Roland leaned back in his office chair, scrutinizing the statistical report Barov had prepared.
It took a full three days for the municipal office to screen all six thousand refugees, with a notably low proportion of craftsmen among them. Ultimately, only 186 individuals passed the review. This outcome was also influenced by the stringent nature of the screening process, as it involved the allocation of housing and the issuance of identification cards.
Roland's vision requires that only ID-registered residents qualify as his official community members. To achieve this, he must rigorously maintain control. During the initial phase when the population remains manageable, he should cultivate core supporters within the town. As the community grows, he can harness collective momentum to integrate new members—after all, humans are inherently social creatures. Given this social dynamic, more people will embrace his vision, and he can indeed deliver a better life for his community.
"Then you're in charge of arranging these craftsmen's accommodations. Whether they're single or with families, each will be assigned at least one private suite," Roland instructed.
"Yes," Barov replied, "Your Highness, are these houses being granted as gifts?" "They should be rented," he shook his head. "Indigenous people receive new housing in the community free of charge because most already own old homes—this is essentially an old-home-for-new-home exchange. If we give them houses for free, it would discourage them from leaving their homes and actively participating in work. Of course, rent could be set at a lower rate, and we should inform them that by working hard to accumulate enough gold dragon coins, they can directly purchase the houses." "I understand," Roland said after a moment's silence. "How many refugees appeared after the award ceremony?" "As of today, there's not a single indigenous person among them, and seven serfs remain," Barov paused. "More refugees from the eastern border have chosen to leave, totaling 115 people." "Is that so?" He let out a soft sigh. The moment he decided to push Witch to the forefront, he knew this would happen. To assess public reaction and prevent accidents, Roland had stationed a musket squad several miles away from the town to intercept the fleeing refugees while counting their numbers and evaluating their acceptance of Witch.
While not perfect, this outcome was remarkably favorable—Witch's treatment of the indigenous people met expectations, and fewer serfs escaped than anticipated, making the portrayal of grassroots life more effective. Yet Roland was somewhat surprised by the Eastern Frontier refugees: despite having undergone Witch's therapy and being in dire straits with destroyed homes, over a hundred chose to flee.
"Your Highness," Barov said calmly, "I recommend executing them all. Those who choose to flee under such circumstances must be deeply influenced by the Church. In the foreseeable future, they will neither support the monarchy nor resist the Church's influence. There's no need to show them any mercy." "Not necessarily," Prince replied, closing his eyes. "The truly devout followers of the Church are the three hundred refugees who refuse to leave the capital even during the plague. They may simply be stubbornly clinging to the belief that witches are evil and desperately seeking to escape." "Even so," Barov insisted, "they remain your potential adversaries."
Had Roland encountered these people on the battlefield, he would have crushed them without hesitation. Yet the idea of slaughtering civilians out of ideological differences became a psychological barrier. After a moment's hesitation, he rejected the proposal: "I'll have Nightingale interrogate the fugitives. If spies or informants are found, they'll be hanged. The rest shall be expelled from the Western Frontier." Barov lowered his head, his eyes flashing with divine light, and replied slowly, "Your Highness, as you command." "Anything else?" "Nothing urgent, Your Highness," he coughed twice. "I'll attend to the housing arrangements." "No rush," Roland said, opening his eyes and standing. "Let's take some photos first to ease the tension." "Photos?" Barov froze.
"You'll know right away," Prince said with a smile.
In the castle's forecourt, he summoned Carter, Iron Axe, and Soraya. In one corner of the garden stood several wooden planks measuring four to five meters in length and width, with a canvas covering the ground.
"Border Town is still small now. Once the southern lands are developed and connected to the Changge Fortress, its scale will be dozens of times larger. Walking alone would take a day or two to travel from east to west, so we need a fast way to get around. Horse breeding is expensive, and it's unrealistic to expect every settler to spend hours learning to ride." Roland said, lifting the canvas. "I plan to promote this simple, affordable transport in town—it's much cheaper than a horse." "What... is this?" Carter was immediately fascinated by the novel device. "Two wheels, an iron frame—could this be a cart?" "Even a cart with two wheels would struggle to maintain balance," Barrow shook his head. "I don't see how it could replace horses." Only the iron axe remained silent, waiting quietly for Prince's explanation.
Roland smiled. "This is called a bicycle. Just watch me demonstrate it." He stood on the pedals, assuming a standard starting position, and with a single push off, he began pedaling along the garden's stone path.
With Anna's precision machining and Soroya's coating technology, crafting a bicycle by hand was straightforward. The bicycle's principles and structure posed no technical challenges. Rubber components were replaced with coated materials—such as the inner tube, which was directly drawn onto a paper tube, prompting Roland to create a simple air pump. The outer tube and brakes were coated with harder cowhide, while the frame used hollow iron tubing and corrosion-resistant copper wire for brake cables. The only challenge was the chain, which Anna had to cut into sections and string together. As for the classic bicycle with pedals mounted directly on the wheels, he simply couldn't stand it.
After completing the lap, Roland pressed the brake and effortlessly flipped off the bike, gazing at his stunned subordinates with a smug grin. This was the kind of premium mount a time traveler deserved—far more exhilarating than horses, which required both taming and feeding.
"I'm planning to build a new bicycle factory in the industrial zone to produce these vehicles. We need to recruit workers and promote them to spread across the territory," Roland explained succinctly. "That's why I summoned you. First, you'll learn to ride bicycles, then Miss Soroya will paint your riding scenes on wooden boards. I want every citizen to see that for just one or two Golden Dragons, they can own a mount like Lord, the First Army Commander, the Chief Knight, or the City Hall Director."