The city gate that had risen from the cliff face became a marvel passed around dockside taverns through the mouths of traveling merchants.
Among the peasants and laborers of Gray Sea Bay, the name Weilin Klein gradually became synonymous with food and a way to survive.
Those who answered the call no longer arrived in groups of mere hundreds.
With the astonishing tale and word of mouth spreading exponentially, the people streaming toward Gray Marsh Fief became a flood within a week.
Outside the makeshift registration office, the line stretched for miles. From unemployed dockworkers of the Seven Harbors Alliance to tenant farmers who could no longer survive inland, they gathered with their entire families in tow.
The nine clerks at the registration office worked three shifts around the clock, their wrists swollen from writing.
Half a month later, the population of the temporary camp at Fang Gorge passed fifteen thousand.
The barren fjord, where once only the sea wind had howled, became an enormous construction site, noisy but brimming with life.
By day, the roar of Worker Mantises excavating the mountains mingled with the work chants of tens of thousands of people.
By night, countless torches lit up, bathing the entire cliff in a shimmering sea of light.
But problems came with it.
The original merit points guild model had easily handled a few thousand people in Newborn Town, but faced with a population exceeding fifteen thousand, it had already broken down.
Every day, people fought over claiming tasks and exchanging supplies.
Trouble always took root where it was least expected.
As the number of immigrants surged, groups began forming on their own.
The most conspicuous bunch came from Shatterstone County in Hundred Flowers Province.
The mines there had long been controlled by a few great noble families. The