Pacification

Wherever his gaze swept, everyone lowered their heads in unspoken unison.

Yet not a single person stepped back.

They stood as stubbornly as blocks of stone.

"Lord, you took back all the land and broke every agreement from before... We do not know how we are supposed to survive. You should know that farmers cannot live without land, just as you and your knights cannot live without white bread."

Romain was equally unyielding. "From now on, you will not need to pay land taxes. You will have food and clothes without worry, because I have plenty of ways to feed you. You need only obey me! That is the only thing you have to do!"

The old farmer shook his head. "I cannot believe what you are saying. How can you feed all of us with those two thousand mu of land?"

Romain frowned. "If I promise you that no resident will starve this year, next year, or until the very last day of my rule, you still would not believe me?"

The old farmer standing at the very front of the crowd considered the matter again and again.

In the end, he nodded. "Yes."

Romain shouted harshly, "You are questioning me! You are destroying yourself! Now get out. I pardon your disrespect."

"We cannot leave! We know how much one mu of land can produce, and we know how much two thousand mu can produce. Lord, you had the blacksmiths make Heavy Plows, but how effective they will truly be remains unknown. Those heavy plows cannot create miracles of the gods. Compared to that, we trust our own hands more. With our own hands, we can feed you and feed everyone here—if only you would show mercy and leave us a way to live."

"Do you think I intend to starve you?"

"No, Lord, you certainly do not intend to starve us. You are willing to give us wheat porridge and bread. Just one meal like the one at noon is enough that we need not eat again for the rest of the day. That alone proves your kindness. You even work the fields yourself, and your skill at plowing is better than any of ours. Those slaves also said they had never seen a lord like you... But the total amount of food is limited. Sooner or later, we will be reduced to chewing bark and eating dirt."

The old farmer continued, "If all the food is eaten, you can leave this land whenever you wish. But can all of us leave as you do?"

They had no choice. Losing the harvest of a single season meant going hungry for half a year.

That span of time was enough to drive anyone to despair.

Even Agricultural Officer Mol could not possibly lend food to everyone.

Two thousand mu of land, producing enough food for two thousand people?

It was pure fantasy!

Those lands alone could not support them.

This lord, who gave them wheat porridge and had not set a clear tax, had only promised to distribute food to them after the summer harvest.

That meant they might very well receive nothing at all.

That was far more terrifying than a sixty percent tax!

Romain's expression turned cold and hard. "So you refuse to obey?"

The old farmer said, "Lord, all we ask for is land. You cannot trap us on those two thousand mu."

"Even if I say that this land is enough to ensure that none of you starves?"

The old farmer shook his head. "That is like saying we will never have to worry about food again. I cannot imagine such a thing. The reason I oppose your decision is because your promise is too unreal."

Romain said, "Very well. Those who oppose me, step forward."

The old farmer fell silent for a second, then took a step forward.

The others moved as well, stepping forward one after another.

More people did not move. With two knights standing behind the lord, they merely watched, secretly praying that he would compromise.

But Romain would not compromise.

He knew that changing the traditional mode of production would meet resistance.

And he had long since prepared himself for it.

Romain drew the greatsword mixed with mountain copper from Green's side and spun the double-handed sword, which weighed more than ten jin, in one hand.

The blade's cold gleam reflected more than a dozen deeply lined old faces.

They were very old, perhaps in their forties or fifties, and were far more sensitive to matters of land than anyone else.

They would accept no change, because they feared that Romain's actions would lead them into a dead end. That was why they had rallied the people to beg Romain to divide the land.

That two thousand mu could support everyone was an extremely unlikely possibility.

That it could not support everyone was overwhelmingly likely.

The old farmer opposed it because, to him, this was not a matter of probability at all, but of miracles.

So as long as he lived, he would stop Romain and demand that he divide the land among them—even if the price of that demand was their lives.

Stubborn? Ignorant?

One could only say that this was a choice made by a few. They believed themselves to be doing what was right, seeing their actions as speaking for the people. Perhaps they even clung to the fantasy that if one person stepped forward, countless others would follow, rising up against an oppressive lord.

But this simple-minded understanding only struck Romain as laughable.

Ignorance had blinded them, and no one could be blamed for that.

The tragedy of the times!

There was no persuading them.

This clash of beliefs could not be eased with words.

Imprisoning them would be useless as well.

This unrest had been quelled, but as long as these people remained, in ten days or half a month, once the other fools were stirred up by them again, it would only delay even more work.

Romain looked at him coldly.

The old farmer's body trembled. A lifetime of reading people's expressions had made him fully aware of what would happen next.

Yet before Romain, he still forced himself to straighten the back that had been bent for his entire life.

Squelch!

Romain raised his greatsword and pierced his chest. It took almost no effort; scarlet blood streamed down the blade.

Then, one sword stroke at a time, Romain slaughtered everyone who had dared to defy him and step forward.

They offered no real resistance either, docile as old oxen, at most letting out cries of pain before they died.

Thirteen corpses lay bleeding across the land.

A dark-skinned young farmer squeezed out from the crowd. He held the first old farmer who had died in his arms, his face stricken with grief as he wept uncontrollably.

"What is your name?" Romain narrowed his eyes as he looked at the young man before him.

Choking back sobs, he said, "Barro. This is my father, Matthew."

Holding the corpse that was gradually losing its warmth, he remembered how he had tried to persuade his father. But the old man had been resolute, saying that someone had to stand up. Even if all that lay ahead was bloodshed, they had to make their voices heard so Lord could hear them.

Now he had succeeded, and the price was his life.

"Very well, Barro. My one-star apostle, I now promote you to Agricultural Steward. From now on, you will work with Agricultural Officer Mol to cultivate that land. In your father's place, you will go and see the future he never dared imagine in all his life."

"As long as you obey me, support me, revere me, and offer up your lives, as lowly as dust, for me, I will protect you forever. If this year, next year, or any year thereafter, until the final day of my rule, I let even one of you starve to death, then you may draw this sword and plunge it into my chest!"

Romain casually released his grip. The bloodstained greatsword dropped freely, impossibly heavy, its blade plunging into the grass like it could split anything in its path.