Lord: Starting from the Pit-Dwelling Courtyard

Chapter 7: Lost Civilization

Harland reined in his horse fifty paces outside the camp. His gaze swept over the wooden stockade wall, which was already mostly erected, with wooden stakes a meter deep in the ground. Then his eyes fell on the adobe houses and finally stopped in the direction of the pit.

He watched for a while.

“Five days.” Harland’s voice wasn’t loud, but the wind of the wasteland carried it to everyone’s ears. “Grayson said you built four rooms in five days. I thought he was lying.”

Ron stood behind the crenellations of the wooden stockade wall, with Old Hall beside him and Fanta on the hilt of his sword.

Ron said with a forced smile, "It seems Lord Harland has been keeping an eye on my territory all along!"

Harland shifted his gaze from the pit to Ron's face, scrutinized him for a few seconds, and then dismounted.

"Go in and take a look," Harland said, his tone neither a request nor a command. "The rest of you wait here."

Ron nodded.

Old Hall waved his hand, and the gate opened a crack just wide enough for one person to pass through.

Haaland brought only two people with him: Grayson and a silent, bald bodyguard.

The guard's hands remained hanging at his sides, his fingertips less than an inch from the hilt of his sword.

Haaland walked into the camp at a leisurely pace.

As he passed the adobe house, he glanced at the thickness of the walls, and as he passed the well, he bent down and touched the stonework along the well's edge.

He knew the water quality in the wasteland very well, so he didn't need to fetch water to check.

When Harland arrived at the edge of the pit, he subconsciously looked down, treating it as a water reservoir. In the wasteland, regardless of the size of the territory, people would generally build water reservoirs for emergencies.

An eight-meter-deep square pit, with neat cave dwellings on all four sides.

This made his eyes light up, as if he had discovered a new continent.

Haaland remained silent for a long time.

“Five years!” Harland began. “I’ve lived in the wasteland for five years, dug dug dugs, lived in caves, and never thought of building a house underground.”

He turned his head and looked at Ron.

"Did you design this too?"

Ron met his gaze.

"Yes."

Harland didn't say anything more. He walked down the earthen steps along the newly opened cave passage on the side, with Ron and Old Hall following behind.

The moment he entered the cave, Haaland's expression finally changed slightly; it was one of amazement and admiration.

"Cool, bright, dry." Harland looked around. "Do you know how many lives those three words are worth in the wasteland?"

Before Ron could answer, Harland's gaze fell on the stone platform in the corner, where a part of the filter was placed—a spare part that Old Hall was replicating.

"What is that?"

Old Hall glanced at Ron.

Ron nodded slightly.

"A filter," old Hall said. "For purifying the water."

Harland walked over, squatted down, and touched the top layer of linen with his fingers. He didn't dig deeper below, figuring Ron wouldn't agree anyway.

"Grayson."

Grayson immediately understood and brought up a bucket of water that had just been drawn from the side.

This water filtration system was deliberately shown to Harald by Ron; it was, of course, a stripped-down version.

Harland took it and poured it into the stone trough above the filter. The water slowly seeped in and dripped from the bottom. The water was still a bit murky, but it was much better than the water he had just drawn.

Haaland took a bowl, not caring at all that it was raw water, and drank a sip.

In fact, if Ron hadn't invented the solar furnace, Old Hall wouldn't have been giving cold water to vagrants and criminals.

In the wasteland, many lords mostly drank raw water.

Harland looked down at the remaining water in the bowl. It was slightly cloudy, but the odor had lessened considerably, and it was cleaner than the best well water in his territory.

He put down the bowl, his expression growing increasingly serious.

"Five days." Harland's voice carried a hint of admiration. "You solved a problem in five days that took me two years to solve in the wasteland."

Haaland stood up and, for the first time, truly looked Ron in the eye.

"Let's talk."

Old Hall raised his hand, and the sand and stones on the ground slowly rose up, coalescing into a stone table and two stone chairs.

Grayson and the guard both looked at the creation of the architect and exclaimed in amazement.

In this world, there are fewer builder mages than regular mages, so many lords do not have any builder mages under their command, and even if they do, most of them are builder mage apprentices.

Four people in one room.

Haaland sat down with an air of authority, while Grayson and the other man stood quietly behind him.

At this moment, Fanta also arrived and stood behind Ron, but the aura emanating from him made Harland narrow his eyes slightly.

Clearly, he sensed Fanta's power.

"I know you can't produce 1,500 catties of grain."

"So you came in person, not to collect grain."

"So you came in person, not to collect grain."

Haaland did not answer directly; he leaned back in his stone chair and tapped his fingers on the table.

"The Ashwood family, the largest family of architectural mages in the Southern Territory ten years ago."

Ron's expression remained unchanged.

"Dream Merchant Guild, one-fifth of the farms in the Southern Territory, three trade routes." Harland's voice was unhurried. "When I was in Casterly Rock, I saw buildings that your family had handled. The granary in Viscount Mason's territory was built under your supervision, and even after twenty years, it is still the most solid building in the territory."

"Then overnight, everything was gone."

The cave fell silent. Grayson and the bald bodyguard stood behind Harland like two stone statues.

Fanta stood behind Ron, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the bald guard.

"A fire, the Red Hat Thieves," Harland said. "The official story is that the thieves, driven by greed, launched a night raid on the Earl's estate. The Ashwood family resisted but were no match for them and were wiped out."

"This kind of thing can only fool children."

Ron's fingers tightened slightly under the table.

"Thieves are after money, they won't burn down workshops," Harland said. "If they burn down workshops, all the valuables will be gone. The Red Hats are the largest thief group in the kingdom, they're not stupid."

"You've specifically researched the Ashwood family massacre?" Ron's voice was calm.

"After surviving five years in the wasteland, I've learned one thing," Harland met his gaze, "You should always take a second look at anything that seems amiss. The Ashwood family's massacre had far too many suspicious aspects."

"First, the fire didn't burn down the lord's manor, it burned down the workshop. Second, the Red Hats' night raid happened exactly half a month after the workshop fire, when your security was at its weakest. Third, after the massacre, someone bought Ashwood family architectural blueprints in the capital at a high price."

Ron's pupils contracted slightly.

The third point was something he was hearing about for the first time.

"Who's collecting them?"

Haaland didn't answer the question. He picked up the bowl of filtered water on the table and took another sip.

"Before I came to Blackthorn Wasteland, I heard a rumor," Harland put down his bowl, "that the Ashwood family possesses a set of blueprints from the time of the ancient Auster civilization, relics of a lost civilization."