Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 11 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Spontaneous Discharge

It was a hot day. The sun’s rays shone brilliantly over the land. White clouds drifted in the blue sky, and sheep walked the green pastures, waiting to be sheared. Time passed by peacefully.

While bandits and monsters were always a menace in this world, villages and settlements kept them at bay using moats and barrier pillars. This place in particular was off the highways and had little military significance. Fields like this one only got attacked roughly once every few years. It was one of many agricultural communities that dotted Rhoadseria’s territory, which belonged directly to the royal house.

Even in this war torn world, there were still times of peace. But such peace could easily be disrupted by the slightest bit of malice.

A small community positioned so far from any military strongholds wasn’t bothered so much by external threats. Most of its problems came from governors or officials dispatched by the state, people who should have been on their side. And one such problem was occurring at this moment, as a loud, angry shout disturbed the peaceful, picturesque scenery of this small hamlet.

The villagers stood around the village’s plaza, expressions of anxiety and fear on their faces. Their gazes were fixed on a group standing in the center of the circle—or rather, on the man standing in front of the group.

“Please forgive us. We can’t spare any more...” one man desperately pleaded with them. “Take any more from us, and we won’t have enough to live off—”

A thick metallic thud cut off the man’s words. A knight bashed his large, gauntleted fist into the man’s face, knocking him back and easily crushing his teeth.

The rusted taste of blood filled the man’s mouth; his teeth had likely been broken to bits. He squatted down, drooling out saliva and blood. It pooled on the ground under him, forming a dark red stain.

“Father...”

A pair of frightened eyes looked at the man sprawled on the ground. A village girl shook off her mother’s arms and darted out toward her father, tears in her eyes. She was much too young for a sight like this. Yet even she knew that interfering would achieve absolutely nothing. After all, the man who had beaten her father was a fully armed knight. With her slender arms, even if she were to punch him, it wouldn’t so much as tickle him. But she couldn’t ignore her father’s pained figure.

Wishing to calm his beloved daughter, the man gently held her shoulders down with his bloodstained hands. He wished she didn’t have to see this, especially when she was so young.

Why... Why does this have to happen?

All sorts of thoughts surfaced and disappeared like bubbles in the man’s mind. When Lupis Rhoadserians had assumed the throne, everyone had expected the winds of reform. Ever since she’d served as a knight captain, Lupis had been regarded as a fair person who cared for the people. The rumors of her kindness had reached as far as this village. The man could remember clearly—perhaps all too vividly—how he’d cheered with his friends in the tavern, rejoicing about how their lives would be easier now. But reality turned out to be different. There was indeed a change, but not one in this man’s favor.

Standing with his back to the knight, the magistrate leading the armed warriors regarded the man scrambling on the ground with a cold, obscene smile.

“Then let me ask you one more time. How long are you going to hold back on the taxes you owe?”

The magistrate was absolutely confident in his superiority and didn’t hesitate in the slightest to trample over his fellow man. From his perspective, the only value this man held was as a source of taxes. He didn’t feel any more empathy for this man than a hunter would feel for his prey.

“If we had anything more, we’d gladly pay,” the man protested. “But we really, honestly have nothing more—”

It was pointless. Once again, the knight from earlier cut the man off with a sharp, heavy thud. The punch bashed into his diaphragm, knocking all of the air out of his lungs. The man gasped.

“Really, you commoners never cease to amaze me,” the magistrate said as the man clutched his stomach. “Having to deal with you time after time gives me such a headache. I’m asking you a simple question; when will you pay your taxes? I don’t care how easy or hard it is for you.”

You damn bastard. Running your mouth like that!

Crimson flames of anger and bloodlust rose up in the man’s heart. Images of the countless ways he would beat this vile magistrate to death if only given the chance flashed through his mind. If he’d had the power to do so, he’d have lunged at him and punched and torn the life out of his body. The only reason he restrained himself now was because he was weaker than the violence this magistrate could enact on him.

Are you saying the fact that you’re stronger means you’re allowed to walk all over us?!

The man’s hands shook with anger. They couldn’t even hope to pay the sum of taxes the magistrate asked for—not even this man, who was a rather affluent farmer in this village.

