Such a Tax Collector

They weren't exactly enthusiastic, but they were generally polite. However, their expressions changed instantly when the topic of Catastrophe came up.

Even the person in charge of this household...

"Oh," the middle-aged man from Elafia replied casually, his eyes vacant, then said, "Excuse me."

A young Elafia child glared at the three of them, and said fiercely in a childish voice, "Our land is worthless! Get out! Get out!"

He hasn't gone through puberty yet, but he should be a boy.

An old woman with a forced smile covered the boy's mouth and chuckled, "The child was just joking. Our village still welcomes Catastrophe Messenger."

Yato interjected, "But you don't welcome informants?"

"... You're all welcome, you're all welcome."

This is a lie.

Tsukino took over the conversation. "Water seems to be a big problem if we're farming here."

"Yes..." the old woman said helplessly, "The climate here is different from most parts of Leithanien."

The middle-aged man, seemingly on his way to work, scoffed as he passed by, "If it's the same thing, then what are we doing here?"

Tsukino narrowed her eyes. "I guess you've stopped growing wheat?"

The old woman sighed and said, "Come in, the sun is blazing outside."

The exterior buildings have gradually deviated from their native appearance, but the interior still retains a distinct Leithanien style. The old woman moved her flute off the table and busily used Originium Arts to heat up a pot of tea for the three of them.

Please.

As if to dispel any doubts, the old woman said, "The problem here isn't a lack of water, it's that water can't be stored."

"If we can store water, then we can still afford to drink tea."

Lungmen's export porcelain... Indeed, Lungmen and Jade Gate are very skilled at this kind of dryland farming.

Just as Tsukino was about to use this opportunity to ease the tension, the old woman said, "Don't beat around the bush."

"We hate Catastrophe Messenger some of them have done bad things for our lord." She spoke vaguely.

"Then why don't you hate your lord?!" Yan played the role of the naive young man, leaving the role of the understanding one to the imperial prince.

The old woman frowned, her face etched with the lines of time, and said angrily, "So! We've come here to hide!"

Tsukino looked at Yan's eyes, nodded, and then scolded, "Yan! This is outrageous!"

Then, she gracefully apologized, "I'm very sorry, our family's banquet was rather impolite. To express our apology, perhaps..."

Ten minutes later.

"So, this net only needs to be collected once a day in the morning?" The old woman asked incredulously, "It's practically like 'growing water'."

"Just like you said, Grandma, we don't actually lack water here, we just lack ways to retain it."

Tsukino explained, "This wilderness isn't quite a desert yet; it has relatively abundant water. However, the temperature difference between day and night is quite extreme. Under these circumstances, even without visible fog, there's a lot of moisture in the air..."

"I don't understand," the old woman interrupted Tsukino, saying, "Anyway, you just need to come and collect the water once every morning, right?"

"It needs to be filtered and sterilized before it's safe to drink!" Yan Cou joked.

"Of course I know that!" the old woman scolded the annoying boy. "Do you really think I'm stupid?!"

Then, she grasped Tsukino's hand and said with a smile, "I see... you're not a local either?"

Tsukino replied, "Yes, I am the 'Disaster Patrol' of the East Country."

She deliberately pronounced the word in East Country).

The old woman said with satisfaction, "Yes, it's that 'Disaster Patrol,' not Catastrophe Messenger."

Chapter 280 Such a Tax Collector

"You've really put me on the lookout!" the Elafia tax collector snarled at the villagers. "Brainless idiots! So far from the shipping lanes! You deserve to be stuck here eating sand!"

The gray-haired village chief Lupo, bowed and smiled apologetically, "During the last Catastrophe, we couldn't evacuate in time and lost too much stuff."

The infected villages found by the Rim Billiton group were relatively closer to the shipping lanes, making trade with other Mobile City more convenient. In contrast, the dryland villages found by the East Country group were deeper into the wilderness, making them difficult to find by either Catastrophe Messenger or tax collectors.

The current village of Lupo lies somewhere in between.

The tax collector frowned. "What does that have to do with you being here?"

"The infected person was located in a more remote area, where the most supplies were left behind, so we secured a good spot first."

But what the village chief is thinking about now is the village that took away his dry land.

That would be wonderful!

Stay far away from these [rough] noble lords!

