Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 502 Rebuilding the Nation (18)

Cold sweat trickled down his back, and Mikhail instantly sobered up.

“Brother…” The timber merchant tried desperately to force a smile onto his fat face, but his expression turned ashen, like he’d been bitten on the finger by a dog. He stammered an explanation: “…I didn’t know you were…”

Hearing this, old Dussac became even more displeased.

"What?" Girard's eyebrows shot up, but his tone was kind and friendly: "You'd say something even worse just because I'm not from Iron Peak County?"

"no……"

"What do you mean it isn't?"

That's not what I meant...

"What does that mean?"

The fat timber merchant from Vaughan was cornered and dared not utter another word, lest he give the old man another reason to speak. He frantically tugged at old Matthias's coat under the table, his eyes brimming with tears as he pleaded for help.

Little Ma Jia, who was gloating, was surprised to find that her father, who was usually cautious and never involved in other people's troubles, was now choosing to stand up for a fellow villager who was not even close to her.

“He was drunk and just talking nonsense, please don’t take it to heart.” Old Majiya bowed apologetically and shielded the mournful-looking timber merchant behind him: “Girard Fryninovich.”

“Yes, he was talking drunk, but it was also the truth.” Girard wasn’t buying it, and said aggressively, “Brother, let’s have a frank talk. A year ago, you people of Vaughan County treated us like rebels and looked down on us. Now that you see the young men of Iron Peak County are doing well, you’re starting to get jealous and blame us for riding on your heads—am I wrong?”

“Don’t scare him,” old Matthias pleaded earnestly. “Girard Fryninovich.”

Girard stared intently at the two freemen of Vaughan with eyes as fierce as a wolf.
The timber merchant huddled up, trying his best to hide behind his fellow villager.

Old Ma Jiya remained calm, like a tree facing a storm.

Little Majiya involuntarily held her breath, while Siegfried silently observed the standoff.

Only the pianist remained engrossed in reading "Escape from the Tiger's Mouth," as if he had been detached from the world, and everything around him was irrelevant.

Suddenly, Girard slammed his hand on the table and burst into laughter.

The suffocating tension from before vanished without a trace in an instant.

Both Majiya and the timber merchant Mikhail breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thirty years ago,” Girard said, as if joking, to the timber merchant hiding behind his fellow countryman, “you would have gotten a beating, and a really bad one.”

“Back then, when I beat you up, I was only losing face for myself,” old Dussac said nostalgically, then sighed. “Now, if I beat you up, it’s Lord Montagne who’s losing face.”

The timber merchant wiped the sweat from his brow, relieved that he had escaped a disaster.

Old Ma Jiya bowed again, this time even deeper than before.

Upon seeing this, the timber merchant hurriedly followed suit and bowed.

"Wait, don't bend over yet, I still have something to say." Girard's expression changed, and his smile disappeared.

He put down his wine glass, stood up, straightened his back, and asked the two free men from Vaughan County in a stern voice: "You say we ride roughshod over you, and you're jealous that we're officials under Blood Wolves, but do you know how this 'good life' came about?"

"Do you know how many honest farmers in Xia Tiefeng County burned down their own homes in order to hold off the barbarians of Hede?"

Do you know how many good young men are buried along the banks of the Pangtuo River?

“If it weren’t for the people of Iron Peak County holding off the Teldon tribe, you would be the ones being plundered, enslaved, and slaughtered!” Girard clenched his fist and slammed it hard on the table, making the knives, forks, cups, saucers, and everyone else’s hearts tremble. “I don’t expect you to be grateful to me! But you should at least have respect for those who died in battle! Every single one of them!”

“The Battle of the Styx, the Battle of Blood Mud, the Battle of the Valley of Sorrows…” Gilard’s eyes reddened, and his hands trembled slightly: “You treat these as stories told by storytellers, but for the people of Iron Peak County, these stories were written in blood! Do you know how many people were injured in Iron Peak County? How many died? How many pillars of the county were crippled? How many women became widows? And how many children became orphans?”

The dining table was silent.

The quiet little space, surrounded by the noisy and chaotic environment of the tavern, was like a block of ice in a scorching iron pot.

Girard slumped back into his seat, head bowed, and began to softly sing Dussac's mournful lament, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings:
"Our land doesn't need a plow to turn it over."

