Chapter 66. The Ruffians

Ian and the mansion's servants moved all the Gula seeds they had collected to the square. What had been only four bags had now grown to well over a hundred.

The seedlings grown for research were also carefully wrapped in paper and loaded onto carts, requiring several trips to transport them all.

"Goodness, how much is there?"

"We scoured all the nearby mountains and fields to gather this much."

"Are you giving all this away for free?"

When Ian gestured for them to line up, everyone moved to form a somewhat orderly queue. Beside him, one of Romandor's subordinates was shuffling through documents. Distributing the Gula would take quite some time.

"Listen carefully. The Gula seeds will be distributed based on the size of the fields you cultivate. Households with more family members will receive additional seedlings. I hope you will actively share cultivation and cooking methods to reduce the workload of the mansion."

"They're giving out seedlings too!"

"Shh, be quiet. I can't hear."

"Can't hear from the back!"

Ian raised a finger and shouted.

"We are giving out the Gula for free now, but next year, during the harvest season, we will collect an additional 10% tax. Additionally, any trade of Gula with outsiders must go through the mansion. If this rule is violated, a fine of 50 gold coins will be imposed."

"5, 50 gold coins?"

"Heavens, that's a shock. Really."

For an average tenant farmer, earning 1 gold coin a month was the norm. The unexpectedly harsh penalty caused a moment of shock, but upon reflection, it didn't seem to be a major issue.

"What about trading among ourselves?"

"That's fine. The important thing is outsiders. You cannot sell seeds or even a single root to outsiders."

"Is that okay, then?"

"Yeah, outsiders are just the desert tribes and who else? It's hard to find anyone besides Merelop."

"Right. No, it's fine! It's fine!"

"You owe me, don't you? Pay me back a little with Gula."

Ian raised his voice even louder to continue the announcement.

"Furthermore, if you report any violators, you will receive a reward. If anyone is dissatisfied with the additional tax, you don't have to receive the Gula."

"How much is 10%?"

"For ten bags of wheat, it's one extra bag."

"What about sixty bags?"

"...Five bags. Those who can't calculate should ask the staff."

Everyone worriedly counted on their fingers, calculating the increased taxes they would have to pay next year. But to survive and make it to next year, they needed to eat now. As the Gula distribution began, the man at the front of the line stepped forward.

"Aolden Farma."

"Ah, you're in charge of the farmland by the river."

"How much will I get?"

"Here, five baskets."

Though only five baskets, considering the reproductive capacity, it was a sufficient amount. As those who arrived later fidgeted and moved forward, Ian gestured for them to step back.

"If anyone doesn't receive Gula, don't worry too much. There will be a second distribution."

Since external trade was prohibited, the crops would eventually return to the mansion. It was only a matter of time before all the residents of Brats would cultivate Gula.

"Next!"

While helping with the distribution, Beric whispered from behind.

"Ian, we need to go to the mansion for a moment. One of the captives has regained consciousness."

"...I'll be right there."

Ian nodded to Romandor's subordinates to continue and left the square. The mansion, now empty of people, seemed much quieter and emptier than usual.

Tap tap!

"Have you arrived?"

"The remaining one has regained consciousness. What about Petreio?"

The doctor, drenched in sweat, wiped his face with the back of his hand and sighed. He had never seen a patient in such a terrible state before; it was truly...

"There's no hope. At most, he has until today."

"...That one."

Beric glanced at Petreio through the door crack. The man, reduced to a bloody mess, was barely breathing. The fact that he hadn't revealed anything even in this state suggested he wouldn't speak even in death.

Swoosh.

"Any consciousness from the others?"

"Crystal clear. As soon as he woke up, he started crying and begging..."

He begged for his life with such fervor that if someone didn't know better, they might think Ian and Beric had been the ones kidnapped.

As Ian entered the room, the man eating barley porridge stopped.

"Ah..."

"It's Ian. Surprised to see me in the daytime?"

