A knight would walk at the forefront, allowing people to enter the mine only after confirming everything was in order.

But not everyone agreed with these new regulations at first.

Some grumbled, "All these rules and inspections—after all this hassle, it would be better to go down early and load an extra cart of rocks."

Of course, there were also those who took shortcuts for convenience, bypassing the warning zones to mine alone ahead of time.

The first time someone violated the regulations, they were publicly named and transferred from the main work shaft to the outermost abandoned mining zone, cleaning out muddy waste paths while watching their companions emerge from the mine to receive wages and eat hot meals.

"Wanna gamble with your life? Then stay away from others, don't drag them down with you."

That's what Valentine said during a briefing at the mouth of the mine. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to everyone.

After a few rounds of discipline, no one dared to act recklessly anymore.

Even those miners who had been the most resistant to regulations lowered their heads.

They began to accept the rules, understand the system, and realize these weren't meant to bind them but to save their lives.

At the same time, a group of knights personally visited the families of craftsmen who had died in duty to deliver compensation, three official documents, and a condolence letter.

One miner's wife broke down crying, kneeling and refusing to accept the money.

The Knight Commander helped her to her feet and handed her a transfer order:

"The Mine Management Committee has approved that you will be arranged to do material inventory work at the main mine site, with monthly pay."

What moved people the most were the children.

After several miners sacrificed themselves, their children were taken to the chapel-cum-sanctuary attached to the mining area.

They were brought into that warm house, changed into clean clothes, and served steaming hot soup.

Someone was assigned specifically to look after them, and the territory provided them with living supplies monthly, with no need for them to work at all.

"They are now people of the Star Forging Territory." Louis made it very clear at the time, "The miners have given their lives for the territory, and it's the duty of the territory to support their families until the end of their days."

These children, some of whom still didn't understand what "sacrifice" meant, only knew they lost a father, brother, or mother.

"My brother was killed by a spider," a ten-year-old boy wrote in his diary after wiping his eyes, "but Master Louis said he paved a path for us."

"I want to stay; I want to learn the craft. When I grow up, I'm going to work in the mine too, slay those harmful demons, and turn the mineral veins into real treasure troves."

The youngest child held the bowl tightly to his chest, quietly asking the maid who looked after them, "Do I have to mine to get food?"

The maid heard him and immediately her eyes reddened; she knelt down and hugged him, "No. You have a name, and someone to protect you."

This system was not just for one or two families.

Most immediate family members of the afflicted craftsmen were properly settled into various administrative affairs within the Star Forging Territory, some becoming record keepers, others assisting in the canteen management, while others were trained to become junior technicians.

"We are not slaves." A silent and reserved old miner finally murmured, red-eyed, on that day, "We are...workers whose names are remembered."

This phrase spread quickly.

That night, in workshops, under cooking smoke, in dormitories lit by magic crystal lamps, nearly everyone was whispering about that sacrifice.

Discussing those knights in iron armor, entering each miner's house, leaving behind compensation, placement letters, and a handwritten note.

Someone said they never thought they would come to a new understanding of their own lives because someone else died.

"Have you ever seen a place where when a miner dies, there's someone to arrange a job for their family?" a once cynical young miner said as he rubbed his frostbitten red hands.

"I've stayed in other territories' mining areas; there, if you die, you die. They turn your name into a number, burn the body, and replace you with a newcomer."

"But it's different here." Someone softly added beside him, "This is a place where someone remembers who you are."

These workers never dared to hope that their lives would be worth anything; they just didn't expect that one day their lives would truly be accounted for as lives.

People began to truly understand the meaning of "order"—it wasn't just rules and efficiency but also protection and promise.

They started to trust Louis, this young lord who rarely spoke unnecessary words, yet quietly ordered charcoal deliveries and filled gaps in needs.

And because of this trust, they were willing to stay, to contribute, to desperately defend this path to their own mine vein.

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