"Our land is cultivated with horseshoes."

"The land is planted with Dusak's heads."
"Young widows adorn the Shield River everywhere."
"The rolling waves are the tears of parents..."

The blond mercenary sitting opposite old Dussac was also moved, gazing at the wine in his glass and softly humming along:

"Oh, Shield River, our parents, why is your water so muddy?"

"Oh dear, child, how can my water not be muddy?"
"A cold spring gushed out from beneath me."
"The silver fish stirred up my still river water."

When the music ended, Girard wiped the tears from his eyes, drank his wine in silence, and seemed unwilling to say another word.

Siegfried silently kept old Dussac company as they drank.

For a moment, an unsettling silence fell over the table.

Old Majiya stopped his youngest son with a look, who wanted to say something to defuse the awkward situation, and shook his head at his fellow countryman who wanted to slip away on the spot, leaving the precious silence to old Dussac.

"Hurrah!"

Unfortunately, a sudden voice rang out from the table.

The pianist slapped his thigh excitedly, as if he had just returned from another new world, and exclaimed to the others around the table, "It's so well written!"

"The word choice is vivid, the sentences are easy to understand, the plot is full of twists and turns, and the characters are vivid and lifelike—most remarkably, it can even rhyme?" The musician asked incredulously, "In this godforsaken place, there are actually people who understand the power of rhythm?"

He frantically examined every corner of the booklet, finally finding the author's name on the edge of the last page: "Jacob Klin?"

“Jacob Green?” The pianist chewed on the name, then slapped his thigh and said emphatically, “This man is worth meeting!”

It was only at this moment that the pianist realized that the atmosphere at the dinner table was not quite right.

"What happened?" the pianist asked, a little embarrassed. He glanced at the faces of his classmates and suddenly realized, "Is another fight about to break out?"

Before his companion could explain, the musician had already snatched back his lute, kicked aside the stool, and leaped onto the table.

The entire set of movements was so fluid and graceful that Xiao Ma Jiya was dumbfounded.

On the other side, the pianist cheered, "What are you waiting for? Let's get started!"

On the other side, Siegfried pulled the pianist off the table with obvious disgust, while awkwardly nodding apologetically to the others and whispering a few words in the pianist's ear.

"What?" the pianist asked, clearly disappointed. "Just for this?"

He casually picked up the stool, obediently sat down again, then reached out and patted the table, asking the timber merchant on the other side of the table, "Hey, you're unhappy just because someone's been riding on your head? There always has to be someone riding on your head, right? What's there to be unhappy about?"

Mikhail was greatly embarrassed and didn't know how to answer.

“Oh! I see.” The musician tilted his head and glanced at the sullen old Dussac, then looked at the timber merchant: “It’s not that you’re afraid of having less, but that you’re afraid of others having more than you—it’s because the person who used to be ridden on your head has replaced the person who used to be riding on your head, and that’s why you’re not satisfied.”

These words not only made the timber merchant feel embarrassed, but also so ashamed that he wanted to disappear into the ground. At the same time, he was also furious—because the person who had criticized him was an insignificant musician.

“Mortal, your name is Foolishness.” The musician sang a verse, swaying his head, and then smiled at the timber merchant, saying, “Sir, if I were you, I would obediently follow ‘Blood Wolf’s’ orders without the slightest doubt.”

"Don't talk big, musician." Mikhail finally couldn't hold back any longer, his face showing displeasure as he reprimanded the arrogant young man opposite him: "You're just a musician, what do you know?"

"Time, merciless lady, you steal away people's years, but leave them no wisdom." The musician plucked the strings and sang another verse, looking at the fat timber merchant with pity, and asked, "If you think you know more than I do, then tell me, why are you, your fellow countrymen beside you, this old Dussac, and the other free men of the newly reclaimed land—gathered here?"

"Of course, it's for the Free People's Congress." Mikhail said, puzzled. "Everyone in the newly reclaimed land knows that."

“No, no, no.” The musician shook his fingers, the smile that still irritated the timber merchant still lingering on his lips: “What I’m asking is, what is the purpose of the people who ride roughshod over you holding this ‘Conference of Free Men’?”

The timber merchant couldn't answer, but still stubbornly retorted, "I don't know, but do you?"