"Please, save me! Save me!"

Thud!

The bowl of barley porridge flew across the room, and the man immediately bowed his head and begged. He was sobbing and convulsing. Ian sighed and asked.

"Name?"

"C, Colin."

"Keep talking."

Ian sat down and nodded. The man wiped the barley porridge from his mouth and cleared his throat.

"W, well, my name is Colin. I'm twenty, I have two older brothers and three younger ones."

"...You're rambling. I'm not interested in that."

"Hey, do you want your head split open with the barley porridge bowl?"

"Y-yikes!"

Beric's threatening tone made the man rub his hands together nervously.

"So, I'm a messenger for the gambling den. I overheard the guards talking. Someone was offering a large sum of money to hire mercenaries."

"Where are you from?"

"I, I'm from Merelop..."

I knew it. If they were looking for people nearby, there was no other place to go. Ian's smile made Beric kick the man's shin hard.

Smack!

"Aaah!"

"So? Who was this person?"

"I, I don't know! Why would we need to know each other? As long as they pay and we do the job, that's it. I never even met them. I just took the money from the guards."

Beric glanced at Ian.

"What should we do? Kill him?"

"Please, save me! Save me! I'll do whatever you say! Aaaah!"

"Wow. You're screaming before we even touch you."

Beric kicked the man, who was clinging to Ian's feet, away. From his behavior, it didn't seem like he would kill himself to keep quiet. Ian tapped his fingers, thinking.

'Merelop...'

"Ian?"

"Lock this one up. And is anyone else outside?"

"What? Sir Ian, there is. What should I do?"

"I will send a letter to Merelop. Prepare a horse."

Ian gave instructions to the servant as he came out. He then went to the reception room and knocked on the door. Romandor, who was writing a report inside, was startled and greeted him.

"What is it? Did Petreio die?"

"No. He's still breathing. One of the captives has regained consciousness and revealed he's from Merelop. Most of them are likely from there. They worked as guards at the gambling den. I want to write a letter. Can you help?"

Romandor put down his pen and tried to gauge Ian's intentions. Why was he asking for help with something as simple as writing a letter? He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you trying to create a pretext?"

"That could be one way to look at it."

"Ha. Indeed."

Ian sat across from him, and Romandor handed him the report he was writing. It was a recommendation for the appointment of a lord, filled with praise for the discovery of Gula, the alliance with the desert, and the reconstruction of the estate.

"Do you like it?"

"I hope it pleases Lord Marib and His Majesty. Just in case, put one of Mollin's belongings in the envelope. Do you have a ring?"

"Yes. What should we write to Merelop?"

He took out a new sheet of paper and dipped his pen in ink.

"'The one I recommended as the next lord, Ian, was attacked' would be a good start."

The reason Romandor, a palace advisor, was writing this instead of Ian was precisely this. Given Ian's current low status, any claims he made might be ignored.

However, mentioning 'the next lord' and the fact that an advisor wrote the letter due to his injuries would make it difficult for Merelop to dismiss the matter.

"The attackers are from Merelop. One of the captives has survived and confessed. I believe this is a matter that could easily lead to mutual misunderstanding."

Swoosh swoosh.

If Ian were the lord...

He could have immediately raised an army, but the reality was different, so he had to rely on Romandor's authority. Merelop might brazenly claim that their citizens were killed, but given the situation, they couldn't ignore this.

The Count of Merelop might very well do that.

"We demand that you send someone to verify and hand over the bodies, and we request your active cooperation in the investigation."

"Good. The ink flows well, and it looks nice."

"We should also add a condolence payment."

Romandor scratched his nose with his pen at Ian's suggestion.

"How much? 100 gold coins should be appropriate?"

"Reasonable, but since we're doing it, we might as well offer more. We don't intend to receive it anyway."

The same person who had refused to trade food for humanitarian reasons would likely haggle down from 200 gold coins to 20.

"Let's see, hmm..."

Romandor thought for a moment and finished the