Chapter 105

Life or Death

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m not going to tell the others because it might only spread unnecessary fear, but do you realize that what you did was practically suicide?”

Hanson put on a brave front.

“What was so dangerous about it? If their administrator laid a hand on me, they’d be the ones who suffered the consequences anyway....”

“What are you talking about? You nearly lost your life just moments ago.”

“Administrator Isabella didn’t do anything. How can you say I nearly died?”

“People like you wouldn’t know, but I used to be a mercenary. I traveled all across the continent of Cerdes, taking on every job that paid. Once, I happened to encounter a Dragon Spawn.”

Under ordinary circumstances, Hanson would have dismissed the story as the usual empty boasting.

However, the middle-aged man’s eyes carried a murderous intensity that no mere braggart could imitate.

“That day, we were hunting an ogre. Since our target was what it was, we gathered a large number of mercenaries and went in fully prepared. It was a fierce battle. The ogre’s regenerative abilities were just about evenly matched with all our preparations. Then, an unexpected guest appeared—a Dragon Spawn.”

The middle-aged foreman swallowed hard.

“Maybe the ogre had been the Dragon Spawn’s target as well, because we ended up killing it together. No, calling it a joint attack would be ridiculous. The moment he arrived, he cut off the ogre’s head. All we did was leave a few scratches on its corpse.”

“What does that have to do with what happened today?”

“Listen to the end. This is where the real story begins. After the ogre died, the Dragon Spawn cut off one of its ears and tossed it to the captain of our mercenary company.”

“As proof of the subjugation?”

“Exactly. Since the Dragon Spawn had taken all the glory, he was extending us a measure of goodwill.”

“It sounds as though the matter ended peacefully. Why are you telling me this?”

“We thought the same thing. But we were wrong. Our mercenary captain had once been a knight. Worse, he was young and immature. He tried to act tough in front of that Dragon Spawn. Do you know what happened?”

With a stiff expression, the foreman drew a finger across his throat.

“He cut his head off on the spot.”

“....”

“You think he only killed that one man? No. He cut down ten more before finally ending the merciless slaughter.”

“Why would he do something like that...?”

“It was simple. Because the captain talked back to him. In their eyes, a young and weak creature arrogantly clinging to its pride is something that cannot be tolerated. Do you finally understand what you did?”

The foreman jerked his chin toward a particular spot.

It was the seat where the armored knight had been sitting.

“Had that esteemed person not stopped you, it would not have ended with only your death. Several more people here would have had to die before it was over.”

Having said that, the middle-aged foreman slung his tools over his shoulder and walked outside.

Hanson could not bring himself to follow.

He remained where he was, turning the man’s words over in his mind and realizing just how absurdly reckless his actions had been.

Still, I was right.

Had he not escaped death precisely because the armored knight had been there?

Whatever the case, things were undoubtedly progressing according to his intentions.

Meanwhile, Isabella was also dwelling on the strange sensation she had experienced.

For a moment, instinct overwhelmed me.

The instincts of a Dragon Spawn ultimately came down to one thing.

Honor.

Beneath the heavens, none were more exalted than their father and mother.

Those who tarnished their names were to be made examples of and punished so severely that others would never dare repeat the offense.

Those who killed their children were to be pursued to the very ends of hell and put to death in agony.

That primal nature had overwhelmed her for a moment.

It was inevitable.

Even when Dragon Spawns looked upon humans, they divided them by worth.

Those deserving of respect were treated accordingly.

Everyone else was little better than dogs or livestock.

The only thing that made humans superior to such creatures was that they could understand a little speech.

Isabella, a daughter of Iorga, was no exception.

She respected Ferda because he was Valdrova’s fiancé and, at the same time, a capable regent.

She respected William because he possessed exceptional martial skill and a will even greater than his strength.

But Hanson?

He was no different from any ordinary human.

In other words, he was no better than a dog that understood a few words.

An insolent dog that had been brought a treat yet, rather than wagging its tail, dared bite its master’s hand.

She had gone to the trouble of devising an amicable solution, receiving approval for it, and bringing it to them—only to be told that she should offer more.

A dog that bit people had to die.

That thought had consumed her, and she had intended to kill Hanson.

One example would have been enough.

Until that person stopped me.

The armored knight.

Tall, with a solid and dependable build.

Armor that even her penetrating magic could not see through.

Its workmanship appeared no better than what a village blacksmith might produce, yet it was unquestionably forged from the finest materials.

Had that person not intervened....

