Your Majesty, Wonders are Harmful to the Country!

As the captain of the Third Production Team, Krell had been working with great enthusiasm these past few days.

Not to mention the promise made by the lord to release some serfs as freemen—just the prospect of having white bread and fish soup for dinner every night was enough to keep everyone motivated.

At first, among the eight production teams, there was always a first place and a last place. While people envied the top-ranking team, they didn't feel the need to compete too aggressively. After all, if they ignored the seemingly distant promise of freedom, the only real difference was the quality of their food.

But at some point, a new ritual was introduced: before dinner each evening, rankings were announced—from first place all the way down to last place.

Then, each team lined up in order to receive their dinner portions accordingly.

For the first-place team, being the first to receive the heaviest portions of food was a great honor.

For the last-place team, however, it was practically a public humiliation.

It was already painful enough to watch others eat white bread while you chewed on black bread. But now, being forced to collect your meager portion under the watchful eyes of others only made the shame even worse.

This gradually instilled a sense of collective honor among the workers. After all, no one wanted to be the laughingstock of the group.

As a result, the serfs started working with the intensity of men possessed, scrambling to find tasks to do. Even the stonemasons and carpenters were left in awe.

They had never seen serfs work so relentlessly before.

Motivated by both honor and rewards, the workers threw themselves into their labor. Krell's Third Production Team, in particular, dominated the rankings, securing first place for several consecutive days.

However, when a new team the Ninth Production Team suddenly joined, the worksite's atmosphere took on an odd turn.

"For the God of Light! Reform through labor starts with me!"

"Atonement! Atonement!"

Every morning, the farmhands were jolted awake by the fervent shouting coming from the plaza outside.

Shabi personally led the Ninth Production Team, rallying the former thugs with passionate speeches:

"Look at where you stand now. If not for your devotion to the great God of Light, would you have ever had the chance to leave that dark, damp dungeon? The noble Lord of Idar, Bruno, has granted you the opportunity to atone for your sins. Now, it is time to labor and earn the forgiveness of the God of Light!"

"Atonement! Atonement!"

At the mere thought of the dungeon, the men shuddered—it had been nothing short of a nightmare.

The memory only strengthened their faith.

"Though you bear the burden of great sins, you are still free men. By right, you should be receiving wages for your work. However..." Shabi paused dramatically. "To ease your burden of sin, Lord Bruno has decided to generously donate your wages, allowing even more people to experience the grace of the God of Light!"

A particularly devout thug suddenly raised his hand. "Sir!"

"Speak!"

"Can donating money lessen our sins?"

"Of course." Shabi nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I still have some money at home it was protection money I collected from the streets. I wish to offer it to the great God of Light to lessen my sins!"

"Wonderful!" Shabi praised. "If everyone thought this way, dungeons would no longer be necessary! Money is the root of evil it obstructs the divine radiance of the God of Light. But Lord Bruno, blessed by the God of Light, is willing to bear this burden. He will accept these wicked coins and purify them with his righteous faith!"

"I want to donate too!"

"Me too!"

"I don't have money left… Can I donate my house instead?"

Shabi raised a hand to silence them. "There is no rush for donations. Do not forget why we are here."

"Atonement! Atonement!"

"Then go labor! Repay the blessings of the God of Light with your hands!"

Krell and his teammates stared in disbelief at this strange new production team.

The Ninth Production Team sought out the hardest, most grueling tasks. They never counted work points. Even though they were always rewarded with white bread and fish soup, they selflessly handed their portions over to the second-place team and took the black bread meant for last place instead.

Who were these people?

What kind of production team was this Ninth Production Team?!

Meanwhile, elsewhere…

Sam Rayton, a captain of the Soren Baron's personal guard, continued to insist that he was indeed a noble knight under Baron Soren's command.

However, as he and his men approached the Hanging Garden construction site, they were suddenly startled by the sight of a large Idar military force.

Terrified, the "noble knights of Baron Soren" quickly turned and fled—straight toward the Idar military camp.

Master sculptor Andy and his apprentices had no choice but to accept their "rescue" by the great Lord Bruno of Idar.

Lord Bruno graciously welcomed Master Andy near the construction site, offering warm hospitality before subtly mentioning the losses his forces had suffered while "saving" them.

After a cordial discussion, Andy and Bruno reached a mutual understanding.

Andy and his seven apprentices happily accepted Bruno's invitation, agreeing to work on the Hanging Garden project for a wage of three gold coins per month.

Later that evening, Andy sat sullenly in his quarters.

"This is outright kidnapping! This is banditry!" he grumbled.

"Master, please calm down..." his apprentice, Good, attempted to console him.

"Hmph! I refuse to carve even a single decoration for that barbaric lord!" Andy swore. "You all haven't practiced in a while go ahead and carve whatever nonsense he asks for. Use it as training!"

Knock, knock, knock!

The door swung open, and White Barrel, the chief stonemason overseeing the Hanging Garden project, entered with a roll of parchment in hand.

"Master Andy!" he greeted respectfully.

"And you are...?"

"I'm the lead stonemason here. My father, Rowood Barrel, was a neighbor to the cousin of your friend's disciple." White Barrel stated matter of factly.

"Oh… is that so." Andy rolled his eyes. "And why are you here?"

"I'm here to deliver the blueprints, detailing the sculptures and decorations that need carving."

"Just leave them there..." Andy replied indifferently.

Once White Barrel left, Andy scoffed and unfurled the parchment, muttering under his breath: "I refuse to carve a single thing for this place—"

Halfway through his sentence, his eyes widened.

"This… this is...!"

Andy's breath hitched.

"Such a grand and intricate architectural masterpiece… If I could be a part of this creation, my life's work would be fulfilled!"

He turned sharply toward his apprentices.

"Stay out of this! I will personally carve every sculpture myself!"

With that, Andy leapt from his chair and rushed out to inspect the construction site.