“You’ve finally gotten it right once,” the musician replied smugly. “I not only know it, I also know the cause and effect.”

"Stop bragging!" the timber merchant slammed his fist on the table in anger.

The blond mercenary beside him frowned and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword for the third time.

The musician patted the blond mercenary's arm, signaling his companion to calm down.

He stood up, took a deep breath, and shouted.

The shout pierced the clouds and split the rocks, its resounding echo instantly drowning out all other noises.

This immediately drew the attention of not only the pianist at the table, but also all the patrons in the side room.

The musician, with one foot on a stool, picked up his lute and played a short melody, as if to warm up for himself.

After finishing the performance with a pull-down, the musician looked around and asked in a chanting manner, "People of the Alliance, do you know why the Alliance is the Alliance?"

The patrons, regaining their senses, booed, unable to understand what the musician in the comical hat was trying to say.

Faced with a tidal wave of boos, the pianist not only remained unfazed but also retorted sharply: "Although the customs and sentiments of the various republics differ, you are all remarkably united in one thing: ignorance."

The boos grew louder, interspersed with a few harsh insults.

A cup flew out from the corner and maliciously hit the pianist on the back of the head.

Just as the wine glass was about to hit its target, Siegfried caught it in mid-air.

The blond mercenary turned the cup upside down on the table, glanced at his friend who was completely unaware of what was happening, and sighed helplessly.

"Take your son and get out of here quickly," the blond mercenary kindly reminded the middle-aged veteran across the table. "It won't be safe here anytime soon."

"No!" Little Ma Jiaya still wanted to watch the excitement, how could he agree? He begged his father, "Listen, listen to what he has to say."

Old Majiya did not answer his son, but he also did not leave the table.

“Ignorant people, let me tell you.”

The musician picked up the lute and began to play and sing:
"Half a century ago, Emperor Richard Sun ruled the land, and a bloodline that had lasted for hundreds of years granted him power, a bloodline that could be traced back to ancient gods."

"However, two serpents were coiled at the feet of the emperor. One serpent said, 'Your golden crown was given by my lord,' and the other serpent said, 'Your throne comes from the consent of the people.'"

"The snakes bit the emperor's body, and Richard bravely fought them. The snake bearing the imperial emblem was trampled under Richard's foot, but another snake bit Richard's arm."

"To avoid being poisoned, the courageous Richard cut off his arm and threw it, along with the venomous snake attached to it, into the two mountains."

"This!" The musician plucked a heavy note, abruptly ending the chant: "This is the origin of the Alliance!"

After he finished singing, before the patrons could fully understand, he quickly crouched down, crawled under the table, and disappeared from everyone's sight.

"Hey, hey." The pianist climbed out from the other side of the table, hugged the table leg, and asked the three stunned Vogneshire men, "Did you understand?"

“What do you understand?” Little Majiya blurted out. “Hey, it seems you’re destined to be unlucky with the Muse.” The pianist’s expression turned pitying again as he explained rapidly, “To put it in a way you can understand, the foundation of your Southern Alliance comes from the Restorationists fifty years ago, who championed the old Republic’s ideas. So you are the ones who…”

"Wait a minute," Xiao Majia shook her head blankly, "I don't understand what you're saying."

"Do you know what the revivalists are?" the pianist asked.

"do not know."

"Then do you know what the ancient republic is?" the musician asked again.

"do not know."

"Then do you understand what the 'foundation of a nation' is?"

Little Majiya shook her head like a bell.

The pianist's eyes finally betrayed his torment as he groaned, "It's the foundation! The base! The pillar! Everything—countries, governments, parliaments…—is built on top of it. Without it, everything else would collapse."

Xiao Majiya nodded hesitantly, as if she understood, yet also as if she didn't.

"This 'foundation of the nation,' simply put, can be summed up in one sentence." The musician's nonchalant smile vanished, and he solemnly declared, "All power comes from the people!"

He then added sarcastically, "But it seems that this statement was ultimately distorted into 'all power comes from the citizens.'"

“‘Citizen’?” Little Ma Jia felt her brain couldn’t keep up as she listened: “‘People’?”

“He is a citizen.” Qin pointed at old Majiya, then at the timber merchant: “He is a citizen too.”

"You mean citizens, specifically 'free people'?" Little Maja asked tentatively.

