CHAPTER 449: CHAPTER 292: TRIVIAL MATTERS_2

In the end, you leaders can take the credit and seek commendation from your superiors. But what do the average workers get, apart from hearing you spout slogans?

It might be feasible to justify this with reasonable arguments for a short while, but it’s definitely not sustainable in the long run. Ultimately, it comes at the expense of the ordinary workers’ interests.

What’s even more outrageous is your rhetoric. You claim it’s all for Hamlet Town or for the Lord, yet this very slogan is used to drive the workers who support both him and Hamlet. Where do you think their resentment will ultimately accumulate?

You take credit for your achievements and climb the ladder, while the workers’ morale is damaged. And then I’m the one who inexplicably has to bear the backlash.

But the damn problem is, I didn’t ask you to do that!

If I take the fall for you, won’t I become the biggest fool?

It’s good to be enthusiastic, I’ll grant you that. However, you can’t let those under you squander the reputation you’ve painstakingly accumulated just for their own promotion and wealth.

But we’re probably not at that stage yet. These people likely just want to contribute to Hamlet Town.

Lance didn’t want to dampen their enthusiasm either, so he softened his tone to reassure them.

"I promoted you because I saw your potential. But we need to be grounded and realistic in our work. The methods we devise must be sensible, not decided on a whim." Lance raised his hand and patted the man’s shoulder. "You must understand that you’re now a person in charge, responsible for the construction team. Therefore, I have higher demands for you. If you have any dissatisfaction, you can speak out."

"No! No, I thank the Lord for his support; I will definitely work hard."

The supervisor had also sensed that something was amiss. The Lord’s silent scrutiny moments earlier had made his heart leap into his throat.

Fortunately, he also understood this meant the Lord was paying attention to him and valued him.

"Alright, relax a bit. If you encounter any issues with the project, just report them. I have high hopes for you."

"Yes!"

Lance didn’t stop there but continued on his way.

Some things can’t be noticed, let alone resolved, by just sitting in a chair.

His figure appeared in the barracks, bringing rewards for victory to the soldiers.

His figure appeared in the infirmary, bringing sincere well-wishes to the injured.

His figure appeared on the construction sites, bringing encouragement for diligence to the workers.

His figure appeared in the farmlands, bringing the joy of harvest to the farmers.

His figure appeared in the workshops, bringing recompense for their labor to the craftsmen.

He moved through Hamlet Town, bringing everyone... hope!

And through this tour, Lance gained a general understanding of the situation after his two-day absence.

Things were stable; everything was proceeding in an orderly fashion. His administrative officers hadn’t deceived him. Otherwise, the knife he had just set down would have to be picked up again.

...

"Those Heretics are totally lame!" Boudica declared, lifting her drink and draining it in one gulp before slamming the oak goblet hard onto the table.

"You wouldn’t believe what happened back then..."

Boudica loudly recounted her journey, describing how she’d dispatched the Heretics as easily as chopping vegetables.

Of course, she wasn’t in a tavern; she was at home—Grendel’s home, to be more precise.

Grendel was reserved by nature. After arriving in Hamlet Town, she didn’t actively make friends, spending most of her time completing tasks assigned by Lance. Her interactions were largely limited to official business.

But whenever Boudica was in town with nothing to do, she would seek out Grendel, her fellow countrywoman. Over time, they became close.

Although they weren’t from the same tribe, as fellow members of the Mountain Barbarian Tribe, they naturally stuck together when away from their own people.

Grendel didn’t mind. In fact, Boudica was truly the only friend she had there.

However, she suspected Boudica was mostly interested in the fruit wine she brewed—a craft their people took seriously.

This fruit wine, crafted with special ingredients and techniques, was renowned throughout the Mountains for its health-boosting effects and even had a modest reputation in the wider world.

After receiving the task from Lance, she had begun experimenting with several concoctions, this fruit wine being one.

But Boudica had found out, and now she pestered Grendel for a drink every day. At this rate, the wine would be gone before the project was even completed.

