Shelving aside his desire to annihilate a certain monster den, Atlas then proceeded to praise the Scout Captain for his service and contributions. It was the standard case of lip service where he called the man a ‘hero’ and whatnot.

He also proceeded to promote the man to the position of ‘Outpost Manager’, assigning him the duties of setting up and managing an outpost in the newly discovered hunting grounds. Suffice to say, Scout Captain… I mean, Outpost Manager Reudem was giddy with delight by the end of it. He profusely cried and frantically bowed, thanking the prince with all his heart and swearing loyalty with his soul.

The little prince felt relieved after confirming the man’s loyalty. At least in the short term, he wouldn’t have to fear betrayals from this man.

Their discussion finished, Atlas then instructed Reudem to gather his colleagues, all of whom, sure to be overcome with worry, and head to the Cookhouse whereupon they were to prepare meat soups.

Where did the meat come from, you ask? It was from the Scout Team #1, of course!

Atlas had learned from Reudem that his team had brought back two days' worth of meat with them on their return. This news caused the little prince to feel genuine relief and happiness, akin to a welcome rain wetting a parched field.

After calculating the quantities and consumptions, Atlas decided to be generous and splurge a little. He wanted to use this splurging to repair his reputation which had taken a stark dive. The motion would also serve to increase the low morale amongst the townspeople and prepare them for the news that is to soon come.

After sending Reudem away, Atlas took over one of the empty seats in the parlor and sunk into his thoughts.

‘I suppose I can somewhat forgive the man for his transgressions in light of the benefits that he has brought me. The information that they have brought back greatly relieves the pressure from our concerning situation.’ He felt as though a great weight had been removed from his back. ‘I suppose with the discovery of the hunting ground, the town’s basics for development have been more or less secured. Food, power, and labor, given my current situation, I can work with this.’

This was, of course, dependent on the fact that no other disaster followed. Was another pack of creatures to suddenly attack them, or a shower of meteors was to fall upon them… they would be fu*ked!

‘Well, maybe not as endgame as that, but it would certainly land us in even more trouble. What I should aim for now is the smooth, rapid development of the town, while seeking out more opportunities. This place is bound to serve as the foundation for my later conquests. The stronger my foundation is, the more successful my future will be.’

Atlas leaned back on his chair and relaxed a little. He closed his eyes, emptied his mind, and surrendered himself to the tranquillity of the atmosphere.

Grumble~ Atlas’ stomach suddenly rumbled. ‘Right. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.’ With his levels of paranoia, Atlas wouldn’t even dare to drink a glass of water unless it was already tested for poison.

‘Should I go grab a bowl of meat soup?’ He felt tempted at the suggestion. His stomach grumbled once more, seemingly voicing its agreement. ‘Ah, what the hell! Might as well eat something. I’ll just wait for someone else to down a bowl before me before I eat my own.’

Forcing himself up, he then left the manor and headed towards the Cookhouse.

---

Approximately an hour later.

Seeing the throng of people arriving from the distance, Atlas waved his hands and shouted, “Hey Douglas! Over here!” Even from a barely discernible distance, the brick house-like man stood out.

Noticing the alit Cookhouse and the gorgeous-looking prince sitting at one of the tables outside, Douglas, followed by the group of exhausted women workers, quickly arrived.

“Milord, this…” the elderly blacksmith shot a perplexed glance at the prince before unconsciously sniffing at the air.

“Smells good, right?” asked the prince, smilingly. He then rose from his seat, climbed his table, and turned to address the workers, “Everyone, I’m sure you’re beyond exhausted from the day’s work. Please grab a seat and relax yourselves. Dinner will be served shortly.”

“What about our kids?” A mother, worried about her daughter, asked.

Flashing an apologetic smile, Atlas answered, “The children have already eaten and are currently sleeping at the Child Shetler. Mr. Tucan is looking after them, so you can rest assured. Please have a meal before reconvening with them.” He then performed a bow and continued, “I would also like to ask for your forgiveness.”

“I made a questionable decision and passed a rather sensitive order today. Given our impending situation, I believed that I had no choice but to draft your children into the workforce. I understand that it was wrong of me to do so, and sincerely hope that you can forgive me for my limited ability.” Atlas finished and maintained his bow.

The crowd was silent. After a few seconds of quietness, someone from the crowd spoke up.

“It’s alright, milord. Havin’ worked all day in solving that disaster, I understand that you ‘ere forced to make that decision. Please raise your head.”

“Right’o. It’s not yer fault, lad–lord. If we’ve got to blame somethin’, we’ll blame our bad luck. I’m not petty enough to hold a grudge against a child.”