"Those damned infected? They're covered in these things! And they still can't use many spells!" The tax collector said with disgust, "I'm not going to that godforsaken place! I don't want to get infected!"

Just as the village chief was beginning to feel a little envious, the tax collector used his power to give him a big job.

"Your village, pay their share too!"

"Ah!?" Lupo was now flustered; the wrinkles on his face almost knitted together as he anxiously exclaimed, "How can we possibly afford to pay that!?"

The villagers watching also looked troubled, and even the guards who came with the tax collectors exchanged bewildered glances.

The village chief spoke quickly and urgently, "All the seeds have been sown! There's nothing left except for our own food!"

The tax collector was puzzled, unsure whether the tax collector was genuinely stupid or feigning it.

He opened the documents in his hand and verified them. "My lord is kind-hearted and exempted you from last year's taxes, so how come you can't even pay two-thirds of the taxes you paid last year?"

Old Lupo almost cursed aloud. He gritted his teeth and explained with difficulty, "Sir, we used to be one village, now we are three villages, and the manpower is different..."

"It's none of my business!" The tax collector impatiently took back the booklet and tucked it under his arm. "I've already shown you great mercy by not making you pay the rest too!"

"Old man! Where do you live? I'll be staying there tonight!" The tax collector then said to the guards, "What are you standing there for! Get on my heels!"

Old Lupo's breathing was almost like a bellows, but he still managed to steady himself. "Sir... this way... this way... please!"

When the tax collector saw the boy in old Lupo's house, his disappointment was almost undisguised.

"Tsk! Where did your daughter go? How come there's only one little brat left?"

"She's infected!" the village chief finally couldn't hold back any longer.

Glancing at little Lupo's torso, the tax collector said disappointedly, "Never mind... they all smell the same anyway."

"You all make your own place for the night. I have some things to discuss with the village chief!"

After a while, only the village chief and the tax collector remained in the room.

The tax collector scanned the area for a long time and found that there really wasn't a single musical instrument. He curled his lip in disapproval.

Lupo is Lupo!

He said casually, "Old man... if you don't want to go to the infected's side, I don't want to go either."

The tax collector hinted, "With so many people eating, drinking, and relieving themselves, it's quite a lot. If I go again... wouldn't that mean I'd have to spend even more money?"

It turns out that his ugly face was not only a genuine expression of his feelings, but also a means of soliciting bribes.

"We really have nothing left!" The village chief wasn't unaware of this, but the Catastrophe had already devastated the small village, which had been divided into three parts, and it could no longer withstand any further exploitation.

"How can you say there's nothing left?" the tax collector said viciously. "You still have your lives, don't you?"

He said in a affected manner, "The tower needs some manpower—manpower that grows out of stone."

"..." Old Lupo swallowed.

The pale hand of the Elafia tax collector emerged from his lace-trimmed sleeve.

He showed his palm, a palm with calluses only on his fingers.

"Tell me, is it a pity that my hands are stained with blood?"

"... pity."

"What a waste!" The tax collector immediately slapped the village chief. "I'm just a glove. If I don't get my hands dirty, who will?"

"Do you understand!?"

Old Lupo's fist clenched so tightly that a few drops of blood appeared, then he asked, slowly and deliberately, "How much?"

"Besides your daughter, how many other people do you have over there?"

The room was deathly silent.

"... That's all."

"Then that's it."

The village chief shakily closed the door. He leaned against the window, remaining silent for a long time before letting out a long sigh, "Hmph..."

Outside the window, the grayish-brown vegetation, under the bright moonlight, surprisingly appeared to have the same pure white sheen.

GreyThroat huddled alone in the back seat, head bowed. Meanwhile, Scavenger in the passenger seat rested half his elbow on the window, gazing indifferently at the vegetation under the moonlight.

The usually cheerful Provence woman's expression was far more somber than the other two.

When everyone is quiet and reserved, there will always be someone who suddenly realizes that they should take on the responsibility of livening up the atmosphere.

"Miss Provence, were you infected after becoming Catastrophe Messenger, or before?" GreyThroat asked.

Very well, this is another person who knows how to bring up the most sensitive topics.

"Should we tell her?" the Scavenger asked.

"I still need to drive, you can drive."

Unlike most other field operators, Scavenger belongs to a separate organization called "SWEEP," which stands for "Special Elimination Protocol."