No one could obstruct Arno's will any longer. All those who had obstructed him had gone to meet the old fellow. Presumably, the old fellow would surely not like these scoundrels and degenerates, who might defile the divine realm with their chaos. Regardless of what happened to these fellows after ascending to the divine realm, there was now no one in Pramisburg who could block any of Arno's decrees. He had achieved things that many predecessors had failed to do.

  This did not absolutely mean that Arno was smarter or more capable than others, but merely that the talent tree he had chosen gave higher bonuses for these matters.

  In this world, the issuance of decrees was divided into two channels. The first was the bulletin board: at the entrance of each district, there was a bulletin board where the town hall would post the latest updates and policies for all to see. The other was conveying them to respected local gentlemen through the advisory hall. The term "local gentlemen" might not be very appropriate in this world; "ruffians and wealthy merchants" were more fitting. They would pass the news they heard to the residents in their own territories, but very often, decrees and policies underwent strange changes after being orally transmitted by them.

  "Make way, make way, let Old Man Tel in," came the cry. Early in the morning, the area around the bulletin board was crowded with illiterate residents. Pramisburg was probably the only place in the Orlando Empire without an imperial basic academy, and the literacy rate of its residents was appallingly low. In fact, it was not strange to think about: initially, Pramisburg had been established as a wartime transit station, starting from a camp surrounded by wooden fences, gradually built into a military fortress, and finally expanded into a city.

  The lords had probably not intended to arrange for immigrants here at the beginning of its establishment; they had planned to dismantle it after the war or use it as a military camp. However, no one had expected that the opportunistic Byron Empire had not invaded during Orlando's civil unrest, which was quickly quelled. After a period of confrontation in the Weimar Corridor, both sides realized that continuing the standoff would bring no benefits to either, and they stopped fighting after a fierce battle.

  The lords had returned home in high spirits, neglecting some of the city's infrastructure, including the most important academy.

  Old Man Tel had been a conscripted laborer during the last war. His hometown was not here; he had attended school in his youth and could read. Stroking his grizzled goatee, he squeezed through the passageway made by the crowd. He squinted his eyes and leaned close to the bulletin board, his lips moving slightly. After a moment, he finished reading the entire bulletin. He smacked his lips, looked around at his neighbors and casual acquaintances, and then pondered before saying, "The city lord has decided to renovate the entire city and needs to conscript laborers, paying 35 copper coins per day and providing one lunch meal."

  The crowd erupted in an uproar. These days, finding a decent livelihood in Pramisburg was extremely difficult. Most people lived hand to mouth, working as laborers or helpers, transporting goods back and forth for merchants. Some had reclaimed farmland outside the city, but they were only slightly better off than others. Sometimes Arno wondered how, in such a deformed city, the local financial order had not collapsed—it was quite a feat.

  "Father, is it really 35 copper coins per day with a meal included?"

  The old man nodded, pointing to the bulletin board and saying, "It clearly states so here, and this paid conscription will continue until the city renovation is completed, for at least several months or even longer."

  Thirty-five copper coins plus a full meal were worth between 40 and 50 copper coins. Calculated monthly, this amounted to more than one silver coin!

  Immediately, someone was tempted and eagerly asked, "Will they really pay? They won't default on the debt, will they?"

  The old man was momentarily speechless. How could he know if they would really pay or default? However, driven by a trace of vanity that would not allow others to question him, he affirmed, "There is the seal of the city lord's mansion, as well as the city lord's signature and emblem. Lords value their honor and will absolutely not default on the debt!" After saying this, the old man himself felt a flicker of temptation.

  "Then what are we waiting for?" The young men clenched their fists in readiness. "Where do we sign up?"

  "Outside the city lord's mansion!"

  Outside the city lord's mansion, the crowd was packed tight, yet not noisy. The moment Arno stood there, the volume of people's voices dropped by a third. Since the issuance of the noble "death redemption decree"—a law so abnormal it could be called perverse—ordinary people had both feared the nobility and harbored an intense longing for the noble class.

  The gazes fixed on Arno were filled with both awe and another, more complex emotion.

  The city had been silent for too long, like a piece of delicious veal that, after being left too long, would inevitably rot and emit a stench. People had lived in this stench of despair for so long that they had forgotten what a normal life should be like. Now, a city lord named Arno had suddenly appeared, vowing to lead them in creating a new life and a new world with their own hands. They were both eager and afraid.

  No one dislikes beautiful things; just as everyone longs for light, they also fear—fear that their dreams will shatter, fear that the sun will set.

  Richard put on a long-sleeved shirt. The temperature had dropped to 12 or 13 degrees Celsius. The elderly and frail had put on two, three, or even more layers of cotton-padded clothes to resist the cold, while he relied on his own fat to accomplish this task. He continuously flipped through the account books, and the tax official, who had never seen large sums of money before, felt a sharp pain in his heart at this moment. Watching those gold coins turn into a pile of copper coins emitting a metallic odor being distributed, he even found breathing difficult.

  These coins... these coins... they were all money!

  The stonemason of the city lord's mansion was called out separately by Arno and appointed as the construction officer to preside over the city renovation project. This project was enormous, involving far too many things for a single person to supervise. Arno did not understand construction, so he did not hesitate to delegate power, transforming the city lord's mansion stonemason into one of the mansion's stewards and one of the city's administrators.

  The stonemason, in his forties, had a ruddy complexion. He also held an account book and stood slightly behind Arno's side—this was the most memorable and glorious moment of his life.

  "Lord, I have done a simple calculation. If we want to renovate the entire city's roads, we will need... more than 20,000 cubic meters of stone," he said, swallowing hard after speaking. In fact, the stone itself was not valuable; the cost lay in transportation. When Pramisburg had been built for war, with national mobilization, this had not been a major issue for a country's strength. But doing it solely with the city lord's mansion's strength seemed beyond their capacity.

  Arno simply noted the figure: 20,000 cubic meters. "How much will it cost?"

  "The price of an ordinary cubic meter of stone is around 200 copper coins, and better quality is around 300 copper coins..." Before the newly appointed construction officer could finish, Arno interrupted, "Use better quality stone."

  The construction officer quickly wrote and calculated. "It will be approximately more than 100 gold coins. I believe 150 gold coins should be sufficient."

  Arno frowned. He had not calculated carefully, but based on the construction officer's statement, the figure should have been around 60 gold coins. Sensing Arno's doubt, the construction officer immediately added, "After the stone is transported, we need to cut it. The magic array cutting method will consume some Tiberium crystals, and there may be waste, so I increased the budget."

  Arno looked at Richard again. "Arrange the relevant transportation and operations as soon as possible. If there are any unclear points, consult the merchant guild."

  Richard could only nod. He was a tax official, a member of the privileged class! Yet in an instant, he had become an errand runner. However, being an errand runner for a great figure made his identity as a tax official seem insignificant.

  "Now, with everything waiting to be restored, this is my opportunity and also your opportunity. There is a saying you may not have heard: when a person gains extremely high status and power, those around him will also obtain many unimaginable benefits as his status changes. Even a dog or a chicken will become noble," Arno explained in simple terms the meaning of "even chickens and dogs rise to heaven." He had very few capable and usable people around him; the biggest shortcoming now was the issue of talent.

  He was not afraid to make promises, for to fulfill these promises smoothly, he must first become the one who had gained higher status and power.

  "Richard, put aside tax matters for now. Find some capable people to help you set up the framework first. I will reserve the position of city lord's mansion treasurer for you. I believe you can do it."

  Richard was shocked, and the flesh on his face trembled! He was not a noble, just an unremarkable tax official—perhaps even his superiors in the imperial capital had forgotten his existence. His loyalty to Arno had been a last resort, but he had not expected happiness to come so quickly!

  The city lord's mansion treasurer, seemingly belonging to the mansion's council hall, was in reality a position held by the city lord's retainers for the most part—these were one's own people!

  A noble with only one person could never become a great noble; only a noble supported by countless lesser nobles could become great. Where did lesser nobles come from? Were they not selected from retainers?

  Richard immediately slapped his chest, which resembled two mounds of flesh, and made a promise.

  At the same time, in Milin City, the capital of Bell Province known as the "Pearl of Bell," Governor Joberg of Bell Province looked at the intelligence report submitted by his intelligence division, his face alternating between shades of dark and light.

  Joberg had risen to the position of provincial governor, overseeing eleven cities and holding the lives of millions in his hands. Naturally, he possessed the corresponding abilities and scheming, and he was deeply trusted by the royal family. He was not only one of the empire's earls but also the maternal uncle of the Seventh Prince. In theory, with his background and status, he could act without restraint in Bell Province, and he had indeed done so before. But when he encountered Arno·Arkania, a golden noble of that surname, things changed.

  The status of a golden noble exceeded that of an ordinary noble; in a sense, golden nobles carried the title of "royal backups." Once the nobles believed the current royal family could not govern the country well, they might overthrow the royal family and select a lineage from the golden noble bloodline to inherit the throne. Of course, who would inherit the throne depended on the strength of their military power, but one could not ignore Arno's identity and status.

  When Arno had first arrived in Pramisburg, Joberg had wanted to see this young man fail. Unexpectedly, in just over a month, all obstacles in Pramisburg had been easily swept aside by this young man. He not only held the real power of Pramisburg but also began to interfere in some affairs of Bell Province.

  The most hateful thing was that he had reported all that happened here to His Majesty the Emperor, hoping the Emperor would discipline Arno. But to his complete surprise, His Majesty had actually seemed to care about some of Arno's actions? Or even approve of them?

  What the hell was this!

  Joberg grabbed the inkwell in front of him and threw it, instantly staining the exquisite camel-hair carpet with ink. This carpet, which had cost ten gold coins, was now ruined, yet it brought Joberg no satisfaction.

  No, he could not let Arno continue the chaos; otherwise, it would surely lead to greater problems!