People in Terra, governing a bizarre little country

This has indeed, to some extent, promoted the Sarkaz history education work in Hedre—at least now many Shelag Sarkaz have begun to give mudstones nicknames such as "Little Godu," "Mudstone Lord," and "City Builder."

I wonder when it will develop into "We have concluded from some indisputably authentic ancient texts that you are a direct descendant of the Demon King Godu, and have been the leader of the Stone Wing Demons since ancient times!"

Hedley expressed his helplessness regarding this. He could only say that the work of cultural dissemination must continue, but at least the Sarkaz of Shelag no longer believe in anything like a "royal court," right?

There was no royal court during the era of Gedu.

Besides providing cultural education to the Sarkaz, enlightening the children of Sherag, and occasionally passing on some wilderness survival skills and close combat experience left over from the mercenary era to the young people of Sherag as "self-defense techniques," Hedley, as the only truly working employee of the Sarkaz Residents' Committee, also has to deal with some troublesome matters.

"So you mean he confessed his feelings to you a few days ago?"

Hedley picked up his thermos, took a sip of the cooling herbal tea, and looked at the two Sarkaz people in front of him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

The women were called "painters" and the men were called "metallurgists," which were both their professions and their names.

Most Sarkaz don't have names, only code names. This code name was probably given to them temporarily after seeing Hedley's "recruitment requirements".

And that's how it is.

The Sarkaz girl, nicknamed "Painter," looked to be in her twenties or thirties. Hearing Hadley's words, she blushed slightly but nodded nonetheless.

"Yes, but I haven't met his parents yet!"

Sarkaz, who called himself "The Metallurgist," grinned nonchalantly.

"It's okay, I've never seen it before!"

Hedley's expression twitched.

For a moment, he wanted to laugh. But he quickly recalled the Sarkaz's millennia-long suffering, his own late-night musings on the internet, and the pangs of sadness for his teammates whose fates were unknown. In the end, he managed to suppress his laughter.

Don't suddenly tell hellish jokes! All the good karma I've accumulated in Sherag is about to disappear!

No, I need to go back to Manjushri Temple and knock on the wooden fish to repent.

Having secretly planned his schedule after get off work, Hedley calmed himself down and asked:

"So, what you want to ask is how to register your household in Shelag?"

The metallurgist immediately nodded:

"Yes, yes, Lord Hadley is very perceptive. Sherag is indeed a good place. When I heard you explaining Lord Ernst Ching-Tang's policies, you said that as long as we are willing to work hard, we also have the opportunity to settle down in Sherag. I just want to ask, what should we do?"

“I used to be a smelter in Kazdel; I forged all the armor for the royal army. Now I work at the Shivaish family's ironworks on the outskirts of the city, and I even get a small bonus every month. But the painter can't do anything…”

Hadley raised an eyebrow in surprise, glancing at the somewhat shy Sarkaz woman beside him:

"Doesn't she know how to draw?"

"You can't eat painting."

"The metallurgist" replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Hedley sighed softly. He understood what "metallurgist" meant.

Indeed, in Kazdel, being able to "draw" is hardly a skill. Even in the inner city, only the nobles of the royal court are qualified to access such a luxury as "art," especially the Blood Demon Royal Court, which is most fond of pretentious art.

As for the "painter," she's clearly a mixed-race Sarkaz. Can she paint? The Sarkaz of Kazdel would probably complain about her wasting paper.

Just as Hadley saw in Londinium: the Sarkaz were using the Victoria Royal Library's millennia-old treasures, books that recorded the history, culture, and science of this land, to wipe their bottoms and burn as fuel.

They also complained that the ink was dirty and that the cover was too heat-resistant.

"But this is Shelag."

Hadley looked at the "metallurgist," his tone firm.

“Here, you can eat your fill by drawing.”

The "metallurgist" opened his mouth in astonishment.

He had indeed heard such legends: in those wealthy countries, people could eat their fill without resorting to arms or going to war. Some people could even sell gold coins at auctions—coins he would never have seen in his lifetime—with a piece of "graffiti" that he couldn't understand at all.

Such people are called "artists".

But the "metalsmith" never imagined that such a thing would happen to the Sarkaz.

The reason is simple: among those prosperous nations, the Sarkaz are also an island in the ocean of justice. For a Sarkaz artist is like a noble family in the towers of Letania being fond of rock music—it's laughable.

He looked at Hadley with undisguised disbelief in his eyes. For the first time since arriving in Sherag, he questioned Hadley, who had guided them.

Are you trying to trick me?

But while he was still wondering, the "painter" excitedly stepped forward, took out a rolled-up scroll from his small leather bag with the logo of Blangtao Home Textiles, and handed it to Hedley.

"Could you please take a look?"

The Sarkaz girl asked expectantly.

Hadley glanced at the painting and shook his head:

"I don't actually understand art."

The "painter" looked somewhat disappointed. Hedley continued,

"But I can take a look if you need it."

He unrolled the scroll, the contents of which were very simple.

It was Ernst. If I had to add an adjective, I would say he was a very tall and imposing man, so tall that one couldn't help but wonder, "I understand the logic, so why is Ernst so big?"

Hedley closed the scroll and looked at the Sarkaz girl in front of him with awe.

My child, you've broadened your path.

"You can set up a stall on the small goods street in Tukarim, hang this painting up, and wait for people to come and buy it. You can also paint for people while you're at it."

The "painter" was somewhat stunned:

Will anyone buy this?

“Believe me, it will.” Hedley paused for a moment, then gritted his teeth with a hint of jealousy. “And it won’t be less.”

