Chapter 384: Chapter 381: It’s Bart’s Turn
What’s a Special Zone? You find a place in the Kingdom with unique locational advantages, draw a circle around it... and bless it!
Rorschach explained that his factory tinkering was just a hobby outside of his magical research; becoming the best in Bayern was purely an accident. ’Your Majesty, please believe me. To me, a title of Nobility is like a storm cloud...’
Gently, Rorschach left, just as he had gently come. He’d had lunch and left behind a new plan.
King Albert Ludwig stroked his beard, gazing at the palace gate through which Rorschach had departed. "Master," he asked, "what are your thoughts?"
It wasn’t a fortune-teller who stepped out, but Feuerbach. "A commercial... Special Zone? Interesting."
"Isn’t it just a commercial city-state? In the past, wasn’t that how it was in the Southern Countries of the continent? A group of businessmen would conspire to ransom a city from its Lord and make themselves tyrants." The King was both pleased and displeased with Rorschach’s plan. It was truly a pity that the young, wealthy Mage hadn’t fallen for the trap.
"It’s different... very different." It was as if Feuerbach had seen a new form of magic; his eyes shone with a golden light. "Legally speaking, it’s even less independent than a Border Count’s Domain, yet it would enjoy a high degree of autonomy in commerce and production."
The Great Mage immediately grasped the key. "Your Majesty, if a farmer has been growing barley for years, but now he hears that the wheat harvest is better, what will he do?"
Albert immediately offered a solution: "The first year, he’d set aside a small plot to test it. If it grows well, he’d switch everything over... Oh, you mean..."
"Exactly. If it succeeds, the City Hall can learn from the experience and promote it. If not, it can simply be revoked. Compared to creating a noble and revoking a title, it’s obviously more flexible and acceptable for you to issue a decree and then legally rescind it."
Master Feuerbach’s analysis swayed the King. It was true; Rorschach’s plan didn’t partition the Kingdom’s legal authority, which already made it superior to carving out a domain for a noble. As for not being able to pass down the burden of armaments... he could only hope, as the young Mage had said, that the future tax growth from the Special Zone would be substantial!
And the Special Zone would gain limited autonomy in exchange for resettling refugees: it could form a committee and enact its own laws in the commercial sector.
"Master, what is your assessment of the Empire’s current military strength? They’ve already taken Kongdi, and Valois is on the verge of collapse."
Feuerbach gave a cold snort. "Please rest easy and wait for the tide to turn. There is one point on which the Order Church and the Magic Guild are in complete agreement—we will not allow an Empire that unifies the Ferolun Continent to exist!"
"Let’s hope so..."
...
Bart was also grappling with the refugee problem. The last time Rorschach had run into him, he was with his unit during a troop rotation.
However, the situation quickly deteriorated. He had been lazily watching a charity distribute porridge to the refugees; now, the uncultivated fields on the outskirts of the city were covered in tents, temporarily housing people who had trekked all the way from Valois.
The winter sun was warm, joined by the aroma of cooking grain and the sound of hundreds of refugees swallowing hungrily.
Suddenly, a stinky shoe came flying down from the top of the city wall, nearly landing in the large pot of porridge. Bart jolted. With lightning-fast reflexes, he deflected the shoe, preventing it from contaminating the porridge.
"Hey!" Bart used his Mage’s Hand to lift the "Little Grenadier" right off the wall. It was just some little brat from the city.
"Let me down!" the boy squirmed as Bart held him fast. Bart turned and berated the soldiers, "What kind of watch are you keeping on this gate!"
A Guard was dismissive. "Sir, why get worked up over a kid? He’s a local boy. He’s not like those little whelps over there, fumbling for your pockets."
"Over there," of course, meant the refugees. The Guard had spoken loudly, and the people lining up for porridge heard him, but they could only seethe in silence.
Gradually, residents from near the gate began to gather. A burly woman, her face flushed with anger, demanded, "What are you doing to my son?!"
Bart tried to remain patient. He maintained a good reputation among the residents of Wertzburg and didn’t want to ruin his "image" in this small border town. He first presented his identification, using his authority to cow the woman, then tried to reason with the boy. "Why did you do that?"
"My dad says they’re freeloaders! They’re eating our food for nothing, while we have to pay more this winter to feed the soldiers! Because of them, I haven’t had any candy all winter..."
"They aren’t freeloaders. They just lost their homes because of the war. If you and everyone else don’t support our army, you’ll end up just like them—losing your house, losing your fields, and having nothing but a bowl of thin porridge to drink every day."
It was unclear if the boy understood, but at least he quieted down. Just when Bart thought the matter was settled, someone in the crowd of onlookers chimed in, "If they were really that hungry, they’d eat it even with a stinky shoe in the pot, wouldn’t they? Why are they getting such good food?"
This sparked another commotion, which was only quelled when a Guard fired a warning shot into the air.
There were many more frustrating moments like that. Rumors occasionally erupted among the refugees, claiming Bayern would enslave them. This gossip spread panic. People would try to flee, and some fools even attacked the very soldiers assigned to both monitor and protect them.
That night, a Guard shook Bart awake. "Sir, some of the refugees are rioting! They stole a rifle from a patrol!"
"Are you imbeciles? You let people who can barely eat get the drop on you?!" Bart cursed as he got out of bed. Using his Dark Vision, he quickly located the rioter heading for the woods and dealt with the fool as silently as possible in the darkness.
"Damn it, what the hell are the higher-ups thinking?" Bart vented to a subordinate. "These people are a plague! We should just send them all to the next kingdom over and build a long wall along the border to keep all these troublemakers out." Bart and the border patrol were catching hell from both the refugees and the locals, all because of some order from on high to "ensure proper resettlement."
’Proper resettlement, my ass! They should stuff the refugees into the homes of whoever gave that order.’
"Sir, calm down. The border is too long. How could we possibly build a wall to seal the whole thing off?"
"You haven’t seen my friend. He has several large Demonic Puppets. They build things incredibly fast..."
Just as Bart, physically and mentally exhausted, was on the verge of throwing in the towel, he finally received letters from Wertzburg and Munich.
The first was an official document jointly issued by the royal court and the City Hall. He skimmed it in a huff. ’A Special Zone? Hmm... autonomy... I’ll have to get Dad involved.’ When he read the words "resettle refugees and reclaim wasteland," he finally let out a whoop of joy. "This is great! Our days of eating crap are finally over!"
He looked again: "The escort and organization of the refugees will be the responsibility of the original military unit."
"..." Bart had the urge to tear the document to shreds.
However, a letter from Wertzburg changed his perspective. It was from his wife:
"To my love:
"(Sentimentalities omitted)
"Have you heard of the new royal decree? When I saw it, I was overjoyed.
"Ever since I was a child, I have heard the stories of our ancestors. They led Knights, along with a band of exiles and sinners, to wrest land from the grasp of the Barbarian Race and cultivate the fields that would become the foundation of our Kingdom.
"If you still harbor the ambitions you once confessed to me, then think of my ancestors! It matters not if those who follow you are refugees or people who have lost their homes in distant lands. Become the leader they can entrust with their lives and safety. Those you save will give you their loyalty, and the new home you build for them will become your most steadfast legacy."
Bart folded the letter and shook his head. "Amelia, I want to be a councilman, not a King..."
But despite his words, he felt invigorated. He began to organize the refugees for the march to their new home.
