Her joy was palpable, as if Renslet’s bright future was a personal triumph.
Despite being an illegitimate child, Mary seemed to have grown up with a fair amount of affection. Her deep loyalty to the Renslet family was a clear indicator.
“Well, Arina doesn’t seem the type to act like some scheming noblewoman. And besides, Mary is the first second child in the Renslet line.”
If anything, Arina likely only hid Mary’s existence to preserve her father’s honor and secure her own position as Grand Duchess.
“Still, even if Mary is illegitimate, she’s the first second child. People would likely accept her. Why go to such lengths to keep her hidden?”
There were probably complexities I wasn’t privy to. Shrugging, I shook off the idle speculation and returned my focus to Mary’s earlier question.
“Worried about food, are you? Well… we’ll have less to worry about, for a while at least.”
Mary tilted her head, curious about the implication.
“For a while?”
“Yes. With abundant food, the population will start to grow.”“Ah… I see.”
Her expression turned serious, considering the ramifications.
“Speaking of which, I heard one of the most important doctrines in the Renslet Church promotes fertility. They say it’s one of the few doctrines you personally insisted on, Boss.”
Mary brought up the Renslet doctrines as if the thought had just occurred to her. As a witch tied to the Frost Knights, she likely had access to the latest updates.
“That’s right. Washing hands, bathing, literacy, and fertility—these are all vital.”
I spoke without hesitation about the doctrines I had pushed for.
“But is it necessary to enshrine fertility as doctrine? People here already have a lot of children…”
In Renslet, population was a double-edged sword. Too few people posed challenges, but so did too many.
Feeding and employing a large population wasn’t easy, especially given the region’s harsh environment.
Before Arad Salt, the North’s largest export had been its people—a fact that had been a source of scorn.
Even now, many Northerners worked in the Empire as mercenaries or laborers.
While cultivating new farmland would ease the burden for a time, it wasn’t a permanent solution.
“For Renslet to become more than a frontier of the Empire and establish itself as a true kingdom, a larger population is essential. Making it part of the doctrine isn’t just necessary—it’s critical.”
“I agree that population growth is important. But the speed at which it happens worries me.”
Mary, born and raised in the North, expressed her concerns firmly.
“Did Arina ask Mary to raise this on her behalf? Why not ask me directly? Come to think of it, I haven’t seen much of the Grand Duchess lately.”
“Will it be such an issue? I can assure you, in the future, even the children being born now won’t be enough. We’ll eventually need to bring people in from outside.”
“…?!”
Having lived on Earth, I knew well how to manage and sustain a growing population.
The forthcoming magical revolution—a fantastical version of the Industrial Revolution—would demand a tremendous workforce.
And this world didn’t have child labor laws. Here, it was normal for farming families to put children to work as soon as they could walk.
“Do you know the current population of the North? I mean the entire region was influenced by the High Tower.”
“The entire North? Roughly a million,” Mary replied.
A million. Depending on perspective, it was either a lot or too little.
“Actually, that’s a lot.”
I corrected myself. Given the North’s harsh environment, a population of one million was remarkably high.
“For reference, the population of the Grand Duchy under the High Tower is just under fifty thousand, including the soldiers stationed at the Great Wall.”
Mary elaborated, adding context.
The Grand Duchy, located in the farthest, coldest, and most dangerous part of the North, also had a significant population.
Though small for a duchy, it was a miracle given the harsh conditions.
It also explained why the High Tower prioritized the greenhouse farm—it was vital for feeding its population of fifty thousand.
“By the way, how many children does the average Northern woman have in her lifetime?”
Clearing my scattered thoughts, I returned to the topic and posed the question to Mary.
“On average, about six. And that’s considering the women who die in childbirth. The actual number is likely higher.”
“So, an average fertility rate of 6.0…”
“Fertility rate?”
“Nothing important.”
Six was an astonishing number. To someone from Earth, where low birthrates threatened population stability, it seemed almost fantastical.
“But most of those children don’t survive, do they?”
“No, they don’t. Thirty percent die before they’re even named, and many more succumb to hunger, cold, attacks, or disease. Among commoners, very few live long enough to grow old.”
Mary continued,
“And even this survival rate is thanks to the druidic vitality inherited by Northerners. Otherwise, it would be much worse.”
“True enough.”
“If the North’s salvation isn’t complete independence from the Empire, then what?”
I had no time to wonder why Mary, supposedly an illegitimate child, seemed so knowledgeable about estate management. My thoughts were already elsewhere.
“Saving the North… This might be an even longer-term project than I thought.”
I had a sinking feeling that my journey back to Earth would take much longer than anticipated.
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