After the war, the already aging castle now stood in ruins, its walls scarred by time and battle. Everywhere, there were scattered limbs and dark red stains of blood. White-clad soldiers moved back and forth, tending to the wounded, putting out fires, and burning the dead.
General Audode, flanked by his retinue, rode into the castle of the heathens. Having just secured a great victory, he was in high spirits, occasionally bursting into loud laughter with those around him. Upon his arrival, the castle's inhabitants hurriedly rose to pay their respects.
Audode casually nodded in acknowledgment before turning to the quartermaster. "What did we gain from this battle?" he asked.
The quartermaster hesitated, his face troubled. Slowly, he spoke, "The heathens burned all the stores and weaponry. Only a small quantity of weapons and some documents remain. The only valuable find is…"
"Only what?" Audode's voice grew sharp.
"Only a handful of heathen women and children we found in the dungeons," the quartermaster replied quietly.
"Then dispose of them. We can't afford to waste food on them," Audode ordered, indifferent.
"General, we've lost many men in this campaign. These women and children could be sold as slaves to make up for the losses!" Efrede, standing nearby, quickly interjected. He cast a subtle glance at Otto before continuing, "I know Baron Mike Bai needs a lot of help on his estate. He'd probably be willing to buy these heathen captives."
"Then it's settled," Audode waved dismissively. "Two days' rest. After the castle is burned down, we return to the knights' base."
Ten days later, at the estate, Otto looked somewhat uneasy as he addressed Mike Bai. "These 100 or so people... they won't cause you too much trouble, will they?"
To Otto's surprise, Mike Bai laughed heartily. "Why would they, Uncle? I've been struggling to find workers, and you've just solved that problem for me."
"Come, Uncle! I'll show you my new windmill wool workshop!"
Mike Bai eagerly led Otto to a towering windmill at the edge of the estate. The massive windmill groaned and creaked as its four large blades spun violently in the desert wind, the sound of gears turning echoing in the air.
"These five giant windmills, although they require daily oiling and their efficiency isn't very high, provide a steady power source for our wool workshop."
Before Otto could fully grasp the sight before him, Mike Bai eagerly pulled him into a nearby building. Inside, a large wooden vat stood, surrounded by five wooden mallets suspended on rotating axles.
"Here is the wool-washing workshop," Mike Bai explained. "We place the wool in the vat, and the wind-powered mallets beat it. It's far more efficient than relying on human labor."
"Next is the wool-combing workshop," he continued, "where the washed wool is compressed and combed using wind-driven rollers. This produces large quantities of coarse yarn."
"Afterward, we have the spinning workshop. For now, we're still using these hand-powered spinning wheels, but it gets the job done."
"Finally, the dyeing workshop. The wind-driven mixers ensure that the wool threads are evenly dyed in the vats. I've also mastered a few dyes: madder for red, indigo for blue, and yellow from the weld plant. I can even manage small amounts of purple dye." Mike Bai's face beamed with pride. "I've calculated it — our production efficiency is at least eight times that of other workshops, and it requires far fewer workers."
Otto stared in awe at the wind-powered machinery. The fierce desert winds were converted into a powerful energy source, making the metal gears hum as they spun endlessly, driving the mechanical systems into simple, but effective, motion. Despite the simple structure of the machines, Otto was deeply impressed.
"Did you learn all this from a book?" Otto asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Yes, there's a book that describes techniques from a mysterious eastern kingdom," Mike Bai answered, his tone suddenly serious. "Though for now, I only plan to sell dyed yarn, after deducting costs, I estimate we'll make at least 400 gold nomis in profit every month."
Otto was taken aback. A small, impoverished barony like his might only see 300 gold nomis a year. The business acumen of his nephew left him speechless.
"Oh, and there's another windmill workshop for grinding and sifting flour," Mike Bai added, as he opened a nearby jar to reveal fine, pure flour. "We'll only need a few people to manage the mill, and it'll produce fine flour nonstop. No more hard black bread that could break your teeth!"
Otto laughed with genuine happiness, watching his nephew. Mike Bai smiled in return, proud of his achievements.
At that moment, William approached, saying that a batch of slaves had arrived, escorted by the knights and were waiting at the estate gate. Mike Bai stood up and, along with Otto, headed toward the gate.
