Chapter 27 : Chapter 27
Chapter 27.
The construction of the “Heart of Winter” Industrial Park was in full swing, with the foundation of the blast furnace already laid and rows of simple workshops rising from the ground.
Logaris West walked through the construction site accompanied by Aaron.
His footsteps stopped on a patch of muddy ground.
More than a dozen children were gathered there. The oldest was no more than ten, and the youngest might have been only five or six. They were playing the most primitive game imaginable—throwing mud at each other.
Their bodies were wrapped in ragged clothing, their faces and hands covered in grime. In the early winter wind, their noses ran from the cold, yet they still laughed loudly.
These were all the workers’ children.
Their parents labored on the construction site, sweating tirelessly, while the children were left here unattended.
Logaris looked at them without saying a word.
Aaron followed his gaze and explained, “Her Highness has already ordered temporary housing to be built for the workers in the residential area, along with a public cafeteria. But these children… they are too young to work, so they can only spend their time like this.”
Logaris' brows drew together.
He remembered the line written in the Book of Prophecy.
“The one who will overturn the world.”
He did not know who that person would be, but he knew one thing clearly— a Northern Territory filled with illiterate people would never overturn anything.
Instead, it would only be overturned by the world.
That night, in the study of the Duke’s residence.
“I want to establish the first public school in the Northern Territory.”
Logaris placed a simple proposal on the desk in front of Sylvia and spoke directly.
Sylvia picked up the document.
Her silver-gray pupils reflected the title written on it.
“Preliminary Concept for Foundational Education in the Northern Territory.”
She skimmed through it quickly. The content was straightforward: provide free basic education for all children in the Northern Territory between the ages of six and sixteen.
Grayson, the chief financial officer standing nearby, only glanced at the title before his eyelids twitched.
“Logaris,” Sylvia said as she set down the proposal and lightly tapped the desk with her fingers, “I understand your idea. But this will require a large sum of money—a continuous and sustained investment.”
Grayson immediately stepped forward and added, “Your Highness, according to the most conservative estimates, if we want to cover all school-age children in Winter City alone, we will need at least fifty teachers, hundreds of desks and chairs, and enormous quantities of paper and ink. The initial funding alone will be significant. Moreover, after we spend that money… we will gain nothing in return.”
Grayson’s analysis was realistic.
In the Astrelia Kingdom, education had always been a privilege reserved for the powerful and wealthy. It was an investment meant to exchange knowledge for higher status and greater wealth.
Providing free education to the poor?
It sounded like a joke.
“A return?” Logaris repeated calmly.
“Chief Steward Grayson, let me ask you something. How many people are required to maintain one of the Magitech Armors we are currently manufacturing?”
Grayson froze for a moment. The question seemed to leap too far ahead. He instinctively glanced at Sylvia for help.
Logaris answered his own question.
“The answer is at least thirty literate workers who can read a basic maintenance manual, plus one engineer who understands the principles of magitech. Otherwise, that war machine worth three thousand Golden Lion Coins is nothing more than a pile of scrap metal.”
He turned toward Sylvia.
“How long does it take to cultivate a qualified magitech engineer?”
“Ten years,” Sylvia replied. “At least ten years of systematic study and practice.”
“What we must do now is sow seeds in this barren land of the Northern Territory. Ten years from now, we will harvest tens of thousands of literate workers, thousands of craftsmen, and perhaps even hundreds of engineers. What we harvest will be the future of the entire Northern Territory.”
Logaris stepped forward and leaned slightly over the desk toward Sylvia.
“Your Highness, this is the cheapest investment—and also the most priceless one.”
The study fell into silence.
In Sylvia’s mind, memories of her classrooms at Saint Arcadia Academy appeared, followed by the dull and ignorant faces of the people she had seen throughout the Northern Territory.
Knowledge had once been the capital that allowed her to look down upon the masses.
Yet now, Logaris intended to distribute that power to the very people she had once disdained.
After a moment, she raised her head.
“Grayson.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Allocate another five hundred thousand Golden Lion Coins from the confiscated assets as the starting fund for education.”
Grayson wanted to say something, but when he saw the expression on Sylvia’s face—one that brooked no argument—he ultimately lowered his head.
