CHAPTER 57: THREE WALK INTO A BAR

As I strode toward the city square, my soldiers marched behind me, a silent wall of steel. The gates had opened, and the people spilled into the streets, drawn by fear and curiosity alike. Hunger and the wear of long years were carved into their faces, yet in their eyes flickered a light I could not ignore. Hope... or at least the fragile dream of it.

When I reached the square, I turned to the kneeling guards at the gate.

"From this moment, the men who stand watch on the walls will be mine. You will lay down your arms. I have no desire to spill blood."

One of them dared to lift his head.

"And us, my lord? What will become of us?"

I held his gaze.

"If you have not oppressed your own people, then from this day you will protect them. But if even one of you tries to resurrect the shadow of the old order, remember, your lives will hang by a thread thinner than hair."

My words echoed through the square, and a murmur rippled through the crowd. The townsfolk clung to one another as though hiding crumbs of bread, straining to catch every syllable.

Mike leaned close, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Not sure you’re wise to spare them. Still... the people already see you as a savior. But careful, old friend. If you give them too much hope, tomorrow you’ll need bread to feed it."

He wasn’t wrong. My coffers were thin. The war was already breaking our backs. But a lord without hope was no lord at all.

I raised my voice to the crowd.

"Baron Sulka’s greed has ruined this city. I, Leonardo, commander of Argenholt, proclaim this day: the people’s taxes shall be cut in half! No, I cannot promise more, for I too stand in the midst of war. But no one shall starve again. I ask only this: every family keep its hearth alive. Men, help repair the walls. Women and children tend the city’s cleanliness. If this city is to rise again, we must all bear the weight."

Tears welled in the people’s eyes. A low hum of prayer spread like wind through the square. For the first time in years, their breaths left their lips unchained.

I had a stone dais set in the center of the square. Standing before them, I lifted the Codex once more and declared:

"The sword measures Argenholt’s justice not only, but by bread! From this day forth, the people of this city are our people. The greed of House Sulka is history. From this day, if one of you goes hungry, that hunger will be our shame!"

The square erupted in cheers. Women lifted their children high, men raised their hands to the heavens, prayers spilling between sobs. Many dropped to their knees, overcome.

Yet the truth gnawed within me. No matter how just I tried to be, without gold in the coffers this hope would not last. And in the eyes of the people, I was already their savior. Either I would live up to that image... or shatter it with my own hands.

---

*A few days later*

The city was slowly adjusting to its new master. The gates had reopened, and local small traders began to creep back into the marketplace. There was no abundance yet, but the worst pangs of hunger were eased.

Still, I faced a choice. Once I departed, who would govern in my stead? A lord who cannot rule with his own eyes must leave behind a shadow of himself.

For days I watched the city. The people, freed from their yoke, were breathing again, but their faces still bore a wary restraint. Hope is like soil: if left dry, it crumbles; if drowned, it drowns. I had to strike a balance.

But I could not stay. My army waited, the front widened. The city needed a structure that could stand on its own.

So I summoned a small council at the late Baron’s manor. At my side sat Mike, a handful of trusted officers, and Edric, the city’s eldest scribe. Bent-backed, his body frail with age, he had long kept record of taxes and was known among the people for his honesty.

"Edric," I said, meeting the trembling man’s eyes, "from now on the city’s ledgers will rest in your hands. You will write who has paid and who has gone hungry."

Tears glistened as he bowed.

"As you command, my lord."

Next, I called forth a soldier from my own ranks: Sergeant Halmar. Young but hardened, he had seen battle after battle, a mercenary who valued order over greed.

"Halmar," I told him, "the walls, the gates, the safety of sleeping families; these are yours to guard. The law here is simple: any man who steals or oppresses will hang. But any who labor, will live. You shall wield the sword. Edric will wield the quill."

I looked at the two standing before me: one embodying the quill, the other the sword. Yet a city cannot stand by steel and ink alone. It needs bread, faith, and the watchful eye of conscience.

"There must be a third," I said, my voice cutting the silence of the chamber. "Where there is no lord, no single man can balance both people and soldiers. So there shall be three pillars: the quill, the sword, and the scales."

Mike arched a brow.

"You mean a judge."

I nodded.

"Yes, someone from the people. A name unsullied, a voice they heed."

Edric shuffled forward, his frail voice carrying the weight of years.

"There is a widow, my lord. Marla. Sulka’s men came for her bread, year after year, yet she harmed no one. Among neighbors, her word is trusted. All would bow to her judgment."

The suggestion drew surprise across the council’s faces. But I smiled. The strongest voices often rose from among the common.

"Then let Marla be summoned. She shall be the conscience of this city. Halmar with the sword, Edric with the quill, Marla with the people’s heart. Together, they will bear the weight."

Mike burst into laughter.

"A widow, a crooked old man, and a mercenary... what’s next? The three of them walk into a bar? Hahaahaha!"

His laughter rang off the stone walls, bitter as poison. Faces darkened; Edric looked down, Halmar scowled. I alone smiled.

"Yes," I answered, holding Mike’s gaze."They will walk into a tavern. The tavern will be this city itself. The crooked old man will keep the ledgers of who paid for the drinks. The mercenary will throw out anyone who brawls. And the widow will decide whose account is honest and whose is false. Not such a bad order, is it? If such a tavern had existed back then, perhaps you would not bear that scar on your face."

Mike’s laughter caught in his throat, softening into a wry grin.

"Ahem. Your tongue cuts sharper than any blade, as always."