2 (7)

‘The only things I can trust in Proia are myself and the Civilization System.’

Inside Proia, the power-holders saw one another as enemies, and so did the domain’s people. To develop, they needed unity and cooperation, but with complicated, knotted conflicts, that was hard. In truth, Louis alone wanted the city to grow, yet he had the least power. In such a climate, Louis’s actions could be called meaningful.

Max stared, dumbfounded, at the plundered grain warehouse. It had been cleared out cleanly. Young Lord Louis had taken it.

‘Damn it… that bastard.’

Max ground his teeth. He had helped to “make it work,” only to be made a fool of. True, he had lorded it over Louis when he spoke to him… but this—this was too much.

‘Is he picking a fight? And why did Dekal agree to this?’

It was obvious the two had been getting along lately… and Max disliked both Dekal and Louis.

They had joined hands.

“So where is the grain now?”

“The gover—”

“Call him Young Lord Louis in front of me.”

“…Yes. Young Lord Louis went to the slums. I assume he distributed it there…”

Max kicked his attendant in the gut without hesitation.

“You just watched that happen?”

After hacking for a while, the attendant barely managed to speak.

“…But Lord Dekal’s soldiers were firm. They sided with Young Lord Louis.”

Soldiers were not blind to the times. They might serve as the blades and spears of the powerful, but their hearts usually stood with the people.

‘But how did he know there was grain left? A traitor? Or else… Dekal?’

Louis was reading the city’s currents through the Civilization System— which Max, ignorant of its existence, could not possibly know. Max looked up at the sky. Clear and blazing, dotted with clouds.

“Damn… you’re better than I thought, Young Lord Louis. They say you beat Count Hansen—you’re no ordinary man.”

Meanwhile, Dekal watched the irate Max from the terrace, a smile on his face. The man who always pretended to be cool-headed was flustered, and it was comical. Before Louis arrived, Dekal and Max had been evenly matched. Dekal only held the military; he knew little of administrative procedures, so even minor disputes had given him splitting headaches at Max’s hands. And now Louis had smacked that difficult fellow down in a matter of days.

Dekal had not expected Louis to raid Max’s warehouse. The official reason for borrowing troops had been safety during inspection—but this was the real use.

‘He asked if he could use them “in an interesting way,” and I agreed—who knew he’d use them like this? Hah.’

There was mockery mixed in, too—Louis had acted without a contingency. Dekal’s and Max’s reactions were extreme even compared to other city power-brokers. They hardly seemed like men running the same city. That was Proia’s present state.

‘Still… well done, Louis. You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you.’

Even so, his view of the Colosseum was negative. What Louis intended was clownish. A bookish dreamer still wandering in fantasies—that was Dekal’s assessment of Louis.

Even if he aided Louis now, he had no intention of yielding initiative to him. Like a man indulging a child’s antics, Dekal simply watched at his leisure…

For a lord, the popularity of the ruled was crucial. Of ten lords, seven had no popularity at all. If they were not hated, that was lucky. Between manager and managed yawned a chasm impossible to truly bridge—and in Louis’s era, the Warring States, that gulf was at its widest.

In a sense, this was Louis’s first proper attempt at governance. He had suffered enough failures and held tools to address them. It was good to harbor a benevolent wish to develop the city—but results mattered more.

In that sense, what Louis did stirred winds of change. Rumors spread: Young Lord Louis had recovered from illness; his absence had been mere sickness. The brief sight he had shown the paupers was shockingly different from the tales they knew, and the ensuing ration distribution made them see Louis as a savior with real solutions.

Of course, the “illness” was just a baseless rumor. Fortunately, it spread in a favorable way. For the slum clearances, Louis should have earned infamy—but his reputation flipped instead. At least among the poor.

More points flowed in. Adding the miscellaneous gains, Louis now had 50 points remaining—still not enough to unlock even one trait.

On the info panel, a hammer appeared over the slum district—Production. One hammer. The green dots marking food in the slums had all been dark, but after yesterday’s distribution, two zones now lit up. On average, citywide Unhappiness had not dropped even by 1, but Unhappiness in the slums had eased somewhat. At the very least, the Colosseum’s bare frame would not be attacked by paupers. A little color returned to Louis’s face.

‘If I want to open the Colosseum at once, I need the prisoners managed starting now.’

Men standing on the border of death needed motivation. Louis knew they would be desperate. Only recently he himself had walked the line between life and death. For now, he focused on two goals: the Colosseum’s first opening, and doubling rations by next week. Both were linked to quests. If rewards were good, he might unlock one more trait.

‘How do I motivate the condemned at minimal cost?’

Women? Money? Simple… survival? How to make them swing their blades willingly…? The night was long. Louis fell deep into thought.

A Colosseum required maintenance costs—most of which went to the gladiators who fought there. Proia’s finances were frozen; buying slaves from the slave market was very difficult. He would have to solve it internally. Louis chose to do so with the condemned.

The number of barbarians Dekal had captured was 102. Split into one-on-one matches, he could run events daily for roughly a fortnight. Additionally, the worst murderers and rapists from within the city could be sent here. The more distressed a city became, the simpler the law grew. It was not complicated—cross a certain line, and the sentence was death. Louis had come in person for that reason.

“Soldier. Cease immediately.”

“It’s… the governor’s order. All suspend at once.”

Max had moved—to have everyone on the execution list put to death. Louis had no intention of standing by; as soon as he was informed, he came directly—to stop the executions. Forty to fifty people were tied to posts, faces hooded. The hoods prevented them from sensing the fatal moment. Soldiers stood before them with bows, bowstrings drawn taut—one by one, they relaxed their draw and turned to face Louis.

From beneath the cloth, Louis heard the ragged breaths of living beings. What was this moment to them? Had he been even a minute late, those arrows would have pierced the prisoners’ throats.

‘To them, am I an angel—or a devil?’

Probably closer to a devil: one who offered a sweet chance. Except for one or two, they would still die. His cheek, swollen from the thrown stone, throbbed faintly.

“What brings you here?”

“The condemned are slaves for the Colosseum opening this week.”

“The Colosseum… I have never heard of it. What is it? Sparing the condemned violates the duchy’s law.”

“Ah, get the details from Boromir. Soldier, by the governor’s authority, I am placing this site under full control now.”

“Ad… administratively… it’s already been approved.”

“Your view no longer has force. Soldiers, the governor commands you: back to positions. Gather the condemned at the designated holding area.”

After a brief hesitation, the soldiers began to move. Such was the importance of a lord’s charisma. As the flustered supervisor listened, Boromir began to explain the Colosseum.

Mounted, Louis directed the men where to take the prisoners. He would gather them—and give them motivation.