Chapter 293

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We eventually got the kids back to the village, along with all the loot we managed to take from the bandit camp. I decided that the gold and silver we recovered from the bandit camp were not as important as the trouble the village went through, so I passed them out to the villagers and their children.

The only thing I dread is writing the report for this incident, especially if there are other incidents like this during the rest of the tour.

As for the bandit boss, I did not bother keeping my promise of just killing him, he does not deserve such mercy. I cut his tendons and healed the cut just enough that it healed the cut, but not deep enough to reach the tendons, so even if he decides to use his aura to try to escape, it will not do him much good if he does not even have the strength to use his limbs. And since he is a deserter from the Valorhelm Dominion army, I am fairly sure that the kingdom’s intelligence would be interested in him.

Before leaving the village to continue my tour of the territory, we borrowed a small cart, and with the help of the local carpenter, we converted it into a prison cart so we could drop the bandit boss off at the nearest town with a proper military presence.

***

The rest of the territory tour was rather uneventful. We did have to clear out a small nest of kobolds that had taken to raiding a farmer’s chickens, but other than that, there were no other monsters that were not taken care of by the regular soldier patrols.

The next most exciting thing after that was making some town mayors and village chiefs sweat when I revealed my identity and went through their books to see if their tax numbers were on the up and up.

So far, most of them were in order, but a few weren't as clever as they thought when cooking their books. There were minor issues like underreporting a tithe for the trade of certain goods and pocketing the difference. And even if the numbers don't add up, it can be easily explained away as a rounding error. To those, I just gave them a warning to double-check their numbers while giving them a look that said I did not buy their bullshit for a second. They got the message and bowed to me while sweating as I left their office.

Then there were the total morons who cooked their books in such a way that I was actually surprised they were not caught by now. Like two hundred silver for a bridge repair this year, and when I sent one of my men-at-arms to check the bridge in question, he came back and reported that it was a stone bridge that was still in good condition and did not look to have been repaired or touched up in years.

Or a more ridiculous case was using collected tax money for ‘Emergency Famine Relief’ when there has not been a recorded case of famine in the county for decades, and if there really was a famine, one farming village surrounded by other farming villages sure as shit would sure as shit not be the only one experiencing a ‘famine’. We had to borrow another prison cart to send the offending book cookers to my father to be judged for their crimes.

***

By the time I return home from the territory tour, I now understand why, even though the knights serving under my father were his previous brothers in arms at the same rank as knights, they do not envy his promotion to nobility and being given land to manage. In the end, it's so much easier to just swing a sword for a living.

As the young master of the house, I have to listen to the people whine about problems that I could have thrown a scribe at to solve. The only fun problems to solve are those where we are pointed at something we can kill.

Honestly, the life of a knight was not a bad one, especially when they were close to their boss. It may not be morally right, but Dad sometimes lets them in on some insider info so that they or their family can take advantage of opportunities.

In a feudal society like the one I currently live in, a little nepotism among family and friends goes a long way. Dad keeps his knights and their families comfortable, and in return, the knights keep my family in power. It may sound distasteful to modern sensibilities, but that's just how the world works.

After my parents welcomed me back and I finished writing a report of my tour for Dad, I took a few days to rest before I resumed work on my secret lair.

I eventually completed excavating and compressing the dirt to form the first level of my secret lair. The floor, walls, and ceiling were smooth as well-poured and spread concrete. All I had to do was give the place a wash down to get rid of all the fine dust my excavating and compressing had done.

Speaking of fine dust, this place needs some proper ventilation. That should take care of the dust in the long term, and get some much-needed airflow in this place. That means I need to take care of it before I proceed with any other construction.

After an hour of doodling a rough plan for a ventilation system, I want to take some more measurements before getting to work.

First thing I did was dig out a one-meter deep by one-meter wide section of the wall by the side of the future elevator shaft, all the way up to my workshop, essentially creating a one-meter squared shaft next to the elevator shaft, and extended that shaft to the roof of my workshop by building a false chimney. This one-meter squared shaft will serve as my air vent in take.

Next, I worked on making the exhaust. After walking around with a measuring rope for a while, I calculated that the far end of where I dug my secret lair would just end up inside the wooded area of my backyard. My only problem was how to conceal an exhaust vent in the middle of the woods without drawing attention to anyone who stumbles across a hole in the ground that blows air out.

After considering all my options, I ended up going with a fake rock acting as the vent… well, not exactly fake, it will be a real rock, but hollow with strictly placed air slits. I compressed some earth into a rock big enough for someone to sit on and applied the needed modifications, then I went back down to the far end of my secret lair.

From there, I carved out a one-meter squared indent in the wall, and manipulated earth magic to dig a finger-sized pilot hole all the way up to the surface. This hole would act as my guide as I went back up to dig and compress my way down.

Now that all the tedious work was done, here came the easy part, the air intake fan. In my workshop, I hammered and cut out a thin sheet of steel into a huge fan blade that fit inside the ventilation shaft, hooked it up to the steam engine powering my workshop tools with gears and a leather belt, and watched it spin.

After making a few changes to the gear ratio to get the fan up to a satisfactory speed, I built a shroud around the fan to concentrate the air flow and went to my local tailor to make some air filters.

After convincing the tailor to stop asking me why I ordered her to make something she had never made before, I walked away with my air filter. It consisted of two layers of burlap, two layers of common cloth that most common people wear on a daily basis, and lastly and most expensive, two layers of fine silk, each layer was one-meter squared and sewn together in that order.

After putting the air filter directly in front of the fan shroud, making sure that no air could go around the air filter, I secured the air filter with a grate and turned the fan on.

Now was the final test to see if the ventilation system worked. I brought a freshly cut log that has yet to be dried, and went down to the secret lair. When I entered, I could already tell that the air was not stale, but I always like seeing results with my eyes. So I blasted the log with fire for a few seconds, and the log caught fire. Since the log was not dried, a lot of smoke was produced, but that was what I wanted.

I stepped back and watched the smoke billow to the ceiling and move only toward the far end of the lair, where the exhaust vent was. This result meant success. I have achieved positive air pressure!

Now I just need to put out the fire and hope nobody freaks out if they see smoke coming out from a rock in the woods.