“You three; Erasthmus, Joycle, and…Lukin, yes, Lukin. I remember that the three of you had the most decent handwriting amongst everyone here,” the young prince said.

“I want you to rewrite the citizen profiles; tabulate their names, ages, gender, and profession; bind it into a singular book; make five copies of said book; and oh, arrange everything in alphabetical and numerical order. Got that?”

The three learned peasants who were called out blankly stared at the prince.

“His highness asked you for a reply,” Baron Helm forcefully repeated. His large eyes pierced into the three peasants.

The three peasants hurriedly nodded their heads.

“What are you waiting for then? Chop. Chop! I want it done by tonight,” Atlas clapped his hands.

Erasthmus, Joycle, and Lukin quickly rushed to start working. Their faces were sweaty and their palms felt clammy. It was a mountain load of work to do and if they wanted to meet the deadline, they had to start immediately.

“You can use the Baron’s home as your workplace!” the prince shouted out. He then turned to face the ten peasants remaining and handed out duties in a similar manner.

“You. Coordinate with the people from the Feeding Shack and ensure that everything goes smoothly. You are also in charge of keeping and maintaining the record. I want you to submit a report of today’s expenditure, tonight on my desk.”

“You two will be in charge of overseeing the demolition teams. Ensure that the tents are properly cleared and vacated before they begin work and try to save as much material as possible. You also need to submit a report detailing the number of resources lost and salvaged.”

“You. Yeah, you with the pudgy face. If I recall correctly, you worked as a clerk or a bookkeeper for an inn, tavern, or something, right? No, don’t bother replying. I know that I’m right. You’ll report to the mining site, immediately. I’ll tell your duties there.”

“Guy in the back, you will..”

The tasks that he handed out were mainly administrative and supervisory. Most of it was dull, repetitive work but it beat physically toiling with your body by a long shot. Rather convenient when you took into consideration that most of the educated peasants were too lean, or too fat. They were certainly no coal miner material.

As such, the young prince systematically chipped away at the group. He left not a single person unemployed for two reasons; one, because he hated seeing people not doing any work, and two, he hated seeing people not doing any work. Except him, of course.

In an ideal world, everyone under Atlas will be employed while he enjoyed the fruits of their labor.

“Unfortunately, this is not an ideal world,” the boy mumbled under his breath.

“What was that, my liege?” Baron Helm, as sharp as ever, vaguely heard the young prince whisper something.

“Nothing. Anyways,” he shifted the topic, arriving at the final person present before him. It was learned blacksmith, Douglas Wootz.

“Douglas Wootz, right?” he asked.

“Righ’to, milord,” the tall, brawn man soberly replied. His stature was the largest that Atlas had seen since his arrival in this world, rivaling Baron Helm’s own –who himself rivaled an orc.

“Right. Mr. Wootz, I wanted to as–”

“Dougie or Douglas ‘ould be fine, milord. I do’nt like this Mista’ or Missus business,” the blacksmith interrupted the prince. His tone remained as serious as his face.

“O-okay, Douglas,” Atlas awkwardly intoned. “I read that you were a proficient metalworker cum blacksmith. Is that correct?”

“Righ’to, milord. It’s the faa~mily business. Ma’ pops been workin me since I was a wee, little lad. I’m the best in the business in the ‘hole barony, milord.”

“That’s great! Confident. I like that,” the prince remarked. “So, anyway, I had this idea that I wanted to run by–”

“Ma’ mom was a tailor, milord. Daughter of a pub owner she was. Met ma’ pops when he came to get drunk in the pub,” the man interrupted Atlas once again and went on a rant.”

“D-Douglas, Dougie, I don’t see how this information is helpful to m–”

“They then gone ran away to get married. Hitched a ride on a carriage to the neighboring town. That was when…”

Uncaring of Atlas’ interest, Douglas continued to ramble on and on. The young prince tried his best to interrupt and get this conversation back on track, away from this weird tangent. Unfortunately, he remained unsuccessful.

After a few minutes, Atlas even tried to get the Baron –who was eagerly listening to this story, mind you– to silence the man. It did not help.

Having lost all initiative and feeling a tiny bit intimidated by the large man, Atlas chose to hold his silence. He learned a new thing about the middle-aged blacksmith today.

The man loved to talk and equally loved to gossip.

‘Imagine that; 6’5’’ tall, middle-aged man with tanned skin with burns and scars all over his body, has the body equivalent to the H*lk who loves to gossip about his neighbors and teenagers in his locality,’ Atlas sighed. ‘I’ll never be able to get this image out of my head.’

Such was the curse of having a perfect memory.

---

Twenty Minutes Later.

“...and that’s about it, milord. What did ya’ wanna talk to me about?”

“Huh?” Atlas intoned dumbly, his eyes weary and face blank. It took him a second to recover his bearings. “You’re done? You’re done! Holy hell, you’re done!!”

“Right! I had something to tell you. What was it, what was it, what was it…that’s it! Douglas, you’ve worked a furnace, right?”

“Only me whole life, milord.” Douglas puffed out his chest and proudly declared.

“Can you fashion a furnace for the town?”

“A furnace for the town?” Douglas lowered his head in thought. “What for, milord.”

“Some metal casting, wood drying, tool making if that’s possible, but most importantly, it must be able to fire bricks. Lots of bricks. Quickly.”

He then began to explain his rationale to the middle-aged blacksmith with Baron Helm listening in tow.

The two main problems that this town faced, namely, improper grain storage and population sickness were problems that would not get better with time. Rather, these problems will continue to exacerbate into the future.

While the two issues seemed largely unrelated to each other, their root cause was one and the same: the environment. The damp, dark, humid environment of the stinking swamp and the absence of proper sunlight caused the food to rot faster, for people to get sick easier, and was largely unpleasant. While it wasn’t apparent now, Atlas could say that morale –people’s hope on the town and towards the future– was gradually diminishing. This could not stand. If ignored, it would become a HUGE problem in the future.

Having just begun his journey as royalty, Atlas would be damned if he failed before enjoying the benefits that came with the title.

How to solve this issue then? Simple. Build better infrastructure.

While wooden walls and cloth tents would serve their purposes, for now, Atlas wanted to nail a more permanent solution. While he currently had no plans to retake his country from the invaders, he would certainly have some in the future. This town would serve as his starting point.

Bricks built sturdy buildings. Bricks blocked the cold and damp better. Bricks could retain heat better than wood. Bricks could be used to build bathhouses, wells, aqueducts, –not exactly, but some manner of sewer facility– pavements, roads, houses, and finally, walls!

The possibilities were simply endless.

“And that is why we need a furnace, kiln, whatever you call it. To produce copious amounts of bricks.”

Atlas concluded his inspiring presentation.

Douglas Wootz inhaled deeply. He kept his head lowered but closed his eyes in thought. After a minute or so of serious consideration, he said.

“Milord, about your pla~n, I believe its…”