Chapter 7: Territory Development (III)
Gene's hand trembled as he raised his wine cup. He understood the warning in Saelen's words and spoke in a panic.
"My lord, you must understand—those lowly, foolish wretches…"
"Hm."
Saelen's expression darkened as he cut him off.
"Steward Gene, I hope you understand this clearly."
"Our porcelain is selling across the Seven Kingdoms. Demand far exceeds supply. Even merchants from across the Narrow Sea come begging for it."
"Porcelain is worth its weight in gold—sometimes more precious than gemstones."
"The porcelain works under your control is our treasury. And those skilled craftsmen are assets we raised with years of effort and countless gold dragons."
"So that crude, heavy-handed management of yours ends here. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord, I understand," Gene replied hastily, then faltered.
"But… those w—those workers—once they're fed well and paid generously, they grow lazy. They cut corners, work half-heartedly. Without overseers holding whips, they'll always do the bare minimum."
"That inevitably affects both output and quality."
Gene wiped sweat from his brow, sounding genuinely aggrieved.
"So you solved that by skimming their rations and wages into your own pockets?" Saelen shot back flatly.
Gene's face drained of color. He dropped to his knees at once.
"My lord, spare me! I was momentarily confused. I'll return everything to the workers immediately. I beg you—please give me one more chance."
Around the table, expressions varied.
Some lowered their heads guiltily.
Some watched with thin smiles, enjoying Gene's misfortune.
Porcelain sales were booming. Prices were absurdly high. Orders had already been booked years in advance. Gene's doorstep had been worn thin by those seeking favors. Gifts alone had made him obscenely wealthy.
The once scrawny Gene had turned into the "Fat Pig Gene" of today.
In Castle Edd, aside from Saelen himself, no one wielded more wealth or influence than Gene—and he had never been kind about it.
Now that he was in trouble, many were delighted to watch.
Some had already begun to eye the position of porcelain steward.
Only Maester Rosmund remained impassive.
Having sworn away family, name, marriage, heirs, and land, Rosmund's life's purpose was the proper governance of Castle Edd. Gene's misdeeds had never escaped his notice—and he had reported them to Saelen the moment he learned of them.
"Enough," Saelen said calmly.
"Get up."
"I'll let bygones be bygones. What belongs to you, you'll receive in full. But what doesn't—if you dare touch it again, don't blame me for forgetting old ties."
"Do you understand?"
Gene exhaled in relief and scrambled to his feet.
"Yes, my lord. I will never offend again."
Saelen nodded, then continued.
"As for the issue you raised—that's my oversight."
"From now on, wages will be split into two parts: a base salary and a performance bonus."
"Those who work well receive bonuses on top of their base pay. Those who perform poorly will live on the base alone."
"We'll also introduce a year-end reward. Any worker who earns bonuses every month of the year will receive an additional three months' wages at year's end."
"That way, you won't need whips."
"They'll work harder on their own."
Gene thought it over. His eyes brightened, and he hurriedly flattered,
"A brilliant idea, my lord. Truly wise."
Others echoed the praise.
Only Maester Rosmund, after a moment's thought, spoke cautiously.
"My lord… would this not significantly increase labor costs?"
Saelen burst out laughing.
"As expected of our maester—you always think things through," he said cheerfully. "But don't worry. The profit margins on porcelain are still enormous. We can afford this increase in labor costs."
"And if it really comes down to it…" Saelen shrugged lightly. "We can always raise the price of porcelain."
Maester Rosmund felt uneasy about the idea, but lacking a better solution, he chose not to press the matter further.
"Steward Gene," Saelen continued, "there are still tens of thousands of people in the camp. Calculate how many more workers the porcelain works needs."
Gene hesitated briefly, then answered cautiously.
"My lord, after running the numbers, I believe we'll need about five thousand more people. That would allow the porcelain works to continue expanding. Once these workers are properly trained, total output should increase severalfold."
"Very well," Saelen said. "With the porcelain works growing so large, it's too much for one person to manage alone. I'll assign you a deputy."
Before Gene could even begin to object, Saelen added,
"Juan—starting today, you'll serve as Steward Gene's deputy."
"Assist him in managing the porcelain works. Ensure that nothing goes wrong. If there's anything you don't understand, consult Steward Gene."
"Yes, my lord," Juan replied, rising to accept the order.
Juan was about the same age as Saelen—one of the few boys from Saelen's original village who had survived. His parents had also been killed by wildlings. They had grown up together in Winterfell, bound by shared loss and trust.
Having listened to the entire meeting, Juan understood exactly why Saelen was sending him to the porcelain works.
No words were needed.
"Steward Gene," Saelen said coldly, fixing him with a penetrating gaze, "Juan is young and inexperienced. You will teach him proactively. I expect the two of you to work together and manage the porcelain works properly. Do you understand?"
Under Saelen's overwhelming stare, Gene finally broke. He nodded weakly.
"I won't hide anything. Whatever I know, Juan will know."
Satisfied, Saelen nodded and turned to a broad-shouldered man seated nearby.
"Torren. How is the weapons and armor workshop progressing?"
The sturdy man rose.
"My lord, operations are running smoothly. We have twenty master smiths and five hundred apprentices. Since adopting the assembly-line methods you proposed, efficiency has increased dramatically."
"We can now produce fifty sets of lamellar armor and one hundred longswords per month. With more manpower, output could increase further."
"If there are any smiths in the camp, place them under your authority," Saelen said. "Recruit as many apprentices as you need."
"Also, I'm placing an order: five thousand sets of lamellar armor, ten thousand longswords, and one thousand shields."
Torren was visibly startled by the scale of the order. After a moment's thought, he replied,
"My lord, we still have some inventory on hand. The rest will have to be forged gradually."
"How much inventory?" Saelen asked.
Torren opened a ledger and checked.
"Two thousand sets of lamellar armor, five thousand longswords, five hundred shields, and one thousand longbows."
Saelen considered this briefly, then said,
"Ser William, after this meeting, select five thousand able-bodied men from the camp and incorporate them into the army."
"You and the master-at-arms will be responsible for their training."
"Select the best performers first and equip them as priority. Whatever equipment you need, collect it directly from Steward Torren."
"Yes, my lord," Ser William replied, standing.
At that moment, Maester Rosmund spoke up, clearly troubled.
"Lord Saelen… the Seven Kingdoms are currently at peace. There is no war in sight. Is it truly necessary to maintain such a large standing force?"
"Supporting five thousand soldiers alone will consume vast amounts of grain every single day. With intensive training, their consumption will only increase."
"And on top of that," Rosmund continued, growing more animated, "you must provide weapons and armor for all five thousand."
"Oh, gods above—and you must pay them wages as well."
"I've done the calculations," he said urgently. "These five thousand men alone will cost no less than five hundred thousand gold dragons per year."
"That's nearly half of all the gold we've earned from porcelain over the past few years!"
"King's Landing, with hundreds of thousands of people, maintains order with just over two thousand gold cloaks."
"Winterfell itself has barely over a hundred guards."
"And our little Castle Edd—counting the existing thousand cavalry and three hundred infantry—"
Rosmund threw up his hands.
"Gods! Our standing army is approaching seven thousand men!"
He fixed Saelen with a grave look.
"My lord," he asked slowly, "what exactly are you preparing for?"