The decree arrives the next day the way all institutional decisions do: quiet, clipped, inevitable.
A junior clerk stands at the doorway, posture rigid, eyes fixed just above Aldo's shoulder. He reads from the paper without inflection, voice trained to be neither apologetic nor congratulatory.
"A issued decree was informed to Aldo next day…he and his company 204th will have a whole week of rest."
The words echo faintly down the stone corridor. Somewhere, metal clicks against metal. A distant door shuts. The clerk finishes, salutes, and leaves without waiting for acknowledgment.
Aldo does not move at first.
Some space to rest…
His gaze remains on the wall ahead—old stone, faint cracks like veins beneath the surface. His fingers, clasped behind his back, slowly loosen.
[A week ?] he thinks. [They fear the Fervord Munity replicas ?.]
He turns sharply and walks.
Morning fog clings low to the ground when the first order of the day begins. No announcements, no gathering speech. The men of Company 204th are simply redirected—marching not toward training grounds, but through a quieter street, toward a building most soldiers, even the Heilopians, never enter.
On the first day, Aldo decided to…force everyone on company 204th for health check-ups and injury treatment in a private magical infirmary, it was expensive but the rewards previously cover the cost.
The gates open silently. Warm air spills out, scented faintly with herbs and clean water. Enchanted lamps glow steadily, no flicker, no smoke.
One soldier mutters under his breath. Another stiffens, unsure.
Aldo cuts through it with a glance.
Why private ? They are healers, from magical academies, with proper education, even military institutions dislikes them due to magical academies being female-dominated but Aldo doesn't care: They are efficient and profit-driven which make them really focus on healing for best service.
The healers move with professional calm—young women with sleeves rolled, hair tied back. No chanting. No dramatic gestures. Just hands, light, precision.
A healer presses two glowing fingers against a soldier's side. The man inhales sharply—then freezes.
"It's gone," he whispers, almost accusingly.
Another flexes his shoulder, rolling it once, twice, eyes widening.
Aldo watches everything, arms crossed.
[Pain removed restores obedience faster than motivation ever will,] he thinks.
And within the morning, all injuries were recovered.
Something shifts in the room, not joy, not relief exactly, but looseness. Shoulders drop. Breaths deepen. A man laughs once, short and startled, before snapping his mouth shut as if he's done something wrong.
Aldo turns away before anyone mistakes this for generosity.
The second half of the day does not lead to rest.
Instead, boots echo down into the military library.
But for the rest of the first day, they…in the military library to…study…because…Aldo told them so, with Onaga Kei taking the responsibility to do the job.
Dust motes drift in angled sunlight. Shelves tower overhead, packed tight with manuals and diagrams. Benches scrape as the men sit.
Onaga Kei stands at the front, posture straight, hands resting on the table.
"We'll begin with land-use logistics," he says calmly.
The "class" went on strangely smoothly because they have some spirit of obedient soldiers, slave-soldiers to be precise, and partly because this activities remind them of their normal life back then on earth…Boring and much better.
Pages turn. Pens scratch. Someone suppresses a yawn.
Aldo sits off to the side, reading, listening with half an ear.
[Boredom means no one is dying,] he reminds himself.
Later, the atmosphere changes.
Maps replace books. Ink replaces chalk.
Now a boy who dicuss plan with Aldo is a Japanese like Onaga Kei, but he is a nationalist literally, very proud of his nation, Hano Kichiro, chosen by Aldo because he know agriculture better than anyone in 204th company…"a bit".
They stand around a rough wooden table. Wind rattles the shutters.
Aldo taps the map with a pencil.
"Timber-framed, stone stable, or longhouse," he says. "Forest resources exist, but not in excess. What do you recommend, Hano?"
Hano's eyes light up immediately.
"Uma-ya style, taichou-sama."
Aldo sighs.
"Of course... Explain."
Hano straightens, suddenly animated.
"Integrated living and stable structure," he says quickly. "Reduces labor movement. Better heat retention in winter. Manure recycling efficiency improves soil nearby."
"And?" Aldo prompts flatly.
"Land-saving. Especially important if expansion happens organically. Also—" Hano hesitates for half a breath, then adds proudly, "—earthquake resilience."
Aldo raises an eyebrow.
"Whole Mikhland isn't near any tectonic plates's collisde regions…"
"Still structurally flexible," Hano counters immediately. "Wooden frame absorbs stress."
Aldo exhales through his nose.
"Scalability. Hygiene. Odor. Fire risk," he lists. "All major issues."
Hano does not argue. He grabs charcoal.
"Then we solve them !"
He writes fast, voice steady as he explains.
"Fire control first. Earthen firebreak wall—tsuchikabe—between living quarters and stable. Tile roofing, kawara, instead of thatch. Stable floor set lower."
Aldo watches, nodding once.
"What about ygiene?"
"Sloped stable floor with drainage channels. Living floor raised—tatami above animal level. Cleaning twice daily. Adjustable shoji ventilation to control airflow."
A pause.
"Scaling?" Aldo asks.
"Modular uma-ya units. One to three animals each. Connected by covered walkways. Core animals attached. Secondary animals to side units. Dirty animals like pigswill be detached entirely."
Aldo studies the list.
[Annoyingly competent…] he admits.
Hano adds quietly, almost reverently,
"As for odor, we could use hearth smoke directed toward stable, incense for insect, and visual separation with screens."
Silence.
Aldo straightens.
"Good. Stable plan finalized."
He taps the map again, energy shifting.
"What about the farmland?" Aldo asks.
Hano leans back instantly.
"Meh. Just plant something. We'll talk later."
Aldo's eyes narrow.
[No, we won't !!!] he thinks.
He takes the pencil.
"Windbreak first…" Aldo mutters, drawing lines. "Acacia."
Hano watches, interest creeping back.
"Millet," Aldo continues, sketching blocks. "Sorghum. Cowpea. Pigeon pea. As crops."
"Pumpkin vines between rows." Hano says automatically.
Aldo nods, adds it.
"Raised beds," Aldo says. "Sweet potato. Okra."
"Sunken paths for drainage," Hano offers.
Aldo draws them in silence.
"Olla pots," Aldo finishes. "Fig. Pomegranate."
He stops.
Hano squints at the map.
"Can I give more of my opinion?"
"No."
"I can show my—"
"No."
Hano pouts.
"Aw…"
Aldo finally looks up.
"You can take care of the tools," he says evenly. "We have none usable."
Hano's expression flips instantly.
"Yay."