The Necro-Industrial Revolution

Jack spent the next few hours pushing his skeletons deeper into the muddy second layer of the trench, but he found nothing of actual value. They encountered a few more of the carnivorous plant monsters—some slightly different in shape and size—and Jack systematically commanded his undead skeletons to slaughter them all. Yet, despite exploring the vast, dark expanse until his actual head started pounding, he couldn’t find a path leading further down.

By now, it was the dead of night. Mental fatigue was gnawing at Jack’s focus. Controlling three skeletons simultaneously in combat was draining, and he knew it was time to call it off.

Instead of dragging the skeletons all the way back up to the surface, Jack marched them back to the steep path connecting the first and second layers. He positioned them safely on the incline. Bringing them up just to walk them back down tomorrow would be a waste of time. More importantly, leaving them down in the deep mud could lead to them being ambushed and eaten by roaming plant monsters while he was disconnected. Even though he had over eighty skeletons back in the crypt, a loss was still a loss, and Jack hated wasting resources.

Once they were safely positioned on the path, Jack severed the mental threads. He opened his eyes, let out a long breath into the night air, and returned to the castle with Elias walking silently by his side.

Over the next few days, Jack fell into a routine. Every evening after managing the village, he returned to the trench to explore. For days, he found nothing but more mud.

But finally, on the fourth night, he found it: a narrow, treacherous sinkhole leading down to a third layer.

Jack excitedly marched his skeletons toward the descent, but the moment they breached the threshold of the third layer, his vision failed him. It was a darkness so absolute, so suffocating, that even his passive undead night vision couldn’t pierce it. It felt like staring into a void. Jack quickly realized that his Iron Core Layer 1 simply wasn’t powerful enough to process the magical density of the abyss below.

I’ll have to stop here, Jack thought, frustrated but pragmatic. Maybe when I break through to Bronze Core, or maybe to Silver Core, my senses will be sharp enough to explore the rest of this place.

Finally, the morning of the new law implementation arrived.

The courtyard of the Frost Grip castle was packed once again. Every villager, including the former slaves who were now officially recognized as members of the fief, stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting anxiously in the morning chill.

Jack stood on the castle steps, addressing the crowd with a clear, authoritative voice.

“Starting today, the old way of doing things is dead,” Jack declared. “There will be no more free food rations from the castle. From this day forward, you will be paid for your labor, and you will buy your own necessities.”

Nervous whispers broke out, but Jack quickly raised his hand.

“Listen closely. A normal family in the northern region can survive comfortably on five silver pieces a month. But in this valley, I am instituting a minimum wage. If you work your assigned jobs, you will be paid six silvers and five coppers every month, at the very least.”

A collective gasp echoed through the courtyard. Six silvers and five coppers? In the poorest parts of the continent, some peasants broke their backs for barely a single silver piece a month. This was a fortune.

“However, there is a condition,” Jack continued, his tone turning strict. “You will be given a specific quota or a required amount of work based on the complexity of your job. The time limit given to you will be entirely reasonable. But, if you slack off, if you fail to finish your tasks on time, you will not receive the full amount. You will only be paid proportionally for the work you actually completed. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, My Lord!” the crowd echoed, their anxiety instantly replaced by fierce motivation.

“Furthermore,” Jack added, “salaries are not permanently fixed. The base wage is six silvers and five coppers, but the maximum wage is currently set at eight silvers. Right now, only four people in this entire valley have earned that wage.”

Jack pointed to the side. “Giles and Barnaby, who act as my foremen, head carpenter, and head blacksmith. And the two engineers, Corin and our weapons specialist, who will be overseeing the most complex and dangerous construction projects. They earn the most because their work requires the highest level of skill and responsibility. If you want to earn eight silvers, learn a trade, show initiative, and prove your worth!”

Some might have seen it as discrimination, but Jack knew human nature. Seeing a few people earn more for specialized skills would light a fire under the rest of them to work harder as well.

Stolen novel; please report.

After concluding the assembly in his own valley, Jack didn’t waste a second. He gathered his entourage: Giles, Corin, a carriage driver, and this time, both of his fully armored mages—Elias and Sylvia, the Wind Mage. They piled into the carriage and set off for Alaric Vance’s fief.

When they arrived, Jack gathered the Vance villagers in their central square and announced the exact same wage law.

The reaction here was like a storm. While the people of Alaric’s fief were used to earning a little bit of money from their textile trades, they had never even dreamed of earning this much, this consistently. But unlike Jack’s people, the Vance villagers were deeply suspicious. Why is a rival noble offering us so much money? they whispered among themselves. It took Jack nearly an hour of answering questions and making firm promises to finally get them on board.

