Building an empire which the sun never set

Arthur woke up at first light, as he did every morning. After completing his usual run, he returned to his room and took a quick shower. Soon after, his servant arrived with breakfast, and Arthur sat down to eat. Alongside his meal, he unfolded the daily newspaper—an ingrained habit by now.

As had become routine in recent weeks, the front page was dominated by news of the ongoing war between the Usman Empire and the Kingdom of Syvatoslav. The article reported that Syvatoslav had made rapid advances early in the conflict, pushing deep into Usman territory on both the western and southern fronts. However, in recent weeks, their advance had slowed considerably. The fighting was beginning to resemble a war of attrition—one that Arthur believed the Usman Empire could not endure. Despite receiving financial aid and weapons from Pendralis, the Usman military was smaller, less organized, and lacked the population reserves of Syvatoslav. As the conflict dragged on, Arthur was convinced that only direct intervention could prevent the Usman Empire from collapsing under the strain. Skirmishes continued in the Black Sea, but no decisive naval engagement had yet taken place.

Arthur leaned back, the warm sunlight streaming in from the tall window beside him, and let his thoughts wander. The Usman Empire, while supported financially by Pendralis through loans and supplied with weapons and equipment, seemed unlikely to win a long-term war against the far more populous and better-organized Kingdom of Syvatoslav. From the reports he had studied, Arthur knew that Syvatoslav's population was at least twice that of the Usman Empire, meaning they could replenish their troops much faster and sustain losses with far less strain.

The Usman Empire, on the other hand, would begin to face serious difficulties in replacing fallen soldiers as the war dragged on. Arthur believed firmly that intervention would be necessary to ensure a favorable outcome. He had already begun drafting contingency plans—logistics, troop placements, and supply chains—for a possible Pendralis-led intervention. But without Parliament's backing, it would remain ink on parchment. Yet within the Pendralis government, opinions were divided. While some shared Arthur's concerns, including a few key ministers, the majority—his father King Cedric among them—believed that the Usman Empire could hold on. They lacked experience with industrial-age warfare and had not yet grasped the full implications of modern firepower on the battlefield.

Finishing his breakfast, Arthur folded the newspaper and walked over to his desk. From a locked drawer, he took out several sheets of parchment—policy proposals he had written the night before. They outlined a plan to increase the migration of rural populations into the cities, as well as strategies to expand mechanized agriculture. With the documents in hand, he left his room and made his way down the wide stone corridor toward his father's study.

King Cedric was already deep into his morning work when Arthur entered. The old king glanced up from his papers, removed his reading spectacles, and gestured for his son to sit.

"You're here early," Cedric said with a faint smile. "What matter is urgent enough to bring you to my desk at this hour?"

Arthur took a seat and laid the papers before his father. "As you know, Father, factories are being established across our cities at an increasing pace—especially in the capital. Mechanized farming tools have become widespread in the countryside, allowing large landowners to work their lands with far fewer laborers. This initially triggered a wave of migration from rural areas to urban centers, where displaced farmers found work in the growing industrial sector. But recently, that migration has slowed considerably. Meanwhile, the rate at which new factories are being built has not slowed at all—if anything, it's accelerating."

He paused, watching his father's expression closely. "Factories are now struggling to find enough workers, which is causing wages to rise. If this continues unchecked, production costs will climb, and prices across the economy will follow. It's a problem we need to address before it begins to choke our growth."

King Cedric nodded slowly. "Yes, I've heard rumblings in Parliament—some coal barons and factory owners have begun to raise the issue. I assume you have a solution?"

"I do," Arthur replied. "The key lies in how land is used in the countryside. The large estate owners were the first to adopt mechanized agriculture, because it increased their profits significantly. But much of the rural population still works on lands held in common—land that isn't privately owned but shared among small farming communities. These people, despite the growing economic pressure, have little reason to leave. The common fields still provide them with just enough to get by."

Arthur leaned forward, voice firm. "We need to reform those common lands. By transitioning them into private ownership—allowing land to be consolidated and invested in—we can both increase agricultural productivity and encourage rural families to relocate to the cities. Those who give up their land should be compensated or supported in settling in urban areas, where they will find new opportunities."

He continued, his words carefully measured. "At the same time, we must invest in urban infrastructure to absorb this incoming population. That means constructing temporary housing, expanding sanitation and transport systems, and creating employment offices to match migrants with factory jobs. If we plan it properly, we won't be overwhelmed. In fact, I believe the cities will thrive."

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "You're suggesting we dismantle the communal farming system that's existed for generations?"

