Even if the construction company specializes in civil engineering, it’s rare for the chairman or president to personally visit the site. They are often buried in work, logging six-day workweeks with endless overtime, unaware of how unusual their schedules are. Moreover, when high-ranking individuals do visit a site, it often creates more problems than it solves.
It’s like having a division commander living in the same barracks as a squad or platoon—nobody would enjoy it. Still, despite knowing this, I chose to stay on-site and oversee the project personally.
"Because if they don’t follow the blueprint exactly, a disaster is inevitable," I muttered.
Regardless of the era or country, construction sites tend to have their fair share of problems. Missing materials are a universal issue. Order 100 marble tiles for a noble’s mansion, and 20 tiles mysteriously disappear, finding their way into someone else’s pocket. Untraceable funds miraculously teleport into the hands of craftsmen. A beam specified to be 1.5 meters thick in the blueprint gets “optimized” to 1.2 meters on-site to save costs. Of course, those savings conveniently go towards the workers’ “welfare.”
But my real concern wasn’t petty embezzlement or material substitutions.
At that moment, the on-site supervisor raised his voice.
"Safety first!"
The workers, mostly hired serfs and craftsmen, echoed back loudly.
"Good! Good! Good!"
"Alright, get to your assigned positions! Work as much as the Baron has paid you for!"
Although my family isn’t on the level of dukes, marquises, or counts—essentially the “conglomerates” of the nobility—we likely pay our employees the highest wages in the empire. A junior butler earns four silver coins per month, plus a biannual bonus of 300% and additional benefits unheard of elsewhere. Even the Viscount of Visconti was stunned when he heard about our compensation structure.
"How do you not go bankrupt paying that much?" he’d asked.
The same generosity applied to the serfs and craftsmen working on this project. Their pay was so generous that they practically exclaimed, "The boss has gone mad—this is amazing!"
Why? Because slightly overpaying wages results in exponentially better efficiency.
"Gather up," I called out.
As if anticipating the call, supervisors from various trades—stonemasons, carpenters, blacksmiths—approached briskly.
"You don’t need to worry about cutting costs or other nonsense. Just ensure the design is followed exactly, especially for sewage and ventilation."
Until the concept of sanitation was properly understood, humans were shockingly indifferent to hygiene. Even in medieval times, city dwellers tried to manage waste because of the stench, but as cities grew denser during the Renaissance, sanitation efforts became laughably inadequate. In Versailles, for example, people relieved themselves behind curtains or near garden hedges, as the palace lacked proper toilets.
This neglect led to recurring waterborne epidemics in major cities, claiming countless lives.
"Forget about dumping waste into the river," I emphasized.
I had been drilling this point into their heads every day for two weeks, both at the start and end of work. It couldn’t be stressed enough. If an epidemic broke out near the poultry farm, even if Toscano’s citizens lacked the knowledge to directly blame me, the mere rumor that the farm caused it would lead to untold costs and headaches.
With Duke Sforza already sharpening his metaphorical sword to eliminate me, the last thing I needed was accusations of triggering a waterborne epidemic. Even the Emperor and Duke Visconti wouldn’t be able to shield me from imprisonment.
"Epidemics can kill nobles just as easily as commoners. Keep that in mind as you work," I concluded.
"Understood!" they responded in unison.
"There’s no need to rush the timeline. Focus on building it strong. That’s all."
Thanks to generous pay and my meticulous supervision, the poultry farm was completed in just three weeks.
"It’s massive," I murmured.
Even though my role mostly involved walking around the site and stressing everyone out, I’d seen the construction progress from start to finish. Still, seeing the completed structure was a new experience.
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As I surveyed the site, the farm manager approached me.
"You’re here, my lord."
"Is the farm running smoothly?"
"Yes, everything is operating as expected. Let me show you around," he said, leading me inside.
The interior housed thousands of chicks, with watering stations and feed dispensers strategically placed throughout. The warm air inside felt like a sauna.
"As per your instructions, we’ve maintained the temperature at summer-like levels. We clean the waste weekly and ventilate the space twice daily," the manager explained.
The biggest risk in poultry farming is mass fatalities among the flock. Once a disease outbreak starts, it could wipe out every chicken and chick, ruining the business. Proper hygiene is essential to prevent such disasters.
"Good. How long until the chicks mature?"
"About five months," the manager replied.
In our world, broiler chickens reach market weight—1.8 kilograms—in just five weeks. However, in the Toscano Empire, or rather this world, where selective breeding hasn’t advanced, chickens take over five months to mature, with an adult weight of just 0.9 kilograms.
Still, chickens are the most cost-effective protein source, which is why I decided to invest in them.
"Five months is longer than I expected," I said.
"Given the controlled environment and limited movement, they might grow faster," he suggested.
While I didn’t have access to modern tools like CRISPR, I was well-versed in the historical methods of livestock improvement. No advanced technology was needed—just relentless effort and patience.
"Do any of the roosters or hens stand out for their size?"
"Yes, there are some particularly large ones," he confirmed.
"Select the largest roosters and hens for breeding. Incubate their eggs, raise the chicks, and repeat the process with the largest ones again."
Before the advent of genetic engineering, all selective breeding followed this simple method. To increase size, breeders paired the largest animals. To improve yield, they selected the highest producers.
This repetitive "brute force" approach revolutionized agriculture. By the late 18th century, the average weight of cattle had nearly doubled compared to the early 18th century, thanks to such methods.
"Understood, my lord," the manager said.
"How are the henhouses structured?" I asked.
"We’ve partitioned them into individual spaces, each large enough for a single hen, with access to water and feed," he explained.
While free-range and organic methods are trendy in modern times, allowing chickens to roam freely is inefficient—it wastes calories, reducing egg production. To maximize efficiency, movement must be minimized.
"As for breeding pens, we’ve assigned one rooster per ten hens," the manager added.
"One rooster for ten hens? Any particular reason?"
"That’s the optimal ratio. I only have one wife, so I envy them," he said with a grin.
I chuckled. I’ve tried polygamy with two wives, and it’s more exhausting than it sounds. At this rate, even returning home might jeopardize my back, especially with Chloe insisting she wants a child soon.
"Keep those eggs separated for incubation. Once hatched, use the incubators to raise the chicks," I instructed.
The incubators weren’t particularly advanced—just a room maintained at 40°C with straw bedding, requiring occasional manual rotation of the eggs. The concept dated back to ancient Egypt.
"Excellent. When can we start selling chickens?" I asked.
"In about four months, we should have 6,000 ready for sale. We can maintain this cycle monthly for nine months," the manager estimated.
Winter would pose challenges, but for now, this plan seemed optimal.
"Good. I trust you to handle it," I said before heading home for a much-needed rest.