With the general laws established, Jack got to work on specifics. He sought out the elder of the village, a man in his late sixties, who effectively ran the local textile trade. He was the one who had taught most of the village how to weave the fiber crops into ropes and sacks.

Jack sat down with him outside a weaving hut. “I want you to teach your weaving techniques to a group of my villagers,” Jack requested plainly.

The old man frowned, crossing his arms defensively. “I respectfully decline, My Lord.”

“I am willing to pay you an extra teaching fee,” Jack offered.

“It’s not about the money,” the old man grunted. “You nobles are all the same. You might act better than Lord Alaric, but you only have control here for two years. You just want to steal our livelihood, take the skills back to your own valley, and leave us to rot when the treaty expires.”

No matter how Jack tried to reason with him, the elder flatly refused.

Jack sat back, thinking. He couldn’t force the man; forced labor yielded terrible craftsmanship. He needed an incentive.

“Alright, Elder, listen to this,” Jack finally said, leaning forward. “I am going to build a massive, fully equipped textile mill right here in this village. Better looms, better drying racks, proper stone foundations. I will make you the Head Manager of this mill. And once you pay back the construction costs through the mill’s profits, you will become the sole owner of the building.”

The old man’s eyes widened, his stubborn facade cracking.

“But,” Jack raised a finger, “in return, you must teach my villagers your skills, and you must hire them as official workers in your mill and pay them proper salaries out of your profits. Deal?”

The elder stared at Jack for a long moment, realizing this wasn’t a trick to steal their trade, but more like an investment. Slowly, a weathered smile broke across his face. “Deal, My Lord.”

Next, Jack moved on to the farmers tending the fiber crops by the river. Since Jack’s fief had significantly more arable land, he wanted to maximize production.

He spent time talking with them, learning the basics of how the crop was sown, watered, and harvested. However, the details were highly specific, and Jack knew he wasn’t an agricultural expert. I’ll send the Old Miller and a few of my his farm hands down here later this week to get the proper details, Jack decided.

When Jack asked where they sourced their seeds, the farmers explained they bought them from passing merchant caravans, but only in small batches as they didn’t have the land to grow more. Buying seeds in bulk from the regional market was incredibly difficult and heavily overpriced.

I’ll just wait and place a massive bulk order with the autumn caravan when they arrive, Jack concluded.

Finally, Jack summoned Corin and the local carpenters of the Vance fief.

Jack presented them with the blueprints for the winter cabins. He planned to build a set of these insulated homes here in Alaric’s territory as well. Just like back home, he would offer them to the villagers at an incredibly cheap rent until they could buy them. Here, he planned to make the rent even lower than in his own valley—a political move to rapidly build trust and let these suspicious people physically experience the benefits of his leadership.

Corin stepped up, explaining the construction methods to the local carpenters. But a major hurdle immediately presented itself.

“My Lord, we don’t have a forest here,” one of the local carpenters pointed out. “We only have a few scrub trees. To build these cabins, we’d have to buy lumber from the market, which will cost a fortune.”

Jack frowned. Buying lumber would drain his funds too quickly. “Alright, we will transport the timber down from my fief. It will take longer and slow the construction schedule, but it will be highly cost-efficient.” To manage the logistics, Jack ordered the total number of planned cabins for this village to be slightly decreased.

Notably, Jack completely scrapped the idea of building hexagonal palisade walls around Alaric’s village.

He didn’t have the capital to fund two massive fortress walls simultaneously without halting his other projects. Furthermore, Jack was only building the walls in his own fief to keep the Church Mages out during the winter beast tides, ensuring they didn’t wander around and execute him for the heresy of practicing Necromancy. Alaric’s village didn’t have a Necromancer hiding. They could easily rely on the standard Guild Mages for winter protection, just like they always had.

By the time all the meetings, negotiations, and planning were finished, the sun was beginning to set.

Jack and his entourage climbed back into the carriage, rolling back into the Frost Grip courtyard just as evening fell over the valley.

As everyone stepped down from the carriage, Jack turned to them. “You all did excellent work today. The foundation is set. Get some rest; you are dismissed.”

As Giles and the driver walked away, Jack called out. “Corin. Hold on.”

The engineer turned back. “Yes, My Lord?”

“Be here at the keep tomorrow morning, first thing,” Jack said, a glint of anticipation in his eyes. “I have another very important project I need to discuss with you.”

“Understood, My Lord,” Corin bowed before heading off toward his quarters.

Jack walked into the castle, his muscles aching and his brain practically fried from the sheer amount of talking and negotiating he had done. He joined Karen in the dining hall for dinner. The simple meal of roasted meat and vegetables tasted like a royal feast after the exhausting day.

Without a word, Jack dragged himself to his bedchambers. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep instantly, the world fading to black.

All in all it was an extremely exhausting day.