Chapter 1374: Chapter 92: Rebuilding the Nation (19)_2

In this way, “freemen” from each county would be guided to different sectors to take their seats, so even if they wanted to mix, they would have no chance.

Sure enough, in the sector Richard was in, Gerard spotted an old friend—Richard from Blackwater Town.

Richard was puffing on his pipe while half-heartedly chatting with a short, chubby middle-aged man beside him.

As soon as Gerard Mitchell appeared, the two drooping whiskers on Richard’s upper lip immediately perked up.

“Hello there!” Richard from Blackwater Town greeted with a smile, “Gerard Vlanenovich!”

“All good.” Gerard took off his cap and grasped Richard’s soft hand with his calloused one, jokingly saying, “But compared to my old horse, I’m not much better.”

“How’s your family?”

“Thanks to the Lord, everyone is well. Eileen still thinks of you and asked me to send her regards. How about you, how’s your family?”

“They’re all well. Sigh, living in Revodan, they are happier than in Blackwater Town.” Richard’s tone was a bit wistful, but he soon regained his spirits and, holding Gerard’s hand, introduced the short, chubby man beside him, “This is Mitchell Gerard, the mayor of Wolf Town and the owner of Mitchell Manor.”

Richard paused, laughed, and said solemnly, “He’s also the father of Adjutant Mitchell—you know who Adjutant Mitchell is, right?”

“The Wolf Cavalry?” The short, chubby man cautiously asked.

“Yes.” Richard nodded.

“Oh! Mr. Mitchell, I’ve heard so much about you.” The chubby man enthusiastically clasped the old Dusack’s other hand, “Your son under His Excellency Montane has certainly made a name for himself, a promising future, indeed!”

After his compliment, the chubby man remembered he hadn’t introduced himself and, scratching his head awkwardly, said, “Sorry, sorry, I forgot to tell you my name, I’m Nandor Krellov from Niutigu Valley. If you don’t mind, just call me ‘Fatty’.”

Hearing someone praise his younger son effusively, Gerard felt both proud and a bit melancholic.

Richard noticed the complex emotions in his old friend’s eyes and interjected at the right moment, laughing, “That’s what’s called ‘like father, like son,’ Gerard old buddy, you were once a notable Dusack. Do you still remember Bloody-Hand Stuart? That horse thief who would cut off children’s hands to keep as trophies?”

“How could I forget?” Fatty Nandor obliquely asked, “But didn’t he get hanged nearly twenty years ago?”

“The one who hanged Bloody-Hand Stuart,” Richard made an exaggerated inviting gesture towards the old Dusack, laughing, “is right here in front of you, Gerard Vlanenovich Mitchell—the bravest Dusack in Iron Peak County!”

Fatty Nandor, being very considerate, immediately adopted a more admiring tone, clasping the old Dusack’s single hand excitedly, “So it was you who took down that beast, Bloody-Hand Stuart? That beast left several blood debts in Niutigu Valley. On behalf of the townsmen of Niutigu Valley—thank you! Truly, like father, like son! You must give me a chance to buy you a drink…”

Gerard was a bit dizzy from the compliments but still steadied himself, shaking his head repeatedly.

“Enough, Fatty, don’t get too chummy now.” Richard teased from the side, “Gerard old buddy might think you’re trying to borrow money from him!”

Hearing this, both Gerard and Nandor Krellov laughed.

Finding a connection with Nandor, Gerard didn’t bother looking for fellow townsmen from Wolf Town and simply sat with Richard and Nandor.

The three had only exchanged a few words about the past when many more people streamed into the Great Hall.

Of the eight sectors, six were nearly full.

The most crowded sector ran out of seats, forcing people to stand on the stairs and in the aisles.

In contrast, Iron Peak County, being the poorest of the seven county-level areas in the Newly Reclaimed Land, had fewer “freemen,” leaving plenty of space, with no worry about seats.

In the Great Hall, the seven sectors corresponding to seven counties were more or less filled.

Only the last sector next to Iron Peak County remained empty.

“See that?” Nandor motioned towards the empty adjacent sector, “Why isn’t anyone sitting there? Who’s it reserved for?”

“Who else could it be reserved for?” Richard curled his lip and said nonchalantly, “Of course, it’s for the ‘lords’.”

“That’s right.” Nandor laughed heartily, not detecting the sarcasm in Richard’s words, “Officers are naturally also ‘freemen.'”

Richard did not comment, surveying the bustling Great Hall and squinting his eyes, he said, “From what I observe, there’s a meaning behind how this venue is arranged.”

“What meaning?” Nandor asked, puzzled.

“They knew there were varying numbers of ‘freemen’ from each county, yet they still divided the seats into eight equal parts.” Richard asked meaningfully, “What do you think that means?”

“Don’t test me, buddy.” Nandor grinned, “I definitely can’t guess, just say it directly.”

Richard paused for a bit, waiting until he had piqued Gerard’s curiosity as well, before folding his arms and confidently saying, “The seats are in eight equal parts, meaning it’s not ‘one person, one vote,’ but ‘one county, one vote.’

“What’s the difference?” Nandor asked indifferently.

“The difference is huge.” Richard frowned, explaining earnestly, “How many freemen does Iron Peak County have? How many does Vernge County have? If it’s one person, one vote, our votes would be like drops of wine in a cask of water, easily diluted so that no taste could be made out.”

Richard dragged out his words intentionally, “But if it’s one county, one vote, then—that’s another story.”

“So, what difference does it make?” Nandor laughed loudly, patting Richard’s shoulder, a cunning twinkle in his eye that only old soldiers possess, “One county, one vote or one person, one vote, in the end, it’s His Excellency Montane who tells us how to vote, and we vote accordingly. So you tell me, what difference does it make?”

“Isn’t that right?” Nandor winked at the old Dusack, “Buddy.”

Gerard was amused and exasperated, finding this “Fatty” from Niutigu Valley quite interesting.

Richard, lost for words, exhaled a long sigh and slumped his shoulders.

Nandor, as if trying to console Richard, gently nudged his back.

But Richard evidently had no interest in saying anything further.

Nandor could only shrug, no longer disturbing Richard.

As time passed, the Great Hall was getting more and more crowded. A tall, dour-looking middle-aged man and a round-faced chubby person entered the sector adjacent to Gerard on his right.

The tall one and the chubby one were none other than Majiya Milock from Oak Town in Vernge County and the timber merchant Mikhail.

Gerard caught sight of the two and stood up to greet them.

Old Majiya nodded politely, while the timber merchant Mikhail bent to return the greeting, his expression rather awkward.

After exchanging greetings, the timber merchant pulled old Majiya to sit at the farthest spot from the old Dusack.

Soon, no more people entered the sectors of each county.

Even though some sectors were overcrowded and others spacious enough for someone to lie down and nap.

Yet “freemen,” sitting or standing, in this assembly of all freemen—the theoretically highest authority of the Newly Reclaimed Land, but the first of its kind—finally had their place.

Although everyone unconsciously lowered their voices when speaking, the whispers of over a thousand people, reflected by the dome and walls, still produced a powerful resonance, rumbling throughout the Great Hall.

Only at such times did the people under the dome truly realize there were so many “freemen” in the Newly Reclaimed Land.

And the unified voices of the “freemen” were so resonant.

Listening to the growing “rumble,” Richard, who was once the largest estate owner in Blackwater Town, had his eyes gradually brighten again.

But in the next moment, a loud sound brought the dome under a dead silence.

The main doors of the Great Hall were thrown open with a boom.

The officers stepped into the venue.