Chapter 104

Strike

A strike.

It was a profoundly unfamiliar concept to Ferda.

“A strike?”

“It means declaring that they will no longer work.”

“Why would they refuse to work when they are being paid?”

“They stop working to demand their rights or something along those lines.”

“So it is a hostage situation.”

Ferda found the idea remarkably novel.

They were using themselves as hostages.

But they were also the ones whose heads would roll, so why would anyone do such a thing?

“I do not recall anything like that happening in the Empire.”

“It is a matter of supply and demand. In the Empire, anyone who said such a thing could simply be replaced.”

There were tens of millions of people in the imperial capital alone.

No one batted an eye when someone died, and replacing people was a daily occurrence there.

It made him realize once again just how blind the Empire truly was.

To think the emperor’s authority is greater than that of a dragon.

It sounded absurd, but he could understand it.

A kitchen knife close at hand was more frightening than a treasured sword far away.

In any case, Ferda asked her a question as he considered how to resolve the problem.

“Who is the insolent ringleader?”

“A carpenter from the Empire named Hanson. He currently serves as the site manager for the imperial laborers.”

“Would there be any consequences if I killed him?”

His solution was simple.

Cut off the head so that the rest would never dare entertain such thoughts again.

That was the best approach as far as Ferda was concerned.

Isabella understood his intention and answered.

“His ability is mediocre, but killing him carelessly would create problems.”

“Why?”

“He has connections among certain people, and it could also damage your political image.”

“How much worse could it become when it is already poor?”

Ferda spoke as though it hardly mattered.

Isabella tilted her head, then suddenly realized something and asked him,

“…I ask only to be certain, but are you unaware of your current reputation, Lord Ferda?”

“I am.”

Isabella blinked.

Deciding that he needed to understand, she spoke seriously.

“You have accepted refugees and guaranteed their right to survive, have you not?”

“I have.”

“There is no greater savior than someone willing to accept refugees in the middle of winter. You have also guaranteed them employment, allowing them to secure food, clothing, and shelter through a stable income.”

“I see.”

“Furthermore, because they were driven away by foreign forces, many were moved by your declaration that you would protect them from those threats.”

“I see… Hmm?”

Ferda tilted his head.

“Did I ever say such a thing?”

“Of course you would not know. I invented it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because the Red Dragon’s infamy required a virtuous reputation to counterbalance it.”

“But that is not the truth.”

“That is how the public sees it. What else could I do?”

Isabella’s point was that people could only feel safe if Ferda was capable of balancing Valdrova’s infamous reputation.

“Besides, you have no intention of driving them out, do you?”

“That is true.”

Why would he send back people who had fled because their former rulers had failed to manage them properly?

In any case, he understood what she meant.

“So, in summary, I have a good reputation within the village.”

“Some even claim that you must be the reincarnation of a saintly sage.”

It was a strange situation.

Ferda was neither a saint nor a virtuous gentleman.

He was moving forward solely for Valdrova’s sake, and there was nothing he would hesitate to do for her.

They said fortune and misfortune were forever changing places.

Perhaps this was exactly what that meant.

Ferda set the matter aside and returned to the main issue.

“If cutting off his head is not an option…”

Since the simplest solution was unavailable, he tried to devise another.

“That is not the only problem.”

Isabella moved on before giving him time to think.

“What else is there?”

“There are many issues if we include the smaller ones. Most notably, the architects responsible for the wall are engaged in a severe dispute over its design.”

She placed a sheet of paper in front of him.

“Adventurers are also attempting to collect protection fees by district, creating friction with the shopkeepers.”

She placed down another sheet.

“And while everyone was praying, a certain pink-haired fool walked past singing a bizarre song. Everyone burst into laughter and could no longer maintain the solemn atmosphere, so the priests are demanding that we capture and beat him.”

“A pink-haired fool…”

Ferda felt he knew exactly who that was without even looking.

“Amid all these complaints and disturbances, someone is deliberately undermining your reputation. There is undoubtedly an agitator at work.”

Agitators existed everywhere.

