Chapter 513 Everyone can hear divine pronouncements, even the "shoe-dropper".
Roland, the estate of the Devallo family.
To celebrate the completion of the renovation of the 300-year-old royal estate on the outskirts of the city, a grand ball worthy of being recorded in court history is underway.
The enormous crystal chandelier, like an inverted glacier, refracted a dazzling light, illuminating the entire hall as if it were daytime. Countless noblemen and women in gorgeous attire danced gracefully on the ballroom, their swirling skirts resembling blooming tulips.
The court orchestra was playing an ancient and melodious tune, an ode to the glory of the Devalo family. The melodious tune drowned out the occasional cold wind that swept past the window, and also masked the heavy breathing of this ancient kingdom.
King Theodore de Vallout sat on a high platform covered with deep red velvet, his aged fingers gently tapping the armrests to the rhythm of the music.
Although the busy foreign and domestic affairs had accelerated his aging, the sight of the singing and dancing before him still brought a touch of intoxication and satisfaction to his wrinkled face, and also provided some comfort to his troubled emotions.
This is the kingdom he ruled, like a vigorous knight in his prime, and visibly stronger...
Theodore had no doubt that all of this was due to his wisdom in bringing those parasites that were corrupting the kingdom under his control.
However--
The "parasites," however, did not think that way.
In the shadows at the edge of the dance floor, Sir Hannock, the Kingdom's treasurer, struggled through the bustling crowd, too preoccupied to appreciate the festivities on the dance floor.
His face was as pale as a freshly painted wall, and cold sweat kept pouring from his forehead even after wiping it with a handkerchief.
He was in a hurry, almost knocking over a baroness's champagne glass, but he didn't even bother to apologize, and went straight to the Minister of Economy who was sipping wine in a corner.
Baron Wickton Westley was swirling his wine glass, admiring the patterns of the amber liquid clinging to the glass, pondering the next step in his career.
Seeing Sir Hannock's dismayed expression, his brow furrowed slightly.
"...Mind your manners, Sir Hannock. This is the royal estate. His Majesty is in high spirits. No matter how urgent your business may be, you must not forget your elegance."
Although he already guessed the knight's intentions, he still scolded him to prevent the former from being tactless and making a big fuss about everything.
"I'm sorry, Your Excellency, but the news I bring is probably more serious than spoiling His Majesty's mood..."
Seeing the minister's furrowed brows, Hannock, still somewhat mindful of etiquette, leaned close to Wickton's ear and spoke in a trembling voice that only the two of them could hear.
"...After this month's settlement, the national treasury only has 80,000 gold coins left."
Baron Wickton's hand holding the wine glass trembled involuntarily, and a few drops of expensive wine spilled onto his neatly ironed cuffs.
How much did you say?
He stared intently into Hannock's eyes, trying to find a trace of a joke on the other's face, but only found a bitter smile.
“Eighty thousand, sir… I can assure you that my accountant did not make a mistake in the accounts.”
Looking at Sir Hannock, who was not joking, Wickton took a deep breath, trying to draw some coolness from the restless air.
Eighty thousand gold coins!
This was undoubtedly a huge sum of money for an ordinary wealthy merchant, enough for them to overcome all obstacles to reach the palace and meet the king of the kingdom directly.
And enough to see him ten times!
However, for a vast kingdom, this amount of money is not even enough to cover the expenses of the capital city of Ryan for a quarter!
"What about silver coins?" Wickton asked, clinging to his last hope. "Adding the silver coins in our inventory and the silver bars that haven't been melted down yet, how much can we scrape together?"
Hannock shook his head in despair, shattering the minister's last illusions.
"Including that... My lord, the figure I just reported has already factored in all working capital. Moreover, in this valuation of 80,000 gold coins, silver coins account for a full 70%."
Wickerton's pupils contracted slightly.
The Kingdom of Ryan only has the right to mint silver coins; gold coins can only be obtained through trade with the Empire, which is equivalent to foreign exchange income and also serves as a store of value.
Silver coins accounted for 70% of the national treasury, which was not a good sign.
While the empire "bleeds" its vassal states with gold coins, the vassal states are also "bleeding" the empire with their "widespread markets with zero tariffs." The two sides are actually in a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship.
With gold reserves nearly depleted and silver coins flowing out to neighboring countries, the kingdom's economy is undoubtedly suffering a further blow.
The "short-term sweetness" of silver coins depreciating against gold coins and silver coins appreciating against copper coins, coupled with the depreciation of silver coins against gold coins, is turning into a bitter fruit that both commoners and nobles have to bear.
