Chapter 796: Chapter 437: Contract and Law_2
This made him feel a long-lost unease, forced to rethink in the realm he was most familiar with.
He raised his hand to wipe his forehead with his sleeve, took a deep breath, and finally posed the last core question as a jurist and a survivor of the Old Empire’s bureaucratic system:
"Sir, if, as you say, the state itself is a contract, what role should the law play?"
Each sentence he uttered was carefully considered.
"Is it merely the means you use to ensure the contract is honored? Ultimately, is it a sword hanging over the heads of those who breach it, used for deterrence and punishment?"
That was his most instinctive understanding, equating the law with punishment, with another form of violence.
Louis listened, shook his head: "Weapons? No. Weapons are used for war, oppression, against enemies; law aims to solve another matter."
Then Louis posed a question: "What do you think this city resembles?"
Without waiting for Varius’ response, he continued: "Like a giant machine. The baker, blacksmith, farmer, soldier... everyone is a cog within it.
Cogs mesh together and operate, inevitably leading to friction, jamming, and issues.
Law is the manual for this machine, and also the oil that lubricates it."
Louis raised a finger: "Its purpose is not to kill, but to reduce friction.
Why stipulate private property? So that the baker knows this bag of flour is his, and no one can take it away at will.
Only then can he bake bread in peace, instead of standing guard at the warehouse door with a knife all day."
"Why emphasize contracts? So that the blacksmith believes as long as he makes tools as agreed, the other party must pay him.
Only then can he focus on forging iron, rather than guarding against being defrauded."
Louis lowered his finger, looking at Varius: "Ultimately, the law is doing two things.
First, clarifying ownership and responsibility.
Second, when interests conflict, it tells everyone what rules should be followed to resolve it, rather than resorting to fists or swords.
What the law truly does is draw a line.
It tells everyone what belongs to them, which steps they can take, and which steps they can’t.
As long as one stays within this line, they can work and act freely; only by crossing it do they need to pay the price."
Louis paused and added: "In the Old Empire, you inscribed the law on stone tablets for people to worship, but among the Red Tide People, the law is just a tool.
Since the focus is on people, and people are alive and changing, the law can’t remain unchanged.
New production methods will be created, and new problems that old rules can’t cover will be encountered.
If the law stays put while people move forward, it’s the order itself that will be torn apart."
Varius stood in place, at this moment the halo of sanctity surrounding the law in his eyes was gradually fading.
Louis seemed unaware of Varius’ inner change, continuing:
"The Old Empire’s code has been used for three hundred years, with scarcely any amendment. But during these three hundred years, land changed hands, the population multiplied, wars altered their style... only the laws remained static.
If reality has moved forward a hundred steps, but the law remains still, then it ceases to be part of the order, and becomes an obstacle."
He looked up at Varius.
"What I need you to do is not to guard a set of ancestral laws, treating them as untouchable relics.
Like repairing a running machine: adjust the gears when the structure changes, replace parts when the load changes, rewrite the rules when they no longer apply.
Keep the law usable, clear, and reliable, rather than becoming a burden slowing down the entire Red Tide."
Louis concluded his discourse on the essence of law, directing his gaze at the map, deep in thought.
Varius didn’t speak immediately, standing there with his gaze sweeping past Louis, landing outside that giant glass wall.
The city continued to operate.
On the streets, night-shift workers pushed carts forward, patrolling knights changed shifts at street corners, distant factory buildings spewed white steam, shredded by the cold wind.
The room fell into a long silence.
The sensation was like a storm had just swept through—the old beliefs entrenched in the heart were uprooted, yet no new creed immediately filled the void, leaving behind a clean and unsettling empty space.
Varius suddenly realized that everything Louis just said was not a negation of the law.
Quite the opposite, it was about pulling the law down from its pedestal, and returning it to the human realm.
And this was exactly what he wanted to do all his life but never succeeded.
During those years in the Imperial Capital, he participated in revising the New Imperial Charter, trying countless times to add annotations, provide explanations, and introduce flexible clauses to the rigid old law.
Yet every time, he was thwarted by one sentence: "The Imperial Code cannot be changed lightly."
Law was treated as a symbol of authority, rather than a means of solving problems.
He had vaguely sensed this incongruity but never had someone dissect it as thoroughly as Louis.
More importantly, Louis wasn’t just theorizing, with Red Tide City and even the two provinces of Northern Territory and Gray Rock as evidence.
Written into the daily lives on streets, workshops, mines, and countless ordinary people.
Varius slowly exhaled, realizing why these words resonated, because deep inside, he had already agreed with them.
It was just past him that lacked the strength and the environment to admit it.
Varius spent his life searching for a moral sage-king, hoping for someone noble and wise enough to correct the world’s deviations with personal virtue.
He once thought that person would be the Fourth Prince, only to be thoroughly disillusioned by reality, and later, in Red Tide City, in this great city, he again once thought he had finally found the answer.
Until now, he finally realized that what is truly needed is never a perfect person.
But a system that can operate continuously without relying on a saint.
However, Varius fell into a kind of emptiness after being persuaded because the old had fallen, and the new had yet to be built.
Louis broke the silence, walked to the desk, and picked up the draft that had been repeatedly revised.
"Lord Varius," he began, "The reason the Old Empire decayed wasn’t due to the absence of laws, but because their laws were like a fog.
The right of interpretation was always held by the nobility and priests, but the Red Tide is different..."
He gently tapped the draft, "The foundation here is the contract, but the contract can’t be vague; it must be clearly written and fixed."
Louis turned, looking directly at the old man: "Perhaps I understand how power operates, but am missing a sufficiently precise pen.
I want you to write down those abstract things in the most rigorous, precise wording."
"Make it a ruler that measures from the Emperor to the common people."
Louis pulled a pen from the holder; it was a product from the Red Tide Workshop, with a simple design, no excess decoration.
He handed the pen along with the draft to Varius: "The Old Empire’s code, along with the fire you set, has already burned away."
Louis looked at him: "Now there’s a blank page—do you wish to take this pen and write the first line of rules for this reborn land?"
Varius’ gaze fell onto the pen, the black pen barrel gleamed coldly under the light.
He knew well what accepting it meant.
It meant he would lay the foundation for a new set of rules and bury the old ones he had sworn allegiance to for a lifetime.
His hand trembled slightly.
No need to argue anymore, no need to search for profound meanings in old records.
The true law lay right before him.
Varius didn’t immediately reach out; he took a deep breath, stepped back, and straightened his worn collar.
Then solemnly knelt on both knees.
"Lord," his voice was hoarse yet unprecedentedly firm, "I’m willing to take this pen."
Varius raised it above his head, receiving the pen.
Louis did not let him kneel for long.
He stepped forward, firmly supported the old man’s arm, helping him to his feet: "Rise, from today you are the Red Tide’s legislator."
They stood side by side in front of that giant floor-to-ceiling window.
The night wasn’t entirely gone, but in the depths of the city, a new round of lights was igniting.
A train’s low and long whistle echoed from afar.
That sound pierced through the darkness, announcing a brand-new order beginning to unfold.
