Although he had received the message about his uncle's mad charge into the south, Corco wasn't all too worried for now. They were mere days away from winter and Pacha still hadn't assembled all of his troops either. For now, their intelligence network had done its job, and they had time to prepare. Thus, Corco made his way out of Chukru Island to check on his new troops.
“King Corco, this servant truly needs to protest. Beyond the walls is no longer safe, not without any further protection,” Quato said as he followed along.
“Nonsense. This here is my land, and all the warriors on it are sworn to me. Plus, don't I have you guys around? The ghost warriors protect from the back, the wolf mercenaries from the front. If that wasn't enough, I wouldn't even be safe in the castle.”
With confident strides, Corco marched through the gateway of Chukru Island and past Rapra Castle. On their way, Quato waved the two guards at the bridge towards them, as additional protection. Of course Corco knew that the ghosts didn't think much of Dedrick's mercenaries. Not only had some parts of the wolf mercenaries shown signs of insurrection before, they were also open about their loyalties to the king's money, rather than to his blood. To be honest, Corco would have rather seen either of them be loyal to his ideals.
To him, there wasn't much difference between the groups. Still, the differences in culture and attitude had created tension, and Corco could see those tensions in action now. By the time they left the outer city gates of Saniya, the king's entourage had increased to twelve people. Some of them were even dressed in simple commoner clothing, spies strewn into the city by Tama.
Although Corco was pretty sure they were doing their jobs wrong at this moment, he really didn't mind. At least this would give him a better idea of where 'his' ghosts were hidden in Saniya. Beyond the dry papers with names, addresses and missions he had received from Tama before, he could even put proper faces to names. As a result, he made sure to greet every last one of them. He would be damned if he would allow some unknown force to control his people.
By the time they were done with introductions, the air was filled with shouts and grunts, a field of soldiers before him, fresh for the picking. At last they had arrived at their goal, the physical training grounds of Corco's new armies. Since not a single place within the walls was big enough to house thousands of soldiers and their training regimen all at once, this place had been erected as an impromptu boot camp.
When the first batch of recruits had arrived outside the city, their first order had been to erect the wooden palisades which would limit them in scope and shield them from stranger's eyes. Even as someone with vague, amateurish knowledge of ancient warfare, Corco would always put emphasis on the engineering and construction abilities of his soldiers.
When they passed the entryway, the wolves of Dedrick returned a stare at the mass of intruders. Only when they spotted Corco did they calm down, and returned to their duties after a nod and a “boss”. Truth be told, he felt far more at home here than with the ghosts, many of whom were still strangers to him. With the warriors here, Corco had fought several battles back in Arcavia, while the new recruits in the camp were commoners elevated to the status of warriors by him, reason enough to demand their loyalty for all their life.
As they marched along, a group of fresh recruits jogged past, sweat and gasps abound. Soon they saw other groups lined up in formation, as they learned to march and turn as a unit. If they wanted to keep rhythm in larger groups, they really needed some instruments.
“Quato, help me write something down. We'll need some instruments to help them with the march.”
Of course Corco kept quiet about his own personal preference for the sort marching music in his memory. He had always liked the idea of marching music.
At last Corco's group marched up to an elevated square of earth, one among twelve in the center of the camp. Atop, two sons of Saniya stood opposed with gloved hands. While one circled the other, they threw jabs and feints, to gauge the other man's distance and reaction. Stood before the arena, he found two men. One was a sturdy looking Medalan, the other a tall Arcavian, the man he had been looking for.
“Hey Nahlen, how are the recruits doing?” When the mercenary turned, he held a frown on his face and breathed in, ready to attack whoever would dare disturb his duties. However, once he saw the king, his expression relaxed. For now, Corco wouldn't dare guess if the mercenary had been fine with Corco's interruption, or if he hid his true feelings.
“Greetings, King Corco. Sire's new training regimen has shown some very good effects on the new recruits. The men are also very quick to pick up on the unarmed fighting techniques King Corco has taught before. Still...” Again his frown returned, as he looked at another group of recruits who marched past with wooden sticks in their hands.
“Still what?” Corco smiled as he looked at the two fighters on the stage. The faster still circled around, in constant search of openings.
“Wouldn't it be better to have the commoners learn some cultivation instead? We spend most of our time trying to get the commoners up to speed. I mean, if they can't keep up with the rest of the army they'll be useless. And while the training and food are working well for normal folk, it still wastes more days than I'd like. Would be much faster if we could just bring them up to speed with cultivation... sire.” Corco raised his hand to interrupt Quato's complain before the warrior could utter a single word. For now, they were close to war. For now, he had no time to deal with Nahlen's attitude.
“Yeah, that'd be the easy method, huh?” the king mused. “Still, this will have to do. At this moment, I can't allow any more cultivation. I can't take that sort of risk, not with my own people, and with my own lands.”
“Why not? Wasn't sire very eager to teach the techniques to our men before?” Nahlen's eyes narrowed.
“Right, in small numbers this isn't a problem. The trouble comes when cultivation is the standard in our armies, and the number of cultivators increases too quickly.”
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“But when this servant was trained, King Corco spoke of the might of cultivation all the time. How the world would change should everyone learn it. What changed?” the man besides Nahlen said, despite Nahlen's frown. Paec had been part of the first batch of new recruits, the only batch Corco would allow to learn cultivation for now. Although Nahlen had been opposed to a Medalan assistant, this alone Corco had insisted on. He couldn't have every officer in his army be an Arcavian, could he?
“I had time to think, is what changed,” Corco said. “I doubt I'm the smartest man alive. All in all, I wouldn't even make the top ten percent world wide. I'm nothing special, so how could I be the first to come up with this idea of universal cultivation?”