"What about the Mint?" Wickton's voice turned stern. "Can't we get them to come up with a solution?"
"...Your Excellency, our Mint has never been lazy. They have been trying their best to find a solution, but it's like trying to extract olive oil from a rock or turn water into wine," Hannock said bitterly. "Unless we can discover a silver mine with amazing reserves in the backyard right now, no matter how hard the Mint tries, it won't solve the problem at hand."
He paused, then swallowed.
“Unless we lower the silver coin’s purity again, but that would require the king’s approval. And… I’m worried that if we lower it any further, nobody will buy it. Silver coins are already depreciating against gold coins, and nobles are holding onto their gold tightly. This is definitely not a good time to lower the silver coin’s purity.”
Wickton fell silent.
He certainly knew what Hannock was talking about, and he also knew things that Hannock didn't, such as where the money had gone.
It wasn't a fire extinguisher; fire extinguishers don't cost much, and it wasn't the king's money that was being spent, but rather the people's hard-earned money, which could even be considered income.
What truly tripped up the kingdom was the "Winter Coup" in the Duchy of Campbell.
Although the king never admitted any involvement in the coup, it was obvious to everyone where Earl Derek's money came from.
That wasn't donated by the serfs, at least not by Campbell's serfs.
In order to support the nobles of the Duchy of Campbell, their emperor sent a massive amount of supplies to the rebels. However, Edward not only survived but also quelled the rebellion with swift and decisive action, resulting in the huge investment being completely lost without a trace.
Another hole is the tax deficit in the Twilight Province, and the Lionheart Knights struggling in that quagmire.
The sheer number of men and horses to feed thousands of heavily armored cavalrymen was astronomical. Coupled with the greedy local nobles and the roaming Salvation Army obstructing the supply lines, the Knights were forced to purchase supplies locally at several times the price, and much of these supplies were even bought from Campbell merchants.
Those greedy local nobles, unscrupulous merchants, and troublemakers, like bullflies, clung to the out-of-reach ankles of the kingdom, frantically sucking its blood.
"...The kingdom is spending money every day, and His Majesty's purse is like a leaky wine barrel." Looking at his silent superior, Hannock continued with a worried expression, "The palace repairs, the knights' pay, and these endless banquets... We must increase revenue and reduce expenditure, otherwise this money probably won't last long."
Also, there's the interest on the loan.
Every royal family borrows money from nobles and priests, and the interest on these loans accounts for a considerable proportion of the Kingdom of Ryan's financial expenditures.
He always felt that they should pay off some of the money when they had more financial means, rather than using it to renovate royal estates and further increase the court's expenditures.
"Give me a number," Wickton said after a long silence. "At this rate of spending, how long can we last?"
Hannock hesitated for a moment.
"I don't know...maybe six months? If the Lionheart Knights make any big moves, or if His Majesty decides to build a garden again, the time will have to be halved."
Half a year.
Wickton felt a wave of dizziness and almost dropped his wine glass, so he had to put it on the long table next to him.
He simply couldn't imagine what would happen if they couldn't come up with the money six months from now.
He subconsciously looked towards the high platform in the center of the dance floor.
King Theodore was smiling and raising his glass to the nobles on the dance floor, his face beaming with a fatherly smile, as if he were the guardian of this prosperous land.
Are you suggesting he go over there now and tell this old man, who's lost in his daydream, that his kingdom has gone bankrupt?
A struggle flickered in Wickton's eyes.
Although the Westley family was not prominent, it had a long history, and he had no doubt that he was a noble person, just like his noble ancestors.
However, he also knew that if he could not protect himself, all his political ambitions would be nothing but empty talk.
If I were to dampen their enthusiasm, not only would I fail to resolve the fiscal crisis, but I fear my position as Minister of Economy would also come to an end.
"……I see."
"You know? Your Excellency, if I may be so bold, simply knowing is not enough—"
“Keep your mouth shut, Hannock. Tonight is His Majesty’s special night; don’t let this money ruin the royal mood.”
Without a word, the king's minister wiped the wine stains from his sleeve and patted the knight on the shoulder.
"I will report to His Majesty personally after the ball. As for now..."
Wickton looked at the endlessly spinning dance floor, a deep weariness flashing in his eyes.
"Let the music play a little longer."
...
As the last carriage departed the palace and disappeared into the distance behind the kerosene lamps, the boisterous ball finally came to an end, and the manor returned to the tranquility of the night.
In the king's study, the flames in the fireplace, like wild grass swaying by the roadside, stubbornly licked the already charred wood.
