Rumble.
The dull roar of machinery echoed through the spacious factory, where hundreds of young boys bustled about. Most were half-elves; humans made up only about a fifth.
Rot was one of those few humans. His father was a thief, and his mother was a prostitute. Before coming to Port Nyanzaru, he had scraped by around Shipwreck Bay. Now he was a worker at Port Nyanzaru's Second Golem Factory. After arriving in the city, he had spent three months learning how to assemble clay golems—or parts of them. Perhaps thanks to a talent inherited from his father, he had learned far faster than the other humans and earned the honor of joining the factory.
Inside the factory stood a workbench more than a hundred meters long.
Rot was responsible for the clay golems' arms, along with several dozen others doing the same work. Another team handled the legs and torsos, while the most complicated part, the head, was left to the mysterious witches.
At the broad workbench, Rot carefully carved the rune pathways. Although he did not know what they meant, he only had to follow the witches' instructions. Every day, Rot had to finish making at least five arms, earning him three Silver Dalers—enough to live better than an ordinary commoner in Port Nyanzaru. The Golem Factory operated like an enormous machine, with each worker merely one of its components. They each handled their assigned parts, and the witches performed the final work.
This factory completed dozens of clay golems every day.
These golems were all sent to the outskirts of Port Nyanzaru, where they leveled hills, filled gullies, and graded the land.
Golems replaced most of the human labor, performing the initial land clearing. Only once the ground had been leveled was it handed over to farmers to