They were usually raised in wealthy households or places where they could receive a proper education, then used their knowledge and eloquence to draw in commoners.

In a young city such as this, where systems were still poorly established, commoners were easy prey for such people.

“Am I allowed to beat that one?”

“I am also trying to beat them, but I have yet to find a lead.”

That was somewhat surprising.

“You cannot track them down?”

“That is correct. It embarrasses me to admit it, but they appear and disappear like a ghost.”

“…”

She was a descendant of Iorga, the embodiment of magic.

If even she could not track them, then the opponent was no ordinary person.

So this is not a simple agitator.

It was likely someone who valued chaos more than power—a creature no different from a pure demon.

“In any event, it would be best to resolve all the issues that have accumulated through a single method.”

Isabella placed the documents before him.

“Hold a council.”

“You want me to meet with the commoners and speak to them directly.”

“It would be the smoothest way to settle matters.”

Settle them smoothly.

Ferda disliked the word smoothly.

Why would someone who ruled over many people need to be accommodating?

If anything, he believed one ought to be harsh.

But in matters like this, Isabella is more capable than I am.

Isabella must have considered restoring order by cutting down the ringleaders as well.

If that had been the best answer, she would not have come to propose this.

A council was worth considering.

Now that I think about it, it may not be a bad idea…

There were times when keeping people alive brought greater profit than killing them.

Perhaps this was one of those times.

“Very well. We will hold the council.”

“Yes. Then I will arrange the schedule.”

Isabella bowed and withdrew.

Ferda immediately took out a communication crystal and connected it somewhere.

—Lise, liaison officer of the Pascal Merchant Company, greets the Regent. How may I assist you?

“This is Ferda Valdrova, Regent. Is the branch director there?”

—The branch director is present. Shall I connect you?

“Please do.”

A moment later, Stephan’s voice came through.

—Greetings, Regent. Have you contacted me regarding the strike?

His sources were fast.

He had gone straight to the point.

“That is correct.”

—I was already thinking that I should take action regarding the matter. Should you require assistance, please do not hesitate to ask!

His confident voice was highly reassuring.

“I do need your help. We intend to hold a council. How do you believe it will unfold?”

—A council… I have participated in many of those. When people openly oppose their lord in this manner, the matter is usually connected directly to power.

“Power…”

Money naturally followed power.

Ferda did not enjoy the feeling that they were looking down on him.

“So all I need to do is grant them that power.”

—You may dislike giving it to them, but there are also ways to preserve your own authority while doing so.

“What do you mean?”

Stephan answered with complete confidence.

—Leave it to me. I will turn them into puppets you can torment for years to come.

At a construction site in Hestia Village, the building intended for the Hestia Merchant Company had been occupied and renamed the Far Eastern Labor Union, Provisional.

Its leader was none other than Hanson, the site manager.

He had successfully persuaded the other site managers and foremen to establish a temporary union.

“Do you really think they’ll listen to us…?”

One of the foremen seated on the floor asked cautiously.

“No matter how I think about it, I can’t imagine the higher-ups allowing something like this…”

“Don’t say such discouraging things.”

“You came here saying you wanted higher wages, and now you talk like that? Leave now, then!”

“No, I’m just worried…”

Faced with the other foremen’s harsh reactions, he had no choice but to shrink back.

Hanson waited with his arms folded and a stiff expression.

I’m terrified too.

Before putting the plan into action, he had been filled with dreams.

Now he felt like a condemned prisoner awaiting execution.

But he could no longer stop.

Having already climbed onto the tiger’s back, he had no choice but to hold on.

Still, they won’t be able to deal with us too harshly…

Hanson could maintain such confidence because he had a reliable companion.

The Armored Knight.

The monstrous strength to carry eleven logs with his bare hands.

The combat ability to kill two monsters alone.

Though he inspired fear, he was also the most respected person in the village.

The greatest reason Hanson had dared to attempt something this reckless was that the Armored Knight had agreed with him.

The other site managers and foremen trusted the Armored Knight as well.