“It’s enough knowin’ that yer heart’s in a good place.”

“It’s alright. Might as well teach that loudmouthed boy of mine some discipline.”

“Aye, aye. That lad of mine’s always about causing trouble. I’d rather have him do some meaningful work than laze around all day.”

More replies followed and soon each mother had more or less pardoned the little prince. The ones that held some grudge within their hearts, felt it lessen or even disappear after landing their eyes on the beautiful boy’s pitiful appearance.

It’s true what they say. Having a good appearance really does make life easier for you.

Raising his head, Atlas looked at the crowd with tears filling his large, ice-blue eyes. “Th-thank you, everyone!” His voice cracked a little when he exclaimed.

All women –and the three men– felt their hearts melt at this display.

“How beautiful!~”

“So cute!!~~”

“He’s even prettier than an angel!~”

All petty grudges and hidden resentment melted like the snow facing the morning sun. The little prince’s charisma was simply off the charts.

It took a few more minutes for things to settle and for the crowd to take their seats. Atlas occupied a seven-seater table all by himself and invited the elderly blacksmith to join him. “Douggie! Grab a seat with me.”

The elderly blacksmith complied and sat opposite the prince.

“Milord, this smell…”

“It’s meat. Deer meat, to be precise. Scout Team #1 returned from their expedition and brought it with them,” Atlas explained even before the elderly blacksmith could complete his sentence.

“I see,” Douglas nodded his head in understanding. He then turned quiet. The little prince stared unflinchingly at the elderly blacksmith. After a few dozen seconds, he asked, “So?”

“So?” Douglas repeated.

Atlas quietly scoffed and leaned back. “So where’s my report? You are the supervisor of the dam project, are you not?”

“Right. Right!” Douglas immediately perked up.

Truth be told, he felt a little awkward in the company of the prince after the recent souring of their relationship. Previously, he felt a tad bit distaste towards the prince after that forced order. However, the ‘sincere’ apology from the prince quickly rid him of that feeling.

His previous feeling of idolization towards the prince slowly returned.

At the prince’s request, Douglas began to report. At the start, his speech was stiff and awkward. However, with some clever interruptions and directions, Atlas melted away the elderly man’s awkwardness. Before long, the duo returned to their previous way of gabbing as if nothing had ever changed.

While engaging the elderly blacksmith in an animated conversation, the prince thought to himself, ‘That should’ve fixed most of the damage to my image. This pervert’s back to his old way of talking, and the womenfolk seem to have mostly forgiven me. A few cracks exist here and there, but that should mostly resolve itself.’

It went without saying, the location, the arrival of the workers, the meaty smell in the air, his apology, everything was part of Atlas’ setup. His apologies were insincere and his earnestness was a farce. Atlas had a single goal for his schemes, and that was to repair his damaged image.

It was a success.

‘That being said, when I forced a tear at the end, the reactions of the gathered women were rather… extreme.’ He was referring to how he had noticed most women having dazed expressions and blushed cheeks. ‘Is this an effect of my appearance ?’ He absentmindedly touched his face.

“Somthin’ wrong, milord?” Douglas asked, noticing the prince’s strangeness. “You haven’t touched yer bowl.” He pointed to the bowl of meat soup in front of the little prince.

“Douglas, tell me the truth,” Atlas questioned the elderly blacksmith. “How do I look?”

Douglas suddenly felt his throat cramp up. He spat out the mouthful of meat soup and began to choke and cough heavily.

“Cough, cough, what, cough, nonsense?” Douglas choked. “What nonsense are ya asking me, milord?”

“How do I look? It’s a simple question,” Atlas repeated. “Just describe it to me.”

“Is this a… trick question?” The elderly blacksmith hesitantly asked. “Is it a test, milord?”

“Just answer the question, man!” Atlas snapped, growing annoyed at the man’s wishy-washy demeanor. It was a simple question, wasn’t it?

“Yes, milord!” Douglas suddenly sat up straight. His face assumed an expression of dead seriousness. “Milord!”

“Y-yeah?” For some strange inexplicable reason, Atlas felt nervous.

“You’re the most beautiful person that I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, milord!” Douglas replied in perfect grammar.

“Y-you mean handsome, right?”

“Nay! I meant beautiful, milord! You’re more beautiful than anybody I’ve ever seen or fantasized about, milord!” Douglas corrected with utmost seriousness. “To tell you the truth, me, and most of the townspeople, are confused about yer true gender, milord! Some of us are betting on you being a woman!”

Atlas simply froze. His brain refused to compute the words that it had heard.

“Milord? Douglas worriedly asked.

The young prince did not answer.

A few seconds later, he slowly stood up and walked over to the Cookhouse serving counter.

