studiobondurri The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 2, Chapter 8
The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 2, Chapter 8
The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 2, Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Weakness is a sin, so one must become strong or humbly accept justice similar to that of His Majesty.
Back during the war, it had taken Neia a long while to come up with the right words to share with those around her. They were words for a different time, however, and were no longer so easily digested by those who heard them.
His Majesty is justice.
His Majesty is...
Hmm...
Saying things like ‘His Majesty is justice!’ didn’t make much sense to those who had never directly witnessed His Majesty’s greatness – if anything, it only drew strange looks – so she needed a way to convey the Sorcerer King’s wisdom to those who had not felt his justice.
Similarly, warning of the sin that was weakness had next to no effect when that weakness was considered normal. At the same time, cultivating strength was time-consuming in a situation where no one had any time to spare. The people were already devoting all of the strength that they had to the recovery of the Holy Kingdom.
I guess sin wouldn’t be such a big deal if it was easy to avoid.
So many things dragged one back into a life of sin, even if they wanted nothing more than to climb out of it.
“Baraja!”
Neia looked up from her thoughts. A pair of ranchers was riding in from the south.
“What is it?” Neia asked.
“We’ve got two dozen trespassers coming up the nearest road. Men, women, and children.”
“Where did they come from?”
“One of the towns near the capital. They claim that they left to look for work.”
“Take me to them.”
As they galloped off toward the southern fringes of the herd, Saye’s voice came from behind her.
“What are you going to do?” She asked.
The Bard was curious about her work, so she had asked to tag along. Neia couldn’t think of any reason to refuse, plus it gave her more time to share the Sorcerer King’s greatness with her.
“It sounds like they’re families that uprooted themselves to find a way to survive,” Neia answered. “Mister Lousa’s instructions were to invite people like that to join us.”
“Is that a good idea? I thought people were struggling to get by everywhere.”
“It does feel like that when you’re in the cities and towns,” Neia said, “but the rural areas are doing alright. It’s like Mister Lousa said the other day – they have nearly everything that they need out in the country. As long as we have food, shelter, and fuel, everything else will follow. Fruit season’s already started and that runs until autumn. I think we’ll start seeing figs next.”
Before that, the grain harvest would be in, so it really did feel as if the urban areas of the country were the only places having problems. After the end of the war, the cities made up less than four per cent of the northern Holy Kingdom’s population, so it was safe to say that the vast majority of the country didn’t feel the same way as they did.
“But Lanca take a while to raise, right?” Saye said, “The cattle they’re ranching right now won’t be ready for another year.”
“Everyone knows how the cattle industry works,” Neia replied, “so I think they’ll be alright. Ranchers having debt is normal, and Mister Lousa says that everyone working under one hacienda actually cuts down on costs compared to all the small, independent operations they used to have before.”
As angry as she was at the Holy King, Neia couldn’t dispute the fact that his mandates had fostered ways of thinking that brought great benefits to the Holy Kingdom – especially in its rural regions. Where common tenants once only saw what they kept and what was taken away through taxes and other agreements, they now saw a piece of a much bigger picture where everyone contributed to the total economic strength of their communities.
It was a value that had always existed, yet lay obscured by ignorance the entire time. More than a few people felt guilty over their attitudes concerning the nobility now that they understood a bit about how they saw things when running their fiefs. Overall, the developments helped give rise to people like Mister Lousa, contributing to the appearance of huge plantations in the east and ranches in the west.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the road where the reported trespassers were being held up by her men.
Six families...they don’t look like they’re in bad shape. I can’t tell what they are...
They all looked a bit terrified, though Neia supposed that armed men on horseback did have that effect on people. She dismounted and pulled a quill and clipboard out of her saddlebags before walking up to address them.
“I’m Ne–”
“Neia Baraja?”
Neia blinked as a man cut her off and came forward.
“...do I know you?”
“Of course!” The man brightened, then frowned. “Well, maybe not. There were so many of us, so it would be strange if you could remember everyone...”
He reached into his coat pocket and produced a piece of plain-looking metalwork. Neia’s mouth fell open as she pointed at the object in recognition.
“Ah! You’re a member of the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps!”
“Yes, exactly!” The man beamed, “We’ve all gone our separate ways since then, but I still see a few here and there from time to time. Even after the war, everyone’s been working hard to apply the Sorcerer King’s wisdom to our daily lives so that people may know of His Majesty’s truth.”
“Oh...! I’d love to hear all about that! Honestly, I’m having trouble figuring out the same thing. I don’t know all that much about artisans or farming or any of that.”
“You’ve helped us all so much that I’m sure everyone would be more than happy to return the favour.”
“Um...are you two alright?” Saye asked.
Neia wiped the broad grin off of her face when she realised that she was terrifying everyone else. She cleared her throat and raised her clipboard. It was best to get the people in front of her situated first – she wouldn’t be able to talk to the man properly until she got back from her shift.
“My men said that you left town looking for work,” she said. “Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” the man nodded. “I didn’t know you were here, but we heard that a hacienda’s being built and they need people.”