“As you command, Your Highness.”
Sylvia looked at Logaris.
“This school will be called the ‘Northern Territory Enlightenment School.’ You will serve as its first honorary principal.”
Three days later, a public notice was posted throughout every street and alley of Winter City.
The Duke’s residence issued a decree establishing the “Northern Territory Enlightenment School.” It would provide free education in literacy, arithmetic, and basic natural sciences to all children between the ages of six and sixteen in the entire city.
Not only was tuition completely free, but a free lunch would also be provided each day.
When the news spread, the entire Winter City began discussing it.
However, the expected scene of universal celebration never appeared.
In the lower district, packed like “pigeon cages,” the reaction was surprisingly cold.
“Free school? And they even give a meal? Since when does something like that exist?” a man who had just finished work said skeptically.
“It’s true! I saw the notice myself!”
“So what? My boy is eight this year. Every day he helps at the docks picking up fallen coal chunks, and he can earn two copper coins a day. If he goes to school, who is going to give me those two copper coins?”
“Exactly! What’s the use of literacy? Can it be eaten? It would be better to become an apprentice early and learn a proper trade.”
The beliefs of most commoners were deeply ingrained.
Children were family property, future laborers, and the guarantee for their parents’ old age.
Letting them stop working to pursue vague things called “knowledge” seemed, in their view, like a complete loss.
On the first day the registration office opened, it was nearly empty.
Only a handful of people arrived, bringing their children along with hearts full of suspicion and a faint thread of hope.
Josen was almost the first to rush to the registration office.
He tightly held his son Jory’s hand, trembling with excitement.
When he personally saw the official mark a check beside Jory’s name and hand him a wooden enrollment token, this sturdy man—who could carry hundreds of pounds on the construction site without changing expression—felt his eyes turn red.
“Dad… I can really go to school now?” Jory asked quietly, clutching the rough wooden token.
“Yes, Jory,” Josen said as he crouched down. “You can go to school now. Do what you believe is right.”
But the joy of the father and son was only a tiny spark in this cold city.
Greater resistance came from those who believed their foundations were being threatened.
Inside an upscale tavern, several well-dressed old nobles and officials were gathered together.
Leading them was the cousin of the Chief Justice Herman, a fat man who managed part of the city’s real estate.
He drained a glass of Moonlight Wine in one gulp and slammed the cup onto the table.
“This is madness! What does that woman think she is doing? Teaching the children of those mud-footed peasants to read?” he shouted in a low, furious voice. “My grandfather always said that when the lowborn learn to read, chaos follows! If they all become literate, who will farm our land? Who will dig our mines? Who will serve as humble servants?”
“Exactly! This is shaking the very foundation of our rule!” another man echoed. “Once they gain knowledge, they will develop thoughts they should never have! This is digging our own graves!”
“We cannot sit and wait for disaster. Lord Herman is already making moves in the royal capital. We cannot simply stand by!”
At the same time, another force—far more silent yet far more powerful—also made its move.
A plain black carriage stopped before the gates of the Duke’s residence.
A middle-aged man stepped out. He wore a gray priest’s robe, his expression gentle, and a silver cross emblem of the Holy Church hung on his chest.
Sylvia received him in the reception hall.
“Good day, respected Princess Sylvia,” the priest said as he performed a standard greeting of the Holy Church. His voice was as gentle as a spring breeze. “I am an acolyte of the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother’s Hymn. I have come on the orders of the bishop to pay a visit.”
“What guidance do you have for me, Acolyte?” Sylvia asked calmly.
“I would not dare claim to offer guidance,” the acolyte replied with a smile. “We have merely heard that Your Highness is implementing benevolent policies in the Northern Territory by establishing free schools and enlightening the masses. We are deeply impressed.”
His tone then shifted slightly.
“However, Your Highness, educating the populace and spreading knowledge has always been a right and responsibility granted by the divine to the church. Throughout the Northern Territory, we have church schools that guide lost lambs to understand the greatness of God, learn basic literacy, and experience the glory of the Lord.”
He raised his head.
Within his gentle gaze, there was now something else.
“If secular authority interferes too deeply in the domain of the divine… I fear it may affect the people’s devotion to God.”