CHAPTER 96: THE LAW OF MERIT - 2

"To earn a token and become a citizen of the Eon Emporium, every person must pass a series of trials. These trials are not a test of your innate talent, but a measure of your worth to our new society.

There are three paths to citizenship."

Derin raised his voice.

"The first is the Trial of Skill! For those of you who are craftsmen, alchemists, blacksmiths, enchanters, or possess any other lifestyle skill, you will be tested.

You will be given a task and the resources to complete it. If you are a blacksmith, you will forge a blade. If you are an alchemist, you will brew a potion. Your work will be judged not on its power, but on its quality and your effort.

If you pass, you will be granted a token and a position in your respective guild in the city above."

A buzz of excitement went through the crowd. The craftsmen, the artisans, the people who worked with their hands—their faces lit up with hope.

This was a chance they had never been given before. A chance to be judged on their actual skill.

"The second path," Derin continued, "is the Trial of Contribution! For those of you who do not have a specialised craft, for the families, the farmers, the labourers, there is still a path. The Base City is still growing. We need workers to build new homes, to pave new roads, to guard the walls.

You will be given a job. You will be paid in provisional tokens for your work. Once you have earned enough tokens through your honest labour, you can exchange them for a citizen’s token and a permanent home in the Emporium.

You will earn your place with your own sweat."

Tears began to well up in the eyes of the poor families in the crowd. They were being offered not charity, but a chance to work for a future. It was a promise of dignity.

"The third and final path," Derin’s voice grew serious, "is the Trial of Loyalty! The Eon Emporium is a home, a fortress, a family. We do not accept traitors.

We do not accept spies. Before any token is granted, no matter which path you take, you must swear a Soul Oath. You will swear your loyalty to the Eon Conglomerate and its laws. You will swear to never betray our city or its people.

This oath is absolute. If you break it, the laws of the universe themselves will be your executioner."

The plaza was silent for a moment. A Soul Oath was a serious matter. But for the people here, who had no one and nothing, loyalty was not a high price to pay for a future.

Then, the cheering began. It started as a few scattered shouts, then grew into a massive, deafening roar of hope and joy. They were no longer the abandoned. They were the chosen.

[Don’t you think the soul oath is a bit overkill?]

’I am not forcing anyone. If they want to stay in the ground cities, they don’t need the Oath. But if they want to become citizens in my floating cities... they have to. I am also not enslaving them; I just want them to swear they will never betray me.’

A richly dressed merchant, who had been standing near the front, pushed his way forward. His face was red with anger.

"This is an outrage!" he shouted, his voice full of arrogance. "I am a wealthy man! My caravan holds a fortune in gold! I should not have to work like a common laborer! I will buy my token!"

The cheering died down. All eyes turned to the merchant, then to Rhys.

Rhys looked down at the man, his face an unreadable mask.

"Your gold means nothing here," he said, his voice cold and flat. "It was earned in the broken system of the old world. Here, you start with nothing, just like everyone else. Prove your worth through your skills or your work. That is the only way."

"But... but I am a merchant!" the man sputtered. "My skill is trade!"

"Good," Rhys said. "Then your Trial of Skill will be to take a small cart of simple goods and turn a profit in the Base City’s new market. If you are as skilled as you say, you will earn your token in no time. If not..." Rhys shrugged. "...then your skill is worthless here."

The merchant’s face turned from red to white. He was being asked to start from the very bottom. One of the Ashen Crusaders behind Rhys took a single, heavy step forward.

The merchant flinched, then fell silent, his arrogant protest dying in his throat. The message was clear. The rules were absolute. There were no exceptions.

The crowd began to move. The trials had begun.

Derin and his newly appointed officials began to organise the people into long, orderly lines. One line for the craftsmen, one for the labourers, one for the hunters and warriors who would be tested in a separate arena.

The city, which had been a place of desperate waiting, was now a place of purposeful action.

Rhys watched from the platform as his new society began to take shape. He saw blacksmiths firing up temporary forges, their faces grim with concentration.

He saw alchemists carefully measuring ingredients, their hands steady. He saw families, mothers and fathers, eagerly signing up for construction work, their children clinging to their legs with hopeful eyes.

This was the true foundation of his empire. Not the floating island, not his army of the dead. It was this. The will of the people, forged into a single, unified purpose under his command.

Derin walked back to the platform, his face flushed with excitement and emotion.

"It’s working, My Lord," he said, his voice full of awe. "They believe in you. They believe in the Emporium."

Rhys looked out at the bustling city, at the determined faces of his new people. A genuine smile touched his lips.

"This is only the beginning, Derin," he said, his gaze turning to the distant horizon, towards the world that lay beyond their small province.

"This is just the first step."