It’s not that I won’t pay! I can’t pay!

The end result might have been the same, but there was a difference of heaven and earth in the details, especially given that the man had already paid this year’s share of taxes. Had it not been for those special war-related taxes, he could have even lived in comfort.

The man didn’t reject the idea of paying taxes altogether. The kingdom needed an army to protect the land. It needed to build roads to develop its economy. Those things required money. And the wealthier the country became, the more that wealth benefited people like him. Of course, to people living in a village like this, the boons of this wealth were diminutive compared to those living in the big cities, but that wasn’t a reason to evade paying taxes. Plus, considering the recent war between O’ltormea and Xarooda, the special war taxes were understandable. Everything had its limits, though.

“Where’s your answer?! The magistrate asked you a question, peasant!” the knight snarled as he landed another blow on the man’s skull.

Even as his consciousness wavered, the man couldn’t help but feel indignant.

I never thought it would be like this. Wasn’t Queen Lupis’s reign supposed to put an end to the nobles’ tyranny?!

Over the last few years, this man had led the village instead of the aged village headman. Had he been born to this village, he probably would have long since been made headman himself. He was originally a peddler, and despite being a commoner, he knew how to read and do arithmetic. Thanks to those skills, he’d been able to manage the vegetables and wool this village produced and sell them to other nearby communities. Still, the cash income of this village was very small. They lived on self-sufficiency, bartering with other villages for what they lacked.

The only ones who handled actual coin in this area were peddlers, who sold their stock to passing adventurers and mercenaries. That only happened a few times a year, though. Money wasn’t all that necessary for life in this remote village; it was only needed for paying taxes once every year, during the spring. Or so it was, until this magistrate, with his nasty, obscene smile, appeared in this village.

He took all of our stock and still demands more.

At first, the magistrate had claimed it was for rebuilding the country. The man had believed that and cooperated, out of expectation for Queen Lupis’s reform and love for his own country. Having been a traveling peddler, he’d seen the world and could imagine the crisis to Rhoadseria’s existence the queen had spoken of.

But those demands didn’t end. The magistrate demanded tax a second time, a third time, and a fourth—there was no end in sight. In the beginning, it had been small sums that didn’t affect the village’s livelihood that much. But the demands had escalated. It was an adhesive sort of pressure that was deceptively light but soon turned into a powerful noose around their necks.

How much are they going to try and extort from us?!

Anger surged up from the man’s heart and ran through his body. True, he could pay once or twice more. But after that, he’d be left with absolutely nothing to his name. His only remaining options would be to either commit family suicide, sell one of his family members to slavery, or leave the village and become a vagrant. What little produce he had left now was, for all intents and purposes, his last stock.

“Well, if you absolutely can’t pay with money, we could have you settle your debt by...other means,” the magistrate said suggestively.

A shiver ran down the man’s spine. This was the one thing he wouldn’t consider—a terrible future he intentionally tried not to think about. But seeing the magistrate’s vulgar gaze settle on his wife and daughter, who sat huddled together, it was clear what he’d been implying.

If only I could somehow earn more money. Am I going to lose everything again?!

Regret and terror overcame him. He had never been a very skilled merchant. He lacked the greed to stop at nothing to make a profit. Thanks to that, his wallet held only copper coins—silvers, at best. He was never at a loss, but he never made large profits. However, he was honest and amicable. He would give money to the beggars in the alleyways, and he always gave cordial advice to his business partners. Because of that, he had many connections and was well-liked by his friends.

He was a good man. Had he been born to a developed country in modern society, he would have probably had the respect and praise of his peers. But his human kindness, a virtue in any other setting, was nothing short of weakness in this world.

Once upon a time, an acquaintance and fellow merchant came to him for help. He’d urgently asked that he lend him some funds, even if for just a few days. It was around that time that the man had planned to quit working as a peddler and buy his own store in a city. He’d saved up a great deal of money just for that purpose. It could have determined his future. But his acquaintance had begged for the loan, and the man had eventually obliged, believing in their verbal promise that he’d return the sum by a certain date.

When the man went to his acquaintance’s house to collect, he found a staggering number of creditors standing at the doorstep. His acquaintance’s trade cog had been caught in a storm and had sunk along with its freight. The acquaintance had taken all that he’d borrowed and disappeared. He’d discarded all his friendships and debts he’d built up so far.

As a result, the man had lost everything. The deal that would have secured his future passed him by. And since the man had been forced to cancel the transaction so suddenly, his trust as a merchant was compromised.

The truth was that a trusted acquaintance had duped him. He was the victim, but instead of garnering him sympathy, this incident cast doubt on his skill as a merchant. He was seen as a man who lacked the ability to judge people.

The fact that their deal had been a verbal promise also worked against him. He complained to the governor, but the governor didn’t listen. He just shooed him away. Even if he had listened, though, the governor of a countryside region couldn’t do much against a person who’d up and disappeared.

In a world like Ryoma’s, where information technology was advanced, law enforcement could use that to chase down criminals. But in this world, the most guards could do was stop an ongoing crime as it happened. Even then, they couldn’t stop every single crime. That was just how the justice system worked in a world where the strong fed upon the weak. Governors didn’t have enough men or influence to dispatch people to other regions and investigate a criminal.

And so the man was left with no one to turn to. He’d lost everything, and it was all because of his good will. No one was virtuous enough to extend him a helping hand at a time like this—not even any of the merchants he’d been so cordial and helpful toward.

The man sank to the very bottom of disillusionment and sorrow. He cast aside the city he’d worked in and became a vagrant. He walked around with torn clothes and a sullen expression—the very image of a shambling corpse. What money he still had on him soon ran out. All that remained was for him to plummet down the rungs of life, as those who’d exhausted all their luck often did. He would spend the rest of his days rummaging through the trash heaps and begging passersby for coin.

But all of that changed one day, when he met a girl in one of the villages he passed by. It wasn’t clear what had spurred her to call out to him, but whatever it was, love blossomed between them. That love stoked the flames of life in this man, whose heart had died even as his body lingered.

Their union brought a new life into this world; they had a daughter. The man had finally managed to latch onto a small bit of joy. His plights were over. His family and this village were all that he lived for.

But now, something threatened to sever the path of this man’s life a second time.

No. I have to keep those two safe.

The magistrate’s disgusting gaze wasn’t fixed on the man, crouched and cowering on the ground, but on the daughter clinging to her father’s back and shivering with fear. And once he’d taken the daughter, he would come for the wife next.

Compared to the other villagers, his wife and daughter were relatively clean. His wife couldn’t be considered beautiful, but she looked good enough to draw a man’s attention. The daughter took after her, and her bright disposition only made her more attractive. A decent man who truly sought a stable relationship would perhaps find their cute appearances preferable to a more conventionally beautiful woman.

And sadly, unlike a man, those two had more uses. They could be sold off to a brothel or used as sex slaves. Some of the money made by their sale could be used for taxes, while the rest would go into the magistrate’s pocket as a “handling fee.” No...in this magistrate’s case, he’d rather “sample” the women before selling them off.

Even though the man knew this, he could do nothing to stop it.

Wasn’t Her Majesty supposed to improve our lives?!

The man spit out more blood and then wobbled to his feet. He clenched his fists. Flames of anger burned in his eyes.

“Staying silent doesn’t answer my question, peasant,” the magistrate said, walking up to the man with a slimy grin on his face. “Queen Lupis made it quite clear that this tax order is very important and must be completed. This is to rebuild the country and to ensure our safety as citizens. Understood?”

The two men faced each other and glared, standing close enough to feel each other’s breath. The magistrate’s breath reeked of cheap cigarettes.

“Her Majesty the queen requires this tax to develop and defend our country,” the magistrate said. “Refusing to pay that tax means you’re opposing not me but your queen. You’re opposing the Kingdom of Rhoadseria itself if you don’t pay. And that means treason. That would make you...a traitor.”

“Traitor...” A jolt of electricity ran down the man’s spine.