Theoden de Vallout sat behind a large walnut desk, his wrinkled eyelids drooping as if he might fall asleep at any moment.
If it weren't for that annoying Baron Wickton interrupting him, saying he had something important to report, he probably would have already fallen asleep with the help of the maids.
Now, however, he had to sit in a high-backed chair in front of the fireplace, wearing that expensive silk shirt, and listen to this boring fellow ramble on.
Baron Wickton Westley stood before his desk, his hands trembling as he presented the thin financial report.
The written account was even more astonishing than Hannock’s oral account, and he only received the report after the banquet had ended.
The king casually took the report, initially glancing at it as if it were an insignificant menu.
However, as his gaze moved downwards, his cloudy eyes gradually narrowed, like an eagle awakening from a dream.
"Smack!"
The report was slammed into Wickton's face, its pages scattering all over the floor.
"Eighty thousand gold coins? Is this your answer?"
Theodore jumped up from his chair, his sleepiness vanished, and his voice became distorted and hoarse with anger, so much so that Baron Wickton dared not speak.
"The Kingdom of Ryan possesses vast golden plains and tens of millions of hardworking citizens who grow up riding on sturdy cows and eating plump berries and potatoes. You're telling me... such a powerful kingdom only has 80,000 gold coins! Do you think I can't count?!"
The Kingdom of Ryan has a population of over 20 million and a land area of 1.2 million square kilometers.
Even excluding the Twilight Province, which is currently embroiled in war, there are still nearly 700,000 square kilometers and more than 10 million "statistically recorded people" living in the core area.
With so many people, even if each person donates 100 copper coins, that would amount to more than 100,000 gold coins!
How could they not even be able to come up with a mere 80,000 gold coins?
It must be said that Theodore's mathematical ability is competent; however, the calculation is clearly not done this way. Even ignoring the complex relationship between GDP and taxes, as well as the loss of value in the circulation process, the 80,000 gold coins represent the accumulated surplus after deducting expenses from income, and this surplus is gradually decreasing.
More important than the 80,000 gold coins themselves are the real deadlines, such as the "debt default times at all levels."
However, Baron Wickton dared not remind him at this moment, and could only remain silent, bowing his head and praying that His Majesty's anger would pass quickly.
The king paced back and forth in his study like an enraged old lion, muttering curses under his breath.
"By Saint Sith, these traitors, these thieves who embezzle the kingdom's assets, everyone is eyeing my money! And you, Wickton, I just praised you, and this is the result you give me! Even a pig in your position wouldn't be able to manage my treasury like this!"
Theodore was incredulous, but more than that, he was furious at being betrayed.
In this kingdom, everyone is making demands of him, calculating their own interests.
Saint Sis, why is his court full of sophisticated egoists? Is there not a single selfless and dedicated good person among them?
Where have all the good people gone?
Faced with the king's roar, Baron Wickton knelt down on one knee with a thud, not daring to argue or point out the real problem.
If it weren't for the renovation of this royal estate, if it weren't for the financially damaging coup in the winter, and if it weren't for all those unexpected expenses... their finances, even if strained, wouldn't be this strained.
The Kingdom of Ryan is like a giant tightening his belt, and their belt is like a taut string, requiring careful control of the rhythm of their breathing to keep it taut.
However, no one knows who gave their emperor this misconception. In an era where even extraordinary individuals cannot do whatever they want, they are an exception among thousands.
However, it's pointless to talk about these things now.
As a seasoned veteran of court intrigue, Wickton knew that the truth was never the most important thing. If he didn't immediately shift the blame, His Majesty would surely pin it on him.
His mind raced.
With no political enemies left to deal with, his only option was to find an even more elusive adversary; it was almost instinctive of him.
“Your Majesty, please calm down…please calm down.” Wickton raised his head, his face full of loyalty and fear. “There is no doubt that someone stole your money, but I think it’s not a specific person, but rather that there is a huge loophole in our… ‘income structure’.”
He carefully crafted a set of terms, piecing together something that sounded impressive but was actually quite obscure, behind a word that the king could understand.
Theodore's eyes narrowed, and his anger subsided slightly.
income?
That sounded interesting, and he decided to hear the minister's explanation.
Seeing the king stop pacing, Baron Wickton swallowed hard and began laying the groundwork for his carefully prepared strategy.
"In our kingdom, the priests own the most land and wealth. They are the first-class citizens, occupying the most fertile church property and enjoying the offerings of believers, yet they are accountable only to the gods in heaven, paying you not a single copper coin in tax, and even taxing your common people! This is clearly incomprehensible!"
