"High-Speed Transit Infrastructure Plan"
Eric stood just outside the edge of his territory, gazing at the short stretch of road leading into the wilderness. In his mind, a small yet ambitious plan was beginning to take shape.
Thanks to the rather generous interpretation of territorial boundaries, where even a citizen-built house could count as part of the domain - Eric didn't have to do everything himself anymore.
Which was a relief, really. He'd long since grown tired of digging.
The nearby iron vein? That could be soone else's problem now. As for transport and storage, minecarts, chest minecarts, and hopper carts would do just fine.
Sure, he didn't have redstone to power them, but this world had a substitute: dwarven gear-drive systems. These chanical wonders could be mounted along the rails and would push minecarts along just like redstone-powered rails would - only noisier and slightly more prone to catching a beard or two.
These devices were common enough in the Lonely Mountain region. Their cable cars, mining lifts, and stone conveyance systems were filled with such steampunk contraptions, all clanking and wheezing away like asthmatic tal spiders.
But there was a catch.
The gears required to power the tracks were made of high-grade dwarven steel and consud a lot of resources. Outfitting every stretch of rail with one would burn through Eric's tal stockpile faster than a hungry hobbit at second breakfast. Not to ntion the slting process required the use of the underground forges in the Dwarven Foundry Hall, which wasn't exactly energy-efficient.
So no need to go overboard.
Strategically placing power gears every few blocks would be more than enough to keep the carts rolling along. Efficiency didn't have to co at the cost of sanity.
"Right. That settles it."
And just like that, a new community project was born.
The Mine Tunnel Expressway.
A broad underground transit route was mapped out beneath the surface, following the length of the iron vein. It would offer speed, safety, and, in tis of need, a discreet escape route.
To sweeten the deal, Eric offered a few incentives to the workers: faster contribution point gain, commorative trinkets crafted by the Lord himself, and the promise of glory - or at least bragging rights.
But Eric had severely underestimated just how motivated his people had beco.
On the very day the announcent was made, the entire territory's resource sectors practically ground to a halt. Everyone, and that included bakers, fletchers, and even the old man who used to clean sli off the castle stairs grabbed tools and lined up to dig. Their speed? Nearly matched Eric's own.
The truth was, life in the Borderfort had been absurdly good lately. Too good, so might say.
Free, cozy houses. Warm clothes. An abundance of food: beef, lamb, chicken, pork, fish, every vegetable under the sun. All of it available on one condition - don't waste it.
Safety? Iron golems taller than trees stood watch around the clock. Bandits? What bandits? No one was foolish enough to approach the fortress anymore. Frankly, this was likely the safest patch of land in all of Middle-earth.
Compared to the kings and barons in their crumbling castles, so folks whispered that this was the true golden age.
The only "price" for paradise? Daily work. Nothing heavy - just the basics. A few hours of labor, then the rest of the day was theirs to read, play, or nap under a tree.
And so they rembered. The old days. The days of fear. Of gnawing hunger and sleepless nights, listening for warg howls or the crunch of orc boots in the dark.
Here… it was different.
And that made so of them uneasy.
Old man Ved, the village's forr mayor, had recently given a heartfelt speech. "We can't just take and take," he'd said. "We must give back to our Lord."
But Eric hadn't asked for anything. No new decrees. No taxes. No quotas.
So they found their own ways to "repay" him. Working longer hours. Digging faster. Volunteering for the worst shifts.
There's an old saying: nothing costs more than sothing free.
Eric didn't seem to mind. But the people did.
They were simple folk - unspoiled by power, untainted by sches. For them, a peaceful life and honest work were the whole of their world.
"So of you should really be doing other things," Eric muttered, surveying the packed worksite.
A few less-than-efficient workers, bless their souls - were diplomatically "voted" off the project and reassigned to other duties. They took it hard, of course. Nothing bruises a miner's pride like being told your tunnel's crooked.
The mine tunnel's progress was smooth. Eric checked his map, inspecting the terrain.
The Borderfort wasn't especially close to the iron vein. By straight line, it was over twenty kiloters away. Back in the day, he used to sprint that whole distance with a pickaxe and return groaning under the weight of iron blocks. His backpack always filled to the brim by the ti he got ho.
But here, distance wasn't daunting. It was just another number.
In most realms, building a twenty-kiloter underground railway would be a decade-long ordeal. With unstable ground, cost of labor, support beams, ventilation...
But in the Roadside Fortress?
That was just "a Tuesday."
With the population's current work ethic and their weird willingness to clock in extra hours voluntarily - it might be finished in a few months.
And if there were more people? Maybe even faster.
That's when Eric thought of the Worm of Moria.
That thing dug faster than a badger on coffee.
"Maybe I should swing by Dale soti…"
Speaking of worms, , his mind drifted to the other territory under his rule.
The people of Dale still didn't know they could use special tools. They were doing everything the old-fashioned way: shovels, rakes, and prayer.
Sure, they had a pumpkin patch the size of a Shire harvest festival and an endless supply of fresh water, thanks to Eric's setup. So no one was starving or dying of thirst.
Under Bard's leadership and with dwarven support, Dale was on the road to recovery. Not quite Borderfort-level magical, but impressive nonetheless.
But Eric simply didn't have the ti, or the patience - to manage two realms right now. Especially not one as populous as Dale.
Truth be told, if he didn't need the iron golems that ca with the place, he wouldn't have claid it at all.
Hence his well-established policy of "offline governance."
When asked about his whereabouts, he simply replied, "I'm not there."
"I'll deal with it when I've got ti," he muttered now. "One family at a ti."
Once everything in the Roadside Fortress was self-sustaining, then he'd consider expanding.
But that was for later.
Now, it was ti to gear up.
With his plan for the mine underway, Eric picked up a satchel full of golden ingots and stepped through the Gate to the Nether.
In a blink, the cold air vanishe - replaced by sweltering heat and the dry stink of ash and sulfur.
Temperature never really bothered him. Whether it was blizzards that could freeze a mountain or hellfire hot enough to cook a dragon's breakfast, Eric didn't feel it. Not unless it reached levels capable of actual physical harm - like, say, lava to the face.
Not that he was here for a sauna session.
"I've co to the Nether for three reasons today," he announced grandly, standing at the edge of a basalt plateau.
"Deal. Deal. Deal!"
With a tallic clink, he set down a heavy chest packed with gold. A few wandering Piglins trotted over, curious snorts echoing through the fiery cavern.
Eric tossed them a few golden trinkets.
Then he folded his arms and waited for them to start bartering.
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