Seeing the effect his words had had, the magistrate continued his verbal assault. “That’s right. And if that happens, you and your family will not be spared the proper punishment. You can resist all you want and try to do whatever you like, but it will all end the same way.”

The magistrate laughed loudly. Those branded as traitors weren’t only sentenced to death. Their families were also sold off to slavery. Whether the man chose to pay his taxes or not, the result would be the same.

The man was the first to look away. The raging anger that had spurred him on until now had been snuffed out by that single word—traitor. It wasn’t patriotism that had extinguished his wrath, though. It was terror. He was terrified of the power a country could bring to bear on an individual.

Overwhelmed by the magistrate’s ruthless words, the man simply gazed at the ground. A mere commoner living in a small village couldn’t so much as begin to imagine opposing a country’s ruler. As much as the commoners might complain and grumble in their daily lives, they didn’t consider really opposing the throne.

What should I do? How do I protect my family...and the village?

The man desperately searched for some kind of solution. He had never been so conflicted in his life. He racked his brains, trying to find a way that would save his village, for his family and for his own personal happiness.

Silence reigned over the village square for one long, agonizing moment. Everyone held their breath as they watched this tragedy unfold. Only one person watched and saw a different kind of scene unfold.

Anger, impatience, resignation, and despair... All of those emotions are jumbled together. Just look at the expression on his face.

The knights stood in the midst of the overbearing atmosphere, hiding their emotions inside their helmets. But one man among them was desperately holding back laughter.

His name was Elliot Chamberlain. He had fair skin and reddish-brown hair. He was a slender, well-toned man who stood 167 centimeters tall. Judging by how he moved freely despite the heavy metal armor he was wearing, he was quite well-trained. His appearance was rather typical within Rhoadseria, and if one were to look around the capital or some of the larger cities, one could find plenty of men with similar physiques or features. But his true value didn’t lie in his appearance.

He was a British man who had moved to America, making the city of New York his home. Having been born and raised in a world that sang the praises of freedom and equality, he had the cultivated intellect of an educated modern man. If he were to apply and teach that knowledge in this world, it would no doubt become slightly less of a hell.

But right now, he watched something that was the stark opposite of freedom and equality. And he was relishing the sight of it.

Oh, crap. Don’t laugh. Hold it in!

Chamberlain painfully withstood the rolling laughter rising up from his chest. Letting it out now would completely ruin all that he’d plotted so far. But as firm as his will was, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking.

Each time he held back his laughter, Chamberlain’s metal armor clinked and clattered. One of his fellow knights noticed this and shot Chamberlain a quizzical glance. Of all the knights standing behind the magistrate, he alone had suddenly started shaking.

Chamberlain glanced back at the knight and nodded shortly. Since the knight couldn’t see Chamberlain’s expression through his helmet, he assumed that Chamberlain was shaking with suppressed indignation. He shook his head, as if telling him to restrain himself, then turned his gaze forward.

Chamberlain sneered under his helmet.

Pfft. Moron.

Of course, no sensible man would derive pleasure from a sight this tragic. Not even a knight, a member of the ruling class, would enjoy this—especially since some of the knights serving the magistrate were originally commoners. Many of the knights present were wavering between their sense of duty and justice. However, none of them moved to stop him. They’d all been strictly ordered to see this mission through to the end.

Chamberlain didn’t waver, though. To him, the people of this world were mere toys with no wills of their own. He watched from afar as they thrashed and struggled, like a child gleefully tearing the wings off a butterfly. He couldn’t hide his true nature, even with his fellow knights watching him suspiciously.

The magistrate was forcing the commoner to submit through violence. Malice burned in both their hearts. Sensing the boundless hatred running between them, Chamberlain felt his crotch harden.

Things are sizzling over just the right way. It won’t be long until Sudou’s plan bears fruit.

The Organization had ordered Chamberlain and his comrades to manipulate matters within Rhoadseria, and Chamberlain could vividly feel the results of their efforts paying off.