"Yes," Arthur said simply. "And replace it with something more efficient. We can no longer afford to let valuable land sit underutilized while our industries are starved for labor. If we provide incentives—grants, tax exemptions, and even training programs—we can ensure that newly privatized land is cultivated with machines. Agricultural output will rise, and fewer people will be needed to produce more food."

Arthur let the silence linger for a moment before continuing.

"I understand such reforms may bring social unrest if poorly managed. But we are not acting blindly. I've already directed significant investment into building new industries that will absorb the labor force. Furthermore, with our expanding naval trade, our manufactured goods are finding markets abroad. As trade grows, so too does national wealth. And with that, we can raise the standard of living for all classes—urban and rural alike."

"Our economy is already shifting from a rural, agrarian foundation to one driven by manufacturing and commerce. If we handle this transformation carefully, we can avoid the worst of the upheaval. The goal is not to cast people aside, but to move them where their work is more valuable—and their lives more prosperous."

He tapped the papers. "These documents contain detailed proposals. They outline how land ownership reform can proceed legally, how rural migrants can be integrated into city life, and how agricultural investment can be encouraged. It's not a short-term fix, Father—it's a roadmap to the future."

King Cedric was silent for a long moment, running his fingers along the edge of the paper. Finally, he said, "I'll speak with several members of Parliament. Many of them are landowners, factory shareholders, or both. I suspect they'll see the merit in your ideas."

Arthur allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. He had expected as much. The Parliament was filled with men whose wealth and influence were tied to the very industries his policies would support.

He left his father's study soon after and returned to his own room. The morning was still young, and there were reports to review—updates from the various factories he had founded. While many of these companies had sold shares on the open market to fund expansion, Arthur remained the largest shareholder in nearly all of them. The dividends he received each year were substantial.

He reinvested much of that wealth into new ventures, but also into something he believed even more important: knowledge. Arthur was a major benefactor of the few universities scattered across the realm, particularly the one he had helped found—an institution focused on the natural sciences and engineering. Each year, he donated large sums to support research and discovery, ensuring that his country would remain at the forefront of innovation.

Among the subjects he quietly prioritized was the study of disease. Arthur already knew that many illnesses were caused by microscopic organisms—knowledge he had long kept to himself. Rather than stating it outright, he encouraged certain lines of research, funded specific experiments, and asked the right questions to steer curious minds in the right direction.

Eventually, in one of the university's medical laboratories, a young researcher confirmed what Arthur had long understood: that invisible microbes could transmit disease. In one experiment, surgical tools were split into two sets—one cleaned with boiled water, the other left as they were. Patients treated with the cleaned instruments had far lower rates of infection and death. Through a basic microscope, the researcher observed tiny, wriggling organisms on the contaminated instruments—clear signs of microbial life.

Reading the report, Arthur felt no surprise—only satisfaction. The discovery didn't change what he knew, but it gave him the public evidence he needed to act.

Long before the report arrived, Arthur had already invested heavily in the development of smokeless powder, a cleaner, more efficient explosive than traditional black powder. The manufacturing process involved the nitration of glycerin using nitric and sulfuric acids to produce nitroglycerin. This highly volatile substance, when stabilized with cellulose compounds, formed the basis of his military-grade propellant.

However, the process left behind a large amount of soap a byproduct that had proven difficult to sell. People of this era had little concept of hygiene; the idea that staying clean could prevent illness simply didn't exist in the public mind.

Still, Arthur saw an opportunity in what others dismissed. He had long suspected that spreading awareness of hygiene could increase public acceptance. But more importantly, he understood that improved hygiene would mean fewer deaths from preventable diseases. In a nation where every worker and soldier mattered, reducing illness was not just a public health issue—it was a strategic one. Fewer people lost to infection meant a stronger labor force, more stable cities, and healthier armies. So when the university's research confirmed that microscopic organisms were the cause of many common illnesses, he acted swiftly.

Through newspaper articles quoting respected scholars, he launched a campaign to promote handwashing with soap as a matter of public health. He funded demonstrations in schools and public squares, distributed free bars to households, and encouraged physicians to recommend daily use.

The effect was gradual but steady. Hospitals and clinics quickly adopted the soap, seeing immediate benefits. Military units were slower to adjust—generals remained skeptical—but after several outbreaks were traced to poor hygiene, bulk orders finally followed.

What had once been unwanted surplus had become a symbol of national health and modern science.

To Arthur, this was the ideal outcome—where industrial efficiency, scientific discovery, and social welfare aligned. It was a future he intended to build, one reform, one invention, and one idea at a time.