CHAPTER 227: CHAPTER 191: A THREE-YEAR AGREEMENT_4

The advantage of this approach was that he could manage more people. After all, he lacked the energy to oversee so many individuals himself. It was better to use this opportunity to train a group of administrative talents, preparing for the eventual recovery of his lands.

At the same time, Hamlet would not be too overcrowded, and the Serfs would not need to spend a lot of time traveling the distance from their homes to the fields.

However, the selection of these collective farms required many things to progress simultaneously.

First and foremost was to mix and scatter all the people. In his eyes, there were no locals or outsiders, only Hamlet’s People; otherwise, forming cliques and engaging in internal fighting would be a waste of the territory’s resources and strength, a foolish act.

Then came the start of military recruitment. Only with more and stronger soldiers could he strengthen his control and support his confrontation with the Old Ancestor.

Road building was also a very important task; fortunately, he now had a large labor force at his disposal...

Just as he was contemplating this, there was a knock on the door.

"Just put the late-night snack to the side," Lance responded casually, without even lifting his head, still immersed in his writing.

The door opened, but after a moment of silence, he had no choice but to look up. He saw Tiffany standing somewhat awkwardly at the door.

"Is there something?"

"Didn’t you ask me to come?" Tiffany asked with a bit of discomfort, a blush involuntarily appearing on her face.

Lance, with his remarkable perception, naturally noticed this. He saw that she had changed back into women’s clothing—a pale-colored long dress.

But when had he called her?

"Come in. It just so happens you can report on the situation at the dock and help me organize the data for Hamlet’s fields," he said.

Lance immediately switched into work mode. He needed to allocate the first batch of fields to appease those people and, at the same time, give the refugees confidence.

Walter was responsible for measuring the fields. It would be amusing if any problems were discovered from his work.

Tiffany looked at Lance, engrossed in his work, her expression somewhat strange.

Did I misunderstand something?

Was his earlier comment about a slave a hint towards me?

Previously, Lance had unexpectedly brought up the topic of Slaves. She was well aware of the purpose of those delicate slaves on the third floor. Later, Lance had given her father an opportunity. The shift in circumstances and his attitude had been so drastic that she...

"Hurry, the sooner you finish, the sooner you can go home and sleep," came Lance’s urging voice.

Tiffany breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly proceeded to handle the documents.

Faced with the complex data, she felt a bit of pressure, but this sense of being needed wasn’t bad either...

It had to be said, having someone to help greatly increased efficiency. Delegating data verification to her was much faster than researching it all slowly myself.

"All right, it’s getting late. Go rest. We’ll verify the rest of the old accounts tomorrow," he said.

Tiffany came back to her senses, realizing they had been working for quite a while without her noticing. She stretched her neck, and her eyes grew sore. Working by the light of a Candle was not an ideal scenario.

Seeing her like this, Lance thought for a moment and then took the initiative to speak.

"There are some things I can’t tell you outright, but I have no intention of deceiving you. It’s too chaotic outside, and only by staying in Hamlet can I protect you. I’ve said I wouldn’t give up on you."

"Mm."

Lance’s sudden words took Tiffany by surprise, leaving her momentarily stunned.

By the time she came to her senses, she was already on her way home, which was actually not far, not even a hundred meters away.

"What have you been doing over there for so long?"

"Father!" Tiffany, hearing the familiar voice, then realized that there was someone sitting at the doorway.

Walter’s features were indistinct in the dim light, but the displeasure and anger in his tone were audible.

"Nothing much."

At this moment, she felt like a mouse caught by a cat. Sensing her father’s anger, she unconsciously shrank her neck and added, "Really nothing much, just reporting on the dock situation and checking the accounts."

"Men are no good! Never believe what they say," Walter fumed, looking as if he wanted to grab a weapon and confront Lance.

Tiffany was somewhat speechless. It seemed he had even cursed himself.

"Okay, Father, there really is nothing between him and me," she said, then self-deprecatingly added, "He wouldn’t give me a second glance."

Walter sighed, his spirits plummeting at her words. When a father can’t protect his children or be their pillar of support, it signifies his own decline. His anger wasn’t directed at others; it was directed at his own inability to protect his family. He blamed himself for his shortcomings; otherwise, how could his daughter suffer such humiliation!

"Let’s go home."

Walter lowered his head and slowly turned around. In that moment, it wasn’t clear whether he had aged or his daughter had grown up...