CHAPTER 138: CHAPTER 136 LISTEN UP, BUMPKIN

"Listen up, hillbillies."

Standing in front of the bright silver candelabra, the handsome young Priest disdainfully looked at the group of unclean people before him.

Most of the unclean were disheveled, some wearing pajamas with sleep still in their eyes, and even a few had injuries on their bodies and faces.

The scene unfolded while Horn was holding an award ceremony, with an air of festivity.

Inside the Joan of Arc Castle City Hall, an emergency meeting was being held.

Representatives from all the guilds, citizen representatives, and City Councilors were all forced to attend.

Soldiers kicked open their doors, dragged them out of bed, stuffed them into carriages, and brought them to the City Hall.

Here, they did not see the familiar Casti, but instead, the newly appointed city secretary by the Duke, Zandebeck.

The city secretary is essentially the Duke’s representative within City Hall, wielding power far beyond the surface of the title.

Under the guidance of attendants, everyone took their seats, as the light from lamps shone out through the latticework windows.

This nocturnal meeting attracted many nearby citizens who had not yet gone to bed; they pulled open their attic shutters and peered in the direction of the City Hall.

Even the Night Guard patrolling the streets couldn’t help but stop and look up toward that side.

The citizens sat by an oak long table that had been passed down for a hundred years, beneath a marble vaulted ceiling, their feet on a Western carpet woven with the banner of Joan of Arc’s Long River.

Standing within the six high columns were statues of six saints or angels, looking down upon them.

At the foremost end of the long table, Zandebeck, with a heavy Falan accent, arrogantly tilted his chin up:

"I’ll say it again, listen up, hillbillies."

"Starting tomorrow, we will impose an additional war tax to address potential threats."

"As for trade tax, an additional one-sixth tax levy will be imposed per yard of fur at customs, and one-tenth for each gallon of dye."

"The head tax is 25 dinars per citizen, 10 dinars per Armed Farmer, and 5 dinars per Public Register Farmer."

"Every window in the city will incur a 5 dinars window tax, each stove an additional 8 dinars, and every vagrant or laborer must provide 2 dinars."

"Besides, all weapon shops in the city are to suspend business; all weapons are to be claimed by the Duke’s Castle."

"Blacksmiths are not allowed to forge any weapons; if any illegal weapons are forged, those weapons will be directly claimed by the Duke."

Only when this new city secretary spoke did those present feel as if they had awakened from a dream.

For each citizen, 25 dinars might be nothing to the big merchants, but for ordinary citizens and laborers, it was a hefty tax burden.

To the big merchants and Workshop Masters, the fur tax and dye tax were like daggers to their hearts.

Not to mention that even Public Register Farmers and vagrants were also required to pay tax—it was 2 dinars, and they couldn’t even afford to eat, so where would the dinars come from?

"This is unfair!" A citizen representative immediately protested, "This year we’ve already paid high commercial taxes and city redemption taxes!"

"If we have to pay such taxes, we might even have to sell part of our assets."

"We will protest, we will strike!" The representatives from the Artisan Guild even stood up directly.

"Protesters and strikers will incur an additional tax of 2 dinars per person!" Zandebeck sneered.

"How dare you do this? I assure you, if you do, there won’t be a single person left at the docks." The citizens’ representatives threatened.

"Yes, Mr. Priest, you can wait and see, even if Jeanne herself came, she wouldn’t be able to call them out; I swear it!"

"You can try." Zandebeck glared at the citizen representative, "If Jeanne can’t call them out, let’s see if swords can!"

"But there was a major flood before, the roads are damaged, and there wasn’t much profit this year, plus the grain prices have skyrocketed—where are we supposed to get the money?"

"Borrow it, steal it, mortgage it, sell the gutter if you must." Zandebeck said coldly, "I don’t care where your money comes from, I only care about collecting taxes."

"Then at least tell us what this war is all about!"

"You idiots, can’t you see what the situation is in the Thousand River Valley now?

The Norn people are coming over, the Leia people are coming over, and have you forgotten how Prince Kongdai treated Xiaochi City with his decrees?

"In Xiaochi City, workshops have closed, City Councilors have been hanged, citizens have gone bankrupt; it would take ten, twenty years to recover."

"We have already paid other taxes that include the taxes for our protection."

"And if war comes, who will cover the shortfall in military expenses?" With his right hand clenched in a fist, Zandebeck pounded heavily on the table, causing the vase on it to topple.