Given Ernst's current prestige in Sherag, anyone who worships the Jeragund icon would probably have a portrait of Ernst hanging in their home.

With such a large market, how could there be a shortage of buyers?

Unfortunately, Hadley lacked the necessary skills, so he couldn't earn that money.

However, he was genuinely happy to see the two Sarkaz finding their own careers in Shelag.

The "metallurgist" was a good man. In his mind, a "painter" was someone who couldn't make any money or realize any value. Yet, he was still working tirelessly in Shelag to help the "painter" settle down, and even came to me. This shows that he was probably prepared to shoulder the burden of the family alone.

His only mistake was underestimating Sherag.

"Regarding the settlement issue, according to the Sakaz Residents Management Regulations (Provisional), those who have lived in Sakaz for three years, are fluent in Sakaz, and have had a stable job for more than a year and a half can apply for settlement in Sakaz. Of course, before that, your files will be kept by the Sakaz Residents Committee, which is equivalent to having a temporary residence permit and will not affect your job search."

Hedley smiled.

"Go ahead, your new life is long, don't let yourself down, and don't let Prime Minister Ernst down!"

"Master Qing Tang!" the "metallurgist" shouted.

The painter chimed in, "Master of Clear Broth!"

“It’s the righteous magistrate.” Hedley rubbed his temples, correcting the two men’s non-standard Sherag pronunciation.

Watching the two leave, Hedley stood up and turned off the office lights.

It was time to leave work; he was going to Manzhu Temple to strike the wooden fish.

However, just as he turned off the lights, the office door was knocked on again.

"Dong dong."

Hedley frowned and called out:

"I'm off work today."

But the person outside ignored them and even started knocking more aggressively.

"Thump thump thump thump thump thump!"

Hedley's lips twitched as he responded and walked towards the door:

"Okay, okay, stop banging."

He opened the door, and a sudden sense of crisis surged into his heart. He subconsciously leaned back to avoid the slashing knife, then swung a whip kick, striking the Sarkaz girl in front of him squarely in the waist. He then launched a swift attack, intending to capture the Sarkaz girl, but was forced back a step by the homemade Originium bomb she raised.

Hedley frowned, looking at the homemade bomb, then at the white-haired girl clutching her waist and panting heavily, and uttered a question tinged with anger:

"W?"

"Not bad, Hedley. I thought you'd gotten used to this comfortable place and your vigilance and skills had declined."

W leaned against the wall, her smile a little stiff.

Hadley clearly didn't hold back; had it been Caprini, whose body was as fragile as Ines, who had been hit, she probably would have had to go see a doctor for her lumbar spine.

Thankfully, she's a Sarkaz.

W glanced at Hedley:

"No, your vigilance has indeed decreased. I have never seen you without your broken sword."

Hedley replied calmly:

"Whether you're at work or in class, it's not appropriate to carry that kind of weapon around."

"You're really a teacher?" W was still somewhat incredulous.

A smile crept onto Hadley's lips:

"Not only that, I'm also a civil servant."

A civil servant? You?

W wanted to mock Hedley's wild ideas, but when she thought of the two Sarkaz who had just walked out of the building, and then of Ines's thoughtful expression in front of the plaque at the entrance, she couldn't say anything.

Maybe Hedley is serious.

But in this world, besides His Highness and the Tower of Babel, is there really any place that is so tolerant of the Sarkaz?

The Tower of Babel is still the Tower of Babel of the Sarkaz. Although that grumpy old woman and her group of operators are not Sarkaz, their leader is Princess Theresa, and Princess Theresa is a Sarkaz, the Demon King of the Sarkaz!

And what about Sherag?

Recalling the image of Ernst that she had seen and heard about along the way, W pursed her lips, her face full of disbelief.

Don't tell me the Sarkaz have a "Snow Leopard Royal Court" now?

"Alright, stop causing trouble here, W."

Hedley snatched the unactivated homemade Originium bomb from W's hand, and the Originium Arts of Ash poured into it, destroying the trigger circuitry that W had specially designed inside.

They were all old acquaintances, and Hadley knew W's methods inside and out.

After doing all this, he looked at W and asked:

"Where is Ines? Didn't she come with you?"

W rolled its eyes but didn't stop Hadley's actions. It flicked its tail and pointed towards the door:

"She's outside, keeping watch."

Hedley paused, taken aback: "Keep watch?"

W gave Hedley a mocking look:

"No, my respected Captain Hedley, you weren't fooled by Theresis in Londinium, were you?"

"You suddenly send a cryptic letter to the contact point, describing a peaceful and prosperous paradise without discrimination or war, and inviting us all to come and find you. What do you think you're doing?"

"Fish scales".

Hedley and W said in unison.

He smiled helplessly. What could he do? Sometimes, simply stating the facts was enough to raise suspicions.

W and Ines were clearly very careful; even after entering Sherag and seeing the scenery along the way, they remained absolutely vigilant until the very last second before actually meeting Hadley.

Ines was keeping watch outside the door; her ability to observe shadows made it easy for her to spot any potential lurkers nearby. But she hadn't issued a warning yet, indicating that no one was indeed monitoring Hadley.

W, who is good at reading people's expressions—yes, W has reached this level, so this basic ability is indeed very strong, but she may not necessarily pay attention to your emotions just because she sees them—is responsible for infiltrating this building to search for Hedley's whereabouts. If anything unexpected happens, her bombs can also ensure that she is not trapped in this "trap".

But W didn't notice anything unusual about Hedley.

At least she didn't see anything yet. Hadley made no suggestive expressions or puns; he simply stated a fact in a calm tone that concealed his excitement: