My Slain Dragon Bride

Chapter 104: Chapter 104

Chapter 104 - Strike

Strike.

It was a truly unfamiliar concept to Ferda.

"What is a strike?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like—they declare that they won’t work."

"Why would they refuse to work when they’re being paid?"

"They stop working to demand their rights, or for reasons like that."

"So... it’s a hostage situation."

Ferda found the idea remarkably novel.

To think they would use themselves as hostages.

They were the ones whose necks would be on the line, so why would they do such a thing?

"I don’t remember anything like that happening when I was in the Empire."

"It’s a matter of supply and demand. In the Empire, if someone said something like that, they’d simply be replaced immediately."

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

Whether someone lived or died, no one even blinked; replacing people was simply a part of everyday life there.

It really made him realize just how narrow his perspective had been.

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

It sounded absurd, yet he could understand it.

After all, a kitchen knife close at hand is more frightening than a legendary sword far away.

In any case, Ferda tried to solve the issue by asking her,

"Who is this insolent ringleader?"

"It’s a carpenter from the Empire named Hanson. He’s currently serving as the foreman representing the imperial laborers."

"Can I kill him?"

His solution was simple.

Cut off the head so that no one else would dare entertain rebellious thoughts.

That was what Ferda considered the best solution.

Realizing his intention, Isabella replied,

"His abilities are nothing impressive, but killing him carelessly would cause problems."

"And why is that?"

"He has connections with quite a few influential people, and politically it could seriously damage your image."

"My image is already bad. How much worse could it possibly get?"

Ferda spoke as though it were no big deal.

Isabella tilted her head for a moment before suddenly realizing something and asked,

"...Just to be sure... Lord Ferda, are you unaware of what your reputation is like right now?"

"Correct."

Isabella blinked.

Thinking she needed to make him understand, she spoke in a serious tone.

"Haven’t you taken in the refugees and guaranteed their right to survive?"

"I have."

"There is no greater savior than someone willing to shelter refugees in the middle of winter. On top of that, you’ve guaranteed them jobs, allowing them to secure food, clothing, and shelter through a stable income."

"I see."

"And since they were driven from their homes by foreign powers, many have also been moved by your declaration that you would protect them from those threats."

"I... hmm?"

Ferda tilted his head.

"Did I ever say something like that?"

"I made that part up, so naturally you wouldn’t know."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because the Red Dragon’s infamy required an opposing reputation of virtue."

"But that’s not actually true."

"It may not be, but that’s what the public believes."

Isabella’s point was that people could only feel at ease if Ferda possessed a reputation capable of counterbalancing Valdrova’s notoriety.

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

"That’s true."

They had fled because their former rulers failed to govern them properly.

Why would he ever return them?

In any case, he understood what she was trying to say.

"So, in other words, my reputation in the village is good."

"So good that some people are even claiming you must be the reincarnation of a saint."

It was a strange thing indeed.

Ferda was neither a saint nor a sage.

Everything he did was solely for Valdrova, and there was nothing he would hesitate to do for her sake.

Life truly is unpredictable.

Perhaps this was exactly what that saying meant.

Setting the matter aside, Ferda returned to the main topic.

"If cutting off his head isn’t an option..."

Since the simplest solution had been ruled out, he began considering alternatives.

"But that isn’t our only problem."

Without giving him time to think, Isabella moved on to another issue.

"What else is happening?"

"There are far too many minor issues to list, but the most notable ones include increasingly heated disputes among the wall construction engineers."

She placed a sheet of paper in front of him.

"Adventurers are trying to collect protection money by district, which has caused friction with the shop owners."

Another sheet followed.

"And while people were praying, someone with pink hair walked by singing a ridiculous song, causing everyone to burst into laughter and completely ruining the solemn atmosphere. We’ve received requests to catch the culprit and teach them a lesson."

"Pink hair..."

He had a pretty good idea who that pink-haired individual was without even looking.

"Amid all this dissatisfaction and confusion, someone is deliberately tarnishing Your Highness the Regent’s reputation. There is undoubtedly an agitator at work."

There were agitators everywhere.

People born into wealthy families or raised with access to proper education, who used their knowledge and eloquence to sway ordinary citizens.