“Citizen, knight, propertied person, free man… they’re just different names for the same thing. Those who possess political power are ‘citizens.’” The musician shrugged. “Now do you understand why ‘those who ride on your heads’ want to gather all the free people of the newly reclaimed land?”

Little Majiya looked at her expressionless father, then at the bewildered timber merchant, and finally gave up, saying, "Please treat me as the most foolish person and explain it to me again."

“Acknowledging ignorance is the first step to acquiring knowledge.” The musician smiled with satisfaction. “Actually, the reason is very simple. Although the newly reclaimed land is now in the hands of a group of soldiers, no matter how many times it has been ‘republican,’ the foundation of the nation remains the same. Why else would we gather all the citizens of the newly reclaimed land? Naturally, we want you to ‘stamp’ the new republic!”

The three men from Vaughan were speechless.

After a moment, Mikhail spoke first. This time, his tone was much more respectful, and he asked with concern, "If we 'stamp' it, in the future... in the future when they fall, will the officials of the Fortress of Kings hold us accountable?"

"Of course we'll settle scores with you," the musician said nonchalantly. "How can we establish the authority of the new rulers without arresting a few unlucky souls, confiscating their property, hanging them, and displaying them by the roadside?"

The timber merchant's face turned deathly pale instantly.

“But apart from a few particularly unlucky people, the rest of you will be fine after shedding some blood.” The musician shrugged. “After all, if the next ruler slaughters you all, who will pay his taxes, who will be responsible for his levies, and who will maintain his rule?”

The timber merchant was still somewhat hesitant. He fiddled with his fingers, his eyes darting around, seemingly lost in thought.

"Don't get any funny ideas," the musician said with a wicked grin, reminding the timber merchant. "In my opinion, getting through this hurdle is more important than facing future repercussions. Think about what would happen if someone didn't stamp the document?"

The timber merchant subconsciously swallowed.

"Yes, you see, you know you can't fight city hall." The musician clapped his hands and laughed, "Why won't you just obediently admit defeat?"

“But I heard…” the timber merchant stammered, “ that Blood Wolf isn’t a good person…”

Hearing this, the musician's smile deepened. He stood up, put his arm around the timber merchant's neck, and asked sincerely, "Dear Mr. Mikhail, 'Blood Wolf' is not a good person, so are you a good person?"

"What...what do you mean?" The timber merchant was utterly astonished.

“Have you never lied? Have you never broken a vow? Have you never done anything against your conscience? If you die here today, standing before the gates of heaven, do you really think you can pass the gatekeeper’s questioning?” The musician paused, then added with a smile, “If heaven really exists.”

The timber merchant was sweating profusely from the question and couldn't answer it.

“Well then, dear Mr. Mikhail,” the musician said, turning the timber merchant’s head and forcing him to look around. He pointed to the Maja father and son, the blond swordsman, and old Dusak at the table. “What do you think of them? Are they good people?”

"Who dares to say that this father and son never had any intention of taking advantage of you?"
"Who dares to say that this blond guy with a sword hasn't ever thought about robbing you?"
"And who dares to say that this old Dussac—the emperor's whip—has never considered simply killing you?"

Qin pointed at the noisy, vulgar patrons in the tavern, then whispered in the lumber merchant's ear, delving into his very soul, "Do you think there are really any good people here?"
"On a larger scale, do you really think there are good people in this world?"

The timber merchant was so thirsty he couldn't utter a single word.

“Don’t count on it, Mr. Mikhail.” The musician patted the lumber merchant’s fat face and said with pity, “We’re not good people, there are no good people in this world. If there really is a hell, we’re already living in it.”

"What you should be worried about is not the 'Blood Wolf,' but these bad people living around you."

"What prevents them from breaking into your home, raping your wife and daughters, enjoying your bread and wine, and sleeping in your bed is precisely what the 'Blood Wolves' provide—order."

"You think 'Blood Wolf' is not a good person and therefore don't want to support him, which only shows that you haven't seen true evil yet."

"And standing between you and 'true evil' is only the protection of 'Blood Wolf'."

"As for whether Blood Wolf is a good person or not," the musician shrugged, "what does it have to do with you? As long as he provides you with protection, isn't that enough?"

As he finished speaking, the musician's smile took on a sinister tinge: "Besides, do you really think that a qualified ruler... can be a 'good person'?"

