Styrene pulled together the guild’s astronomical funds to increase the number of smithies and develop the related techniques, investing a whopping 780 thousand Gold. He was developing the town tremendously as a city for Blacksmiths. Building a battle guild and even a magic guild, he strove to draw in players.
“There’s no place in the North that has a higher technological development level than Trivan Village. In time, this place will also become as big as Morata and grow in people.”
Styrene and his guild mates simply waited for that day to come. They were so excited that they couldn’t even sleep properly at night. While they were waiting, as culture developed in Morata, people began to enjoy the town. People tired from hunting, sightseeing, adventure, and quests comfortably enjoyed songs, sculptures, drawings, and art.
Culture didn’t even take much money. There were keepers making bunnies act cutely, performers, and even players who displayed their japtem and boasted. Morata’s players were happy.
Ding!
– 35 residents from Trivan Village are moving to Morata.
The complaints of the residents are intense.
The residents came complaining to Styrene.
“Why is our village failing to thrive like Morata, my Lord?”
“There’s nothing for the village children to play with.”
“Even after finishing hard work, I have no enthusiasm for life. I think this town is too desolate.”
The residents were deeply dissatisfied over the lack in culture. Morata’s residents were continuously growing, but Trivan Village’s population of just 3,000 was continuously falling. The loyalty of the town soldiers also fell, and work efficiency didn’t rise, either. As the residents decreased in number, silk production fell and the fields they had cleared with difficulty remained empty; they couldn’t even collect resources from the mine. Following the decline in residents, there were even cases where quests naturally disappeared. Players would come after struggling to finish a quest, but the store owner who was supposed to give them the reward had gone and disappeared. Plunged into a shocking situation, the players asked the residents but the reply was really the last straw.
“The weapon shop mister? He moved to Morata the other day. It won’t be easy to set up a new shop there, but they say it’s a village that people really want to live in. Me? I’m going to Morata soon, too. If you want to fulfil the work that was entrusted to you, go to Morata.”
Ding!
– 23 Trivan Village residents are moving to Morata.
The residents want a religious establishment.
“I want to see Goddess Freya. Thankfully there’s a goddess statue in the village next door, so we will spend the rest of our lives there.”
“How happy must our Morata friends be as they receive the blessing of faith? Going to Morata will bring one closer to the goddess!”
The residents continued to leave. Wanderers visiting the North had been settled in Trivan Village by giving them money and food, but they moved away. As a result, the village’s population was just barely 3,000 and didn’t grow.
Until now, Lords had worried over economy, technology, and military power. They viewed culture with scorn and paid no attention to it. If many Bards visited, they were even treated poorly for being noisy and annoying. What use was a rise in culture! Investing the maintenance fees or construction costs of culture-related facilities in other places was considered far more profitable.
There was no change in that way of thinking in other places in the continent, but Styrene was currently feeling an acute lack of culture. To make matters worse, he even received news of the issue he had worried most about.
“Guild master, they say Morata’s Lord Weed has returned.”
At the guild member’s report, Styrene’s head began to throb painfully.
“You’re saying he returned without going off somewhere and dying?”
“Yes. Apparently he’s making a Statue of Lugh now.”
“Ugh…making another sculpture!”
Styrene shook his head. No matter how he thought of it, there was nothing as reckless as competing with a Sculptor in city development. But even if he were given a fortune, there was no other alternative. There were just no Sculptors as outstanding as Weed in the Versailles Continent; the whole area was impacted every time he made a sculpture. As a neighboring Lord, it was like hell for Styrene.
“But there’s also a recent piece of news.”
“What news?”
“The Lord of Morata’s true identity is Wargod Weed.”
“What?!”
Wargod Weed!
It was such a feared name that it sent shivers down their spines.
Styrene was also a player who had grown up in the Continent of Magic. He had personally experienced the Continent of Magic Weed’s wicked charisma. He killed, stole, and was absolutely ruthless. Like looking at a mountain that could not be climbed, Wargod Weed had filled him with despair.
“Are you saying he’s really Wargod Weed?”
“We can’t be certain, but they say that possibility is sufficient.”
“Did he say it himself?”
“Apparently so.”
“…”