"If you don’t pay the war tax, let me ask you—are you willing to take up a spear, equip yourself with weapons, and follow the Duke onto the battlefield?"

The petals crawled along the table surface with the clear water, following the ancient wood grain and cracks, dripping onto the ground.

The previously noisy council hall fell silent, whether City Councilor or guild representative, all lowered their heads under Zandebeck’s gaze.

"I advise you all, if you think today’s wealth came from your own efforts, you’d better think again.

But don’t forget, if it weren’t for the Duke’s military deterrence, you would have been looted countless times by bandits, robber knights, mercenaries, or even the Church or nearby nobles.

In my hometown of Huaqiu City, there is a famous saying that I give to you all—if you are being provided for, don’t talk about freedom and independence!"

"But..."

Seeing that several citizen representatives were still unconvinced, Zandebeck impatiently knocked on the table: "I don’t want to debate with you. Debating with commoners like you is beneath my dignity.

Stay here and think about it carefully, think about yourselves. I’ll give you one night’s time."

Ignoring the discussions among the citizens, Zandebeck walked straight out of the council hall of the City Hall, and the two accompanying mercenaries immediately crossed their long-handled axes to block the door.

......

The wind in November was colder than usual.

Scarlet maple leaves fell on Horn’s shoulder, emitting a faint woody fragrance.

Looking up, it was Horn’s first time closely observing Duke Dane’s castle.

It was situated beside this small canal, with an artificially constructed earthen platform, and the place around the platform where soil was dug conveniently formed a moat.

The moat was two to three meters deep and about 8 meters wide, with a drawbridge hoisted by chains, suspended over the river.

From here forward, one could also see the gatehouse flanked by two towers, the latticed iron gate lifted by hinges, where servants and soldiers could be seen running back and forth.

Under the blue sky and white clouds, the castle looked like a giant beast with its bloody maw wide open.

"Mr. Horn."

A previously met attendant jogged over from the drawbridge to Horn’s side, first glancing fearfully at Jeanne wearing a mask, then whispered:

"Sir, the Duke fell into the water yesterday and after being treated by a physician, he developed a low fever and is bedridden. You’ll have to come back tomorrow or the day after."

Sick?

Horn suddenly got a headache, why did he fall sick at precisely this time?

"Has the Duke really fallen so ill? Can’t even see outsiders?"

"Actually, it’s not that serious. He took medicine last night and was still able to order an emergency meeting." The attendant smiled helplessly, "It’s just that our hostess is too worried about his condition and doesn’t allow him to act recklessly."

"Alright then."

There were still seven days left, so Horn wasn’t in a rush.

He rode away from the castle.

The roadside trees were still the same as before, but the atmosphere of Citizen Road was far worse than it used to be.

Under the protection of several soldiers, the Duke’s brought priests and monks went door to door, carrying scales and balances, recording names with feather pens on hemp paper.

From the attic, citizens or their family members gritted their teeth, glaring at those priests and soldiers transporting tax money.

Bags of gold and silver coins were loaded into pouches and wooden boxes, guarded by soldiers, heading towards Horn’s route—towards Joan of Arc Castle.

This morning’s decree was still passed, and the citizen representatives had neither the power nor the force to oppose it.

Rather than tearing their faces, it was better to preserve some warmth.

The tax collection on Citizen Road was relatively civilized.

But the situation in the neighboring artisan district was different. Across the canal that cut through Joan of Arc Castle, Horn could see smoke signals rising on the opposite bank.

Laborers and artisans set up fences and earth mounds at key intersections, trying to block the tax-collecting courtiers.

Soldiers had to raise their shields because vagrants would hide on rooftops or in alleys to throw stones, mud, or even steaming feces at them.

But this couldn’t stop the soldiers from breaking down doors one by one.

They rushed in, ransacking nearly recklessly amid the cries of homeowners.

If there was any young woman of decent appearance, at the very least she would be groped, at worst subjected to unspeakable acts.

Many priests, monks, or junior officials hired for tax collection ended up with bruised faces and dust-covered bodies.

As soon as they were alone, laborers and vagrants would rush forward, cover their heads with a sack, and give them a thorough beating.

Fortunately, neither the soldiers nor the laborers went too far, and no lives were lost.

This might be a form of protest by the laborers.

Riding from inside Joan of Arc Castle back to the camp, Horn saw a group of mercenary cavalry galloping away as soon as he reached the gate.

Dismounting, Armand, with a troubled expression, came running from the gate and whispered to Horn.

"What? We have to pay too?"

Horn’s eyes widened.