“Reudem,” he called to the person working within.

“Yes, your hi’ness?” The man appeared before the prince,

“Pass me a bowl filled with clear water, will you?”

“A bowl? Did ya mean a glass, milord?”

“Pass. Me. A. DAMN. BOWL!” Atlas snapped.

“Ri-right away, milord!” replied the man in a panic. He quickly ran inside and returned with a bowl filled with clear water. “He-here, milord!”

Receiving the bowl, Atlas thanked the man with a smile, “Thank you, Reudem.”

“Y-you’re welcome, milord.”

Holding the bowl in his hands, Atlas proceeded to walk over to the table unpopulated by the female workers and away from the rest of the crowd. He then sat the bowl on the table and stood before it.

Taking a deep breath. Atlas proceeded to look down and see his reflection.

“...!!!”

---

Day 8. Midnight.

At the temporary camp set up by the rescue party.

“Will you be able to save them, Rohm?” Baron Helm asked upon exiting the medical tent with his retainer.

“It is difficult to say, master,” Butler Rohm sported an uncharacteristically serious expression. “They've suffered too much harm and have lost too much blood.” He shook his head. “It’ll be very difficult.”

“Isn’t there something that you can do?” Baron Helm asked, his fists unconsciously clenched. “Surely, you must know of a method! Isn’t there a miracle art or a cure in your studies!?”

“Master,” Butler Rohm turned around and gazed into his tall master’s eyes. His eyes were apathetic and piercing. “They are but peasants. Their lives aren’t valuable enough to warrant such miraculous methods. Please keep the old master’s words in your mind and avoid getting too attached to them.”

“Peasants or not, they’re still people, dammit!” Baron Helm slammed his fist against the wooden post by his side. The wood splintered and broke apart from the impact.

“Master!” Butler Rohm jumped and immediately grabbed the baron’s hand. “You’ve hurt yourself!” The baron’s hand was hurt as a result of the wood splintering.

Retrieving a folded paper packet from the pouch by his waist, Butler Rohm opened the packet, revealing a white medicinal powder within. He carefully brought this power over the Baron’s bloody hand and sprinkled it upon the wound.

“Stop that!” Baron Helm slapped his hand away, spilling the medicinal contents on the ground.

“Master!”

“Shut up, Rohm!” Baron Helm thundered. He jerked his hand away from his retainer’s grasp and stared menacingly into the older man’s face. “Am I not your master!?”

“You are, master.”

“Are you not my servant!?”

“I am, master.”

“Then shut your fu*king mouth and do as I say!” Baron Helm bellowed.

His shout was loud enough to startle the workers inside the medical tent and those that were some distance away. None dared to come by and disrupt the scene.

“Is that understood!?” Baron Helm roared. His magnificent aura submerged and suppressed the smaller man. “IS THAT UNDERSTOOD!?” He repeated.

Butler Rohm could not retort. Butler Rohm did not dare to retort. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen Master being this angry.’

Lowering his head, he answered, “Understood, master. I will do my fullest to save these men.”

“You better!” The Baron huffed and turned around to stomp. Just as he had taken a few steps away, he suddenly heard his retainer speak, “I almost forgot, master?”

“What?” asked the Baron, continuing to walk away.

“His Highness, the Prince, has requested for your presence back in the town. You must return immediately,” Butler Rohm monotonously stated.

Butler Rohm froze in his steps. He slowly turned around, gazed deeply at his retainer’s face, and asked, “You are not lying?”

“I will never do anything that violates my duty, master.”

“Why are you only telling me this now?” It had almost been an hour since the Butler arrived at this place.

“The order had slipped my mind, master. I request that you punish me,” Butler Rohm immediately kneeled with his head bowed, awaiting his punishment.

Baron Helm did not reply. He stared deeply at the kneeling man for a few seconds. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he said, “I’ll announce your punishment later. For now, go in there and save those men.”

“Understood. I shall immediately do so, master,” Butler Rohm stood up and headed into the medical tent. He was a man of his word, and a dutiful person.

With him gone, Baron Helm stood alone with a heavy heart. His expression was a complex mixture of anger, frustration, and helplessness. He was conflicted.

On one hand, he did not want to leave the workers and the trapped miners, who had yet to be saved. There was also the matter of the thirteen dead bodies. All these factors compelled the Baron to stay.

On the other hand, his liege had sent instructions pressing for his return. Not complying with his wishes would be a dereliction of his noble duty, and would be considered a rebellious act.

After pondering on his conflicting emotions for a few minutes, Baron Helm finally settled. ‘I will return to the town.’ He chose duty over honour.

Baron Helm wasted not a second more and immediately left.