Outside the western wall, the refugees were guided by the soldiers of the First Army to undergo an unprecedented identity check.
Barov knew full well that population was the most prized asset for Your Highness Roland. To bring these people back to Border Town, Your Highness had spent a fortune, even dispatching the First Army to the capital. When the Margery Chamber of Commerce's bill was laid before Barov, he nearly dropped his jaw in shock.
Over the course of half a month, the caravan's expenses—including charter fees, transportation costs, and provisions—add up to over two thousand Jinlong coins, equivalent to the price of four steam engines. Had it not been for the deposit received last month for renovating two sailboats, this financial report would have shown a deficit.
After the refugees were brought back, he was tasked with the tedious and massive statistical work. Nearly all municipal officials and apprentices were mobilized to set up wooden shelters and passageways at the foot of the city walls, where they categorized and documented the refugees. Watching the refugees slowly pass through the checkpoints in over a dozen lines, Barov could almost see a procession of moving coins.
In contrast to the ordinary civil registration offices with long queues, the specialized talent channel he personally oversees remains far less busy, with only fifty to sixty people having passed through so far.
"I'm... a carpenter," a middle-aged man approached cautiously. "So any craftsman could get a place to live?" "Exactly," Senidali replied. "What's your name? Can you read?" The Knight, originally from the Wolf Clan, had been handling the Ministry of Agriculture with ease—no mistakes had been made so far. Barov was thoroughly pleased with his judgment. Though this was a census, the municipal hall had only so many literate residents, so they had to bring in people from other departments as well.
"Uh... Sir, my name is Marcel." The man paused. "I can't read or write." "Neither?" "Neither," the middle-aged man replied, head bowed.
"Alright, the carpenter's confession..." Seni rummaged through a stack of interrogation forms labeled' Carpenter. '"Ah, found it. Let me ask you a few questions." This interrogation method was devised by Your Royal Highness, who gathered craftsmen from various trades, questioned them about specialized knowledge and practical solutions, then recorded their responses to compile a standardized interrogation form. By simply asking a few questions during the interrogation, one could instantly detect any deception. When Barov first encountered this lie-detecting technique, he couldn't help but applaud Devil's cleverness. Most civilians wouldn't know such details unless they worked in the trade. For someone attempting to impersonate a professional, just two or three questions would suffocate them into silence.
"What's the tool for smoothing wood surfaces?" "It's... a planing plane, sir." "What are the common saws?" "A miter saw and a jigsaw, and sometimes a hand saw for small cuts." After these questions, Marcel could answer most of them, and his speech gradually became more fluent.
"Well, you're clearly a carpenter," Barov said, blocking Seni before he could register the name on the identity form.
"Sir?" "Don't jump to conclusions. First, examine his hands," he said, turning to Marcel. "Extend them." Marcel's face turned pale at the command. He opened his hands in confusion—the skin on the palms was rough, with cracks and clumps of dirt, and thick calluses under each finger, clearly weathered by years of hardship.
"If he were a carpenter, his palms wouldn't be so rough—especially those two fleshy pads under the palm, which would naturally become smooth and hardened from constant friction with wood. Moreover, carpenters often use black lacquer to outline designs, so his palms would be covered in stubborn black ink, turning completely black rather than yellow," Barov said calmly. "Another thing: when answering, he'd always look away first. Many people unconsciously make similar expressions when recalling infrequent memories. If he were a carpenter, his responses should have been very natural." "Is... that so?" Seni stared wide-eyed.
Barov turned to Marcel, his face etched with astonishment, and said in a grave tone, "You must have heard the warning from the First Army's soldiers when they summoned you. Any acts of impersonation, deception, or refusal to register will be met with severe punishment—either banishment to the mines or expulsion from the Western Frontier. Do you still consider yourself a carpenter?" "No, sir, I was mistaken!" Marcel knelt down uncontrollably. "The carpenter was my neighbor. I merely observed his work from the side!" "Go ahead and join the queue." Seeing the man flee in panic, Seni gasped. "How did you come to know these things, sir?" "During the Demon's Moon, I conducted a census for Your Highness. I had dealings with every carpenter in the town, so I recorded their names." Barov replied with a nonchalant air. The sight of Knight's shocked and admiring expression filled him with a surge of pride.
Though Devil's method is ingenious, it will inevitably be fooled by some. Only someone like yourself can fill the void for Your Highness.
And under the influence of Your Highness, his approach to handling issues has changed from his usual style... Barov couldn't help but sigh inwardly. In the past, such commoners would have been punished with雷霆手段 to deter those who might stir up trouble. Now, letting him go directly is probably a way to save Your Royal Highness some golden dragons—after all, every fugitive is worth a fortune. If they don't work for Border Town for over a decade, the cost of transporting them from thousands of miles away simply isn't worth it.
When the next refugee was interviewed professionally, Seni didn't register him immediately, but instead turned his attention to Barov.
He gave the defendant a few quick glances before nodding. "Take this note. I'll take him to see Your Highness." Beyond the city wall's entrance stood Roland Wimbledon's makeshift shelter—the final checkpoint.
Here, they will be personally questioned by Your Highness. If cleared of any issues, they will receive a "Resident ID Card" and become official residents of Border Town. Currently, due to housing shortages in the town, priority is given to craftsmen for accommodation. As for refugees without specialized skills, they must wait another two to three months outside the city walls.
Barov possessed an ID card—a colored cardboard sheet about palm-sized, featuring his likeness in the upper left corner that appeared lifelike, with his name, address, and serial number printed in the center. The back bore the emblem of the Graycastle doublet and the signature seal of Your Highness. Both the card and its protective film were remarkably durable, showing no signs of damage even when submerged in water or heated over a fire.
There's no doubt this was created by the witch named Soraya. RolandYour Highness seems to be pushing ID cards citywide, requiring proof for everything from buying food to receiving pay.
After awarding medals to the Payne family's young mistress at the ceremony, Your Highness clearly no longer intended to conceal the Witch's existence. Meanwhile, Barov had grown indifferent to the Devil and the Church's dispute, even harboring a faint hope that Roland Your Highness might defeat the Church and fully unify Graycastle.
Undoubtedly, the higher Your Highness stands, the greater the rewards you will receive.
Of course, this step remains a long way off and can be deferred for later consideration. The town's population has now surpassed that of the Long Song Fortress, and Your Highness has revealed the city-building plan for the coming year—once connected to the fortress, it will unify much of the Western Frontier into a single entity. Its scale will undoubtedly surpass the capital, making it Graycastle's most magnificent city. As the mayor, what promotions might await him then?
Barov is full of expectations for the future.