Fragha and the others began searching for the materials needed to make cement.
He assigned Albert to build a thick cylindrical structure out of river stones and clay. The villagers worked around him in confusion, stacking stones, packing clay between the gaps, and glancing at Fragha from time to time as if waiting for an explanation.
"We're going to make a kiln," Fragha said, brushing dirt from his hands. "The cement will be produced by heating the materials inside."
Albert stared at the half-finished structure. "So we are going to burn rocks?"
"In simple terms, yes."
"That does not sound simple at all."
Fragha only smiled. "You'll understand once you see the result."
While Albert and the others continued shaping the kiln, Fragha ordered several villagers to gather limestone and clay. Some went toward the rocky slope beyond the village, while others carried baskets and wooden carts toward the riverbank. By now, the villagers had learned not to question every strange order Fragha gave. Most of the time, the results proved useful.
Several hours passed before the kiln finally dried enough to be used. Its surface had hardened into a rough gray shell, and the front opening looked like the mouth of a small stone beast. Fragha checked the structure carefully, then poured the mixture of crushed limestone and clay inside.
After that, he turned toward Hana.
"Hana, it's your turn."
Hana's shoulders dropped at once. "Haaah. Me again? Why is it always me?"
A few villagers lowered their heads, trying to hide their laughter. Hana noticed anyway and shot them a glare sharp enough to make them suddenly busy with anything else.
Not long ago, she had complained about being treated like an "ice machine." Now she had to stand in front of a kiln and act like a human furnace. Her expression made it clear that she was beginning to regret being useful.
"This is starting to feel unfair," she muttered.
"Your fire magic is the only thing here that can reach the temperature I need," Fragha said.
"That does not make me feel better."
"Think of it as contributing to the village."
"I think of it as being overworked."
Even so, Hana stepped forward and raised one hand toward the kiln's opening. A red glow gathered in her palm, flickering at first before turning into a steady flame. The air around her began to shimmer, and the villagers instinctively backed away as waves of heat rolled across the clearing.
The inside of the kiln roared.
Hana narrowed her eyes and controlled the flame with surprising precision. The heat continued to rise until it reached an intensity no ordinary fire could achieve. Fragha watched closely, giving small instructions when needed, while Albert stood a short distance away with his arms crossed and his mouth slightly open.
By the time the firing was complete, a gray powder had formed inside the kiln. It did not look impressive at first glance. To most people, it seemed no different from ash or crushed stone.
But Fragha knew exactly what it was.
Albert crouched beside the cooled powder and took a small amount between his fingers. "This is cement?"
"It will be once we mix it properly," Fragha replied. "Water, sand, and gravel. Then we wait."
They tested the mixture that same day. By the next morning, it had hardened into something like artificial stone. Albert pressed his palm against the surface, then knocked on it with his knuckles. A solid sound answered him.
His eyes widened.
"With this, we can build much faster than using carved stone."
"That's the idea," Fragha said. "And this is only the beginning."
While Fragha's village began moving into a new stage of construction, Balan was sinking deeper into chaos.
Liewerd Hawkins, the royal envoy, remained furious after seeing the evidence of tax embezzlement. His face had been cold ever since he opened Leonard's ledgers. With a single order, the two Royal Knights who had previously protected him moved to seal the gates of Baron Leonard's mansion.
Hawkins returned with an official decree from the king. Baron Leonard was to undergo a full investigation.
From that moment on, Leonard became a prisoner inside his own mansion. Every step he took was watched, every servant who approached him was questioned, and every message leaving the mansion was inspected. He was forbidden from giving military orders, issuing administrative commands, or touching any official accounts.
Hawkins confiscated every ledger Leonard owned.
Leonard shouted until his throat turned hoarse, insisting that everything was sabotage. He claimed that the "foreign bastard" had framed him, that the numbers had been altered, and that the accusations were part of a scheme. Hawkins listened without the slightest change in expression.
To Hawkins, Leonard's excuses meant nothing. The numbers in the ledger were clear, and to a royal envoy, those numbers were not merely accounting errors. They were proof of betrayal against the king.
With its leader under investigation and its food supply ruined by Zael's pest disaster, Balan fell into complete paralysis. Officials were too frightened to make decisions, soldiers waited for orders that never came, and merchants kept their doors half-closed while rumors spread through the streets. That paralysis gave Fragha the time he needed to continue construction without military interference.
Inside the heavily guarded mansion, Leonard desperately searched for a way to restore his position. His authority had been stripped away, his movements restricted, and most of his wealth placed under royal supervision. Still, he had hidden a small amount of gold for emergencies.
He approached one of the Royal Knights stationed outside his door, forcing a polite smile onto his pale face.
"Sir knight," Leonard said quietly. "Standing guard all day must be exhausting."
The knight glanced at him. "Return to your room, Baron."
