Release That Witch

Outside the city walls of the Western Region, under the guidance of the First Army soldiers, the refugees accepted an unprecedented identity check.     

Barov naturally knew that population was the most valued wealth of His Royal Highness. In order to bring these people back to Border Town, His Royal Highness had spent a lot of gold dragons, going so far as to pay for the First Army to make the expedition from the king's city. When the bill from Margaret's Chamber of Commerce was placed in front of Barov, he was so shocked that his jaw almost dropped.     

In more than half a month, they actually spent more than 2,000 golden dragons for the charter fees to provide for the caravan, including the shipping fees, food supply fees, and so on. This was equivalent to the selling price of four steam engines. If it were not for the two sailing ship renovation deposits, this time Barov was afraid that the financial statements would be in a deficit.     

After the refugees returned, the cumbersome and huge statistical work fell on his shoulders. Almost all of the city officials and apprentices were deployed. At the foot of the walls, a wooden shed and passage were put up for the classification and recorded files of these people. Looking at the over a dozen groups of refugees line up and being examined, he saw them as if they were walking money.     

Compared to the ordinary civilians' registrar, he felt a hefty personal responsibility that the act of channeling out the professionals was so cheerless. So far, only 50 or 60 people had passed.     

"I'm... a carpenter." At this point, a middle-aged man cautiously walked over. "I heard that any craftsmen can get a home?"     

"Yes." Sirius Daly asked, "What's your name? Are you literate?"     

The knight, originally from the Wolf Family, was handy in the Ministry of Agriculture, and up to this point, he had not made any mistakes. Barov was quite satisfied with him. Although demographically the literacy rate in the City Hall was rather high, they still had to pull people from other departments.     

"Uh... well sir, my name is Marshall." He paused. "I don't know how to read."     

"You can't read or write?"     

"No, I can't." The middle-aged man bowed his head.     

"Well, if you're a carpenter..." Sirius looked at the stack of question forms to find the one marked "carpenter". "Ah, I found it. Let me ask you a few questions."     

This preliminary step was something thought of by the prince. He brought the craftsmen of the various industries together, asked them about their professional knowledge and their corresponding approaches, and recorded the answers on a set of inquiry forms. In this way, as long as one asked a few questions when checking the audit form, they could immediately know whether the other side was lying or not. The first time he saw this polygraph method, Barov could not help but want to applaud the little devil's mind. If not engaged in the industry, most civilians would not understand these things. If a person wanted to pretend to be knowledgeable, they could be made speechless with only two or three questions.     

"What's the tool used to cut the surface of wood?"     

"That's... a planer, sir."     

"What're the types of common saws?"     

"Box saws and cross-cutting saws. Occasionally hand saws will be used for cutting small pieces."     

Several questions were asked, and Marshall could almost answer everything. Over time, his tone and timing became smoother.     

"Well, it seems you're a carpenter." Sirius was prepared to write down the name of the person on the identity checklist, but Barov stopped him.     

"Sir?"     

"Don't make judgements so soon. First, look at his hands." He looked at Marshall. "Hold your hand out."     

Marshall was startled at these words. With a puzzled face, he spread his hands. The skin on his palms was incomparably rough and cracked lines mixed with many soil particles. Each finger was thick with callous and seemed to have endured much wind and frost.     

"If he's a carpenter, the palm shouldn't be so rough. Especially the two pads of muscle under the palm, which will often become smooth and hard from the friction with the wood. In addition, carpenters often need to use black paint to draw contours, so the palm will be stained with the black ink, and will turn black, rather than yellow," Barov said quietly, "Another point, he always shifts his eyes when he answers. Many people who're recalling an uncommon memory, will inadvertently have this expression. If he's a carpenter, then answering should come naturally, right?"     

"Is that... so?" He stared.     

Barov looked at Marshall who was surprised, and he said, "You have had heard the warnings when the first army soldiers summoned you. Any act of impersonation, deception, or denial of registration will be severely punished. Perpetrators will be issued to the mine or expelled from the Western Region. Now, do you still think you're a carpenter?"     

"No, sir, I was wrong!" Marshall could not help but kneel on the ground. "The carpenter was my neighbor, and all I did was watching him work!"     

"Go there and line up."     

Watching the man walk away, Sirius said, "Sir, how do you know these things?"     

"In the months of demons, I completed a census for his Royal Highness. I dealt with every carpenter from each town, and wrote down what they did." Barov feigned a casual reply. Seeing the knight's face show an expression of shock and admiration, his heart soared.     

[Though His Highness' method is clever, there still will be someone having the tricks to pass the check. It's only someone like me, who has learned from being tricked in the past, will see through these tricks,] Barov thought.     

And influenced by His Highness, they had begun to deal with the problem differently than before... Barov could not help but secretly sigh. In cases like for this civilian, it was only when those that came before were punished with the strength of thunder, then those following could be deterred. But now it would probably save His Highness a lot of money to just let him go. After all, every refugee was worth a lot of money, if not for sustaining years of life in Border Town, then simply for the cost of transporting them thousands of miles.     

Sirius waited until the next refugee came for a professional inquiry, he did not immediately register them but looked at Barov.     

Barov looked at the examiner and nodded. "You record it, I'll take him to His Highness."     

On the other side of the hole in the city wall, Roland Wimbledon had constructed a shed. This was also the final checkpoint.     

Here, they would accept the advice of His Highness personally. If they were confirmed acceptable, they could get a "resident identity card" and become a formal resident of Border Town. At the present the housing situation was tense, and priority would be given to craftsmen. As for those with a lack of skills, they would wait for two to three months outside of the city wall.     

Barov also had an identity card. It was a colored piece of paper, almost the size of his hand. There was a painting of his head that looked like a real person in the upper left. In the middle were his name, address, and number. The back of the paper was printed with the emblem of the Kingdom of Graycastle, and the signature seal of His Highness. Both the paper itself and the outer were wrapped in film. The material was very strange. Whether it was soaked in water or burnt in a fire, you could not damage the ID card.     

There was no doubt that this thing was certainly a product of the witch Soraya. His Royal Highness seemed to have implemented the policy of ID cards throughout the town. In the future, the certificate would be shown, whether it was to buy food or pay for something.     

Ever since a medal was given to the eldest daughter of the Pine family at the Award and Honor Ceremony, His Highness was no longer planning to hide the existence of the witches, and Barov did not want to ignore the question of who was right between the devil and the church. And even then... [I hope that His Royal Highness Roland can defeat the church and completely unify the Graycastle.]     

There was no doubt that the higher the position of His Royal Highness, the more reward he would get.     

Of course, there was still a long way to till then, and that could be considered in the future. Now the town's population had gone beyond that of Longsong Stronghold, and His Royal Highness had also revealed the next year's city plan to him. Once they were connected to Longsong Stronghold, a majority of the Western Region would be joined as one. Its size would no doubt surpass the king's city, and become the most magnificent in the Kingdom of Graycastle. And just what kind of promotion would he get as the city hall director?     

Barov was looking forward to the future.