Isabella would have acted according to instinct.

Hanson’s head would have rolled across the floor, or, if he had been fortunate, his entire body would merely have been left mangled.

Either way, it would never have ended well.

I thought she was only dull and naïve, but she possesses unexpectedly sharp instincts.

Isabella had also begun to take an interest in her.

It would be a waste to leave someone like that as a mere laborer.

The armored knight, Valdrova, was thinking about something entirely different.

Why is everyone sitting here?

This was before Isabella had arrived.

The atmosphere had been unusual.

All she could see were men who appeared to be foremen, packed tightly together inside the cramped office as they waited for something.

The director definitely said something....

Before all this, Hanson had explained something to her.

However, he had spoken for so long that she had failed to understand the point.

There was only one thing she had clearly grasped.

—Sir Knight, we desperately need your help.

Apparently, they desperately needed her help.

She had no idea what was happening, but she had agreed to assist them.

Because it’s for the sake of this village!

She had assumed there must be something that required her strength.

Yet all she had done was sit beside Hanson.

No matter how she looked at it, this did not appear to be a situation that required her help.

I’m bored.

Her muscles felt as though they were stiffening from sitting still.

She wanted to stand up, but the heavy atmosphere kept her rooted to the spot.

Let’s wait a little longer....

Thinking that, she remained seated for several hours.

After a while, someone entered the office.

One of Iorga’s children.

At the same time, she remembered Luri’s warning.

—Master, you must never let anyone discover that you were pretending to be a laborer here. Especially not those damned water lizards.

Luri had worn a fiercer expression than ever before, so Valdrova had not dared ignore her.

She became needlessly tense.

What if they discover me...?

Meanwhile, some sort of discussion continued around her.

Only when Isabella was nearly finished speaking did Valdrova manage to catch part of what she said.

—End this strike and return to your livelihoods.

Livelihoods.

In other words, she was telling them to return to work.

Only then did Valdrova understand.

So that’s what this was about!

The reason they had all been sitting here waiting was that this descendant of Iorga had forbidden them from working.

That was why they had gathered and remained here.

So they were this angry because she had been stopping them from working.

Even Valdrova would have been angry about that.

She felt secretly delighted to discover that she had something in common with the laborers.

“Now we can get back to work.”

But then—

“No, we cannot.”

Hanson rejected the offer.

Why?

The person who had told them not to work seemed to be Iorga’s child, so why was Hanson refusing now that she was telling them to work again?

Valdrova could not understand his behavior.

Why would anyone refuse to work when working earns money?

Working earned money.

Money allowed you to buy delicious food.

They were even offering to pay more, so she could not understand why he would throw the opportunity away.

More importantly—

“I want to work.”

Valdrova wanted to see another building completed as soon as possible.

Left with no other choice, she moved over and poked Hanson’s shoulder several times.

Fortunately, he seemed to understand what she meant. Hanson said nothing more, and the foremen headed outside to resume their work.

Valdrova looked up at the sky.

The sun had already dipped sharply toward the west.

I need to hurry and finish today’s quota.

It was not as though anyone was pressuring her.

She simply enjoyed working.

That was why she liked Mondays more than Sundays, when everyone else rested.

Time to get back to work.

The Red Dragon Valdrova cheerfully reported to the construction site once again.

***

On the day of the council meeting, they used the building intended to become the Hestia branch of the Pascal Merchant Company as their conference hall.

The reason was extremely simple.

Valdrova did not want to invite those insolent people into her home.

Luri agreed with her, and even Isabella finally backed down.

Of course, Isabella offered a different explanation.

She framed it as a decision made so they could inspect the current state of Hestia Village while demonstrating their trust in the village’s buildings.

Since Valdrova already had a good reputation, it was not difficult for people to interpret the decision as proof that she cared about the common folk.

Her favorable reputation only continued to grow.

After finishing his morning preparations, Ferda headed to the council chamber.

The moment he entered, everyone rose and paid their respects.

“We will now begin the council meeting.”

As soon as Ferda took his seat, Isabella assumed the role of moderator and opened the proceedings.

While reciting the ceremonial phrases required by protocol, Ferda examined the expressions of those present.

A large number of people were already seated across from him.

Every one of them had the slogan “Life or Death” written across their forehead.

Should I just kill every last one of them?

They were practically begging him to kill them. Would it not be rude to deny their request?

Or he could make them suffer so badly that they wished they were dead.

The fact that he could do neither and had to settle everything through pointless discussion was unbearably painful for Ferda.

