Suzuki Makoto looked at everyone, his voice resounding.
"I can tell you now: those who follow me won't enjoy any glory or wealth. You won't be able to oppress others for pleasure like those you've seen or heard of before. What I can give you is only an ordinary life, like common people."
Some eyes showed disappointment, but more lit up with eagerness.
"Those who want to leave can take two bags of water and go now. Those who want to stay, come queue up at Gosuke's now. Gosuke, you too—after registering, if you want to leave, take an extra bag."
"No, no, no. I am willing to stay here."
Gosuke said hurriedly.
"No need to worry I'll hunt you down. There's plenty of water here, and I'm not interested in losing my credibility over a few bags. After registering, everyone gets two bags of water. Decide for yourselves tonight."
People exchanged glances, then soon began queuing again at Gosuke. Meanwhile, Suzuki Makoto filled water bags and distributed them to each registrant.
Once everyone had registered, Suzuki Makoto took Gosuke to sort the camp's other supplies, while the others dispersed to clean up the bloodstains and houses everywhere.
In Suzuki Makoto's perception, some had already fled, or grabbed things from hiding spots before leaving. But most stayed and worked diligently to tidy the camp.
He wondered how many would remain by morning.
"Lord Suzuki, this is the leader's residence. He called it a palace."
Entering the wooden palace, it was piled high with weapons the man had looted. Beside the seat was a chest containing gold and silver coins as well as copper money—familiar to Suzuki Makoto, clearly indicating a currency system even in Soul Society.
Suzuki Makoto kicked aside the seat, revealing a small hidden chamber below stuffed with grain, water barrels, and several high-quality blades clearly forged by masters.
Evidently, compared to money, people here still valued weapons and food more.
Behind the leader's quarters was a warehouse, containing not much else—mostly grain and coarse cloth.
"Gosuke, count these cloths and divide them evenly by the registered headcount. Distribute them to others for help—tonight at least let everyone stay warm. Subtract 37 people for now."
"Yes, Lord Suzuki."
Gosuke's heart tightened with awe toward Suzuki Makoto and hurried to count without delay.
Meanwhile, Suzuki Makoto himself went to the pond on the camp's west side, sensing its size and spring source to confirm the water was stable.
Soon, Gosuke called a few people to help distribute the cloth. This time, after receiving supplies, no one left—clearly believing more in Suzuki Makoto's earlier words.
Perhaps this man from Zaraki District was different from the others?
The next morning, Suzuki Makoto carried the warning bell that had hung in the leader's quarters to the camp center and rang it three times. Soon, people began gathering from where they had slept the night before.
"Now, Gosuke will re-register your names and ages. I will give each of you a wooden plaque engraved with your name. You can use it daily to enter the communal cafeteria for meals—but only if you've contributed to the camp. All able-bodied adults except the elderly and children must participate in labor."
"But we don't need to eat. One bag of water a day is enough for us."
Someone quickly raised an objection.
"I know water alone meets your Reishi needs. But if you try eating a little more each day, your bodies will improve soon. You might even develop Reiryoku. Even without it, you'll become healthier and stronger. The pond is open to all without limits—you can fetch your own water, just don't pollute the source."
Suzuki Makoto's explanation invigorated these people who had never dared dream of Reiryoku. They whispered excitedly, no longer resisting the idea of labor.
"You should all have some skills: writing, cooking, literacy, strength, speed—anything. Tell Gosuke when registering."
Thus, people queued before Gosuke. Suzuki Makoto carved the prepared wooden plaques with their names and handed them out.
"Lord, compared to yesterday's registration, there are 121 fewer people."
Gosuke said cautiously, fearing to anger Suzuki Makoto.
"Mm, just record the current number. Calculate how long our grain will last."
Suzuki Makoto took the list of names and abilities, assigned Gosuke another task, then turned to the now-motivated crowd.
"We need to reorganize and plan our camp now, reclaim new wasteland for farming. The water source is enough for both drinking and irrigation. I'll assign work based on the skills you reported earlier."
Soon, Suzuki Makoto assigned everyone's tasks. Though doubting how long this would last, long-ingrained obedience to the strong left them without complaint.
The entire camp bustled at once. Many ramshackle buildings were demolished for standard houses, while reclaimed fields encircled the pond—forcing partial removal of the wooden walls to channel irrigation water to the crops.
Gosuke's calculations came back: at one biscuit per person daily, the grain would last one or two years easily. But this was for ordinary people; Reiryoku users could eat dozens of people's worth.
Good news too: Soul Society's eternal spring-like seasons with few disasters meant the reclaimed land could be farmed immediately. As long as no Hollows destroyed it, the camp could be fully self-sufficient.
"Lord, what about us?"
The dozen-plus who stayed, including Gosuke—all with Reiryoku—asked. One biscuit daily wouldn't suffice for them.
"You'll form this village's militia for security, patrols, and hunting. You'll have ample food and water daily but can't hoard or take away. Hunting yields get priority allocation."
Suzuki Makoto handed over a set of rules he had written last night.
____
New Story: FGO: Building a Lostbelt from Scratch, the Winner is Canon
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