The monk shook his head: "Reopening the mine requires hiring people, opening the shafts, and repairing the equipment. The official start date is April next year. After spring, the allied forces of the Silver Ring and the Barbarians will attack the mine again. Whether the silver ore can be transported out smoothly will be a problem, let alone trading."

Todd pressed his back against the back of the armchair, pinched the bridge of his nose hard, and felt utterly defeated.

Why is it that in movies, time travelers who become kings or leaders can command respect with a mere wave of their hand or a powerful gesture, their aura of dominance filling the land, and heroes bowing in submission? A few openings of granaries, a few speeches to the common people, and the populace is always moved to tears, shouting "Long live the protagonist!" with loyalty instantly soaring to 100 and never wavering. As for money, they never have to worry about it, never needing to consider fiscal balance or expenditure control. Yet, when it comes to myself, I have to expend enormous energy coordinating factional relations and resolving conflicts among the people, while also trying to raise funds. Could it be that others chose "easy" difficulty when they time-traveled, while I chose "hell"?

After telling Brother Joe to go back and think of a solution, Todd sat in the empty room, looked up at the sky and sighed. Just as he was about to call someone to prepare some tea, the knocking on the door sounded again.

What's going on today?

Three groups of people arrived in just two hours?

After obtaining permission, the guard opened the door and reported: "The guild master Aiden Colm has brought a few people and requests to see you."

Old Aiden, that honest and kind old craftsman?

Full of questions, Todd agreed to the request.

A few minutes later, old Aiden led two young men in; one was a monk, and the other appeared to be a student.

The old craftsman entered the room, and the first thing he did was to stretch out his two hands and press down on the heads of the two young men. The three of them knelt down on the ground, their foreheads hitting the carpet.

Puzzled, Todd asked, "What are you doing?"

Aiden raised his head and stammered, "Your Majesty, you trust me and have entrusted me with managing the saltpeter extraction. But due to lax supervision, my men have secretly taken raw materials for their own use!"

Todd accepted the hot tea offered by the servants and, upon hearing the old craftsman's words, felt somewhat incredulous: "Stealing raw materials? You mean, these two young men stole the excrement used to make saltpeter?"

Old Aiden nodded frantically, then nervously rubbed the hem of his clothes and winked at the young people to speak quickly.

"Your Majesty! Please forgive our mistakes!" Compared to the monk who trembled like a quail, the young man dressed as a student seemed much more composed.

Todd blew on the steam rising from his tea, looked at the three people kneeling on the carpet, and asked curiously, "What are you doing stealing excrement if you have nothing better to do?"

The young man's next words caused the tea in Todd's mouth to turn into a misty spray that flew out.

Making perfume.