“You’re not wrong,” Neia replied, “but why are you leaving town? Don’t you have a workshop or at least a place in one there?”
The man glanced over his shoulder to the families behind him. His elation from before was all but gone.
“Things are getting difficult,” he said. “Dangerous, even. We knew that times would be hard after the war, but the picture looks more bleak every week.”
“Bleak?” Neia frowned, “Even with the harvest starting to come in?”
“Oh, we’re thankful for that. But, at the same time, it’s just another facet of the problems cropping up. We’re losing more and more control over our lives. The Nobles from the south that came to ‘help’ are taking over everything.”
Her mind went back to the line of angry vendors in Hoburns.
“Do you mean they’re stealing your business or something like that?”
“Exactly. I’m a Tailor by trade and I can barely get my hands on any materials. Instead, Merchants working for the Nobles import finished goods from elsewhere. At the rate we were going, we wouldn’t be able to make a living anymore, so we left.”
“But why would they do that?”
“Beats the hell outta me. They don’t bother answering, either. Everyone in the town is at their mercy and no one dares to raise their voice for fear of being cut off.”
She thought about the line of Merchants in Hoburns again. Would the same thing happen to them? It was good in the sense that the rural areas always needed skilled artisans, but the circumstances driving people out of the cities were far from ideal.
“I see,” Neia said. “Well, Mister Lousa is more than happy to welcome excellent artisans. Let’s see...you said you were a Tailor – may I have your name?”
“Carlos. Carlos Sartre.”
“Carlos...”
Neia carefully penned the name of the man and his family members on a slip of paper. There were probably a hundred Carloses working for Mister Lousa.
After recording the entire party’s information, Neia handed them a letter to Mister Lousa and directed them to the hacienda, which could be seen atop the hill northwest of them.
“I hope that doesn’t spell trouble,” Saye said as they watched the families depart.
“What do you mean?” Neia asked.
“They were running from something bad,” the Bard shrugged. “Something that no one could fight. Do you think it’ll just stop where it is?”
“Whoever is responsible for what’s happening has no justification to intrude on Mister Lousa’s land,” Neia said. “Each person that volunteered to help administer the north was assigned a specific jurisdiction. It’s not as if they can go wherever they please and do what they want.”
Though she said so, a sense of wariness lingered over her as they continued south. The next stretch of pasture came within two kilometres of the town and Neia told her men to be on their guard just in case someone was up to no good nearby. Neia set up her camp at the boundary between the town and Mister Lousa’s land, where she stared at the walls as they were painted orange by the sunset.
Neia leapt off of her horse and shoved her way through the crowd. They weren’t actually burning someone, were they?
A few minutes later, she emerged in front of the crowd, stepping out before the burning bakery. A lone man in an apron and a baker’s hat wept on the cobblestones of the square. Pieces of garbage bounced off of his back and shoulders, adding to the growing pile of refuse around him. Neia’s horror grew as she took in the man’s features.
I know him...
She saw him every time she came through the town, though she never spoke with him since she could only stop long enough to see if any work-related matters required her attention. During the war, he was a part of the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps and she saw him all the time, distributing provisions every single day with a smile and a word of encouragement for the downtrodden.
“Stop this madness!”
Neia’s voice was drowned out by the anger of the townsfolk. Not even the closest seemed to pay her any heed. She scrambled over to the baker, placing a hand on his soiled shoulders as she knelt beside him.
“Mister Juárez!”
She raised her voice over the shouts of the crowd and the roar of the flames, calling out the baker’s name again. He looked up at her with a lifeless expression.
We can’t stay here...
She hauled him to his feet, ducking under his arm to help him walk away. Her stomach turned as renewed cheers encouraged her to cast the baker into the flames. Then, the cheers turned into jeers when they saw she was trying to leave with him. Neia looked for an escape route as bits of garbage started to pelt her as well, and then she noticed the ranchers that had followed her.
“Clear a path!” She called out.
The townsfolk nearby tried to bar their path, but their efforts were disorganised and sporadic. Paving stones joined the bits of garbage cast at them as they pushed and shoved their way back to their horses.
Saye turned to her when they finally broke out of the crowd.
“He can use my horse,” she told her.
“But–”
“I’ll catch up,” Saye said. “I hope you don’t think that a Bard wouldn’t be interested in learning about what happened here.”
There wasn’t any time to argue. Neia helped the man up into Saye’s saddle and they made their way back out of the town’s northern gate.
What in the world was that...
Her mind flashed through the scenes from the town as they galloped into the night.
What in the world was that?!
She had never seen Humans behave that way before. They were like a mob of savage Demihumans during the war.
Mister Juárez nearly fell out of his saddle upon their return to Neia’s camp. She helped him to the fire pit and went to retrieve a spare water flask.
“Miss Baraja,” one of the ranchers said, “what do we do?”
“Is there any safe way to drive the herd at night?” She asked.
“No,” the rancher shook his head. “Driving our animals too hard will make them lose weight, besides.”
“Then return to your camps and keep an eye out for anyone from the town,” Neia told him. “We’ll be grazing here for another day or so, so take shifts on the watch. Once I figure out what’s going on here, we’ll know whether it’s safe to stay or not.”