In a city with such a short history and an underdeveloped system, the common people were easy prey for people like that.

"Can I teach that bastard a lesson?"

"I’m planning to do exactly that myself, but I haven’t found a single lead."

That was rather surprising.

"You can’t track them down?"

"That’s right. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but they’re practically impossible to catch."

"Hmm..."

She was a descendant of Iorga, the Aspect of Magic.

If even she couldn’t track them, then the opponent was clearly no ordinary agitator.

’So it’s not just some ordinary rabble-rouser.’

More likely someone who loved chaos more than power—a true devil at heart.

"In any case, it would be best to resolve all of these accumulated issues in one go."

Placing the documents on the desk, Isabella continued,

"Hold a council meeting."

"So you want me to meet the common people and hear them out."

"It’s the smoothest way to bring this matter to a close."

Smooth.

Ferda disliked that word.

Why should someone who ruled over the many ever need to be gentle?

If anything, he believed they should be ruthless.

’Still, Isabella is far better than I am in matters like this.’

Surely she had also considered simply eliminating the ringleaders and restoring order.

If that had truly been the best option, she wouldn’t have come here proposing this.

Perhaps a council meeting was worth considering.

’Come to think of it, it isn’t a bad idea...’

Sometimes keeping someone alive yielded greater benefits than killing them.

Perhaps this was exactly such a situation.

"Very well. We shall hold the council meeting."

"Yes. I’ll begin making the arrangements."

Isabella gave a respectful bow and withdrew.

Ferda immediately took out a Communication Crystal and connected it to someone.

"—This is Lize, communications officer of the Pascal Trading Company. How may I assist Your Highness the Regent?"

"This is Regent Ferda Valdrova. Is your branch manager available?"

"—He is. Shall I connect you?"

"Please."

A moment later, Stephan’s voice came through.

"—Greetings, Your Highness. Are you contacting me about the strike?"

Their intelligence network was remarkably fast.

He had gone straight to the point.

"Indeed."

"—I was already thinking that we should take measures regarding that matter. If you need any assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask!"

His voice overflowed with confidence, making him sound thoroughly dependable.

"I do need your help. I’m planning to hold a council meeting. How do you think it’ll unfold?"

"—A council meeting... I’ve handled many of them myself. Most situations where people openly challenge their lord ultimately come down to one thing—power."

"Power..."

Where power existed, money naturally followed.

The thought of being looked down upon was unpleasant.

"So you’re saying I should simply give them power."

"—You may not like the idea of giving it away, but that’s one way to preserve your authority."

"What do you mean by that?"

Stephan answered in a voice brimming with confidence.

"—Just leave it to me. I’ll turn them into puppets that can be tormented for years to come."

***

Hestia Village, construction site.

The location originally designated for the Hestia Trading Company had now been occupied under the name Far Eastern Labor Union (Temporary).

Its leader was none other than the foreman, Hanson.

He had successfully persuaded the other foremen and team leaders to establish the temporary union.

"Do... do you think they’ll actually listen to us...?"

One of the team leaders sitting on the floor asked cautiously.

"No matter how I think about it, I just can’t imagine people that powerful allowing something like this..."

"Come on, don’t kill the mood."

"You were the one saying you wanted higher wages when you joined us! If you’ve changed your mind, then leave now!"

"N-No, it’s just... I’m worried..."

Faced with the rough objections of the other team leaders, he had no choice but to back down.

Hanson waited silently with his arms folded, his expression stern.

’I’m scared to death myself.’

Before taking action, he had been filled with dreams and ambition.

Now, however, he felt no different from a prisoner awaiting execution.

But there was no turning back now.

Having climbed onto the tiger’s back, he no longer had the luxury of choosing to get off.

’Still... they can’t just do whatever they want to us...’

The reason Hanson could maintain his courage was because he had reliable allies.

’The Armored Knight.’

A monster capable of lifting eleven logs with his bare hands!

A warrior strong enough to kill two monsters alone!

Though his presence inspired fear, he was also the most respected figure in the village.

The greatest reason Hanson had dared undertake something this reckless was because even the Armored Knight had agreed with the plan.

The other foremen and team leaders also trusted the Armored Knight.

In effect, he was the central pillar holding their entire alliance together.

And that very pillar was sitting beside Hanson.

