Chapter 14

Chapter 14

After Hailey and her brother left, Mary quickly closed the door and shut the windows tightly. Their family was too poor to afford candles or oil lamps; their only source of light was moonlight. But for safety, they preferred darkness to risking open windows.

"I hid one!"

"I did too!"

“……”

The children had never tasted food so delicious. While they yearned to eat more, the heavy burden of their fate loomed over them. If their father didn't recover, they would all become slaves. Beyond that—they dared not think.

Suppressing their cravings, they waited until the night deepened to secretly bring back the honey bread.

Besides Lilith, who had to eat and return at the beginning, each of the three children hid one.

Mary managed to hide one and two-thirds.

"Eat, eat more, get well soon," Mary urged, swallowing hard. She had only taken one bite, just one, and it was so delicious she cried. It was the tastiest thing she had ever eaten, perhaps better than all the food she had eaten in her life combined.

But survival was more important.

The man of the house, sitting on the bed in the dark, shed tears. Incapacitated, he was a burden to the family, but he knew he must recover.

He divided a small bread into six pieces in the dark, "The kind lord said we could get more tomorrow, right? Eat, everyone eat. We need strength to work!"

Though they would work more for no extra pay, it seemed like a consolation—believing that working harder would improve their lives. Being able to work meant they weren't so close to death.

The honey bread was irresistibly delicious, its sweet aroma overpowering, and before they realized, the sweetness on their tongues brought a dizzying sense of happiness.

Lilith covered her mouth, having eaten hers in a rush that morning for fear of it being stolen, savoring a crumb no larger than her fingernail, sobbing, "The kind lord is so good!"

The others nodded in heartfelt agreement.

"For the kind lord, we must find a way to gather the taxes!"

The thought that "the kind lord might waive their taxes" hadn't crossed anyone's mind.

Where is a lord who doesn't collect taxes? Commoners are born to pay them!

This night was unlike any before; even well past bedtime, there was a restless energy in the air, refusing to succumb to sleep. Every household buzzed with endless chatter about the deliciousness of honeyed mini breads. Though the conversation repeated in a loop of meager words, it never grew tiresome, even after a thousand recitations.

As the night deepened, those worn out by fatigue gradually succumbed to sleep, dreaming blissful dreams amidst the sweet scent, the people of Lansville embraced a happiness profound.

And the census report for Philos had been obtained.

The queue for honeyed mini breads was meticulously organized, divided into two main categories: humans and other races, and then further sub-categorized into locals and "permanent residents".

The containers for the honeyed mini breads were differentiated: little girls, little boys, young women, young men, elderly women, and elderly men each had their own.

The distribution counter was marked with runes to prevent duplicate collections, thus a rough census was accomplished based on the distribution of the honeyed mini breads.

Lansville was not small; decades ago, it was a bustling metropolis, spanning five thousand square kilometers with a population of over one hundred and fifty thousand, ranking as one of the largest cities on the frontier!

But with the expansion of the Endless Plains and the nobility's exploitation, the number of commoners in the city dwindled to just over three thousand.

The permanent population was slightly higher, at 8,246, including wanderers and members of other intelligent species.

Both the size and population of this city were absurdly disproportionate, yet each in its own way signified something different.

Its vast area was excessive, but the space safe for human habitation was not as extensive.

The scarcity of the population was outrageous—of course, this count of over eight thousand did not include slaves.

Just under the lord alone, there were more than three thousand slaves, and the city's other officials and nobles kept many as well. Similarly, the population of over one hundred and fifty thousand from decades ago did not count the slaves either.

Suddenly, Philos pondered a question: "Did those nobles, officials, and their families come to collect as well?"

A chill went through Blaze's heart. Despite being prepared, the question from Philos still left him feeling anxious and fearful.

The question was too difficult to answer. Telling the truth could anger the lord, but the consequences of being caught in a lie were even more frightening to him.

"Heh," Philos had guessed everything from Blaze's hesitation, "If they won't accept the favor, then they can't blame me for being ruthless."

Although Lansville had fallen from grace, there were still a few impoverished noble families who hadn't saved enough money to move away.

In addition, there were the administrators who managed the city's affairs and the city defense forces.

Together, they made up a significant number.

Philos had not been in this world long, but he had come to understand something about the so-called "nobility": in essence, they were a group whose pride and arrogance were as vast as the heavens themselves.

Philos had anticipated that they would be unwilling to queue with commoners for the same food, yet the absence of the non-noble officials and city guards took him by surprise.

Both officials and city guards were beings beyond the ordinary, yet not nobles.