In effect, he was the center holding their alliance together.

And that very center sat beside Hanson.

Right. We have the Armored Knight.

Nothing too terrible will happen.

Because of his vow of silence, none of them had ever exchanged a single word with him.

Even so, they believed he would help them in a crisis.

A short while later, someone opened the door and entered.

She wore sleek glasses over sharp, intelligent eyes.

The red formal uniform bearing Valdrova’s emblem gave her a professional and overbearing appearance.

Everyone felt their blood run cold.

They were all wearing headbands emblazoned with the words, “Life or Death!”

“I have finished speaking with the Regent.”

Isabella addressed them.

“Prepare your demands. A council will be held in one week.”

“By a council, do you mean we will speak with the Regent face-to-face?”

“That is correct. He will listen to your grievances, so I would appreciate it if you prepared them in the meantime.”

Their expressions were filled with doubt.

Had this happened in the Empire, they would have disappeared without a trace.

In another village, the guards would likely have raided the building and dispersed them by force.

Yet instead of violence, they were being offered a hearing.

“And since the Regent has agreed to negotiate, I ask that you suspend the strike and return to your work.”

At those words, several foremen shifted as though preparing to stand.

“No.”

The one who spoke was Hanson, the union leader.

He stiffened his neck and continued.

“You haven’t offered us any conditions yet, and you expect us to work? How does that make sense?”

The others looked uneasily between Hanson and Isabella.

Isabella answered calmly.

“We cannot leave the construction site abandoned when no replacements are available. Wages will be increased to one hundred and fifty percent of the current rate—”

“This is not about wages. People died. What will you do if the same thing happens again?”

“Hanson…”

The foremen glanced between them, their hands frozen with nowhere to go.

Hanson was escalating the situation.

This was what the young mage had told him.

—They will tell you to return to your livelihoods.

—Then what should I do?

—You must never accept. If you return to work, they will look down on you. They will think, “Those ignorant fools will risk their lives again as long as we throw them some money.”

—Hmm…

—More importantly, the amount of authority you can obtain will be reduced.

That final point had lodged itself firmly in Hanson’s mind, and he had responded exactly as the mage instructed.

Of course, his current attitude of letting everything fall apart had contributed greatly as well.

His courage had already leaped out of his body.

What difference would it make if his gall followed?

Isabella stared directly at the man making the demand.

The descendants of Iorga embodied coldness.

But this coldness was different.

It pierced the heart and brought everything to a halt.

Just as Isabella was about to speak, Hanson felt something poke his shoulder.

Startled, he turned around.

The Armored Knight stood there.

Hanson calmed his racing heart and asked,

“H-Hah… What is it, Sir Knight?”

The Armored Knight had taken a vow of silence.

Instead of speaking, she merely shook her head.

Hanson immediately understood her intention.

“You mean we should return to work?”

She nodded repeatedly.

They had failed to obtain what they wanted, but Hanson could not continue pressing the issue.

How could he, when the person at the center of their unity had spoken?

“Since the knight says so… Very well. We will return to work immediately. But if the demons appear again and we are placed in danger…”

“I will bear responsibility in my own way.”

A chill entered Isabella’s eyes.

“What responsibility will you bear?”

“I…”

Hanson gave no answer.

Despite the words “Life or Death!” written across his headband, he could not promise anything at all.

Isabella sighed as though thoroughly disappointed.

“Enough. Let us end this argument here and return to our duties.”

With those brief, clear words, Isabella left.

The foremen, who had been holding their breath, clutched their chests in relief.

“Whew!”

“My heart was about to give out.”

“It’s fortunate things worked out. If they’d gone wrong, we might never have been able to work here again…”

“Come on, let’s get back to work. Ugh, sitting around like a scholar has made my whole body stiff!”

The foremen began leaving one by one.

At that moment, a middle-aged man standing at the very back glanced around before quietly approaching Hanson.

He was a refugee who had come to the village, worked diligently, and risen to the position of foreman.

“Site Manager Hanson, do not do this again.”

He warned him with a murderous expression.