Chapter 14: Mysterious mages

When the deep winter sets in, the moisture in the ground freezes completely, turning the earth into a solid block that is closer to stone than dirt.

To dig a trench through it, a human must first build a fire over the ground to thaw the top layer, dig an inch or two with an iron pickaxe, and then start another fire. It is a miserable process that takes days just to clear a few feet.

But Jack’s Night Shift did not need fire, and they did not need to rest.

From the window of his room, Jack looked down at the inner courtyard. It was the dead of night, and the snow was falling softly. Down in the darkness, the skeletons had already started working.

Ten skeletons were swinging their iron pickaxes in a careful way to avoid making too much noise.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The iron struck the frozen earth with brutal force. Shards of ice and hard dirt flew into the air. The skeletons felt no fatigue in their shoulders, no pain in their wrists from the impact, and no biting cold in their toes. When a pickaxe bounced off a particularly hard rock, the skeleton simply raised the tool and brought it down again, swinging with the exact same power every single time.

Jack was sitting in his chair closing his eyes, managing the mental load.

Having twenty-one active links was a heavy burden, but his newly healed lungs and stabilized Grey Core managed the strain beautifully. Through the links, he directed a second squad of skeletons to gather large stones from the ruined sections of the castle walls. They carried the heavy stones to the newly dug trenches, lining the bottom and sides to create the hypocaust—the underground heating tunnels.

It took six hours of non-stop labor. By the time the eastern sky began to turn a pale orange, the foundation of the greenhouse was completely finished.

“Stop,” Jack commanded mentally. “Night Shift, return to the crypts.”

The skeletons immediately dropped their tools. They marched back toward the cellar doors, vanishing into the shadows just as the sun began to rise.

A few hours later, the castle courtyard was bustling with human activity.

Giles and the village carpenters arrived, their breath pluming in the cold morning air. They carried their saws, hammers, and measuring ropes, eager to earn their daily porridge and coal. But when Giles walked into the inner courtyard to inspect the site, he stopped dead in his tracks.

His wooden toolbox slipped from his hand, hitting the snow with a dull thud.

Before him lay a network of perfectly straight trenches dug directly into the frozen earth. The trenches were lined with flat stones, creating a flawless maze of underground tunnels that connected to a large, empty fire-pit at the edge of the site. Beside the trenches, the displaced dirt was piled neatly into high, organized mounds.

“By the gods,” Giles whispered, his eyes wide.

The other carpenters crowded behind him, staring in utter disbelief. They walked up to the edge of the trenches, looking down at the stonework.

“How?” Old Miller gasped, taking off his wool cap and scratching his head. “The ground is solid ice. It would take twenty strong men a full week to dig this with fire and steel. And who moved these stones? Some of these blocks weigh over a hundred pounds!”

“Good morning, Giles,” Jack’s voice called out calmly.

The men turned. Jack was walking toward them, leaning on his cane. Karen walked closely beside him, carrying a wooden tray loaded with steaming bowls of hot porridge for the workers. She kept her face completely straight, though she knew exactly what had moved those stones.

“Lord Jack,” Giles stammered, pointing at the massive trenches. “Who… who did this? The courtyard was flat yesterday afternoon.”

“Help has finally arrived, Giles,” Jack explained smoothly, looking out over the trenches with an expression of mild satisfaction. “A small group of trustworthy mages arrived at the castle late last evening.”

Giles stared at Jack, his jaw dropping slightly. “Mages? Here? But how?”

“Before my father passed away, he wrote a letter to a distant side branch of the Frost-Grip family, asking for aid,” Jack lied, his voice carrying the perfect tone of quiet relief. “It took two years for the message to reach them and for them to cross the continent, but they are finally here.”

Giles and the men looked at each other in sheer amazement. A side branch of mages returning to aid the main house made perfect sense to them, explaining how such an impossible task was finished overnight.

“But My Lord,” Old Miller asked, frowning slightly. “If they arrived last night, why did they immediately start digging in the freezing dark? Why not wait for the sun?”

“It is part of their training,” Jack answered without missing a beat. “They condition their bodies by working in the extreme cold. Furthermore, they are very private individuals. They have personal reasons for keeping their faces hidden and their voices unheard. You will meet them soon enough, but they are currently resting inside from the heavy labor.”

To the villagers, this explanation made perfect sense. Mages and their arts had always been a mystery to common people. They were known for bizarre rituals, strict rules, and eccentric habits. If anything, the idea of reclusive, silent men digging trenches in the freezing dark only made them seem more like real, powerful mages.

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“I see,” Giles said, shaking his head in awe. “Well, whoever these mages are, they work like absolute beasts. But Lord Jack… if you have mages to do the work, why do you need us to build the wooden frames?”

“Because we still don’t have enough resources,” Jack said, offering a small smile. “These mages are here out of family obligation, doing us a massive favor. They will handle the impossible tasks, like digging frozen earth and lifting boulders. But I cannot pay them to do everything. The village must still pull its own weight, which is why your work is just as vital. The coal and porridge deal stands.”

The prospect of still earning their coal filled the men with renewed energy. They didn’t feel replaced.

“We’ll have the frame up and the glass set by nightfall, My Lord. You have my word,” Giles grinned, picking his toolbox back up.

The men grabbed their bowls of hot porridge, eating quickly before rushing to the piles of salvaged timber.

Karen stepped close to Jack, lowering her voice so the carpenters wouldn’t hear. “A side branch of the family, My Lord?” she whispered, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“They have very strong bones,” Jack replied dryly, tapping his cane on the stone.

Karen let out a soft snort of amusement, shaking her head as she walked back toward the kitchens.

By evening, the frame of the greenhouse was complete.

It was a sturdy, long, rectangular building made of salvaged oak timber. The roof was pitched to allow the snow to slide off, and the large panes of glass were carefully set into the wood, sealed with thick pine tar to keep the cold drafts out.