As a result of the civil war, Gelhart had been officially demoted to the rank of viscount. One’s noble rank was important. This demotion was quite a great loss for Gelhart, to be sure, and it had certainly tarnished his honor. Immediately following the civil war, many of the nobles had kept their distance from him. Nonetheless, many of the nobles’ faction’s members still treated him like a duke. They did this despite the fact he’d been relieved of his lands and sent to the backwater territories of the south, which had struck a painful blow to his economic prowess.

Looking back at it now, it all seemed like a bad joke. The scum of the earth, just like this terrible temporary magistrate, were drawn to the viscount’s side by the allure of personal gain. And Elliot Chamberlain had enabled this course of events.

Sudou always gives out the most fun jobs. That’s what they call mixing business with pleasure. If only Sudou were here to enjoy this with me.

Chamberlain was most grateful to Sudou, who was now far off in O’ltormea’s capital city. Chamberlain’s sole regret was that he couldn’t show his respected superior this comical sight.

But with all the mess going on in O’ltormea, he has to be there. I’m sure I’ll get to work with him again though. I’ll just have to enjoy today for the both of us.

The sight of this world’s people hating and killing each other was Chamberlain’s greatest source of enjoyment.

Kill. Tear into each other. Suffer and grieve and hate one another. Die, perish, rot, wither away...the lot of you!

His was a delusional hatred, the kind born from a loss so cruel it broke a man.

Seven years ago, Chamberlain was living in New York, carefully and anxiously watching the stock prices on Wall Street. But a twist of fate summoned him to this world, alongside his beloved lover Vanessa.

Before his summoning, Chamberlain had been a successful businessman with a beautiful woman by his side. He’d toned his physique at the gym, and he’d gotten his MBA from Harvard. He was talented and successful. His victory in the game of life was all but guaranteed. He had a picture-perfect life—like the protagonist of a book.

Had things gone like they did in stories, his summoning to another world alongside his beloved girlfriend would have been a heroic tale. Gorgeous women would have tried, to no avail, to come between him and his beautiful lover. It would have been a perfect story played out by the perfect protagonist, albeit a little trite.

But the real world didn’t follow such hackneyed conventions. Chamberlain hadn’t been summoned into this world to dispatch some kind of great evil. His only use was as a pawn of war. This wasn’t a hero’s story, and he definitely wasn’t the protagonist.

Vanessa had worked as a model and had the looks to match. Due to her good looks and peculiar hair color, she was relegated to being the nobles’ plaything. Worst yet, those nobles had warped sensibilities; they relished in hearing the agonizing screams of others.

The fact that Vanessa was a liberalist who had actively participated in human rights movements only made things that much worse. To those sadistic nobles, she was just prey that struggled deliciously. However, Vanessa was educated and refined, and the more the nobles abused her, the more she insisted on her human rights. Unfortunately, that only spurred them to try and break her. They wanted to make her scream and cry that much harder, which only delighted them all the more. Prey that resisted was that much easier to hunt than an obedient plaything.

Vanessa had spent her days being punched, kicked, and violated. The nobles had continued their unending cruelty, and Vanessa’s heart had eventually shattered. The light of will had faded from her eyes. She’d been reduced to a drooling, unresponsive doll. It was only then, when she’d become a broken toy, that the nobles had discarded her and returned her to Chamberlain, as if to say they were done with her. They’d done it without so much as a hint of hesitance or regret. To them, they were just casting aside raw garbage.

Performing an otherworld summoning required a great deal of resources, and rich nobles like them didn’t have to use otherworlders. If they wanted to treat people like objects, they could have taken any person they wanted. Still, they had chosen her. But even an expensive toy was worthless after it had broken. That was how they had discarded her so easily.

As soon as Chamberlain had been summoned, they had placed an enslavement seal on him. He’d had no choice but to obey their orders. He had been forced to watch that terrible sight unfold. And the nobles had delighted in watching him suffer, forcing him to watch his beloved break beyond the point of return.

His lover had screamed and begged for help, and he could only watch. It wouldn’t take much to imagine how he must have felt. Any man, no matter how kind and upstanding he might have been, would have snapped under the weight of madness.

After he’d wrung his own beloved’s neck, so as to spare her from any more suffering, this once affluent businessman had crumbled away. From his husk hatched a hateful, sadistic demon who cursed anyone and everything in this world.

