Lear took a deep breath and withdrew his scattered thoughts.
He stepped forward.
He glanced left and right.
After nearly two months of developnt, Weilu City already had the most basic frawork.
Residential houses, blacksmith shops, tailor shops, alchemy workshops... construction was completed.
Buildings stood tall on the grassland, with crowds bustling about, creating quite a lively scene.
Currently, Weilu City hosts 100 Mud Swamp People, 310 Half-Elves, 560 Deltha people, and 530 Half-Elves.
Excluding the combat units, the total population amounts to 1,500 people.
If you add the 700 Cold-blooded Cavalry and 150 Dark Night Elves, the number rises to 2,350.
This does not include the more than 500 troglodytes returned to the iron mine to continue mining.
As for the Crimson Wasps and Deserted Tomb Guards, they do not consu territory resources and do not count as normal lives. When Lear calculates, he often lists them separately.
With so many people in a territory that doesn’t have a large building area, it’s already a semblance of prosperity.
In the residential district, the three-story vine houses stand in neat rows, offering a comfortable, soothing sight.
The vibrant green vines themselves bring life to the surroundings.
The residents were all out working, leaving this area rather quiet.
Looking up, many balconies had clothes swaying gently in the breeze.
The living atmosphere was very rich.
Winding through the residential area, Lear found himself in the southern part of the territory, stopping in front of a building he hadn’t seen before.
Apparently, it was just completed in recent days.
It was a round, three-story building with a height of 12 ters and a diater exceeding 60 ters.
A large number of Half-Elves were busily coming and going.
Seeing Lear’s arrival, they seed startled, quickly standing aside, placing a hand over their chests in a respectful salute.
"Lord..."
"Greetings to you..."
Lear observed that most of them were holding bundles of checked and tied arrows.
Around them piled up a large amount of freshly felled, untreated thorny shrub branches.
These shrubs were natural arrow shaft materials and only needed slight trimming to directly make arrows.
Lear nodded.
"Who is in charge here right now?"
"It’s Chief Tariq..."
"Call him over."
The Half-Elf responded imdiately, nervously jogging away.
It felt like a superior conducting a spot check during work, but with greater tension.
A superior’s inspection might just result in a scolding if things weren’t satisfactory, but dissatisfying Lear...
Even a glance from him could determine their life or death.
As the Sovereign of this territory, Lear’s will was above everything.
Soon, a figure in his forties, half a head taller than the average Half-Elf and particularly robust, erged from the building, approaching with a mixture of tension and excitent.
He bowed respectfully.
"Good day, my Lord... Tariq greets you."
His tone was filled with admiration.
Initially captured by Cold-blooded Cavalry, the Half-Elves were filled with unease and vigilance towards this strange territory.
However, the series of unimaginable treatnts afterwards brought about a trendous change in their hearts.
Especially the free imparting of knowledge made everyone fervent.
The value of knowledge is imasurable, and to share it so generously with everyone!
This Sovereign’s magnanimity was astonishing.
Upon seeing Lear, Tariq imdiately showed genuine admiration.
Lear nodded.
"Tariq, how many Thorny Arrows can be produced each day?"
The 2-star Thorny Arrows are not low-grade. As consumables, if mass-equipped, 3-star is basically the limit.
For anything above 4-star, the production cost and difficulty soar dramatically.
Without enough manpower and resources, ordinary forces can’t afford the consumption.
"Sir, the manufacturing process of Thorny Arrows isn’t difficult... If rush production is required, we can produce tens of thousands of arrows daily!"
"Currently, however, the output is only in the thousands our limitation isn’t manpower, but... raw materials."
Tariq explained softly.
"We have enough arrow shafts, but the red-headed pheasant feathers are sowhat lacking."
Lear’s eyes shifted slightly, sensing sothing amiss.
Not too few, but too many indeed.
With only over two hundred red-headed pheasants, even if all plucked for arrow manufacturing, they couldn’t provide thousands of feathers daily.
Even if they were plucked bare, there wouldn’t be so many.
He spoke of his inner doubts.
Tariq was slightly taken aback, then cautiously responded.
"Sir, in our arrow manufacturing, we mainly use the outermost 10 feathers from the red-headed pheasant’s wings, resulting in 20 from a pair of wings."
"Once these feathers are plucked, as long as sufficient food is provided, they can regrow in just three days."
"A batch of red-headed pheasants can yield more than 4,000 premium feathers every three days."
This was the first ti Lear had heard of such information.
Could this have been discovered during his battle with demons?
He couldn’t help but marvel.
Feathers growing in just three days? That was a bit extravagant.
Yet considering the nature of this fantasy world, it strangely seed reasonable.
He could beco a god, so what couldn’t happen?
"Very well, maintain stable production."
"Stockpile as much as possible, arrows are an essential part of warfare."
Even if they couldn’t be used imdiately, storing them wouldn’t make them expire; they are strategic resources.
Tariq nodded repeatedly in agreent.
Saying this, Lear took steps into the three-story building.
Crossing the threshold, he saw in front of him a row of unique, half-human-height workbenches made of wood.
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