On the way, Mike Bai recalled what he thought a typical slave owner should look like. He stiffened his posture, trying to appear menacing, thinking he might intimidate the slaves into fearing him.
But when Mike Bai saw the group of slaves, all his pretense melted away.
The slaves were mostly women and young children. Their faces were expressionless, their bodies gaunt and thin from days of travel and starvation, only being given one meal a day. A young boy, no older than ten, looked up at Otto, dressed in his knights' cloak, and began to sob quietly, his mother hurriedly covering his mouth.
The pitiful sight softened Mike Bai's heart, and instead of chastising the slaves, he sighed.
"Let's eat first."
Since the estate had only a small staff, Mike Bai had stocked up on white flour. He generously ordered a piece of soft white bread and a bowl of meat soup for each person.
The slaves, who had been eating hard, stale black bread for years, were overwhelmed by the sudden gift of warm, soft white bread. They dropped to their knees, singing praises of Mike Bai's kindness.
Although Mike Bai couldn't understand the words, the gratitude in their eyes filled him with a profound sense of satisfaction. Feeling content, Mike Bai decided to join them, sitting on the ground as a village woman brought him a plate as well.
At first, the slaves hesitated, unsure, but the tempting scent of the food and Mike Bai's encouragement finally broke their restraint. The sounds of eager, hungry eating filled the air, punctuated by murmurs of thanks to God and Mike Bai.
Mike Bai, watching them, took a deep breath and remarked, "Why do people always fight one another?"
Looking at the confused expression of the village woman, Mike Bai realized she didn't understand his words. He waved it off, gesturing for her to sit beside him.
As he glanced over at William and the guards keeping watch, then back at the slaves, still celebrating over their white bread, Mike Bai sighed deeply. He recalled his uncle's words about the cruelty of the world.
"Look at that little girl, Adila. She didn't do anything wrong. The Assassins killed her family just to poison the water, and the knights sold her into slavery. This cursed era... it's already hard enough to survive, but people still kill one another."
He continued, "One windmill could help everyone eat white bread, yet people are always trying to steal from their neighbors, from merchants, from heathens. If only we could all work together, we could get through this."
Mike Bai's thoughts turned inward, remembering his past life, a world where things seemed so different.
"Religion is supposed to guide people toward good, right? Why does it teach followers to slaughter those who don't believe in the same thing? Faith should be personal, as long as it doesn't hurt others, who cares what someone believes?" Mike Bai sighed again, recalling his visit to the holy lands.
"I mean, there's a kingdom where people work hard and not only have enough to eat, but live comfortably. They have affordable spices, sugar, and salt. Every weekend, they can rest, go shopping, buy the dresses they like... And..." Mike Bai trailed off, catching himself. He smiled wryly. "Why am I saying all this?"
Meanwhile, the seemingly ordinary village woman, listening to Mike Bai's soliloquy, found herself deeply moved by his words, her mind in turmoil.
That evening, as Mike Bai slept soundly in his room, a cold, eerie voice suddenly echoed through the silence.
"Mike Bai."
"Don't mess around!" Mike Bai groggily turned over, dismissing the voice as a dream.
"Mike Bai." The voice came again, more insistent.
This time, Mike Bai woke up, bewildered, realizing he was alone in the room.
"Ghost?" Before he could scream, a delicate hand pressed firmly over his mouth.
"I just want to ask you a few questions. Nod if you understand."
Terrified for his life, Mike Bai nodded quickly. The hand withdrew into the darkness.
"You said you would lead your people to have enough to eat and wear warmth?" The voice asked coldly.
"Uh, that's easy," Mike Bai scratched his head, despite the overwhelming darkness around him. "Though I'm only nine, I've read many books. I can easily make sure everyone has enough food."
The shadow seemed to buy his answer.
"You also said you believe people should be free to choose their faith, right?"
Mike Bai, now suspecting the identity of the voice, hesitated for a moment before replying, "As long as a person abides by the law and doesn't interfere with others, they should be free to believe whatever they want."
"And lastly," the voice asked, "you said you want to create a better kingdom. Is that true?"
Mike Bai was stunned. He thought for a moment, then cautiously answered, "I don't know if I can do it, but I want to try."
The candlelight in the room flared up, casting long shadows. A figure knelt before him, its left hand resting on its chest.
"Then, I, Hassan of the Mountain Elders, swear my allegiance to you."