"Secondly, there are the nobles. They are second-class citizens, possessing fiefdoms and privileges, but they always shirk their taxes. During wartime, you need to reward them with large sums of gold coins to maintain their loyalty, and they even demand interest on loans from you! They are like dragons guarding a treasury, only taking in and never giving out. This is why our silver coins are depreciating against gold coins!"
"Finally, there's our only source of tax revenue—those cunning civilians and merchants, who aren't exactly good people either. These guys would rather hide their money in cracks in the walls than take it out and use it to feed the soldiers who protect them."
Wickton adopted a pained expression, and it wasn't entirely feigned. Undoubtedly, he truly loved the kingdom, and his family shared the fate of the Devalo family.
Otherwise, he certainly wouldn't offer advice to his emperor from the bottom of his heart.
"...But Your Majesty, with natural disasters and years of war, coupled with the layers of exploitation by lords at all levels, this sheep has been plucked dry. Even if we throw them into an oil press, we won't be able to squeeze out a few drops of oil. We must find a way to get the nobles and priests to shoulder their forgotten obligations."
Theodore sat back down in his chair, his anger subsiding somewhat, but his eyes now held a shifty expression.
Wickton is right.
It's like he raised a herd of fat pigs, but because of some ancient rule, he could only watch them grow fat without being able to eat a single bite of meat.
"Lord Wickton, my minister, it seems I have misjudged you. Just as you said, there are too many bad people around us... Do you have any good ideas?"
"Of course!"
Baron Wickton raised his head, a dangerous and cunning glint in his eyes, and continued in a low voice.
“Ancient contracts limit the taxes we can collect from the nobles. If we forcibly collect them, we will be labeled as tyrants. But if we collect taxes for the survival of the kingdom, I think even if they object, they certainly won’t want to watch their biggest ‘debtor’ go bankrupt.”
Theodore's face lit up with interest, and he leaned forward slightly from his chair.
"you mean?"
Wickton revealed his true intentions and presented the king with his carefully prepared "middle strategy."
"I suggest that you order an unprecedented meeting of representatives from all three classes of citizens at your castle! We must let the commoners know how much they have contributed to our kingdom, and then use their anger to intimidate the nobles and priests, letting the first and second classes of citizens know how much they owe us! Then we must renegotiate our tax system and squeeze the gold coins out of the hands of the nobles and priests!"
Theodore was stunned.
He mentally rehearsed the plan, finding it increasingly ingenious, almost identical to his operations in the Twilight Province.
Using someone else's strength against them is exactly what he excels at!
Is there anything more wonderful than having those high-ranking priests and nobles pay for their honor in front of the kingdom's citizens?
If they refuse, it would be disloyalty to the crown. Their agreement would be ideal, of course, resolving the national treasury crisis!
That's a brilliant idea!
A satisfied smile appeared on the king's face, and his cloudy eyes regained their light, as if he had entered his comfort zone.
“Very well, Lord Wickton. I knew there were good men among my subjects; they just lacked an opportunity to prove their loyalty.”
Baron Wickton, kneeling on one knee, bowed respectfully with his right hand placed on his chest.
"It is my honor to serve you..."
The king nodded in satisfaction, tapped his index finger lightly on the table, and said after a moment's thought.
“I’d like you to preside over this… um, ‘Third Estate’ meeting, what do you think of that name?”
Baron Wickton was not at all surprised that the King would assign him this difficult task, after all, His Majesty was doing this for the first time.
But this time was different; it wasn't the slums that were on fire, but the kingdom's treasury. He believed that for the sake of the gold coins, His Majesty would not leave him to fight alone.
"I think... this name is absolutely brilliant."
...
Unlike the tranquility of the outskirts of Roland City, the nights in the new industrial district of Thunder City are always shrouded in the pungent smell of boiler water and cheap alcohol.
In a cheap pub called "Hammer and Glass," the noise was so loud it almost lifted the low roof off.
Old Abel, the "shoe-thrower," huddled in the corner next to a table with a limp leg, with only a free glass of water in front of him.
A few months ago, this kind of penniless person who only takes up a seat but doesn't buy anything would have been thrown out like trash by the staff.
Even if things don't go well, they'll come to urge us again and again.
However, today, the tavern owner, who was usually quite snobbish, unusually displayed gentlemanly manners. Not only did he not kick him out, he even personally instructed the waiter to refill his water glass.
"Let this gentleman stay; everyone has difficult times. I believe that once he gets out of this slump, he'll remember to come here for a drink."
Those were the tavern owner's exact words.
The reason he said those words was certainly not because he was a good person.