"’Whatcha starin’ at that junk for? Better have a drink with me.’"

Boudica was illiterate. Despite learning the common tongue for so long, she still spoke with a heavy, rustic accent. Books gave her a headache; her mind was impenetrable to anything but fighting.

Grendel was still holding the documents Lance had given her earlier.

She had intended to get a general understanding of them before the project started, but upon returning home, she found Boudica squatting at her doorstep, waiting.

She didn’t need to guess; Boudica must have been drinking at the tavern and was now too drunk to dare go back to her own place.

"’We agreed—only one drink a day. It wouldn’t be good if the Lord found out you’ve had too much,’ Grendel said, a headache beginning to form."

"’The tavern says that... you say that... Can’t I even have a little drink?’"

The alcohol had made her brain excitable. Boudica, growing agitated, stood up and gesticulated wildly. "Why shouldn’t he let me... HIC... drink?"

She loved to drink, but her tolerance was average. Her behavior when drunk, however, was barbaric; she was always ready to pick a fight.

Strangely, when she was like this, her speech was surprisingly clear of her usual heavy accent. Grendel watched, speechless, as Boudica stumbled.

Her kinswoman was fine in all other respects, but once she drank, she forgot herself. She’d boast, exaggerate, and look down on everyone.

Previously, she hadn’t restrained herself and had gotten drunk and disorderly in the tavern, so the Lord had subsequently restricted her daily allowance.

She could drink, but only a little.

This extra cup of fruit wine had received the Lord’s tacit approval; otherwise, Grendel wouldn’t have dared. After all, it was technically misappropriating project supplies.

But judging by Boudica’s state, she’d probably had quite a bit more than just this one cup.

"’Stop shouting! The Lord will hear you and come over,’ Grendel warned."

"’Let him come!’ Boudica slapped her chest. ’Tell him to come over and fight me! We’ll see who wins...’"

"Did you call for me?"

The sudden voice made even the drunken Boudica shiver instinctively. She froze on the spot as if encountering a natural predator, not daring to turn her head.

Heat seemed to pour from her every pore, the sweat carrying away the stench of alcohol, sobering her up considerably.

After a few deep breaths to compose herself, Boudica finally mustered the courage to turn around. She saw a stern-faced Lance walking in.

"’B-Boss... why are you here?’"

"’I wouldn’t want to be here. However, someone told me you beat up the tavern’s bartender because he wouldn’t sell you more drink. And that you then helped yourself to half a barrel of liquor,’ Lance said."

"’I didn’t beat him! I just pushed him because he was in my way,’ Boudica tried to explain. ’And I paid! I left the money on the table.’"

Lance remained silent, simply looking at her with a cold expression.

Instantly, Boudica didn’t dare say another word, humbly lowering her head to admit her mistake.

"’Boss... I’m sorry...’"

"’Do you think I *want* to manage you? If you got drunk and just passed out on the ground, I couldn’t care less. Drink as much as you like. But when you drink, you go berserk and start attacking people.

Do you even realize your position now? Still think you’re a Slave? You’re my Guard! You represent my honor!

Do you remember the last time you assaulted someone? I had to personally visit each family to apologize, arrange for their medical treatment, and compensate for their losses!

Are those people you’re hitting? No! You’re slapping *my* face! You’ve dragged my damn reputation through the mud!

If you don’t want anyone managing you, then get lost! I’d be spared the trouble of worrying about your damn messes every day!’"

Lance wasn’t known for his good temper, but he understood priorities and rarely lost control without reason.

But Boudica, this ’true genius,’ really left him speechless.

"’Boss, I was wrong... Hit me, scold me, punish me, I’ll take it. Just... please don’t be angry...’ Hearing the fury in his voice, Boudica knew the Boss was truly enraged. All her earlier bravado vanished, leaving her completely subdued."

She knew very well how good the Boss was to her. Banished from her tribe, her only connections were in Hamlet. She truly had nowhere else to go.