Conspiracy

The endless night sky glittered with stars. A crescent moon rose in the east, and an owl flew silently across the night.

Two people stood atop one of the castle's watchtowers, watching Frederick in the training grounds with great interest.

Frederick was practicing the footwork he had learned that morning. Though his movements were slow, they were exceptionally precise, and ten elemental spheres revolved around his head.

Elsewhere in the training grounds, Jürgen and the other youths who had received Richard Nahl's instruction were also sweating as they trained.

Richard Nahl sighed. "With young people like this, the Weissen Family's future is limitless."

During the day, he had not told anyone to train on their own at night. He had merely wanted to see what kind of character these youths possessed.

Not a single one of them had slacked off on any of these nights.

"First, they have to survive," Psyche said around a lollipop. "The main reason you reached the heights of a Sword Saint was because you lived long enough to become one."

Richard Nahl gave a bitter smile. That was indeed true. More than half the youths in the training grounds had talent no less than his own at their age, and when he had been young, the world had never lacked geniuses.

War, magical beasts, conspiracies, arrogance, despair after suffering setbacks... too many gifted people had fallen on the road to the summit.

Psyche continued, "I intend to have Frederick inherit my legacy."

Even Richard Nahl, who had weathered countless storms, was startled by those few words. He asked incredulously, "Could it be that you...?"

When he had first met Psyche, he had not been much older than Frederick. Back then, his master had called Psyche "big sister." Now, he had reached the age where he worried about his daughter still not being married, so Psyche's age was easy enough to imagine.

"I'm leaving this world," Psyche said calmly.

A sorrowful expression appeared on Richard Nahl's face, and tears nearly spilled from his eyes.

Among certain circles, legends of Psyche had always circulated. Whenever someone's strength reached a bottleneck that was difficult to break through, she would appear and offer guidance. Richard Nahl was one of those who had benefited from her.

"How much... longer?" Richard Nahl asked.

"Three to five hundred years," Psyche answered calmly.

Richard Nahl's expression changed several times before he finally said, "I won't be able to see you off."

The stronger a person was, the longer they lived. Someone like Richard Nahl could easily live to be one hundred and fifty or one hundred and sixty.

In another three to five hundred years, whether his grave would still be there was another question.

Richard Nahl suddenly said to Psyche with utmost solemnity, "I have one request. When I turn one hundred, please fight me with all your strength."

People in their circle knew Psyche was powerful, but they did not know just how powerful. No one had ever seen her fight at full strength.

Psyche replied calmly, "Let me know when the time comes."

At the same time, in Cologne, the royal capital of the Rhine Alliance, a conversation concerning the Weissen Family was taking place in the most prestigious private box of a theater.

William, King of the Rhine Alliance, was in his fifties. After last year's defeat in the war against the Kingdom of Gaul, he seemed to have aged more than ten years overnight. He lay weakly in a reclining chair, and even the opera onstage could no longer hold the slightest bit of his attention.

At his side, Count Ehrenfeld, who was in charge of intelligence, was reporting the latest information to the King.

"Recently, Baron Philip von Ertal, a diplomat from the Duchy of Mainz, appeared in Munich of the Duchy of Bayern," Count Ehrenfeld said in a low voice. "There are signs that the Duchy of Mainz and the Duchy of Bayern may seek to improve their relations."

William grunted. After a moment, he said, "Tighten our control over the City of Nuremberg. If the three sides join forces, it will become troublesome."

Count Ehrenfeld accepted the new orders, then continued, "Intelligence has confirmed that Wessen Territory is recruiting workers through the Stonemasons' Guild in the City of Nuremberg, preparing to dig a canal linking the Rhine River and the Danube River."

William was silent for a long time before asking, "There are many refugees this year?"

Count Ehrenfeld immediately replied, "Last winter's snowfall was heavy. When the snow melted this spring, there was a massive flood. Since the beginning of summer, there has been no rain, and many places have seen entire villages abandoned."

William pondered for a moment, then said, "Tell the refugees that Wessen Territory offers them a way to survive."

"Also, send word that they are not to be stopped along the way, but they must not be allowed to leave."

Count Ehrenfeld immediately understood the King's meaning.

Wessen Territory had a population of thirty thousand because that land could only support that many people.

If forty or fifty thousand refugees suddenly flooded in, those people with nothing would devour the entire territory like locusts.

By then, even several more Sword Saints would be of no use.

As for reclaiming land, the landowners could only sneer.

To reclaim wasteland, one first had to clear everything above and below the ground. That meant felling trees, clearing away shrubs and weeds aboveground, and removing the roots beneath the soil.

Felling trees was actually the easiest part. Removing shrubs and weeds was exceedingly tedious; the entire plot had to be cleared inch by inch. When old perennial vines were encountered, one had to bend over and cut them apart stroke by stroke.

Burning the mountain was not impossible, but every village needed to retain woodland for firewood, while timber was also needed to build houses and make furniture. If the fire got out of control, then there would be nothing left to say.

Clearing roots also required hoeing over the land inch by inch and digging out every last grass root. Otherwise, cut weeds would grow back with the spring breeze.

The most difficult part was digging out the tree roots underground. Those roots were large and deep, requiring an enormous amount of labor.

Then came leveling the land. Stones of all sizes had to be cleared from the soil, clods had to be broken apart, slopes had to be leveled, and some low-lying areas had to be filled in.

Once the land had been leveled, crops could theoretically be planted, but two problems remained. One was water, requiring irrigation works. The other was insufficient soil fertility, which required fertilizer and legumes to restore the soil; otherwise, whatever was planted would yield poorly.

Beyond that, there were the enormous investments required for farm tools and livestock.

Even if everything was done by hand, the farming tools needed for tens of thousands of people to reclaim and cultivate land would not fall from the sky. Real gold and silver had to be spent to buy them.

By the time the crops grown in the fields yielded any surplus, three to five years would have passed. During that period, land reclamation required nothing but investment, with no returns at all.

Productive Forces were the same everywhere in this era. There was no need to send spies or anything of the sort; a simple calculation could estimate how much food and money the Weissen Family had in reserve.

If these tens of thousands of refugees poured into Wessen Territory, accepting them would be a dead end for the Weissen Family, and refusing them would also be a dead end.

The Weissen Family could do nothing about it. With their strength, they had no way to stop the refugees from coming. They could only choose between one dead end and another.