. "I'm just here to see how things are going."
He turned his gaze to the farmer, who was in deep conversation with Hety. "Are you an expert on farming?"
In the common language of Loren, the words "expert" and "scholar" were interchangeable. Hearing himself referred to in this way, the farmer's eyes widened as he nervously waved his hands. "Oh no, I'm just a farmer… I'm nothing compared to the learned folk…"
"This is Norris," Hety introduced him. "He's one of the farmers here, very skilled in his craft. I needed some advice on reclamation and crop management, so I sought him out."
Gawain looked Norris up and down. He was the epitome of a medieval farmer: dark-skinned, lean, with large, calloused hands and feet. His face bore a humble expression, and he appeared to be around forty or fifty, perhaps older.
But Gawain couldn't be certain of his true age. Hard labor and malnutrition caused most commoners in Loren to age prematurely.
Although humans in this world, under healthy conditions, could live longer than those on Earth—with the average noble lifespan reaching 100 to 150 years without magical interference—over 90% of the population lived in poor health. Many laborers appeared elderly before even reaching thirty.
The peasants on Cecil's land were at least adequately fed, allowing them to live longer than their counterparts in other territories. However, the toll of hard labor still brought premature aging.
Under Gawain's gaze, Norris shifted uneasily, a modest smile on his face.
Yet something about that humble smile made Gawain pause.
How long had it been since he had seen a smile on the face of a poor commoner in this world?