For a moment, the people around lowered their heads in thought, no doubt eager to overlook Corco's own admission of fallibility. In the end, Nahlen was the first to speak up.
“People are greedy after all. Probably a lot of people have come up with this, and decided that they'd rather only have their family be cultivators. I don't think anyone's ever tried this kind of 'universal cultivation'.”
“No, some have. The great ancestors who crossed the seas were cultivators, one and all,” Quato said.
“Yeah, but their society wasn't like that.” Corco raised a finger. “Before they were driven out of Arcavia, they were just another Arcavian society, with a ruling class of cultivators and some commoners underneath. When they fled, they only took the cultivators, so far as we know.”
“Even so, that would be their entire society, and it worked. Where is the problem then?” the ghost warrior asked.
“They only had a few thousand people, and Yakuallpa, the place they landed on, didn't know cultivation until then. Since then, they've reestablished that old structure of cultivators at the top and mortals at the bottom.”
“That's all fine and well, but why does that mean we can't teach these brats any cultivation?” Nahlen complained in a dry tone.
“Within a century of their arrival, our ancestors managed to replace the old ruling class of Yakuallpa, despite their low numbers. Shows pretty well how scary a society of only cultivators can be. If that's the case, why are cultivation societies not the most successful ones on the planet? Are you trying to tell me that within all of human civilization, all those countless societies with cultivation, not one came up with the idea that they'd be stronger if everyone could cultivate? No one on the losing end of a war ever thought to teach cultivation to commoners? That seems unlikely. So if this has been tried, where are those societies today?”
Not only the inquisitive Quato, but even the brash Nahlen had been silenced as they searched for an answer. Before he answered, his look returned to the arena. Even now, the more agile of the warriors hadn't found a gap, even though his breath had begun to labor.
“This is my biggest problem with the lack of universal cultivation: Evolution. If these cultivator societies existed, as we can assume, then why didn't they conquer the world? They would have overwhelming strength, so how did our mixed societies survive against them?”
Up on the arena, the larger of the fighters landed his first proper hit and brought the agile recruit to the ground. The referee stepped in. The battle was over.
“There must be some sort of problem involved with the idea of universal cultivation,” Corco mused. “Could be that cultivators eat far more than normal people, and primitive agriculture can't support that, but it could also be something else. Until we know the reasons, I won't risk the future of my people on a dubious advantage. Even less so since firearms will shrink the advantage of cultivation either way.”
While Corco clapped for the winner, Nahlen's frown had returned.
“In that case, I'd like to ask for those firearms,” he demanded. “Since I can't cultivate my men, I can keep them busy for a while at least, get their puny bodies up to some level I can work with. But at some point, they need to learn how to actually kill folks. No point in training them if they can't shoot for shit.”
Again a battalion of soldiers with sticks marched past them.
“Yeah, don't worry.” The king grinned as he watched his future troops. “You'll get your weapons soon enough. I already have my best people on the job.”
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Sometimes, Egidius felt envy towards the cultivators. Not their strength of course. The clock maker had no use for brute force, and his own hands had blessed him with all the dexterity he would ever need. No, far more was he envious of their legs, which would carry them wherever they wished to go, as well as their fortitude.
Unlike him, who was now stuck on this little boat in the middle of the Mayura, a cultivator would have shrugged the cold off like nothing. Instead of a shrug, he blew into his gloved hands again, a futile effort like all the ones before.
“How much longer?” he asked his ferryman.
“We're there, Master Egidius. Look!” the man stretched a finger to the building at the shore, as it's frost-covered water wheeled peeled itself out of the fog.
The inside of the building turned out to be just as cold as the outside. Plagued by shivers, Egidius drew the blanket around his body closer.
“Could no one have at least made a fire?” he complained.
“My apologies. Since the workstations aren't done yet, there are no workers here. There was also no reason to maintain a fire. Waste of firewood and manpower, the boss said.”
“Since there won't be a fire without workers, would that not mean you only start the fire once I have installed the tools? Well, I'm cold now, in fact, the frost threatens to freeze off my fingers. I am not supposed to install all of these tools without fingers, am I?” he said with narrowed eyes. On any other day, Egidius was pretty easy to get along with, but only three things he would protect with his life: His eyes, his mind and his fingers.
“Ah, excuse me master. I didn't think,” the ferryman said, and rushed away. “Be right back!” he shouted through the open door of the empty workshop. After a prolonged sigh, Egidius sat on the steps upstairs and blew into the gloves the potter's daughter had gifted him.
While he waited, wrapped up in his little blanket, his eyes scanned the space and began to lay out plans for its use. Over there would be the lathe. Maybe the hydraulic press would be better over there, once he had it finished. Workstations in the back... No matter how efficient, the space would be nowhere near enough. They might have to build an annex to this building, and most others like it, at least if King Corco's ideas for their use space wanted any chance at completion.
While he watched the ferryman stack and ignite some of the timber meant for construction, Egidius thought about Corco's ambitious plans. In the classic system of craftsmanship, each craftsman would be an autonomous machine, meant to produce one complete work. Instead, the king envisioned a future where each craftsman would be part of a machine much larger than themselves, each responsible for a single part, and specialized on it. If it worked, it would increase efficiency, precision and speed all at once. Really, he longed to see it in action, an entire society with the beauty of a clock.
“Master Egidius, please use the fire to warm yourself,” the ferryman said at last, but the clock maker didn't have time for leisure. He had history to make.
“Right,” he said and threw off his blanket. “Let's get to work.”