Chapter 6: Territory Development (II)
Saelen recalled the predicament he had faced when he first arrived on his lands—no money, no grain, no people. A true land of three nothings. Who would have thought that a handful of tournaments alone could bring in enough gold dragons to fully support the development of an entire domain?
The thought made him burst out laughing.
He raised his cup, stood, and declared loudly,
"To King Robert and the southern lords—thank you for your generous contributions. Let us drain this cup!"
He tilted his head back and drank it down in one go.
The council hall erupted in laughter. One by one, the others stood and raised their cups.
"To King Robert and the southern lords—thank you for your generous contributions!"
The atmosphere instantly warmed.
Once everyone had sat back down, Saelen turned to Ser William.
"Ser William, I'll trouble you to brief everyone here on the specifics of the people you brought back this time. After that, we'll discuss how to settle them."
"Yes, my lord."
Ser William straightened, his smile fading as he moved into a formal report.
"This time, we brought back more than fifty thousand people. Before I departed, you instructed me to recruit as many as possible, so I brought back everyone prepared by Hand of the King, Jon Arryn."
"Of these, over forty thousand are able-bodied adults. Thirty-five thousand are adult men, and about five thousand are women, mostly between twenty and forty years old."
"Of the remaining ten thousand, more than seven thousand are elderly—over fifty years old—and just over three thousand are children who have not yet come of age."
"On the return journey, two to three thousand died. Most succumbed to infected wounds after injuries sustained in the riot. A smaller number were elderly or infirm and simply could not endure the road."
He paused briefly, then continued.
"My lord, since many of these people were involved in the unrest, most bear injuries. We'll need the maester to examine them."
"As for the elderly, children, and women, they were manageable. But the tens of thousands of adult men… they were difficult to control."
"I had to execute quite a few troublemakers and those who refused discipline just to maintain order."
Saelen nodded calmly.
"That's acceptable. When you think about it, they're simply starving poor souls."
"As long as we give them steady work with decent pay—and make sure they don't starve or freeze—they'll settle down."
"But if that's still not enough, and they insist on stirring trouble…" Saelen's tone remained flat. "Then we identify the ringleaders and execute them publicly."
"Kill the chicken to scare the monkeys."
"Anyone with sense will know which choice to make."
"As for the wounded," Saelen continued, "after this meeting, Maester Rosmund will take people to assess them. Whatever supplies are needed—draw them directly from the warehouses."
"Yes, my lord," Ser William replied, saying no more.
Saelen then turned his gaze to the stewards seated below.
"Gene," he said, "tell us about the porcelain works."
A plump, middle-aged man named Gene rose and bowed.
"My lord, after several years of development, the porcelain works now has ten large kilns in operation, with all necessary tools fully equipped."
"Four of the kilns were built recently, and five more are currently under construction. Progress has been slow due to manpower shortages, but with sufficient labor from this new influx, they can be completed very quickly."
Gene picked up another sheet of parchment, glanced over it, and continued his report.
"At present, the porcelain works employs a little over two thousand workers in total.
"Of these, more than fifteen hundred are raw-material workers—responsible for mining, crushing, washing, and refining the porcelain clay and glaze materials.
"There are over four hundred forming craftsmen"—he clarified—"including wheel throwers, mold pressers, trimmers, and foot cutters.
"As for decorative artisans—those who paint, carve, or engrave the pieces—we only have thirty to forty people."
Gene let out a helpless sigh.
"Skilled painters and carvers are extremely rare. There's no way around it—we can only cultivate them slowly over time."
He paused, then added,
"At present, a single kiln can fire five hundred porcelain blanks per batch, yielding just over two hundred finished pieces."
Saelen frowned slightly.
Seeing this, Gene hurried to explain.
"My lord, these workers had never encountered porcelain before. Everyone started from nothing. Though we've been firing porcelain for several years now, the craftsmen are finally familiar with each step of the process and can avoid major mistakes."
"However, improving quality and maintaining a high success rate still requires long-term experience."
"My lord, I swear—give us another year or two, and we can raise the yield to around eighty finished pieces per hundred."
Saelen nodded slowly.
He understood well enough that porcelain firing was a highly demanding craft, requiring strict control over temperature and humidity. In his former world, Western civilizations had spent centuries trying—and failing—to master it.
Yet with the system's assistance, he had forced it into existence within a few short years.
True, the porcelain had countless flaws and a low success rate—but it worked.
And going from zero to one was always the hardest step.
Once that threshold was crossed, the road ahead became far smoother.
Noticing Gene's tension, Saelen smiled and spoke reassuringly.
"Steward Gene, don't worry. I'm not blaming you. I know porcelain making is a technical craft—experience must be accumulated slowly."
"Focus on steady improvement. Produce more pieces, and better ones, year by year."
As he spoke, Saelen raised his cup and toasted Gene, then added pointedly,
"While overseeing production, you must also take good care of the workers."
"Plan their labor and rest reasonably. Do not mistreat them just to rush progress."
"And their meals must not be poor. You understand me?"
"Their wages must also be paid in full."
Saelen had heard rumors.
This plump steward had not been gentle with the porcelain workers—harsh discipline, deductions from rations, even skimming from wages. It reminded Saelen all too vividly of the exploitative bosses from his previous life—parasites who squeezed blood and sweat from laborers, then stole from them under endless pretexts.
Such behavior disgusted him.
In truth, it crossed Saelen's bottom line.
For a moment, he genuinely wanted to have Gene executed on the spot—kill the chicken to scare the monkeys, warn anyone else with crooked intentions.
But reality restrained him.
His territory was still small. His foundation was shallow.
Although he had absorbed tens of thousands of people from King's Landing, they were mostly uneducated commoners. Few could read, fewer still could calculate accounts.
If Gene were killed, the porcelain works would lose its manager—and this gold-producing enterprise would grind to a halt.
Maester Rosmund already managed every affair of Castle Edd and had no time to oversee the porcelain works. That would leave only Saelen himself—and he could not afford to live in the kiln yards.
Moreover, Gene was one of Saelen's earliest followers. He could read, count, and possessed a degree of managerial skill.
So Saelen suppressed his disgust.
He would give the man one more chance.
This was a warning.
If Gene failed to restrain himself again, Saelen would not hesitate—old ties or not.