Chapter 326 - 237: Old Tom’s Wisdom
The militiamen, however, were different. They were mostly local residents with their own day jobs, participating in security patrols only in their spare time. They were much more familiar with local residents and Civil Servants like Little Tom.
When Little Tom greeted them warmly, the militiamen smiled back. They made some small talk, asking him about his recent work and personal life.
Little Tom took the opportunity to ask them for interesting tidbits about the garrison and Militia patrols, as well as any recent changes to public order in Westwood Laine. They chatted back and forth, hitting it off quite well.
Through his conversation with the militiamen, Little Tom learned a few more things.
As he hurried between shops, Workshops, and various offices, he inevitably missed many things.
And it was often these seemingly trivial, unremarkable details that held hidden stories.
According to these militiamen, the garrison’s training was far more intense than ever before. There were so many soldiers it was impossible to see where the ranks ended; they were simply beyond counting.
They mentioned that a steady stream of new soldiers seemed to be arriving at the barracks. The scale and intensity of the training had increased dramatically; you could even hear drills from the camp at night sometimes.
The roads around the barracks had also grown exceptionally busy, with a constant flow of wagons transporting supplies and armaments.
Little Tom knew very little about this himself. He had no way of knowing the exact number of new troops, as that fell under the jurisdiction of the Military Registry Department. Even the Civil Affairs Department could only keep copies of the records, not interfere in their management.
’And that’s the Civil Affairs Department, the highest government body in all of Westwood Laine!’ Of course, that was just his opinion—and the opinion of most people.
The only thing Little Tom could find out was that the Department of Agriculture had records of large-scale serf transfers, but the details were highly classified.
Little Tom felt a knot of unease. ’Are we going to war again?’
Everyone knew that Henry was not a man who could sit still. Ever since they had come to live in Westwood Laine, Henry had spent most of his time away at war.
Although the domain went through a recovery period after each war, it always ended up reaping greater benefits and opportunities for growth.
He just wondered who Lord Henry intended to fight this time, to require training so many soldiers.
Little Tom sighed. ’It would be nice if we didn’t have to fight. War is such a waste of money.’
’Food, armaments, soldiers’ pay—it all costs money.’ And war also brought casualties and destruction, posing a definite risk to the domain’s stability and growth.
But then Little Tom had another thought. ’Wait, that’s not right. The Count has never lost a battle. He always comes back with more loot and Dinars, allowing the fief to advance by leaps and bounds.’
War had its risks, but it was also full of opportunity. Through war, Henry could expand the domain’s borders, acquire more resources and wealth, and lay a solid foundation for its long-term development.
From that perspective, war actually seemed like a good thing.
’The most important part is, I don’t have to go to the battlefield.’
Little Tom mulled it over. ’Yes, fight! Fight a lot! I’m not going to war anyway. It’s too terrifying.’
He much preferred to contribute to the domain’s development from the home front, through his work and investments.
’And isn’t keeping records a kind of work?’
Little Tom returned to his office, still unable to suppress his excitement.
He was still young and wore his heart on his sleeve. Little Tom first found his father, Tom, and couldn’t wait to report that he had finalized his housing purchase.
He told Tom that if Westwood Laine kept developing at its current pace, he could probably start collecting rent within six months and increase the family’s income.
Tom was overjoyed to hear the news, and a smile of relief and pride spread across his face.
But he quickly composed himself and reminded his son that they were at work and should try to avoid discussing personal matters.
So, he quickly sent Little Tom away, repeatedly warning him to be discreet, discreet, and more discreet, and to act as if nothing had happened.
He told Little Tom to just keep on with his daily routine, to focus on his job and not let this distract him or affect his performance.
"I understand, Father."
"Address me by my title when we’re at work!"
Tom watched his son walk away with a cocky little swagger and shook his head with a smile. In a place like Westwood Laine, an official’s every move was subject to scrutiny and gossip.
The Count’s attitude toward his officials was indifferent. As long as you did your job well, the compensation was excellent. But if you dared to engage in corruption, accept bribes, or bend the law for personal gain, the best you could hope for was beheading.
If Little Tom became too conspicuous about his new property, he would likely attract the jealousy and resentment of others. He might even invite someone to set a trap for him.
Sometimes, staying out of trouble wasn’t enough. Others could scheme to make you fall into it.
You could be careful once, ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times. But all it took was one mistake, one slip-up, and if someone framed you, it would cost you your life.
And when you’re dead, you’ve got nothing.
That was why he had stressed the importance of discretion, hoping Little Tom would understand and not let a moment of excitement lead to a lifetime of regret.
When people get too excited, they become careless. They make mistakes without realizing it and bring disaster upon themselves.
Don’t underestimate Tom’s wisdom. Across the entire empire, being a respected primary school teacher made one a true intellectual.
Buoyed by his good fortune, Little Tom finished his work, told his father he had to work overtime, and then dashed off to a tavern in the South City District for a few drinks.
He hadn’t dared to tell his father, who would surely have forbidden it. Nor could he go with colleagues or friends, because word would get back to his father.
"Ahhh~"
’So satisfying. Even the wine tastes better than usual.’
As he sipped his drink and watched the other patrons, a feeling of pride and superiority he had been desperately trying to suppress began to bubble up uncontrollably.
’Hmph. You lot are drinking your sorrows, but I’m drinking to my happiness.’
Too bad this joy was something he had to savor alone, unable to share it with anyone.
Though young, Little Tom understood one thing: you don’t go bragging about something until it’s a done deal.
Gradually, as more people finished work for the day, the tavern grew crowded.
Mercenaries, Wandering Knights, and Warriors looking to try their luck were all drinking here, hoping to find work to make a living.
Henry didn’t typically hire Mercenaries, but some business owners, merchants, and landowners did. The same was true for Wandering Knights and Warriors.
Large settlements were magnets for this type of crowd. Smaller towns couldn’t offer them enough work.
’I should probably pay up and leave,’ Little Tom thought. ’These types are restless. It would be easy for a fight or some other dispute to break out.’
Getting caught in the crossfire would be a senseless tragedy, something to be avoided at all costs.
He didn’t want a moment of indulgence to jeopardize the wonderful new life that was just beginning.
Besides, he needed to take his money home, not spend it all.
After all, future investments and household expenses would require more capital.
Little Tom knew he had to stay rational and not let a moment of excitement make him lose his way.
’Be careful, ever so careful. Cautious, always cautious.’ He could eat and drink as he pleased, but he couldn’t do anything reckless.
Little Tom went back to the office. He didn’t clock in for overtime, just found a place to sleep. He reeked of alcohol and didn’t dare go home; his mother would nag him endlessly, and his father would scold him.
And so, Little Tom drifted off to sleep.
"So, you’re saying there are troublemakers in the city again? It seems these gutter rats are popping up endlessly."
Claude sipped his tea and said with a smile, "These scouts, spies, and gang members just keep coming. We can strike them down and crush them, but we can never root them out completely."
Henry nodded, exasperated. Sometimes, he was even tempted to compromise. He could do what John did—become a boss himself and form his own gang—but he refused.
’This is my fucking fiefdom, and they want me to compromise? Dream on!’
’Kill!’