The sea breeze swept over the newborn land, carrying a salty tang and humid heat.
Jon wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and squinted at the magnificent structure rising from the sea. It formed a perfect arc, holding the once-raging seawater outside and enclosing a tranquil lagoon.
Traces of tangled vegetation still marked the gray-white walls, which were as hard as mountain rock. A few days ago, he had been a refugee in Golden Thread Province, facing either starvation or death from illness. Now he stood on this miraculous land with a mason's trowel in his hand.
Not far away, a deafening roar broke his train of thought.
Ola stood beside a massive machine, his thick reddish-brown beard quivering as he bellowed. "Put your backs into it! Are you surface goblins? That Blood Crystal isn't there for you to nap over!"
A group of dwarves bustled around the machine. It was built from brass pipes and a cast-iron casing, with wisps of steam seeping through its riveted seams.
Inside the machine, a fist-sized dark red crystal pulsed. One thick pipe extended from its base into the lagoon's seabed, while another crossed the dike, discharging the pumped seawater back into the open sea.
More than a dozen pumping rigs worked at once. Before long, patches of black seabed began to emerge.
"Jon! What are you staring at?"
A sharp rebuke rang out. Jon jolted and saw a knight in brand-new chain mail watching him.
It was Sir Regina, the first vassal granted land in this newly enclosed tract. He had been the second son of a baron in the south and had come to White Tower Territory with everything he owned, staking it all on this land.
Perhaps because he had invested so much, the newly appointed lord