Sophia pointed to the disorganized pile of warehouses behind her, her tone as flat as if she were tallying goods at a vegetable market.
"As long as it is useful, even if it is a rusty iron nail, bring it back."
Due to the extreme scarcity of resources in the Kingdom of Mason, this confiscation work was conducted with gritty realism.
The soldiers naturally did not feel the Queen's actions were exaggerated; they searched with exceptional thoroughness.
Soldiers rummaged through the warehouses, pulling out large quantities of salted meat and several sacks of coarse wheat flour.
Although the flour was mixed with some sand, in the eyes of soldiers born into poverty, this was still a supreme delicacy.
In addition to that, there were scratched copper pots, bundles of hemp rope, and several bolts of coarse cloth that, while stained with blood, were still of acceptable quality.
Even the scrap metal sheets the rogue bandits used to reinforce the camp and old longswords with rolled edges were ordered by Sophia to be packed up in batches.
"Your Majesty, these old weapons no longer have any lethality," a squad leader bowed and asked Sophia, inquiring if these should also be kept.
"Bring them back."
Sophia glanced at him, her pale golden eyes showing no fluctuation.
"Irene's research requires a large amount of materials. Smelting down old iron and recasting it is much faster than mining it from the mountains. The Kingdom of Mason's current foundation cannot support any waste."
"Yes!" The soldiers moved quickly into action.
To the side, Valery and Victor, who were also directing the operation, did not feel the Queen's actions were 'shameful' in the slightest.
In the impoverished period of the Kingdom of Mason, being able to set aside the pride of a monarch and actively demand such scavenging to better develop the kingdom was something many people could not do.
Irene, meanwhile, pursed her small lips to the side, secretly vowing in her heart not to waste too many materials during her experiments.
These materials were all scraped together bit by bit by the Tyrant! They were hard-won!
Because there were too many captured supplies, the night was growing dark, and the road back to the Royal City was bumpy and difficult to traverse, Sophia decided to camp for the night in a clearing at the forest's edge.
Bonfires danced in the night, making crackling sounds.
A few unlucky forest rabbits had been hunted by agile soldiers and were currently sizzling with oil over the fire.
Sophia sat on a clean tree stump, holding a sharpened wooden stick in her hand, upon which was skewered a rabbit leg roasted until slightly charred.
"Your Majesty, can that kind of firearm from earlier really be equipped on a large scale?"
Victor sat a little further away, and while gnawing on black bread that had been simply warmed by the fire, he couldn't help but ask.
The resting soldiers around them perked up their ears, the firelight reflecting on their faces, which were slightly weary yet filled with high spirits.
Sophia took a bite of the rabbit meat, chewing slowly and swallowing before she spoke slowly.
"The technology is not yet mature. The rate of barrel explosions is too high, and reloading is too slow. If the enemy hadn't routed today but had instead charged regardless of the cost, most of you would already be corpses by now. Moreover, many of your hands are injured, aren't they?"
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the soldiers whose expressions were tense.
Irene nodded from the side; the Tyrant was very correct. These were indeed the drawbacks of the 'Mason Type I'.
"I do not like meaningless loss. A qualified soldier requires years of food and training to produce. If they die due to the quality issues of their own side's weapons, that is the greatest blasphemy against the Kingdom's resources."
Sophia's words were very direct, even carrying a sense of coldness that viewed soldiers as 'resources' and 'assets'.
But to the soldiers' ears, these words carried the weight of a thousand pounds.
"She is actually calculating our 'production cost'?" a young soldier whispered very quietly, his hand holding the bread trembling slightly.
In the eyes of the Old King or the lords of other kingdoms, common soldiers like them were nothing more than consumables.
If they died, just conscript another batch. No one comes? Then force conscription.
Never had there been a ruler who stood at the height of 'cherishing resources' and felt displeased because soldiers were injured by weapon malfunctions.
This Her Majesty the Queen, while mouthing words like 'resources' and 'cost', was actually using an extremely rational method to protect their lives, which were as cheap as grass in these chaotic times.
"It's not that Her Majesty doesn't care about our lives or deaths; rather, she views our lives as the most indispensable cornerstones for building the Kingdom," Victor sighed in his heart, his gaze becoming increasingly reverent.
To the side, Valery lowered his gaze to look at the bonfire, lost in thought.
This governing logic, devoid of a shred of sentimentality yet providing soldiers with a tangible sense of security, was more capable of winning over the army's heart than any impassioned speech.
"Rest well."
Sophia stood up, brushed the crumbs from her fingertips, and walked expressionlessly toward the carriage.
"Starting tomorrow, those three rescued villages will also be incorporated into our management. We need more hands to plant more grain."
"As you command! Your Majesty!"
Three hundred soldiers shouted in low unison, their voices echoing in the dark night.
----------
Not far away, Delilah pressed herself tightly against the shadows of an ancient tree, her body under her cloak as taut as a fully drawn bow.
This was the closest and least likely hiding spot to be discovered.
But...
No matter how firm her will was, physiological instincts could not be completely suppressed.
With the sizzling sound of rabbit grease dripping into the fire coming from the bonfire, along with the alluring aroma mixing meat and charred wood, Delilah couldn't help but quietly swallow her saliva, her stomach letting out an almost imperceptible protest.
"Calm down, Delilah. You were once a General of the Kingdom of Olan; what scenes haven't you witnessed?"
She narrowed her eyes slightly, her gaze locked dead on the back of that cold-faced young girl.
Because the distance was close enough, she could roughly hear the content of their conversation.
Sophia's argument just now about 'soldiers being expensive resources' had set off turbulent waves in Delilah's heart.
In her past life, when the King of Olan she served mobilized for war, he would always say, 'You are the honor of the nation,' and 'Your sacrifices will be remembered by the gods.'
But once on the battlefield, the 'honor' in the King's eyes would turn into meaningless numbers, casually discarded in the mud to fill the trenches.
"Doesn't like meaningless loss?"
Delilah muttered to herself in a low voice, her eyes complex.
If this young girl was truly the rumored Kinslayer and power-seizing Tyrant, why did the value she placed on soldiers' lives exceed those of the self-proclaimed benevolent 'Wise Rulers'?
Was she hiding it too deeply, or was this seemingly immature Queen walking a path of extreme rationality that no one could understand from the very beginning—a true King's path?
"Sophia Mason, just what kind of monster are you?"
Delilah pressed her hand against the hilt of the sword at her waist. Having left the Kingdom of Olan, she had no fixed abode; she had plenty of time to waste.
So she decided to keep watching.
If this was just a play by the Tyrant to buy people's hearts, she would reveal a flaw sooner or later.
When that time came, she would personally take her life.
________________________________________
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