She went to join Mister Juárez at the campfire, silently staring across the flames at the despondent man.
I refuse to believe he’s been raising prices like that. It goes against the justice that His Majesty the Sorcerer King taught us; what I taught them!
They were supposed to use their strength to aid others. In fact, she had never heard of any of those who had embraced the Sorcerer King’s wisdom doing anything even remotely similar to what the baker had been accused of, even in the dark days of the war.
“Mister Juárez,” she asked tentatively, “is what they say true?”
“How could it be?” The baker didn’t look up from the fire, “We all saw the truth of His Majesty’s wisdom! I did everything that I could to strengthen my craft and my business; I did what I could to bring His Majesty’s truth to others! Your patrol route goes through that town, Miss Baraja – you must have seen what I was doing.”
She had no cause to thoroughly investigate the man while she was working for the Holy Order, so she couldn’t say either way.
“Then what happened?” Neia asked, “How could that happen?”
“I don’t know,” Mister Juárez replied. “All I know is that business was slow in the morning but picked up later in the day. I thought it was strange, but I never thought that the entire town would turn on me like that.”
“Could it be that you set the wrong price?”
“A few people asked me that, but there was nothing wrong with the price of my bread. It’s barely enough for my business to get by on every day.”
Then nothing makes sense.
Not that anything about the incident made sense. People turning on a baker for selling bread at cost. The town guard just letting them burn down what was not only someone’s home and business, but also a crucial town industry. The fact that such a horrific idea had even crossed their minds in the first place.
She couldn’t explain it at all. The Holy Kingdom’s people just weren’t like that.
“I’m back.”
Neia started when Saye’s voice came from beside her two hours later. She hadn’t even noticed the Bard’s approach, though it was admittedly close to midnight.
“Did you find out anything?” Neia asked.
“I did,” Saye sat down beside her, “but I have a question to ask him first.”
The Bard gestured at Mister Juárez, who was still raw-eyed from his ordeals.
“What is it?” The baker said.
“Have the people overseeing your town asked you to do anything recently?” Saye asked, “Well, it doesn’t have to be recently – just something that they wanted you to do.”
Mister Juárez’s gaze turned inward for a moment.
“The mill,” he said. “They offered to buy the town mill from me. It didn’t make any business sense, so I refused. They told me it’d be fairer if they controlled the mill, but it’s not as if I was edging out the competition running the thing – I’ve just been charging the cost of the animal feed. My bakery couldn’t feed the whole town even if I wanted to.”
“I see. Then that’s probably why the entire town attacked you.”
Both Neia and Mister Juárez looked at Saye with confused frowns.
“I don’t get it,” Neia said.
“You don’t?” Saye frowned back, “It’s like I said about those people from earlier today: they’re running from something bad that they can’t fight. The Nobles overseeing the town drove the Tailor out by limiting supplies of materials and importing finished goods from somewhere else. They can’t do the same thing with the bakeries since they serve fresh bread to the town, but they can get their hands on the mill to control the distribution of flour.”
“But why?”
“Control,” Saye shrugged. “That’s what the other group said, right? The Nobles are taking over everything. I figured the people who lived here would know more about the details than me.”
“How much more control could they possibly want?” Mister Juárez said, “Pretty much everyone in town is in debt to them already. Now they want to control our supply of everything?”
“I still don’t understand how anything like that could lead to his workshop being burnt down,” Neia said.
“It’s pretty simple,” Saye replied. “I asked the other bakers in the town and they all said that you were overpricing the bread.”
“That’s a lie! I’ve done everything possible to follow the Sorcerer King’s justice!”
Saye danced back as Mister Juárez lunged at her. Neia stared in shock as the ranchers nearby jumped up to restrain him. The Bard coolly gazed down upon the baker with her ice-blue eyes.
“It’s not a lie,” she told him. “You’re all just unaware of the truth. The other three bakers were purposely sold grain at a cheaper price and, like you, they charged what they thought was a fair price for their bread. Then, agents of the Nobles probably incited the people. The men they assigned to maintain order in the town looked the other way. In the end, the Nobles got what they wanted: they got rid of an obstacle – you – while also using you as an outlet for the town’s mounting frustrations over everything. Now, they can import flour from a facility that they own, expanding their control over a mollified town and its surrounding villages. As a bonus, all of the other workshops will feel that they need the Nobles even more for protection.”
Mister Juárez’s expression was no less appalled than Neia’s own.
“But that’s wrong,” he cried. “It’s evil! Unjust!”
“No,” Neia sighed. “It might be twisted, but it’s not illegal. As for what is, they used a mob to do their dirty work and the Holy Kingdom can’t punish an entire population. Not that they have the means to.”
“Yup,” Saye shrugged. “That’s just how those types of Nobles operate everywhere. Justice is always on their side.”
Mister Juárez’s shoulders slumped. Neia’s men released him.
“So we can’t do anything about it?” The baker asked.
“No, we can,” Neia’s eyes went to the town on the horizon. “If this is how it’s going to be, then we must. We’ll replace this rotten justice with justice of our own.”