The Legend of William Oh

Chapter 298: Crystal folk

Harold took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing up at the ‘sun’ beating down on him.Their previous home had never had something quite so bright and warm. Something about it felt natural, despite its oppressive heat.

The scholar in him knew that the object must be hot beyond reckoning if it was radiating that kind of energy from such an insurmountable distance.

What was it? How could it be possible that…

Harold shook his head and settled his hat back down. Harold was a curious man, but there were times when curiosity was appropriate and times when a man must simply earn his keep through the sweat of his brow. Lean times.

This was one of those times.

Harold was currently digging beds for the oases to spawn in. They’d worked out the ideal spawn conditions and William Oh’s livestock specialists even had some success in transplanting eggs to grow them naturally.

The oasis was the only meat-source large enough to feed full grown crystal folk in this land of the tiny.

The monsters, plants, and even the mountains, all served to remind them that they were out of sync with the world around them, having grown to enormous proportion to match the enormous snake they had lived in.

The lovely young little people, ‘humans’ they called themselves, had made efforts towards designing plant life that could produce enough food to satisfy the crystal folk.

But when the wheat fields didn’t even reach a man’s ankles, and the tallest fruit tree barely scraped a knee, the amount of food produced with agriculture…wasn’t…a whole lot.

Crystal Folk weren’t capable of weeding, either, as it would be tantamount to asking someone to pick lint out of a carpet with tweezers in exchange for a couple grains of rice.

In short, they were unsuited for traditional agriculture.

Progress was being made, as William Oh’s farm-magic vassals were using their magic to steadily creating bigger and bigger trees, wheat and fruits, but it would take years before they made a variant big enough to feed the crystal folk.

No, for the time being, all hands were needed to keep the oases spawning as quickly as possible.

The Lord’s hunter, Jorn, was coordinating with Badur and the crystal folk to drive monsters into the mouths of the enormous flat-fish, speeding up their growth and giving more opportunities for new ones to spawn.

Harold set his hat back down on his scalp. The hat had been woven from special steel beams and extra-long vines by William Oh’s magicians, and Harold had grown to appreciate the way it kept his pale skin from burning in the sun.

Their homes had been constructed in a similar manner, using the bare minimum to shelter their enormous guests.

Near the foot of the mountain, where the oasis didn’t spawn, there were hundreds of tiny huts of the same make as his hat, barely better than tents. Further up the mountain, the crystal folk were cutting into the mountain, shaping more permanent housing.

Despite the meager accommodations and food, the crystal folk were thankful. Even providing these meager huts and the food had been a huge strain on the human’s resources.

Harold knew because he was the contact point between the humans and the crystal folk. As a historian, it had been his selfish whim to be the one to trade with them.

Cinters, their currency carved from the bones of their elders, was considered quite a valuable trade good to the humans, but despite that, the sheer quantities the crystal folk needed meant it could buy far less than they would be happy with.

They’d been forming a plan with Badur. The former chief was going to die soon and they would likely sell his body to William Oh in exchange for something called a ‘resource node’ which would allow them to secure a more reliable food source.

…Hopefully.

The current chief was Harold’s son, Jace, who he could see in the distance, digging out the side of the mountain, side to side with the other young men of the village, shaping and stacking stones to build their first proper house.

“Lemonade, Harold?” Martha asked, arriving beside him with a steel cup of yellow liquid. One of the few utensils they had at the moment, courtesy of Lord Oh.

The farm-mages had sent several wagons full of ‘lemons’ and ‘sugar’, along with the recipe for ‘lemonade’, saying that it was a refreshing beverage.

It had taken half a wagon each of sugar and lemons for this one cup.

“I’ll try anything once,” Harold said with a shrug, raising the cup to his lips and taking a tentative sip of the little-people cuisine.

Harold’s eyes went wide as his mouth was flooded with a sweet and sour flavor unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

“DAMN!” Harold exclaimed before passing it back to Martha. “Lemonade is awesome! You drink the rest, dear.”

“I’m not the one working in the heat dear,” Martha said, pushing the cup back to him before gesturing back to the smoking racks where other women were cutting and hanging strips of the flatfish under a massive gazebo, also created with vines by William Oh’s farm-mages.

Tiny little fruits hung off of the vines covering the lattice, and if you squished them to your tongue, one could taste the flavor the humans called ‘grape’.

Stolen novel; please report.

Apparently, a beverage called ‘wine’ was created using those tiny fruits, but the Burned Stronghold didn’t have enough to fill a single cup.

Harold thought, taking another sip of the ridiculously sweet drink. He was ashamed to admit that since their diet solely consisted of Steve’s parasites for several hundred years, their food culture wasn’t quite up to competing with these little people.

“Harold, I’ve heard there’ve been some troubling things happening near the burned Stronghold.” Martha said, glancing towards the mountain range across the valley that separated them from William Oh’s town.

“Some of the visitors to the stronghold don’t know about our alliance and get a bit aggressive. It’s hard to send them back without squishing them.”

“hmm..”

“Gerald’s laid up with burns on his ankles and one of our oasis spawning pits got messed up in the scuffle.”

From their vantage point, Harold could see the one she was talking about. the side had collapsed in a landslide from some kind of explosive attack, or perhaps Gerald had stepped on the corner and mushed it.

“I’m just wondering what we should do about it…” Martha said, twirling her hair innocently.

“Jace is the chief now, Martha.” Harold said.

“You know he’s just going to ask your advice, Harold,” Martha fired back. “What would you do?”