The sole pathway for a common person to enter the noble class was to become a transcendent of a high vocational rank.

Levels 1-9 were for apprentices, 10-29 for juniors, 30-60 for intermediates, 60-100 for seniors, and those above 100 were personages of great import! Each level gained was a significant event.

Seventy years ago, the lord of the then-thriving Dajack City was a senior arcane mage of level 99.

But over seventy years, the number of intermediate transcendent beings had sadly diminished.

The Chitty family, too, was a minor noble house decades ago, but after the demise of the previous head, they did not produce an intermediate transcendent within thirty years, leading to the stripping of their baronial title.

The current head, Bork Chitty, though an intermediate swordsman, had his nobility stripped by the time he reached that level, and he must advance to a senior swordsman to regain his noble status.

Currently, there are five baronial nobles in Lansville City, but three are on the brink of losing their titles for lack of an intermediate transcendent, and although the remaining two have intermediate transcendent patriarchs, these are old and nearing life's limit. There appears to be little talent among the new generation, not to mention high-level transcendent beings – there are none!

The nobles hold their pride dearly, and even in name only, they refuse to work for other lords. They steer clear of the administrative hall, and so it has come to be entirely under Chitty's control.

Among the official ranks, there are seven intermediate transcendent beings, with the remaining 43 all being juniors.

But as far as Philos knows, there are few among them capable of doing solid work.

The population of Dajack City is small, and so are its affairs, but the compensation is quite generous. It's just that human laziness knows no bounds, and from Philos' observation, the so-called administrative hall is nothing more than a venue for free banquets.

As for those so-called officials, they seem not to know even the location of their own offices, and if there happens to be urgent public business, they let stewards or personal servants handle it haphazardly.

After all, when the superiors are slack, the subordinates follow suit, and it becomes the norm to muddle along!

In the territory, only the lord may have an "army"; however wealthy, the nobles can only maintain a retinue under the pretense of cultivating guards.

Since the city guard carries the term "army," it surely belongs to the lord's power.

Philos also confirmed from Blaze that Bork always drew money from the castle, citing a not-so-optimistic fiscal situation, to pay the city guards' wages.

The castle belongs to the lord, as do the city guards, so what difference does it make whether the money comes from the administrative hall or the castle itself?

Bork's logic was sound; while the castle was the lord's private treasury, the city's taxes also belonged to the lord! Other lords managed their territories in the same manner! Thus, Blaze had no grounds for objection.

The city’s 150-strong defense force subsists entirely on the gold coins from the castle’s coffers.

Yet, today's display made it abundantly clear—the purse strings may be held by the lord, but what’s being nurtured is Bok’s private militia.

There are no nobles among the officials of the governing hall or within the city guard; their wages have always come from the "lord."

Yet this group, despite being so, seems unwilling to accept the lord’s bounty of fragrant honeyed mini-breads in a simple queue.

Could it be that they dislike it?

Phelos is affluent, but that doesn't imply he will tolerate these parasites.

Bygones could be bygones, yet Phelos thought they would at least show some semblance of an attitude moving forward.

Instead of an attitude, what became evident was far more dire—be they officials or city guards, they were all useless rubbish.

Nobles, officials, and the city guard—they’re purportedly the city’s three major official forces. However, in light of today's events, these "three forces" are but a facade put up by the Chittys. It has always been solely “Chitty's influence.”

Blaise's face turned ashen, his knees as wobbly as if he was on the verge of kneeling: “My lord, I assure you, I haven't conspired with them! Please believe me!” Fortunately, he remembered Phelos’s command not to kneel, though standing was proving to be quite the challenge.

Phelos neither rebuked him for his negligence nor offered consolation.

In his black eyes was a calm indifference.

“If you don't wish to work, then don't.”

The illiteracy rate in this world is exorbitantly high, but it’s no matter—what pressing affairs could there be in a place of just over eight thousand souls, when a single medium-to-large factory could manage all the tasks.

But which factory to start first, and what should it produce?

While Phelos was pondering what the first factory should produce, Alice rushed in frantically.

“My lord, there’s trouble—the icing sugar is all gone!”

Sweets demand a fair amount of sugar, and not just the bread part of the honeyed mini-breads but the soulful crunch of their base too. In fact, the butter was nearly out as well, though vegetable oil could serve as a substitute.

Phelos turned to Blaise: “Is there any way we could gather enough sugar quickly?”

Hearing that Phelos was finally willing to look his way, Blaise breathed a sigh of relief as though saved from death’s door, and then with the utmost professionalism, reported the situation to Phelos in earnest.