Outside Saint Freya’s room, in the long corridor.
It was extremely quiet here.
By the large floor‑to‑ceiling window, the short, fat second prince was talking with a man dressed in noble attire.
“Prince Zeweier, isn’t it a bit too hasty to be discussing things in a place like this…?”
Count Lai’en asked in a low voice.
“Ha ha ha ha, rest assured, Lai’en. There is no safer place in the entire royal capital than here.”
“This is my peaceful, indifferent sister’s room. No one comes around here. If you have anything to say, feel free to speak.”
“Say it loudly!”
The second prince, Zeweier, laughed heartily, his face stacked with fat jiggling.
Lai’en had only heard rumors that Princess Saint Freya seemed completely uninterested in royal power.
Seeing it today, he hadn’t expected that even the second prince, who was eyeing the throne covetously, would say so. It seemed Princess Saint Freya really wasn’t interested.
“Prince Zeweier, now the territories of several of us lords have reached the harvest season. At the same time, the number of commoners has drastically decreased, and there seems to be a risk of riots. How should we handle this?”
“Also, when will new commoners be allocated in?”
Lai’en began discussing business. He was the head of the lords under Prince Zeweier, and he reported the situations of the other lords as well.
“Don’t worry about the allocation. The countries around the kingdom have long been plagued by the demon race, so there are plenty of refugees. I’ll arrange them for you right away.”
“As for the riots?”
Zeweier smiled sinisterly.
“Kill them all, kill them all. Let those damned commoners know who the true master of this land is!”
Zeweier grew more excited as he spoke, his eyes wide as saucers, his body leaning slightly forward, his hands forming claws like a wild beast.
*
Tattle Town, an alley.
“They started with simple methods: finding reasons to raise prices.”
“Today bread goes up by one copper coin, tomorrow rent goes up by five copper coins.”
“Commoners work hard for a month, but the money they earn isn’t enough to buy food and pay rent.”
“If they get sick, they can’t even scrape together the money for a single herbal medicine.”
An ordinary black bread costs only two copper coins in the border, but ten copper coins in the inner ring, or even fifteen copper coins.
Buck gave a bitter smile.
“The nobles aren’t afraid of the commoners starving to death at all.”
“In their eyes, the closer commoners live to the inner ring, the more useless they are.”
“Because the inner ring doesn’t need so many people to farm and work. Too many people only become an eyesore.”
“They think those lowly commoners dirty their clean streets and ruin their mood for hosting balls.”
In the royal capital, Saint Freya listened quietly in her room.
She extended a finger and twirled her golden hair.
“If the commoners can’t make a living, they have no choice but to leave.”
“Unable to afford the bills in the inner ring, they can only pack their bedding and move with their wives, children, and families to the outer ring.”
In Buck’s mind, scenes of those dragging their families along dirt roads appeared.
They pushed worn‑out handcarts loaded with all their belongings.
A few broken pots, a few tattered clothes.
Children cried in the carts, adults sighed ahead.
“When these commoners reach the outer ring, they’ll find that prices here are much lower.”
“Bread costs only five copper coins, and rent is half as cheap. They think this is a good place, that they can finally survive, finally escape to a safe haven.”
“So they settle down in the outer ring.”
“They start working desperately, reclaiming wasteland, laboring for the lord of the outer ring.”
“They scrimp and save, scraping together money, building a small wooden shack, buying two chickens, even a piglet.”
“They think the good times are coming, that they can spend their old age here in peace.”
“But they don’t know, this is just a trap set by the nobles.”
“It’s like raising pigs. You have to let the pig eat its fill first, grow some fat, before you can slaughter it.”
“A scrawny pig won’t yield much meat even when butchered.”
Buck used a crude, plain metaphor, but he felt there was nothing more fitting.
*
Outside Saint Freya’s room, in the long corridor.
“Remember this, Lai’en. A pig that has been drained dry, scrawny and skinny, has no further use. Don’t be polite, kill them all.”
Zeweier, as he spoke, returned to a smiling face and waved his hand.
“We just need to fatten up new piglets. In the entire world, only our kingdom and a few other countries like the empire have the strength to stand against the demon race.”
“Refugees from those other weak countries will mostly choose our kingdom. We have as many as we want. Don’t forget, our external banner is to fight the demon race to the end.”
“Don’t do bad things for so long that you forget the surface work, Lai’en.”
When Zeweier finished, Lai’en bowed his head deeply.
“I understand, Prince Zeweier.”
*
“The commoners developed in the outer ring for a while and had some savings in hand.”
“Those nobles watching them, like wolves smelling blood, began to move.”
“Prices in the outer ring started to slowly rise. At first, the increase wasn’t much, and the commoners thought they could still bear it.”
“After all, they had settled here, had stable work. No one wanted to go through the trouble of moving again.”
This was unavoidable, because moving was too troublesome, and they might encounter bandits on the road.
And if something went wrong, like a sickness halfway, it would be even worse.
An old blacksmith Buck knew was worn down just like that.
The old blacksmith worked as a smith in the outer ring, finally saved some money to find a wife for his son, but then the price of iron ore doubled overnight.
“Moreover, the commoners always hold onto hope.”
“They think the prices are only temporarily rising and will come down after a while.”
“The Lady Ruler can’t just watch them starve, right? Someone has to work, right?”
Buck gave a bitter smile.
“They’re too naive. The Lady Ruler not only watches them starve to death, but also sucks out their last drop of blood before they die.”
“Prices rise higher and higher, and the list of taxes grows longer.”
“What bridge tax, city entry tax, even a head tax for having an extra child.”
“To maintain their lives, the commoners can only dip into their hard‑earned savings—today a bit for flour, tomorrow a bit for taxes.”
In Buck’s mind, he saw the desperate and helpless looks in those commoners’ eyes as they opened their money jars and watched the copper coins inside dwindle.
“The nobles take advantage of this mindset of the commoners—their aversion to trouble and their clinging to fantasy.”
“They don’t grab all the money at once, because that would force the commoners to rebel.”
“They’re like boiling a frog in warm water, skimming little by little.”
“Until they drain the commoners’ money pouches completely, not even a single copper left.”
Buck let out a heavy sigh. The wind in the alley blew past, making him feel cold all over, a chill seeping into his bones.
“At this point, they can only pack up their pitiful luggage again and move further outward.”
“Flee to places with lower prices.”
“They are like a flock of sheep driven by a whip, only able to go in the direction the nobles have set for them, without even the strength to resist.”
In the royal capital, Saint Freya stopped twirling her hair.
She looked at the crystal ball, a peculiar light flickering in her eyes.
“Stop your narration, Buck. I have something to do now. I’ll have someone contact you later.”
Saint Freya revealed a gentle and refined smile.
She rose from her seat and walked toward the door of the room.
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