Someday, he would slay those nobles and murder their families. That was Chamberlain’s sole reason for being. And with this raison d’etre, he’d survived through countless hellish battles. He’d honed his body, mastered thaumaturgy, and sought greater power. But the seal of slavery deprived him of that dream. At least, it had until the day the Organization saved him.

Yes. More. More! Trample over each other! Get angry, hate, let those grudges grow and ferment until their very weight crushes you!

Up until now, the commoners had put up with the nobles’ terrible taxation. The nobles had thaumaturgy on their side and could exercise their violence. But even that had its limits. Just like how building materials had a limit to their durability, anything could break if enough pressure was applied to it.

If you really wanted to reform the country, you should have completely cut off the nobles’ faction as soon as you settled the civil war, Your Most Exalted Majesty.

Chamberlain sneered. To him, Lupis Rhoadserians was nothing more than an idealistic, ignorant girl. She’d received the highest education this world had to offer, and she burned with idealism and loved the people. Her reign should have produced the finest regime in this world. But her lack of resolve and naivete ruined everything she could have built up.

When Queen Lupis chose not to purge Viscount Gelhart and instead let him walk away with only a fine and a relocation of territory, it gave the nobles the impression that even if they rebelled, they would not be killed. Because of that, they scoffed at the policies she tried to promote, which would have improved the commoners’ lives all the more.

The nobles that clung to the Kingdom of Rhoadseria like a tumor believed that Lupis Rhoadserians was a naive, weak woman. That wasn’t to say that inciting terror was the best way to reign over a country. Terror only sowed seeds of doubt and rebellion. But being feared was preferable to being slighted. A ruler must have a moderated attitude and the decisiveness to shed blood when needed. To gain something, one must make sacrifices. This was where Queen Lupis had failed, and the result was on full display now.

Queen Lupis. Your indecisive, half-baked responses made it that much easier to provoke the nobles.

Most nobles were fixated on their ideas of elitism. For many years, the former Duke Gelhart had held the country under his thumb, and the idea of loyalty to the royal family was growing obsolete. In modern terms, it was as if a company’s acting director, who’d had de facto run of the company so far, lost all his management power to the old president’s young, inexperienced child. In that situation, no matter how much Queen Lupis tried to do the right thing, the nobles would never follow her orders.

There were real reasons to use this kind of brutality, but very few people would actually enforce this much violence on their own territory. A county’s government relied directly on its tax revenue; a well-governed county produced a steady stream of income. True, one could apply pressure on the commoners to temporarily extort them for more taxes. But one could only do it once, twice, or maybe thrice. Eventually, their earnings would progressively decrease with each taxation. And then public order would worsen, and the hearts of their people would decay.

This left only two outcomes. Either the kingdom of Rhoadseria would have to crush those nobles, or the commoners would rebel and overthrow the kingdom. Most nobles knew this, but the grand majority of them looked down on the commoners, believing that they could maintain their territories by gently balancing the quality of commoners’ lives. They wouldn’t let them live properly, but they also wouldn’t allow them to die.

But what if one were to mix in the nobles’ disdain for Queen Lupis and her attempts to reform the country? That disdain and their own elitism would mix in the nobles’ hearts like a poison, preventing them from properly judging the situation.

On top of that, this territory is under the royal house’s jurisdiction. And the noble they picked to be their magistrate might be good at his job, but he’s a terrible human being. Thanks to that, everything went swimmingly. It’s a good thing I told Gelhart to use this man for the job.

Chamberlain sneered under his helmet as he gazed at the magistrate. This low-ranking noble was a cowardly bastard who only cared for his own self-preservation. Using the conversation skills he’d developed on Rearth, Chamberlain had curried favor with him. And once Chamberlain had gotten on the magistrate’s good side, he continually dripped poison into the magistrate’s mind.

At this rate, it’ll only take a few more months. I’ll have to make a few adjustments before that, though. Now, let’s finish things for today. Though I’d like to watch this a little longer...

Chamberlain glanced at the villager crawling pathetically on the ground, then walked up to the magistrate and whispered into his ear.

