Helping with Adventurer Party Management - Chapter 403

In the end, I decided not to form partnerships that would involve ordering or directing the master craftsmen who were both highly independent and technically skilled.

The cost of organizing them wasn’t worth it—and it wasn’t my style.

It’s the same as supporting adventurers. Instead of giving orders, I should create a service that’s convenient and appealing enough for people to want to use on their own.

I established the following basic policies:

• I won’t teach repair techniques, but I’ll answer questions if asked.

• I’ll sell materials and useful tools needed for repairs.

• If a repair is too difficult to handle, we’ll take it on and pay a handling fee.

• I’ll post a standard repair price. Others are free to follow it or not, but I’ll make it known to adventurers.

Additionally, I created small wooden signs engraved with the same symbol used in the Guardian Shoes. Displaying this sign would indicate that the workshop is authorized to handle Guardian Shoes repairs.

Eventually, I’d like to lower the price so that workshops in third-class districts can sell them, but for now, repairs are all they can manage.

Besides, those workshops don’t have the financial resources to purchase and stock enough Guardian Shoes.

Well, I guess we’ll just have to take it step by step.

In the end, I chose a policy that prioritized the autonomy of the partner repair workshops—and the person happiest with that decision wasn’t any of the craftsmen themselves—it was Gorgoro.

“Thank goodness I don’t have to teach them anymore,” he said cheerfully as he went back to improving the printing press.

Since continuous printing technology hasn’t been established yet, productivity is still low, but we can now print standard forms on parchment, which I’m grateful for and putting to good use.

For now, I’ve asked them to print 200 sheets of parchment with the outline of Guardian Shoes to keep track of repairs.

◇　◇　◇　◇　◇

The spread of rumors among the Shoe workshops brought an unexpected benefit.

That morning, I had opened the company early as usual and was having breakfast with the workers’ families when a young page came running in, saying, “Some strangers are waiting at the entrance of Leather Street asking to see you.”

“What kind of people are they? Carrying swords? Wearing expensive clothes? Old men?”

“Um, kind of like Dad,” the boy said.

That meant they probably looked like young craftsmen.

I hadn’t been targeted by assassins recently, but just to be safe, I asked my bodyguard Kiriku to check and continued eating. Whatever happened, I wouldn’t be able to act properly on an empty stomach.

Still, perhaps because being targeted has become routine, I’ve started becoming more composed. Or maybe my senses are just getting numb.

After a while, Kiriku returned, looking a bit troubled.

Behind him were three young men who looked like craftsmen.

Kiriku wouldn’t have brought them if they were suspicious, so I waited for an explanation.

Then he said, “Captain, these guys want to leave their current shoe workshop and be hired by our company.”

“Well, that’s a bit sudden…” I couldn’t help but be cautious. If this were some kind of industrial espionage, it could be a problem.

While the strength of a workshop lies in the individual shoemakers’ skills, their true power comes from their ability to mass-produce shoes cheaply—something even the master workshops can’t imitate.

Poaching one or two production line craftsmen wouldn’t be enough to replicate that process without the proper management skills.

If I had to choose, I’d be more worried if this were sabotage or a trap—assassins, for instance.

But Kiriku would have at least done a basic check, so that seemed unlikely. Still, it would be terrible if they set fire to the company out of spite or paranoia.

This makes me think: how should we go about hiring new employees without relying on personal connections?

If our company wants to expand, we might need to rethink our hiring process.