Leonard slipped a hand into his sleeve and revealed several gold coins wrapped in cloth. "There is no need to be so rigid. I only need a small message delivered. No one has to know."
The knight looked at the gold, then back at Leonard.
"No."
Leonard's smile stiffened. "You have not even heard my request."
"I heard enough."
"It is only a message."
"And my answer is still no."
The knight's tone was flat and unmoved. He did not even reach for the coins. Leonard's fingers trembled slightly before he hid the gold again, his breathing growing uneven.
Then, as if clinging to one final thread of hope, Leonard asked, "What about the mercenaries from Morris?"
The knight frowned. "What mercenaries?"
"The ones preparing to attack Balan," Leonard said quickly. "You must have heard something. A contract, a troop movement, anything."
For a moment, the knight simply stared at him. Then he gave a short laugh, not loud, but filled with enough contempt to make Leonard's face twitch.
"Mercenaries? I was transferred from the Morris Garrison last week under Lord Hawkins's orders. There was no large contract issued from Morris, especially not for some poor fishing village. Every mercenary group there has already been hired for the eastern border expedition."
Leonard went still.
The words settled over him slowly, each one heavier than the last. There had been no mercenary force. No hidden army. No attack waiting to strike Balan. The fear that had pushed him into panic, the pressure that had ruined his judgment, and the decisions that had led him into Hawkins's hands had all begun with a false rumor.
His lips parted, but no words came out.
Then a cracked laugh escaped him.
"No," Leonard whispered. "No, that cannot be right."
The knight did not answer.
Leonard staggered back into his room and gripped his own hair with both hands. His breathing turned rough, and his eyes shook with a mixture of rage and disbelief. At last, he understood that Fragha had not destroyed him with soldiers or blades. He had destroyed him by making Leonard defeat himself.
Elsewhere, Viktor was enjoying the results of his own gamble.
The sale of his wheat had brought him a massive profit, far greater than he had expected. While others had hesitated and doubted, he had chosen to follow Fragha's plan. Now his coffers were filled with gold, and his opinion of Fragha had changed from cautious interest to firm conviction.
A man capable of planning something like that was not someone to ignore.
Viktor ordered his belongings, supplies, and several chests of gold to be loaded into a horse-drawn carriage. Once everything was secured, he set out for Fragha's village, the wheels of his carriage rattling along the road as he leaned back in his seat with a thoughtful look.
On the other side of the river, Fragha stood on a cliff and looked over the land below.
The wind tugged lightly at his white shirt and stirred the dust on his brown trousers. From where he stood, he could see the river curving through the landscape, the open fields near the bank, and the foundations of the village slowly taking shape beneath the afternoon sun.
To most people, it would have looked like an undeveloped settlement with too much empty land and too little manpower. To Fragha, it was a place with potential beyond farming and basic survival. If developed properly, it could become a destination for merchants, travelers, and wealthy visitors from the capital.
"Albert," Fragha called.
Albert Harmlet, who had been checking construction notes nearby, quickly approached with a roll of parchment in his hand. "Yes, my lord?"
Their original plan had been practical. They would build vertical public housing to save land and provide shelter quickly. It was efficient, functional, and easy to justify.
Fragha looked at the drawings, then shook his head.
"Forget the vertical concrete blocks."
Albert blinked. "My lord?"
"We are not only building houses," Fragha said. "We are building an image."
Albert lowered the parchment slightly. "An image?"
Fragha pointed toward the open land near the river. "Two-story houses. Clean white walls. Sloped roofs. Streets that feel orderly and pleasant to walk through. The buildings should look elegant, but not wasteful."
Albert turned his gaze toward the land, trying to imagine the scene Fragha described.
"We will use the cement made with Hana's magic for the walls," Fragha continued. "I want this village to look bright, clean, and dignified. It has to feel completely different from Balan."
At the mention of Balan, Albert's expression grew more serious. Everyone knew what Balan looked like now: cramped streets, dirty corners, exhausted people, and a gloomy atmosphere created by taxes and fear. Fragha wanted the opposite. He wanted a village that looked peaceful enough for travelers to remember and refined enough for merchants to take seriously.
Albert slowly nodded as understanding appeared in his eyes. "You want people to come here because the village itself looks valuable."
"Exactly," Fragha said. "If people come, they will spend money. If money begins to move, the village can grow faster than it ever could through farming alone."
Albert looked down at the old plans in his hand. After a moment, he rolled them up without complaint.
"I will redraw everything."
"Good."
Fragha looked back over the river and the open land beyond it. If this village could be made to look like a hidden paradise, then traders, nobles, and travelers would not need to be dragged here. They would come on their own.
Below the cliff, villagers continued working on the first foundations. The sound of tools, footsteps, and distant voices rose into the wind, carrying the beginning of a new village with it.