The Organization had decided to sow discontent in Rhoadseria’s people to induce a rebellion, but that required multiple preparations. One couldn’t recklessly whip up a rebellion. The Organization needed the right timing to reap the utmost profit. And Chamberlain hadn’t been given the final orders to execute the plan yet. He couldn’t afford to push the villagers too far and have the rebellion start now.

“My lord, I think these people are already quite afraid of you. Let’s leave it at that for today and withdraw.”

The magistrate looked at Chamberlain quizzically, his eyes intoxicated with violence and greed. “Why? If we threaten them a little longer, they’ll cough up the coin.” For all he was concerned, the first order of business was figuring out how much of that coin he’d be able to pocket for himself.

“I understand, my lord, that if you constrict him a little harder, he would likely pay. And if he won’t, you’ll be able to sell his family to the slavers. But take this too far, and it could incite a rebellion. Plus, it would impact your career negatively. You should relent now. Make them grateful for it. It would benefit you later down the line, my lord.”

The magistrate’s heart wavered between greed and self-preservation. His greed craved more money, but he didn’t want to drag his own name through the mud to do it. Chamberlain knew this, and therefore he could easily control the magistrate.

After silently weighing his options for a few moments, the magistrate nodded bitterly. “Hm... Well, if you insist. Very well. Showing the commoners mercy from time to time isn’t a bad idea. We will retreat for today.”

Idiot, Chamberlain thought, scoffing at him. As if they’d feel thankful to you after you oppressed them this long.

That kind of facade would only work once. He’d already repeatedly extorted from them, so even if he retreated now, it was clear it wouldn’t be long until he came to torment them again. This was especially true since the magistrate had just stressed that they would be branded traitors. Letting up a little at this point wouldn’t change the end conclusion. Quit the opposite, in fact; the man would either take his family and flee the village or begin preparations for a rebellion.

And I don’t care which way this falls.

If the man were to flee, the magistrate would simply levy the tax from the other villagers. If they decided to revolt, that would be fine in its own way.

“Thank you kindly, my lord,” Chamberlain said, bowing his head to the magistrate while mocking him in his heart. “I’m sure your mercy will—”

Just then, something happened. The sound of something whizzing through the wind reached Chamberlain’s ears. The next moment, two arrows pierced the magistrate’s brain.

“My lord! My lord!”

“Protect the lord!”

As the magistrate toppled to the ground, the knights hurried over to him.

“Form a circular formation! Hurry! This is a revolt! A rebellion!”

Out of all of them, Chamberlain alone remained collected. He no longer had a shred of human emotion left in him anyway. The most he could do was pretend, if the need called for it.

He didn’t have the leisure to pretend now, though. He pressed a hand to the magistrate’s neck, feeling for his pulse, and then clicked his tongue bitterly.

Dammit! It killed him on the spot.

This magistrate was an expendable pawn, but Chamberlain needed him to die in the right place at the right time. His dying now meant that the Organization would need to greatly revise its plan.

The problem is, who killed him, and why?

He pulled one of the arrows out of the magistrate’s forehead. It was a standard mass-produced arrow, the kind one could buy anywhere. But there was a black, viscous liquid on the arrowhead. Chamberlain smeared a bit of it on his fingertip and brought it to his lips. He licked it gently with his tongue, and tasting acid, spat it out at once.

Poison. This is an issue.

He couldn’t recognize what kind of poison it was, but based on how it had stimulated his tongue, it was definitely some kind of herbal toxin—and a powerful one at that.

Whoever concocted this poison couldn’t have been a commoner. Who was it, then?

The arrows had definitely whizzed in from the other side of the wall formed by the villagers. Based on the angle with which the arrows had hit the magistrate’s head, the direction they’d come from was certain. That just left the question of who did it.

Normally, one might assume a villager shot the magistrate because of disgruntlement or a grudge. He did torment them to no end, so someone could have lost patience and decided to kill him. But the fact that the arrows had been coated with poison meant it was unlikely a villager had done it.