Still, that much had been expected.

What he had not expected was to see a certain person among them.

A face that was far too familiar.

No—not a face.

A helmet.

The armored knight.

Ferda’s feelings toward him were complicated.

He was the man who had rejected Ferda’s offer of knighthood and walked away.

It would be a lie to say Ferda did not resent him.

After everything Ferda had said, the man had still thrown his goodwill back in his face.

No, I can understand him rejecting the offer.

But to think the reason had been so he could involve himself in something like this and muddy the waters.

Could it be...?

A possibility occurred to Ferda.

What if he is the true instigator behind this entire incident?

It was possible.

What if he wanted more than a knighthood and was aiming for the title of a landed noble?

There were plenty of men in the Empire who attempted such things.

What if this man had been drawing up an elaborate plan to rebuild his position?

And there is no risk to him even if it fails.

He could simply place Hanson at the front as a figurehead and retreat the moment the situation turned unfavorable.

Pathetic.

The humiliation of betrayal welled up within Ferda.

He had thought the man somewhat noble, only to discover that he was nothing more than a greedy opportunist.

One day, I’ll rip that mouth of yours apart.

Ferda glared at the armored knight with hatred in his eyes.

Inside the armor, Valdrova noticed his gaze.

Mr. Ferda is staring at me....

There was not the slightest hint of kindness in his eyes.

And yet, she did not entirely dislike the way he looked at her.

She struggled to calm her pounding heart.

Once the meeting had officially begun, Hanson, the representative of the laborers’ executive committee, was the first to speak.

“We sincerely thank the Regent and the Administrator for listening to the voices of the common people.”

Hanson read from the document he had prepared.

“Last autumn, we first set foot upon this land as laborers who had come to assist in the construction of Hestia Village.”

The speech began with a reasonably ambitious story.

“However, a recent unfortunate incident resulted in thirty casualties, throwing the village into tremendous confusion.”

There had certainly been some disorder, but Ferda had been told that it was nowhere near serious enough to justify such an uproar.

He could not tell whether Hanson was unaware of that fact or simply shameless enough to pretend otherwise.

“We humbly submit this petition in the hope that a wise ruler and leader will listen to the pleas of the common people.

“First, we request an increase in the wages of construction workers.

“Second, we request permission to establish a construction workers’ union.”

Their demands appeared to number two, but in reality, there were three.

Money and security.

And power.

Wherever people gathered, power inevitably emerged.

A union—or what some called a guild—was an institution of power created under the justification that it represented the voices of ordinary citizens.

One thing is certain. Someone else wrote this for him.

Judging by the vocabulary and the way Hanson was reading it, Ferda could not believe that he had written it himself.

Did that man write it for him?

If the armored knight was capable of producing a document of this quality, it would lend further weight to Ferda’s conspiracy theory.

Either way, everything is proceeding exactly as expected.

More precisely, according to Stephan’s expectations.

Having managed a major company beneath his father, Stephan was well versed in matters like this and had quickly recognized what was happening.

“What if...”

Ferda asked, just in case.

“What will you do if I simply reject your requests?”

Hanson tensed at the question.

Despite Ferda’s young age, Hanson found himself overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes.

So Hanson discreetly signaled Valdrova.

It is my turn to act.

Valdrova slowly moved and placed her hands upon the pen and paper.

She was supposed to write the slogan displayed across their foreheads.

He told me to write, “Life or Death,” didn’t he?

Valdrova grew nervous.

Everyone’s eyes were now fixed upon her.

She had assumed that all she needed to do was write a few words, so she had not thought it would be a problem.

But then—

...How was I supposed to write it again?

She had forgotten how to form the letters.

No, it was closer to say that she had never truly known.

She had grown accustomed enough to reading that she could recognize words when she saw them, but writing was an entirely different matter.

In other words, she could process the input, but she could not produce the output.

It was only natural.

Throughout her entire life, Valdrova had written letters so rarely that she could count the occasions on one hand.

She had never practiced, and she could not properly remember how the words were spelled.

Life or Death. Life or Death.

She repeated the phrase desperately in her mind and attempted to imitate it in writing.

The result was this:

Lief or Deth.

The handwriting was crude and cheap-looking, and even the spelling was wrong.

Not only Ferda, but even Hanson, the representative, stared at it in shock as cold sweat ran down his face.

The moment Ferda saw the words, one thing became clear.

So there was no conspiracy after all.

In an instant, his contempt turned into pity.