Egbert decided to go to the one place least likely to be embellished—the mining district.
The mining district was the foundation of Wasser Fief, and also its darkest, filthiest corner during Otto's time.
The bones, blood, and tears of countless miners were buried in those bottomless pits.
If the city of Eisenwald was a carefully crafted display window for Lacey, then the remote mining district would surely expose the true side of things he had no time to attend to.
At the station, Egbert inquired about the public carriage to the largest mine in the western district—the Blackrock Mines.
To his surprise, this route was also serviced by brand-new land-vehicles. The carriages were spacious and even had spring structures for shock absorption.
The vehicle was filled with workers on their way to the mining district.
Unlike the silent, numb, coal-dusted miners of his imagination, these men were full of vigor, chatting loudly in groups of two and three, their voices brimming with high spirits.
"Did you hear? That new hydraulic ventilation system in Shaft No. 3, Lord Lacey himself designed the blueprints with the people from the tech institute!"
"The air down in the mines is cleaner than my daughter's bedroom now!" a bearded man boasted proudly, drawing a round of good-natured laughter.
"Keep dreaming, Zot!" a tall, thin man next to him said, punching his shoulder.
"But that thing really is amazing. Before, after a day down in the pit, the phlegm you coughed up was black."
"Now, after a full day's work, you're barely covered in any coal dust, just sweat."
"You bet!"
"And those guys from the safety department are on our backs every day now about wearing helmets and safety ropes. The slightest mistake and they deduct work points!"
"It's a bit annoying, but it gives you peace of mind."
"And those work points are precious!"
"I'm saving up to get my boy a set of the children's picture book edition of 'My Struggle'. I heard Lady Arturia from the Ministry of Culture drew the illustrations herself!"
"That's nothing. I'm planning to apply for a transfer to the new railway construction team. It's more tiring, but the subsidies are high, and after three years of work, you can get an apartment near the railway hub!"
Egbert sat in a corner, the brim of his fedora pulled down low, hiding himself in the shadows.
He pricked up his ears, catching every word.
These conversations were trivial yet real, filled with concrete plans and hopes for the future.
They talked about bonuses, technology, work points, new houses, and their children's education, their tones filled with the matter-of-fact confidence of people "living for themselves."
It formed an absurd contrast with the complaints of the nobles he had heard back in Trullinczentyr.
Those people talked about which theater actress was prettier, which vintage of red wine was better, and their indignation and anxiety over the rise of the mud-legged rabble.
...
The land-vehicle traveled for over an hour on the flat gravel road before finally arriving at the Blackrock Mines.
Egbert got out of the vehicle and was stunned once again.
The mining district he remembered, stained black with coal dust, had vanished.
In its place was a neatly planned industrial town.
Rows of workshops were built along the foot of the mountain. The mine entrances were no longer simple wooden frames but sturdy brick-and-stone structures, and they were even equipped with elevators.
Iron pipes extended down from somewhere on the mountain, connecting to a massive windmill-like device near the mine entrance—that must be the "hydraulic ventilation system" the workers were talking about.
Not far away, a brand-new building bore a sign with a red cross on a white background—the Blackrock Mines Workers' Clinic.
Several medical staff in white coats were carrying a stretcher, conducting an emergency rescue drill.
Egbert saw an old miner with graying hair sitting on a bench, smoking a pipe while watching children play on a nearby field.
It was a primary school attached to the mining district; the clear sound of children reading aloud could be heard from a great distance.
This scene of leisure and tranquility gave Egbert a strong sense of disconnect.
He walked over, pretending to be a lost merchant from out of town, and struck up a conversation with the old miner.
"Excuse me, sir... is this the Blackrock Mines?"
The old man raised his eyelids, his cloudy eyes sizing him up before he nodded. "That's right. Where else would it be? You from out of town?"
"Yes, yes."
"I came here once before, but my impression... it wasn't like this," Egbert said, choosing his words carefully.
"Heh."
The old man chuckled, revealing gums with several missing teeth.
"The 'before' you're talking about, that was when Otto was still on that seat, right?"
Egbert didn't answer, which was a tacit admission.
"Back then..." The old man tapped his pipe, his gaze growing distant.
"This place wasn't called a mine. It was called the black pits."
"The men went down into the pits, and the women and half-grown children sifted coal outside."
"The foreman's whip was harder than the rocks in the tunnels. Cave-ins were a daily affair. A brother you were drinking with one day would be buried down there the next."
"No one cared. There wasn't even any compensation. They couldn't even be bothered to dig out the bodies."
"If you got sick, coughing up blood, they'd kick you out to fend for yourself."
As he spoke, the old man held out a pair of calloused hands.
"These hands, they've dug coal for forty years."
"Under Otto, I buried two of my sons, and my wife was worked to death."
"I thought I'd die in these black pits, keeping company with the rocks for the rest of my life."
His voice was calm. There was no accusation, no grief-stricken rage, just a statement of a fact that had lasted half a lifetime.
This calmness was more heart-stopping to Egbert than any hysterical cry.
"And now?" Egbert couldn't help but ask.
"Now?"
The old man grinned, the wrinkles on his face blooming like a chrysanthemum.
"'Now,' you've seen it all."
"Lord Lacey came, and the sky brightened."
He pointed to the nearby clinic. "See that? It's free."
"We get a check-up every month. If they find the slightest thing wrong, they immediately put you on sick leave to get treatment, and your wages are paid in full."
He then pointed to the primary school. "My grandson studies in there."
"Textbooks, lunch, it's all paid for by the public."
"His teacher says he has a talent for drawing. Maybe he'll even go to university in Trullinczentyr in the future!"
As he spoke of this, the old man's eyes shone with a light Egbert had never seen in the eyes of a commoner.
"These old bones of mine, I can't do heavy labor anymore."
"So the mine gave me a light job watching over the tool shed. I get my full share of work points."
"Every day, I just sit here, smoke my pipe, listen to the children reading, and wait for my grandson to get out of school... In the old days, I wouldn't have even dared to dream of a life like this."
The old man stood up, brushing the dust from his trousers.
"Can't chat anymore. The canteen's serving food."
"If I'm late, today's stew will be all gone."
He walked towards the workers' canteen with a steady gait.
Egbert stood alone, watching the old man's retreating back, watching the canteen with smoke rising from its chimney, watching the children running on the field, and listening to the clear sounds of them reading. His mind was a complete blank.
The shadows, the decay, the oppression he had been looking for—he hadn't found a single trace.
All he saw was order, sustenance, and hope.
He was suddenly struck by a possibility far more terrifying than Lacey being a tyrant.
What if... what if none of this was a facade?
What if Lacey was truly creating a new world, a world belonging to the mud-legged folk?
This world would, in a way he could neither comprehend nor stop, grind everything old into dust.
Egbert felt a powerful wave of dizziness.
He needed a stiff drink to drive out the chill that was rising from his very bones.
He stumbled around and headed towards the only small tavern in town.
The draft of his report on the "Tragic State of Wasser Fief," which he had been preparing for so long, had now become a pile of meaningless scrap paper in his mind.
________________________________________
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