The scene erupted into chaos. The knights formed a wall, holding up their shields as they surrounded the magistrate. Chamberlain tried to grasp the situation from behind their cover, but something suddenly disrupted his thoughts.

One of his fellow knights had grabbed him by the shoulder. “Hey, Chamberlain, what do we do?! Something’s happening!” the knight cried, his fingers shivering with fear.

“What’s gotten into you? Quiet down...” Chamberlain said, looking up.

But then he saw it. The villagers were in a frenzy. Men, women, children, and the elderly all regarded the knights with murderous intent. They had probably already resolved to rebel. At some point, they’d all picked up spades and hoes.

“I see. I don’t know who’s behind this, but this was their plan,” Chamberlain whispered to himself, sighing.

The magistrate had died from an arrow, and that arrow had been shot in this village. As stupid as the villagers might be, they knew no one would believe they weren’t involved with his murder. The dead magistrate’s subordinates would conclude the villagers were at fault. It wouldn’t matter who specifically did it; the entire village would be seen as responsible. Their de facto leader, the former peddler, would be put to death, and his family would be sold into slavery under the pretense of paying settlements to the victim’s family. Even if the villagers were dissatisfied with this, their complaints to the kingdom wouldn’t be heard.

After all, if they were to appeal to court in the capital, the judge would be a noble. Aristocratic society was governed by connections. A noble judge wouldn’t pay any attention to commoners’ complaints. If they were to press charges, the result would be set in stone before the trial even took place.

The villagers knew they had no out. They would be driven into a corner with no escape. Yet their hatred for the magistrate still burned hot. Right now, the villagers lacked any semblance of composure. They were beset by madness and fervor.

The knights formed a circular formation as the villagers closed in on them, little by little. The villagers were out for blood—including Chamberlain’s.

“There’s six of us, including me. And there’s over a hundred villagers. We can’t hold them back...” Chamberlain muttered to himself.

Knights who’d mastered martial thaumaturgy were said to match ten normal soldiers. But that assumed that the knights were in prime physical and mental condition. These knights were a far cry from that. Their own countrymen eyed them with bloodlust.

Worse yet, some of these knights were originally commoners. They’d done as they were ordered, and had put up with the atrocities the magistrate wrought, but in their hearts they pitied and sympathized with the villagers. They couldn’t regard them as enemies in the same sense they usually would.

To top it all off, the villagers were like cornered rats. They knew they’d die either way, so they had chosen to at least take the knights down with them. They were, in many ways, the most feared type of opponents.

I have to find some way to get out of here.

For the Organization, whether the rebellion started when they wished it or during an unexpected event made all the difference. Chamberlain lacked the authority to decide that now was the right time. He had to report this to the Organization and defer to their judgment.

“We’ve got no choice,” Chamberlain whispered to the other knights. “We have to break out of here, even if it means making some sacrifices along the way. If you want to survive, follow me.”

“Are you serious?!” one of the other knights asked.

Chamberlain replied by drawing the sword at his waist. They may have been knights capable of thaumaturgy, but there were only six of them. The commoners could easily flank six isolated knights; they’d tear the knights apart like a swarm of angry ants. Six people would be enough to guard one man, but this time those numbers weren’t in their favor.

This isn’t a coincidence. Someone picked this timing to ignite this powder keg and start a rebellion. And what happened here will spread to the other villages in no time. This is bad!

Rhoadseria was already festering with discontent and animosity toward the nobles. Once the flame of revolt was ignited, there would be no way of putting it out.

There’s no way we can suppress the rebellion now. It’ll start before we need it to. Far be it from me to say how this’ll influence the Organization’s plans...but I’ve got no choice. I have to contact the Organization and think of our next step.

Chamberlain was resolved. He had decided his course of action. He activated his chakras in an attempt to break out of this deadlock...

♱

That day, a group of villagers rose up in rebellion in one small corner of Rhoadseria. That small rebellion was nipped in the bud, but the fires of revolt quickly spread across the country, feeding on the anxiety and discontent that festered in the land.

This was the start of the second Rhoadserian civil war—an event that the history books would later call the trigger that led to the Kingdom of Rhoadseria’s downfall.