Kays Translations

Chapter 46: The Youth of This Place

After nearly a month of relentless construction, the orphanage—cut into a U-shape by the wide ribbon of the Starlight Avenue—finally stood transformed. Three new four-story buildings had already risen, so hastily completed that the plaster had yet to dry on the walls, yet even in their bare state, children had already moved in.

All this had been made possible thanks to Marlon’s generous financial support. With funds in hand, the old paladin who managed the orphanage’s construction had purchased five spell scrolls of Mud to Stone in one breath, a luxury only possible with steady gold at his back.

And then, like a man reborn into his purpose, the old paladin threw himself into the work with unyielding fervor. He led three hundred sturdy young builders—whom everyone called “the lads with the strong arms”—and together they followed Marlon’s surprisingly simple, almost child-like method of construction. First, they bound steel beams into rigid skeletal frames. Next, they fastened tightly-fitted wooden box panels around the skeleton. Into these, they poured thick slurry of mud. And then… with a flash of scroll-born magic—Mud to Stone!

In an instant, the crude slurry hardened into unyielding walls. Ah, and so the solid outline of a building would emerge. After that, it was only a matter of setting the lads to lay brickwork and mortar upon the stone shell, finishing the walls until the place resembled a proper dwelling.

At the very beginning, they managed a single floor in three days, a speed that already stunned passersby. But now, as the team grew more practiced, the young builders moved with such discipline under the old paladin’s sharp commands that they could raise an entire building to its roof in just three days!

True, the buildings did not sprawl across vast grounds, but each floor still contained thirty to forty rooms. With four floors stacked high, every completed structure loomed as one of the tallest in the entire city of White Sand.

How many buildings in this city, Marlon mused, could boast of such height?

So, as one building after another reached its final pinnacle in record time, the scale and speed of this modern-like construction finally caught the eyes of the press. White Sand’s newspapers dispatched their reporters, who came with notebooks and ink pens, flooding the construction site with interviews and eager questions.

When the reports appeared in print, the papers dubbed this phenomenon the “White Sand Speed”, and suddenly the orphanage’s construction crew became famous.

Before long, businessmen clutching fat checks and bags of coin began to seek out the old paladin, demanding partnership. At first, the old warrior intended to decline—his original vow was only to build for the children. But some visitors were too impatient; they left behind blueprints of grand mansions and even deposits in hard silver, practically forcing his hand.

Thus, burdened by both obligation and coin, the old paladin had no choice but to seek out Marlon for advice.

Marlon’s answer was characteristically bold, almost mischievous: “Take it! When work comes knocking at our door with money in hand, why should we turn it away?”

And so, with that single spark, the matter snowballed. Not stopping halfway, Marlon himself went to the city hall and, with calm confidence, registered a company:

Crane Dance White Sand Construction Co. Ltd.

“Old Cui,” Marlon told the paladin with a grin, “go forth and do it boldly. In this company, I hold thirty percent of the shares for my initial funding. Old Kang holds another thirty. The orphanage itself, as a legal entity, will own thirty as well. The last ten percent are stock options. According to the rules I’ve written, if the company prospers, five percent of those options will belong to you—as General Manager.”

The words glimmered like baited gold. He knew how to tempt even a holy warrior into the world of enterprise.

Thus, Marlon named himself chairman of the board, while the old paladin, whose true name was Trist Rem, became general manager. As for the rest—finance, administration, marketing, construction—Marlon merely outlined the structure, then entrusted Trist with full power to appoint capable men.

“Doubt breeds failure; trust breeds results,” Marlon thought. “If Trist can handle it, I’ll let him. If problems arise, I’ll adjust later.”

The company already had a reputation thanks to the newspapers. As long as they followed the efficient business principles Marlon remembered from Earth, as long as they executed each contract with care, profit was inevitable.

“Master Lister,” Trist once asked him, a rare note of puzzlement in the old knight’s voice, “why the name Crane Dance White Sand? There are no cranes here in White Sand, only seagulls.”

Marlon only smiled. “It’s just a name. I thought it sounded good.”

Would he ever confess that the name was borrowed from a cigarette brand he had once smoked in his old world? Never.

And so, Crane Dance White Sand Construction Company opened its doors, soon launching a large-scale recruitment drive.

Here, for the first time, the reputation Marlon had built among the slum dwellers during the Night of Riots bore fruit. The recruitment notice had hardly been posted when the news spread: Marlon is the company’s big boss, and the old paladin is his partner! In a rush like floodwaters, men scrambled to sign up.

Thus, when Marlon and his companions—including Ivna—returned to the orphanage beneath the setting sun’s golden glow, they were greeted by a lively sight. Freshly hired workers, exhilarated by their acceptance, labored with vigor on the unfinished buildings. Some carried bricks, others hammered beams, and all the while they shouted cheerfully to one another, even breaking into song. They worked not as though burdened by hardship, but as though they were nobles at a grand festival.

For they believed with all their hearts: if they worked hard for Marlon, that fair and kind young man would never treat them unjustly.

And indeed, Marlon proved himself honorable. None of the men had imagined that, beyond their generous wages, they would also be given ropes, nets, and other safety equipment—things meant not for profit, but for the preservation of their very lives.

“Don’t they get tired?”

The scene made Ivna frown with puzzled wonder, and she turned to Marlon with a quiet question.

“Of course they do,” Marlon answered simply. “How could they not, when the work is this heavy?”

“But they look so happy,” Ivna pressed, pointing at the men who were laughing, singing even atop half-finished roofs. “Before the riots, I once visited the paper mill run by Ester’s father. The Durrel slaves there… they all looked so desolate. Lifeless.”

Ivna’s confusion was genuine. She was brave and capable, yes, but her thoughts were still bound by the chains of her age’s civilization.

“That’s because the Durrel slaves had no hope, no future to look toward,” Marlon said gently. His lips curled into a smile, and he gestured toward the workers on the scaffolds. “But these men… they stand high enough to see tomorrow’s sunrise.”

According to the system Marlon had designed, any worker in Crane Dance White Sand could rise beyond mere labor. If they had skill, drive, and the will to learn, their future need not remain shackled to bricks and mud. Even the lowest laborer could still secure his family’s livelihood, safe from hunger or despair.

“I… I think I understand now,” Ivna murmured. Looking at Marlon’s face, lit with calm certainty, she nodded slowly.

All adults were once children.

This youth, who once declared that to be half a step ahead of the world is genius, but a full step is madness, now seemed to her at least half a step ahead of their age.

Wasn’t it true? Less than two months ago, Marlon Lister had been nothing more than a poor slum boy. Yet now he commanded wealth worth hundreds of thousands of Lants. He was a name spoken across White Sand City, running an orphanage and retirement home soon to be completed. And along the way, he had founded a construction company where workers sang as they labored.

Not to mention the enthralling tabletop game War of the Gods that she herself had just experienced.

What could this boy not accomplish?

If he continued at this pace, someday the youth standing before her would surely rise to a height even the mightiest titan could not reach.

And when that day came, how dazzling, how blindingly radiant a White Horse Prince he would become.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Marlon’s confident voice rang out once more, pulling her back from her thoughts, “the great hall is just ahead. Let’s go inside and take a look!”

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