The Scholar's Rebirth-Chapter 38: More work

After sending more than a day at sea The duo finally arrived.

The port town was bustling with noise and heat as Walter stepped off the boat with Mitch trailing behind him. This was the first stop of two, and their mission was clear: acquire as many livestock animals as they could manage, and bring them back to Eldora. The salty air mingled with the pungent scent of manure and sweat, making Mitch scrunch up his nose.

Walter didn't even flinch. He was used to the smell of work—true work. They had roughly 1,000 silver coins in capital, and every coin needed to be spent wisely. Feed, transport, and the animals themselves. The markets were noisy and lively, animals braying and clucking all around. Farmers shouted prices, waving their arms to entice buyers.

They started with the chickens. Walter haggled hard, managing to buy 50 hens and 10 roosters for 90 silver coins. He didn't want weak stock, and the farmer assured him they were good egg layers. Then came the ducks and geese—20 of each, which cost another 80 silver. Mitch watched the coins disappear with wide eyes.

"Don't worry," Walter said, inspecting the birds with a critical eye. "It's worth it."

Next came the rabbits. A stall offered a bundle deal: 30 rabbits for 60 silver coins. Walter negotiated an extra 10 for free and paid in full. Then they moved on to goats—30 of them at 5 silver each. The seller even threw in two kids for free. That was 150 silver gone in an instant.

Sheep came next. 20 of them, thick and healthy, each costing 6 silver. They settled for 120 silver after negotiation. Cows were a lucky find—only two were available, both young and strong. The old man selling them seemed surprised by their enthusiasm but gladly accepted 45 silver each. Walter didn't hesitate.

Then, the prize: horses. They managed to find six sturdy workhorses and two younger ones, bred for riding. 30 silver per workhorse, 40 for each riding horse. 280 silver vanished in a single deal. Mitch gulped.

They bought feed in sacks—grain, hay, and dry roots to keep the animals nourished on the journey back. Feed and cloth sacks for carrying water and storing food cost another 70 silver coins.

As they arranged for the animals to be herded to the docks, a commotion nearby caught Walter's eye. A boy, no older than twelve, was being dragged by the collar through the mud, blood trailing down his forehead.

"Thief! Little bastard tried to steal bread from my cart!" a burly merchant bellowed, raising his hand again.

"That's enough," Walter's voice cut through like steel.

The man turned, scowling. "Who're you to—"

Walter tossed a few copper coins into the man's chest. "Paid. Now back off."

He dragged the boy away without waiting for a response. Mitch looked nervous, but followed.

The boy, barely able to walk, kept muttering apologies. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to—I just... they haven't eaten in days."

"They?"

The boy hesitated, then said, "My brothers and sisters. There's about twenty of us. We sleep in the alleys near the eastern wall."

Walter exchanged a look with Mitch.

"Show me."

The boy hesitated, then nodded. Ten minutes later, they were standing before a group of filthy, hollow-eyed children tucked between collapsed crates and torn cloth sheets. The smell was gut-wrenching.

Mitch whispered, "Walter... we can't... Eira asked for animals, not people. These are humans. There are none on Eldora yet."

Walter clenched his jaw. "We can't leave them here."

"I don't have that authority," Mitch replied, though his voice was soft. "I work under Elandor. We'd have to make a plea."

"Then plea I will."

It took over an hour of tense pacing and discussion before Mitch finally sighed and nodded. "We'll take them. On your word."

Walter turned to the children, kneeling. "If you're willing to help care for the animals—clean them, feed them—you'll eat every day, and have beds to sleep in. But you'll work. Understand?"

The children were quiet. The oldest nodded. Slowly, the others followed.

When they returned to the docks with the group of children, the sight was almost comical—rabbits being boxed, chickens squawking in straw cages, goats tied in lines, and now twenty-odd children being herded like the rest. But the work went quickly. The kids were surprisingly helpful, despite their exhaustion.

Just then, a tall man in worn silk robes approached. He squinted at Walter, then his eyes widened.

"Walter? By the gods, it's you! Still alive?"

Walter frowned. "Do I know you?"

"Traven. I left Luinmir twenty years ago. Didn't think anyone remained. But here you are, buying animals like a kingdom's being born."

Walter only nodded. Traven, curious and intrigued, decided then and there to make the journey back to Luinmir.

They spent the night on the ship, and by dawn, set sail to the next island—a short three-hour trip. The second market had more refined goods. Mitch, remembering his sister's soldier aspirations, slipped away. He used his own silver, buying her woven sandals and a pair of tunics. But then his mind wandered.

"We'll need more of these," he muttered.

He spent the rest of his personal money—over 30 silver—buying bulk clothing and footwear. It took time, and he had to buy from several stalls, but by sunset, the boat was loaded. Animals, children, feed, crates, and now clothes.

Four days had passed since they left Elandor. Now it was time to return—with far more than they left with.

And with new mouths to feed, Eira would be in for a surprise.

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It had been six days since Walter and Micah had left. One more day—just one—until the military academy and the school officially opened. Yet for Eira, it felt like a hundred days' worth of headaches crammed into one.

She stood on the edge of a hill overlooking the West Lower Region, where a faint buzz of activity trickled from the temporary soldier campus. The area, shaded by trees and nestled near the dense forest, was far from the main village noise. It was peaceful, disciplined, and most importantly—isolated. A fitting place for future soldiers to learn discipline, endurance, and survival.

They had been fortunate. Some of the manors, once homes to nobles who had fled or perished, had been repurposed. The large courtyards now held practice fields. Rooms were cleared for bunk spaces. Wooden weapon racks had been hastily built, standing proud in what used to be gardens of roses and exotic herbs.

The Navy hadn't been so lucky.

Their campus sat at the southern port—functional, yes, but crude. The Earth elves had worked hard, molding mud and stone into firm buildings, but they were no manors. Just enough to house beds, equipment, and a basic office. Still, Eira wasn't worried. The Navy didn't need extravagance—they needed resilience. The sea didn't care for comfort.

The Northern port had been ruled out almost immediately. Too far. Too isolated. No connectivity. They'd make use of it one day, but not now. The Southern port was bustling, but Eira ensured the Navy campus was well out of public view. People weren't ready yet to see armed men and boats in formation.

The police had fared better than both. Two large manors, donated by a family that had once held great influence, had been converted into their base. Located close to the village center and just a stone's throw from the school, it made logistical sense. The manors had large compounds, perfect for drills, meetings, and eventually, public dealings. Unlike the military recruits, the police weren't expected to stay in camps. They could go home after their shift—unless, of course, duty called.

There had been talks about badges—symbols of authority—but there were no materials yet. Another delay. Another item on her endless list.

She sighed.

Jimmy had been working tirelessly, forging new benches, hammering the wood into shape. His apprentices zipped about the yard like bees, sweat pouring, sawdust flying. The carriages were also nearly done—open carriages with smooth wheels and no cover, made for short-distance travel.

As for the teachers... Eira was surprised at how quickly they'd progressed. Their nightly lessons had paid off. They weren't masters, of course. But they could handle the basics—math, reading, basic writing, and the early teachings of the elven language. Their confidence had grown. Still, Eira worried. What if a child proved smarter than their teacher? What then?

She chuckled to herself. Well, God help them then.

And amidst all this chaos, she had found herself deeply entangled in another project—perhaps the most dangerous of them all.

Guns. And cannons.

Faelor had been a quiet storm beside her through it all. Together, they studied powder reactions, pressure chambers, and ignition triggers. It wasn't an easy task—especially not when the materials they needed didn't even exist on Eldora. But progress was being made, little by little. Eira had drawn dozens of blueprints. Faelor had melted and recast metal scraps until his hands were blackened and blistered.

They hadn't made a working prototype yet. But soon. Very soon.

Just as dusk fell and the lanterns flickered on, Eira had stepped outside, the air cool against her face. She had only just started walking toward the Hall again when Rain came flying down the hill, wide-eyed and panting.

"Eira!" She gasped. "The ship! There's a ship near the southern port!"

She blinked, pulse skipping.

Walter?

Without a word, she turned on her heel and sprinted in the opposite direction.

As she ran, the system's mechanical voice buzzed in her mind:

> "Dear host, you are yet to choose and define your territory. Until this is done, you will receive no alerts of intrusion or activity. Please resolve this soon."

Eira groaned aloud, picking up speed. Not now. I can't afford to move buildings around without cement. And naming it... not now, not yet.

The path to the southern port was quiet.

By the time she reached the coastal ridge, the sky was painted in hues of purple and orange. The tide was calm, the salty wind brushing past her.

Then, she saw it—cutting through the water, worn but steady.

The ship.

It creaked as it docked, the wooden hull brushing softly against the ropes already tethered to the new port. A small crowd began to form—people had noticed.

Then out stepped Walter.

And Micah.

And behind them... children?

Eira's breath caught as the first wave of kids began to descend from the ship. Dirty, barefoot, rag-wrapped children, eyes wide and blinking against the fading sunlight. Some clung together, others held bundles of hay or sacks. They were... organized?

And behind them, clucking, bleating, snorting in the background—animals. So many animals. Horses. Sheep. Geese. Cows. Even chickens in crates and a donkey that brayed as if announcing their arrival.

Eira's eyes darted to Walter, who looked unusually proud of himself. Micah, by contrast, looked like a man who had aged ten years in six days.

As the crowd grew and gasps filled the air, Eira crossed her arms, one brow lifting as she stepped forward.

"...What exactly happened out there?" she asked.

Walter scratched the back of his head. "Uh. Long story."

Micah muttered under his breath, "Very long story."

One of the kids sneezed.

Eira sighed and turned her gaze toward the crates of livestock and the line of exhausted, wide-eyed children trailing behind them.

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Yup,more work...