The timber merchant, drenched in sweat and trembling, finally bowed his head.

"Hey." The musician patted the timber merchant on the shoulder affectionately: "That's right, it's good that you understand."

Old Ma Jia, who had been silent from beginning to end but had listened to the whole thing, stood up and asked solemnly, "I still don't know your name."

“Machiavelli.” The musician took off his hat and proudly extended his hand: “You can call me ‘Machiavelli’.”

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Ma Wei." Old Ma Jiaya shook Ma Wei's hand.

Mawei was flattered; this was the first time he had ever received such treatment.

He shook hands with old Majiya somewhat embarrassed, then returned to his companion's side, drank the rest of the wine in his large glass in one gulp, and even licked the glass with a lingering sense of satisfaction.

"Alright," Mawei let out a satisfied burp, "All the drinks are finished for today, and all the bragging is over..."

Hearing this, the blond mercenary sighed, emptied his glass, and then walked over to the already drunken old Dusak and helped him up.

"...It's time to end today's performance with a grand tavern brawl!" Ma Wei announced gleefully, feigning sadness: "Sigh, I didn't want it to be like this today, but—who told the tavern owner to try and renege on my performance fee?"

Before anyone else could react, Ma Wei had already jumped onto the table with his wine glass in hand.

He took a deep breath and roared with a voice that could shatter windows: "Brothers! Those country bumpkins from the outskirts are attacking us Maplestone City folks!"

After yelling, Ma Wei forcefully smashed the glass in his hand into the corner of the side room where the wine glass had just flown by.

A scream and a curse echoed from the corner.

A massive brawl ensued in the pub.

The table was overturned, the benches were thrown around, a fist came flying from one side, and a big foot kicked from the other.

You hit me, I hit you, who hit me, and who did I hit?

no one knows.

The already drunken patrons were like bundles of dry straw; if even a single ember fell in, the tavern would be engulfed in flames.

The proprietress ran over from the other side of the hall. When she saw the chaotic scene before her, she screamed in panic, but there was nothing she could do except scream.

The clever kitchen staff had already blocked the door leading to the hall, ensuring that the "battle" wouldn't spread to them.

Laughing, Mawei knocked down a drunkard who lunged at him with his lute, and then, still not satisfied, pounced on another person who had just booed the loudest.

Siegfried protected old Dussac, supporting him as they walked towards the door.

……

When Girard woke up, he was already in his bed at home.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw his wife in front of him.

"You're awake." Ellen asked with concern, "Is anything bothering you?"

“No…” Girard was a little confused. He tried to sit up, but a soreness came from his back: “It’s just that my back is a little…”

“Your son is already married, why are you still acting like you did when you were young?” Although Allen spoke reproachfully, there was a smile on his lips: “I’ll go get you some water.”

After saying that, Ellen walked out of the bedroom.

Girard didn't understand what his wife was talking about until he looked out the window—it was completely dark.

Only then did Mr. Mitchell realize that he had been in the tavern just a moment ago!
Ellen carried the water glass back to her room.

"I...I..." Gerard slapped his forehead and hurriedly asked his wife, "How did I get back?"

"Two young men brought you back..."

“One's blonde, the other's wearing a hat,” Girard interrupted his wife. “Right?”

Ellen nodded, put down her water glass, sat down next to her husband, and patiently asked, "What's wrong?"

Girard steadied himself and asked his wife, "Where are those two young men?"

"They dropped you off at the gate and then left." Allen asked, puzzled, "What happened?"

Girard let out a long, regretful sigh and collapsed wearily onto the bed.

……

Meanwhile, Winters Montagne's residence was also brightly lit.

Because a very important guest has come to visit.

No, not a guest.

It's a relationship far more intimate than just a formal status.

Classmates, comrades-in-arms, close friends, fellow soldiers...

“You’ve finally arrived,” Winters said, beaming with joy. “Now that you’re here, we can begin.”

“Yes.” Bud smiled warmly.

[Victory is certain!]
[The political views expressed by Ma Wei can only represent Ma Wei's political views.]
[He firmly believes in and wants others to accept his views, hence those lines; this does not mean the author supports Mavy's views.]
[I'm very sorry if this has offended you in any way. Orz]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
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(End of this chapter)