’That’s right. The Armored Knight is with us.’

’Nothing will happen.’

Although they had never once exchanged words because of the Oath of Silence, Hanson believed that the knight would help if things turned dangerous.

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

Sharp glasses.

Intelligent eyes.

Clad in a crimson uniform bearing the Valdrova crest, the newcomer projected an air of professionalism and authority.

Everyone felt a chill run down their spine.

Each of them wore a headband bearing the slogan:

"Life or Death!"

"I’ve spoken with His Highness the Regent."

Isabella announced.

"Prepare your demands. A council meeting will be held one week from today."

"You mean... we’ll meet His Highness the Regent in person and discuss the matter with him?"

"That’s correct. He is willing to hear your grievances, so I would appreciate it if you prepare everything by then."

Expressions of disbelief spread across their faces.

In the Empire, they would have simply disappeared without a trace.

In any other town, the Public Security Force would have stormed in and forcibly dispersed them.

Yet instead of using force, he intended to hear them out.

"And since your request for negotiations has been accepted, I ask that you end the strike and return to work."

At those words, the team leaders shifted uneasily.

"That’s unacceptable."

The one who spoke was none other than the union leader, Hanson.

Straightening his neck proudly, Hanson declared.

"You’re telling us to go back to work before you’ve even offered us any terms. Does that make any sense?"

The workers looked back and forth between Hanson’s face and Isabella’s with troubled expressions.

Isabella replied calmly.

"We can’t simply abandon the construction site when there are no replacements available. Your wages will be increased to 150% of the current rate—"

"This isn’t about wages. Someone died. If the same thing happens again, what are you going to do about it?"

"Hanson..."

The team leaders nervously glanced between the two of them, their raised hands frozen awkwardly in midair.

Hanson was escalating the situation.

This was what the young mage had told him.

"They’ll tell you to return to work."

"Then what should we do?"

"Absolutely don’t accept it. The moment you return to work, they’ll start looking down on you. They’ll think, ’Those primitive fools will risk their lives again as long as we throw them some money’."

"Hmm..."

"More importantly, the authority you’ll gain will become much weaker."

Those words had struck a chord with Hanson, so he responded exactly as the mage had instructed.

Of course, the fact that he had already resigned himself to whatever happened also played a major part.

Once you’d already stuck your neck out, what difference did it make if you went a little further?

Isabella stared silently at the man insisting on his demands.

The descendants of Iorga.

They embodied coldness itself.

But this coldness was different.

It pierced straight into one’s heart and brought everything to a standstill.

Just as Isabella was about to speak, Hanson suddenly felt someone poke him on the shoulder.

Startled, he turned around.

Standing there was the Armored Knight.

Catching his breath, Hanson asked,

"Haa... haa... What is it, Sir Knight?"

The Armored Knight had taken the Oath of Silence.

So instead of speaking, the knight merely shook their head.

Hanson immediately understood the meaning.

"You’re telling us to go back to work?"

Nod. Nod.

They hadn’t obtained everything they wanted.

Still, there was no way they could continue pushing any further.

How could they, when the very person holding the group together had spoken?

"If that’s what Sir Knight says... then very well. We’ll return to work immediately. But if the Demon Race appears again and our lives are put in danger..."

"I will bear responsibility in my own way."

A chilling frost settled in Isabella’s eyes.

"And what responsibility will your side bear?"

"I..."

Hanson couldn’t answer.

Despite the words "Life or Death!" written across his headband, he couldn’t make a single firm promise.

Isabella let out a disappointed sigh.

"That’s enough. Let’s end this argument here and return."

With those brief, decisive words, Isabella turned and left.

The team leaders, who had been holding their breath the entire time, finally let out sighs of relief.

"Whew!"

"My heart was pounding out of my chest."

"Good thing everything worked out. If things had gone badly, we’d never have been able to work here again..."

"Come on, let’s get back to work. Whew! Sitting around like scholars has made my whole body stiff!"

One by one, the team leaders left through the door.

Just then, one middle-aged man lingering at the very back glanced around before quietly approaching Hanson.

He was a refugee who had come here, worked diligently, and earned his position as a team leader.

"Foreman Hanson, don’t ever do something like this again."

He warned him with a fierce expression.