Harold groaned. Jace had been chosen as the new chief because he was young, energetic, and had plenty of time to put down roots in this new land, But the young man still leaned heavily on his father for advice.

“I would ask Badur if there’s a way to station some of their people closer to us to act as a bulwark and turn the common Climber away before they get stepped on. It would be worth a couple cinters to ward off the trouble.”

“So, the chief says you should do that.” Martha said.

“…What?”

“Our son’s orders were to ask you what you would do and then tell you to go ahead and do that.” Martha said. “You our diplomat, after all.”

“Gah,” Harold grunted, stepping out of the half-dug oasis spawning pit and rubbing his aching back. “Getting used to being chief, isn’t he?”

“Seems that way.” Martha said with a smile.

“, I’ll go give the signal.”

Grumbling with pride, Harold climbed the mountain and angled the palm-sized signal mirror to point a beam of light at the Burned Stronghold on the horizon.

A moment later there was a glint of light from The Burned Stronghold, prompting Harold to turn the mirror back up and take a seat.

In a few hours, Badur would come visit.

Harold thought as he waited, scanning the damaged pits from his perch on the side of the mountain.

Gerald’s injury wasn’t the first one, either, just the worst attack recently. It had gone from an inconvenience to something truly troublesome overnight.

The crystal folk grateful, no mistake, but you can only prick a man with needle-sized swords so many times before gratitude begins to tarnish.

Harold thought.

True to form, Badur arrived with his assistants within a few hours, and Harold laid down so the two could speak face-to-face.

“Good afternoon, Badur,” Harold said, resting his chin on his palm.

“Good afternoon, Harold,” Badur said, bowing before his assistant produced a folding table and a satchel full of tiny papers.

“Apologies for the size of the documents, the Town Hall only gives them out in one size.” Badur said.

“No worries, I brought my loupe.” Harold said, producing his lens.

“Very well, let’s see if we can’t sort this out quickly,” Badur said, accepting a glass of wine from his assistant.

Badur’s expression gradually grew more severe as Harold explained his concerns.

The two discussed options, and eventually their negotiation came to a satisfactory conclusion that would bring the crystal folk more directly under William Oh’s wing.

The Lord himself wasn’t there to consult, as he had organized an expedition to the 17th Floor, leaving Badur with the authority to administer the Stronghold in his absence, and instructions to reign in chaos as much as possible and prepare for a sudden attack while he was absent.

Apparently he had also left Travis Oilton with instructions to seduce Emilie and create as much chaos as possible.

Badur told this to Harold over his wine, lamenting his Lord’s seemingly unnatural ability to stir up chaos.

“It’s not like he can even tell Travis what to do, he’s not a vassal. The guy’s just doing what he would’ve done already!” Badur slurred his words as he spoke, the sprawl of paperwork that Harold had painstakingly signed spread around him in disarray.

“I mean I get it, she’s one of Marksman’s agents, and Will’s trying to compromise her loyalty with a honey trap, but…I mean…those two should have met,” Badur said, staring down into his tiny human cup.

“They made a child together you know? Something a child, anyway. I don’t know how, but during one of their squabbles, their Abilities combined to create a single illusion, but like…a living one that neither of them can control. It turned into a dragon, went on a rampage and burned down a couple houses before it escaped. Nobody know where it now, because it could turn into a pebble if it wanted to, so there’s a raid-boss level monster just…lurking around somewhere and its parents are both trying to foist responsibility off on each other.”

“Sounds tough.” Harold said.

“That’s an understatement,” Badur muttered, taking a drink. “I can’t complain to anybody else about all the things I have to deal with because we live under William’s rule, except for you.”

“Not after today.” Harold replied.

“Mm.” Badur grunted, taking a sip of his drink before shuffling through his documents. “Last day to denigrate milord, I guess.”

“Why such an extravagant deal?” Harold asked, reviewing their arrangement in his head. “isn’t the Burned Stronghold pressed for resources?”

“No, actually. We’ve recently come into a sudden, extreme overflow of productivity because my Lord did us a ‘ without consulting with anyone. He’s given me the dubious honor of figuring out how to spend all the extra wealth.”

…Which I to do or the cost of goods and labor will drop to nothing, and ripple effects will kick the Stronghold in the nuts for years. Ugh. Some people think that when the cost of goods and labor drop to nothing, it’s good, but they don’t see the flip side, where the people who produce those goods and labor can’t any money for it, competition for demand becomes fierce and a large portion of the population loses their jobs because the top producers can now cover the entire market. Basically any rapid change towards inflation or deflation is bad, because the change itself forces people out of their livelihoods. I made sure to give milord a stern lecture.”

“Anyway. To summarize our deal:” Badur pointed to a map of the mountain range. “In exchange for three cinters and assistance cutting and laying train tracks through these mountains, we will build an Outpost and staff it with reliable young soldiers who will turn Climbers away from your village. The land you are currently on will be considered part of the outpost of the Burned Stronghold and your tax will be zero for the next five years, after which it will be five percent of net produce.”

Harold nodded. If they hadn’t figured out a way to create a surplus in five years, then they wouldn’t even be there anymore. The tax was especially kind because it was calculated based on produce, rather than gross.

Harold reached into his purse and pulled out three crystal cinters, stacking them beside Badur. The bone coins were about the size of a human with their arms stretched out.

Badur packed up his documents and bowed to Harold as his assistants picked up the coins with grunts of effort, rolling them towards the wagons.

“A pleasure to speak with you again, Harold. The soldiers will arrive tomorrow morning.” Badur said with a deep bow.