The moment Amber finished speaking, Gawain turned sharply to stare at her, his gaze intense enough to make the half-elf thief squirm. "What… what's with that look?" she muttered, uncomfortable.
His eyes were fixed on her as if she were some alien creature. "How is it that *you* know a druid?"
"Why shouldn't I know a druid!" Amber retorted, hands on her hips. "I'm at least half-elf, remember? All druidic paths originated from elven traditions. Haven't you heard of that?"
If any other elf with pointy ears had said that, it might have made sense, but coming from this "disgrace to elves," it sounded far-fetched. Gawain scrutinized the defiant thief and could only mutter, "Is this one of those situations where you stole something from them, got caught, and now they're hunting you down?"
"You're insulting my character!" Amber leaped up, outraged. "Like I'd ever get caught stealing!"
Gawain: "…"
Somehow, her defense didn't sit quite right.
Despite his skepticism, Gawain had to admit that Amber seemed sincere about knowing a druid. And, in her typical sales-pitch style, she added, "Let me tell you, the druid I know isn't just any druid; he's a scholarly type! Knows a bit of everything, belongs to the *Heart of the Woods*—a solid druidic order. He's an expert with plants and animals. Totally reliable."
Gawain finally accepted that she might genuinely know someone useful, though he refrained from asking too many questions about her relationship with this mysterious druid. For now, details like the druid's identity and backstory could wait. After her pitch, he only asked two questions: "Can you contact him now? And if you can, how long would it take to bring him here?"
"Getting in touch is the easy part. I know his usual area; it's not far from the Southlands," Amber replied, her eyes signaling something to Gawain. "I could shadow-dash there quickly enough, but getting back with him will depend on our *transportation* options. You get what I'm saying, right?"
Gawain understood her hint and, after a playful pause, handed her a few copper coins. "Here—buy yourself a new pair of shoes."
Amber scowled at him. "That's it? And you know you'll need a deposit to pay him, right? Even with an introduction, druids expect some kind of commission fee!"
"Fine, you should have just said so," Gawain chuckled, enjoying the sight of her darting about. He dug into his pocket and handed her several small, finely cut strips of gold and silver. "This should do. Get the job done, and whatever you don't use, keep."
Amber's eyes lit up as she accepted the shimmering treasures.
Since they hadn't yet established a mint, the idea of "Cecil Currency" was still a concept. To facilitate trade, Gawain had temporarily ordered craftsmen to shape the stored gold and silver into manageable pieces for transactions. This practice wasn't unusual. Precious metals themselves were a form of currency, and in a world with a simple, medieval economy, gold and silver of a certain purity served directly as money. Coins mainly existed for convenience in handling, verification, and counting.
Merchants also accepted raw gold and silver, though it required more work to assess the weight and purity, often leading to a slight markup on prices. But if the nobility's "currency credibility" ever came under threat and the mixing of inferior metals became common enough to deter merchants, raw gold and silver chunks would eventually gain the upper hand over minted coins, becoming the preferred medium of exchange. In such a case, using official currency might even carry a surcharge.
That was why the god of commerce was symbolized by scales, with an iron snip on one side and an eye on the other. The snip and scales were tools of the trade, with the former for cutting gold and silver into pieces and the latter for weighing. The eye, of course, represented the discerning gaze of a shrewd merchant.
If Gawain hadn't been so fixated on creating aesthetically pleasing and distinctive coins, he could have opted for a cruder approach to currency—casting gold and silver into cylindrical bars, cutting them into thin slices, and stamping them with Cecil's insignia.
Back in Year 536 of Ansu, the Western Duke used a similar approach, issuing quick-and-dirty stamped currency known as "the miser's toll money." According to Western law at the time, merchants entering the region had to exchange a third of their money for this currency, and it was the only form of payment accepted at the gates.
Such was the curious state of currency and economy in this world.
Amber departed happily, practically skipping away with her new-found wealth. Watching her leave, Hety couldn't help voicing her concern. "She wouldn't run off with the money, would she?"
"Embezzle the funds?" Gawain muttered, imagining Amber pulling such a stunt. He sighed—there probably wasn't anyone else in the camp who claimed to know a druid.
After Amber left, Gawain turned his attention back to the land-clearing project.
Norris, the old farmer, waited quietly with his head down. He neither fidgeted like many other peasants might nor looked around idly. He simply waited for Gawain to speak.
"Are there any issues with the land?" Gawain asked. "Anything that could cause trouble later, better to mention it now."
"Well," Norris began, "the land sits a bit higher than the riverbank. It'd be hard to channel water directly from the river, so we'll either need to dig a canal from upstream or drill a well. The elevation does have its advantages though—if there's a flood, the fields won't be at risk of being washed out."
Irrigation… It would be easy if they had a water pump or some mechanical means of lifting the water, or even if they could employ a local "specialist" like a water-elemental mage.
But that option was clearly unrealistic. As things progressed, Hety's responsibilities would only increase, leaving her no time to act as a "human water pump." And hiring a full-time mage just to irrigate fields was too extravagant—even the noble houses of the Violet Kingdom in the north or the elves in the south wouldn't think of such an indulgence.
For Gawain, wasting manpower on such labor was unthinkable. So he dismissed the mage solution and began to consider the mechanical possibilities.
"Have any of you heard of a 'waterwheel'?" he asked.
The blank stares from Hety, Norris, and Sir Philip told him the answer was no.
"Do you have paper and a pen?" he asked Hety.
Once he had the materials, Gawain began sketching a basic design.
He drew a large wheel with spokes, showing tilted scoops and wooden paddles along its edge, and on one side of the wheel, he drew an extension channel for the water to flow through.
Since time was short, he only sketched the rough outline, but the concept was simple. "This is a waterwheel. As the river flows, it pushes these paddles, making the wheel rotate. The wheel lifts water into the scoops, which then empty into this channel, raising the water to a higher elevation. The height depends on the wheel's size—build it as high as you need, as long as the materials can support it."
He added, "Of course, this is just a basic design. The principle is simple enough, but there are other models…"
Hety was speechless, entranced by the elegant simplicity of the mechanism. Just a quick look told her that this machine could work wonders. But before seeing this sketch, she'd never imagined such a device could exist—a device that worked without human or magical force, running endlessly on natural energy alone. She saw an unexpected beauty in this rough, primitive machine.
"This would be easier if we had bamboo," Gawain murmured to himself.
"Sorry, what was that?" Hety asked, not quite hearing him.
"Nothing," he waved her off. "Any other thoughts about this design?"
Just as Hety was about to praise it, Norris picked up a pen and began sketching on a blank sheet. "Building it directly in the river will make it vulnerable to the water level. During droughts, it might stop working. We could dig a side channel so that it has a steady supply…"
Noticing the silence, Norris paused, suddenly realizing he'd overstepped. He dropped the pen, stepping back in alarm. "My lord, I was only—"
To his surprise, Gawain asked, "You can write?"