Chapter 210 - 205: Recruitment Setback
The Royal Capital’s commercial district, Golden Cross Avenue.
Ola trailed behind Velin, the chainmail he wore drawing many sidelong glances from passersby.
"My lord, what exactly are we doing here?" Ola finally spoke up. "The air in this place reeks of money. I don’t like it."
Velin didn’t answer right away. He slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping over the buildings on either side of the street as if sizing them up.
"We’re looking for a suitable venue," Velin said. "It needs to be large enough, and in a good location."
"A venue? To open a restaurant?" Ola’s beard twitched.
"No," Velin shook his head. "I’m going to hold an event here. A large-scale talent recruitment fair."
Ola searched his mind for the meaning of those words, but came up empty.
"What’s that?"
"It means telling everyone in the Royal Capital who has skills but is struggling. Whether they’re artisans, scholars, or blacksmiths—I, the lord of the Grey Marsh Territory, need them."
Velin added.
"And I’m prepared to pay their price."
His plan was clear.
He would build a stage—a stage that Tristan could not ignore.
Ola still didn’t understand. "My lord, why not just go to the artisan district, find the most skilled master craftsmen, and pay them? Just like we did in Shiyan Town. It’s direct and saves a lot of trouble."
"Ola, I don’t just want a few craftsmen," Velin said, shaking his head. "I want every talented person who feels unappreciated to look toward the Grey Marsh Territory."
After scouting a few locations, Velin began to plan the event’s details.
Publicity was the first step.
When Lilia came to visit Velin, he was bent over several sketches an artist had just delivered, marking them up with a charcoal pencil.
The first sketch depicted a skeletal stonemason coughing in a leaky work shed, his wife and children beside him just as gaunt and sallow.
"Brother, what is this...?"
Velin told her about his idea for the recruitment fair.
"This idea... it’s too bold," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Brother, the trade associations in the Royal Capital are deeply entrenched. The Stonemason Association, the Alchemist Association, the Blacksmith Association... they all have their own organizations, and they’re extremely clannish."
"I know." Velin pointed to another sketch. It showed the same stonemason, now living in a bright, spacious apartment in Newly Town with a bowl of steaming meat stew on his table.
"That’s why we have to show them. To tell them there’s another way to live."
"But they won’t just stand by and let this happen," Lilia said, her voice laced with worry. "I overheard some of the Marchionesses chatting about it once. A few years ago, a merchant from out of town tried to open his own textile workshop, bypassing the weavers’ guild. Less than a month later, his workshop caught fire in the middle of the night and burned to the ground. He had his legs broken and was thrown out of the Royal Capital."
Velin set down his charcoal pencil and gently patted the back of his sister’s hand.
"Don’t worry, Lilia. They wouldn’t dare lay a hand on a nobleman."
To maximize the impact of his recruitment drive, he rented the most magnificent venue on Golden Cross Avenue—the Flower Hall.
The hall was typically reserved for the grand celebrations of major guilds.
When the news got out, it caused a small stir in the Royal Capital.
The news that a Baron from a remote territory had spent an exorbitant sum to rent the Flower Hall for recruiting craftsmen quickly became the talk of every tavern and salon.
At that moment, in the private room of a dimly lit tavern, three men were gathered around a greasy wooden table: the presidents of the Stonemason Association, the Alchemist Association, and the Blacksmith Association.
A copy of a promotional poster was spread out on the table.
"A Baron from some swamp thinks a few coins give him the right to poach our talent right here in the Royal Capital?" the president of the Stonemason Association sneered.
"He thinks he can just bypass us?" The president of the Alchemist Association swirled his wine. "Does he not know that every man in the Royal Capital who can wield a tool is on our registers? From his master down to his master’s master."
"He needs to be taught a lesson," said the president of the Blacksmith Association. "He needs to understand that the rules of the Royal Capital can’t be bought with money."
The weather was bright and clear on the official opening day of the "Grey Marsh Territory Talent Recruitment Fair."
Velin stood in the center of the newly decorated Flower Hall.
The marble floor reflected the light from the crystal chandeliers, and on the walls hung the magnificent blueprints for Minas Tirith that he had commissioned.
Everything was perfect.
He knew Tristan would find out about all this sooner or later.
According to his plan, the hall should have been teeming with people by now.
But an hour passed, and the magnificent hall remained empty, save for him and a few dozen hired attendants.
Occasionally, a few people drawn in by the posters at the entrance would crane their necks to peer inside.
But they only paused for a moment on the other side of the street before shaking their heads and hurrying off, as if recalling something terrible. No one dared to actually approach.
The attendants did their best to pitch to passersby, explaining the wonderful prospects of "skill points" and "future dividends."
A passing carpenter listened for a long while and seemed tempted, but in the end, he just gave a troubled wave of his hand.
"It sounds great..." he said, lowering his voice and glancing around nervously. "But... my whole family is here in the Royal Capital. I can’t afford to offend the associations." With that, he hurried away as if fleeing a plague.
This scene repeated itself over and over.
The minutes ticked by, and the magnificent hall remained desolate.
A guard with a grim expression ran in, hurried to Velin’s side, and reported in a low voice.
"My lord, our scouts in the artisan district have gathered some news."
"The Stonemason, Alchemist, and Blacksmith Associations gathered all their members yesterday."
"Their presidents publicly announced that any member who accepts a position with the Grey Marsh Territory will be immediately expelled from their association. Their names will be sent to every affiliated shop, and they will be blacklisted—never to be hired again."
It was an invisible noose, tightening around the neck of every craftsman.
’Who could guarantee that they and their children would work in the Grey Marsh Territory forever?’
The street outside the venue was even more deserted than usual.
At some point, Lilia had come to stand beside Velin. She looked at her brother’s calm expression, but her own heart ached.
By the end of the day, the only "visitors" to enter the hall had been a few vagrants hoping to sneak some of the fine refreshments.
The grand recruitment fair had become an expensive one-man show—the Royal Capital’s newest joke.
Night fell.
The attendants had long since been dismissed.
Velin stood alone in the empty, magnificent hall.
The exquisite food and wine prepared for the grand event were slowly spoiling in the cold moonlight.
He walked to the window, looking out at the empty street.
He knew that if he just held out for a few more days, even with no craftsmen applying, Tristan would very likely grant him a meeting.
After all, nothing like this had happened in the Royal Capital for many years.
’So, I guess I’ve accomplished my goal, in a way?’ Velin thought with a self-mocking smile.
Just then, the heavy doors of the hall were pushed open with a CREEAK.
The crisp sound of high heels on the marble floor drew closer.
A teasing female voice rang out.
"Baron Velin, I hear you spent a fortune throwing an interesting party in the Royal Capital. Why wasn’t I invited?"
Caroline walked in, surveying the empty hall and making no effort to hide her amusement.
"I heard about your plan. I knew this would be the result."
She walked up to Velin and picked up an untouched glass of fruit wine from a table.
"So, I came to see the joke for myself. And to confirm whether my business partner was really naive enough to think he could just smash open the skulls of these Royal Capital old-timers with Gold Coins."
Caroline took a sip of the wine and continued.
"However, while your methods were a bit clumsy, your goal was a good one. These associations entrenched in the Royal Capital are like barnacles on a ship’s hull. If you don’t scrape them off, the ship will never pick up speed."
She gave him a confident smile.
"I have a way to deal with them."