Chapter 79 - 75: The Value of Ola and the Others
Chapter 79: Chapter 75: The Value of Ola and the Others
The next day, the morning sun had just begun to stream through the high windows, casting clear geometric patches of light upon the ground.
Walker’s hand rapped on the heavy wooden doors of the Lord’s Mansion.
He tightly clutched a piece of tanned hide, upon which crude symbols had been drawn in charcoal.
"My Lord, this is... this is the battle damage report you requested."
Walker carefully spread the hide across the table in front of Velin.
On the hide were crude drawings of warped axes, armor plates, and horses.
And next to each crude illustration, written with painstaking neatness in a brand-new style, were several... wobbly symbols.
This was one of the results of Velin’s attempts to establish a night school for his management staff—Arabic numerals.
His gaze swept across the surface of the hide, his mind already racing to convert everything to its monetary value.
"Thirty-one sets of heavy armor, most in a state of disrepair."
Even damaged, the salvage value of these components of Dwarf-style chainmail and plate armor, once repaired and broken down, would be enough to exceed the surplus of a common Baron’s fief for several years.
A true windfall.
"Twenty-eight warhorses, three of which are dead. All the survivors have injuries of varying severity."
In the face of diluted Recovery Potions, these injuries were only a matter of time.
Each of these rigorously trained warhorses was a liquid asset worth more than ten Golden Suns.
"Weapons. Various standard-issue battle-axes and Longswords, thirty-four in total."
The craftsmanship was acceptable, but they weren’t enchanted, limiting their value. They could serve as basic equipment for the militia or be melted down.
All in all, the spoils were roughly estimated to be worth nearly one thousand Golden Suns.
It was hard to imagine that this was the fortune amassed by a Baron struggling in a barren land.
’I have to say, Baron Olan is pretty good at making money. He just has poor judgment.’
Although this was a fortune the likes of which Velin had never possessed, it didn’t feel quite real to him.
In his eyes, these cold metals were merely one-time, non-renewable assets.
He much preferred the Bader Dung Beetles, which were hardy, absolutely obedient, had a simple diet, and could reproduce on their own.
Aside from a few of the finest specimens set aside for studying the unique forging techniques of the Dwarf Race, the rest of this equipment would be packed up and sold for Golden Suns through the channels of the Golden Sail Commerce Association as soon as possible.
The proceeds would then be invested into more valuable research.
The only thing that gave him a slight pause was the final item on the report.
Thirty-one prisoners.
Led by Ola Stonebeard, it was his entire retinue of Knights.
’Kill them? A pointless slaughter would be a direct violation of the Haiti Kingdom’s laws and would attract unwanted scrutiny from the royal prosecutors.’
’Let them go? That would be tantamount to releasing a tiger back to its mountain—I’d be creating a mortal enemy for no reason.’
’Keep them? Why should I? Thirty-one mouths to feed represents a constant drain on my resources.’
’It seems that until they can be converted into a useful labor force, they are purely a negative asset.’
Velin’s fingers tapped unconsciously on the smooth wooden surface of the desk.
TAP... TAP... TAP...
These powerful warriors, as captives, had become his most troublesome financial liability.
Just as he was weighing the pros and cons, a researcher from the Origin Association entered, a troubled look on his face.
He deliberately lowered his voice, lest the guards outside the door overhear.
"My Lord, our reserves of dragon dung are running low."
"According to our calculations, given the current scale of Bader Dung Beetle cultivation and their rate of consumption, our reserves will last five days at most."
Velin’s brow furrowed slightly. "Have you reported this to headquarters?"
"We have, but there’s no way a new shipment will arrive in the next few days."
The tapping of Velin’s fingers on the desk suddenly stopped.
His gaze fell once more upon the crude report on the hide.
His eyes moved slowly, finally settling on the scrawled writing in the "prisoners" section.
An idea.
A connection sparked in his mind—a way to cleverly convert a negative asset into... a research subject.
The corners of his mouth turned up in a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
And he murmured to himself in a voice only he could hear.
"What a... perfect control group."
"Thirty-one specimens. The variables are clear, and the individual differences are significant. And that Half-Dwarf specimen... he’s simply a prime example."
At that moment, he was no longer thinking about how to deal with a financial liability.
He was thinking about how to design and conduct an unprecedented scientific study!
Velin did not personally step into the damp, musty cellar.
He had Ola brought alone to a room within the Lord’s Mansion.
The room was simple and plain, containing only a table and a chair.
When Ola was shoved inside by two guards, he was breathing raggedly. His eyes darted between Velin and the guards at the door, thinking his judgment had finally come.
But what he saw on the table was... lunch?
The portion wasn’t large, but it was exquisite.
A small piece of fatty pork, roasted until it sizzled. A small bowl of steaming, thick oat soup. There was even a small cup of amber ale.
The utensils were polished iron, not the cheap wooden bowls usually tossed to prisoners.
He watched warily as Velin strolled in. The sound that came from his throat was as hoarse as two stones grinding together.
"You despicable pretty boy, what kind of tricks are you trying to pull?"
Velin didn’t answer. He simply placed a folded piece of parchment in front of the Dwarf.
At the top, written in exceedingly neat Common Tongue, was a title: "Informed Consent Form."
Ola could barely read, and the convoluted jargon in the main text made his head spin.
But he knew this man before him couldn’t possibly have good intentions.
"Sir Ola," Velin’s monotone voice sounded exceptionally clear in the unnaturally quiet room, "I have no intention of taking your life. You must understand, such an act would yield no profit."
"I am now giving you a choice: become my ’collaborator,’ or become fresh fodder for my pets."
Ola’s face instantly turned purple with rage. Veins bulged on his neck as he let out a furious roar.
"Collaborator? Ha! You want me, a descendant of the Shixu Clan, to betray my sovereign?"
"No, not at all. I have no need for you to betray anyone."
Velin gestured toward the lunch on the table, his posture like that of someone explaining how to operate a piece of precision alchemical equipment.
"The nature of your ’collaboration,’ to be precise, is very simple. Every day, you will receive three precisely measured, nutrient-rich meals. Your only responsibility will be to eat them."
Velin paused, then added a sentence that made Ola’s blood run cold.
"Then, we will collect your... ’waste products.’ You have no need to know what for."
He gazed at Ola’s face as it shifted from anger to astonishment and finally to a blank stupor, continuing in that same emotionless tone.
"In return for your cooperation, you and your subordinates will be allowed to live. You will receive basic, humanitarian treatment: food, clean water, and rudimentary medical care."
"Your Knights will participate in the same experiment. However, you, as the core subject of this study, will be the exclusive recipient of this ’special menu’."
Finally, Velin produced another document from his breast pocket. It was a text created by slightly modifying a standard employment contract from the Golden Sail Commerce Association.
He pushed the document in front of Ola.
"You can think of it as a special kind of employment contract. Your job is to stay alive, eat, and maintain a regular metabolism."