Old Abel knew perfectly well that the citizens of Thunder City wouldn't really respect them, these serfs from the countryside; they were all hypocrites.
However, as the world went downhill, this fellow was carried into the Grand Duke's council chamber by a group of drunkards and transformed into a gentleman sitting at the council table, sipping red tea and smoking a cigar. Then, overnight, these peasants of yesterday all became respectable people, beginning to cherish their cloaks.
Although Abel felt it was extremely blasphemous—how could a beer seller be a senator? Did he have even a drop of holy blood in his veins?
Baron Guts is better than him!
At least that guy's servant could whip the old farmers of Silverpine Town into the air like spinning tops, while what does a tavern owner know besides selling beer?
However, old Abel did not reject this hypocritical kindness. It wasn't that he didn't have money to buy wine, but he had four children to support, and the whole family depended on his salary, so he had to be very careful with every penny.
Sitting in the beer hall listening to the guys brag was one of his few pleasures, just like when he was in Silverpine Town.
The owner there was genuinely kind; although he wouldn't pour him a glass of water, he certainly didn't look down on him from the bottom of his heart.
Because they all live in the same town, they are neighbors who see each other all the time.
Looking at the wooden wine cup filled with water and listening to the incomprehensible clamor, old Abel sighed in his heart, reminiscing about those beautiful times that would never return.
If the steam engine hadn't devoured the fields outside Silverpine Town, and if Lord Gus hadn't impulsively turned the farmland into pasture, he could have had another child this past winter, adding a little more hope to his little family.
There is no other reason.
He felt that since each hand has five fingers, he should also have five children to make his miserable life complete.
What if the fifth child is a genius?
That would be winning the lottery!
Everyone else was drunk, but old Abel, who was sober, drank his fill of water.
Even the most benevolent deity cannot favor every devout believer; clearly, he was the unfortunate one overlooked by Saint Sis.
A sudden urge to urinate welled up inside him, and just as he was wondering whether he should leave, he suddenly heard a scream coming from the corner of the tavern.
"Hey, look at this! It's insane!"
"What's wrong? Has His Majesty Ryan done something stupid again?"
"No, it has nothing to do with our neighboring country! It's that Thunder City University, and I hear there's new progress!" A guy with coal dust on his head poked his rough fingers into a crumpled piece of paper, excitedly shouting with spittle flying, "It says here that Thunder City University doesn't care about background or bloodline, as long as you pass that... what's it called... entrance exam? you can get in!"
That was the admission brochure for Thunder City University, torn from some newspaper, I don't know.
Although old Abel was illiterate, he had heard about this matter. During the day, when he was at work, the workers in the factory had already talked about it.
"What's the use of studying!" a skinny porter next to him grumbled sourly. "People like us will starve if we don't work for a day. Are you expecting us to beg for food while attending classes? If we don't get paid for several years in a row, our whole family will starve!"
A sigh of agreement rippled through the tavern.
For them, taking time off to study is indeed an unimaginable luxury; this university sounds more like a place for young masters to kill time.
"That just shows your ignorance, old man."
The foreman, sitting at the next table drinking, smiled smugly, as if the school were his own property. "Grand Duke Edward and that unfathomable Prince Colin had already considered this. I saw it clearly in the newspaper: Thunder City University will be establishing a 'scholarship' system!"
The porter paused for a moment, then asked instinctively.
"What is that thing?"
The foreman replied.
"Something that lets your child take time off work to study! As long as your child is really talented, not only will tuition be completely free, but they'll also receive a monthly living allowance!"
Upon hearing this, the crowd in the tavern erupted in chaos. People exchanged incredulous glances, as if they had seen a ghost.
Can you get paid to study?
Is there really such a good thing?
"You're kidding me!" the porter couldn't help but say. "I have no doubt about His Majesty's wisdom, but what good does it do him?"
“That’s not something for you to worry about. I believe that His Majesty must have his reasons for making this decision! Moreover, the money isn’t entirely coming from His Majesty himself; he’s appealing to the gentry in the city to donate through the newspapers and establish a scholarship using his own surname—”
"Pshaw! Only a fool would throw money at something like this!"
"Of course you wouldn't, because you're a poor wretch. Poverty limits your imagination. How much could it cost to raise a few students? This is a free publicity opportunity. You can openly and legitimately buy off parents with children. If I were the Andes family, I wouldn't be stingy with spending this little bit of money!"
The argument turned into a fight.
Old Abel, who had been listening intently, suddenly felt a jolt in his heart. He had been shocked by the Duke's generosity, but upon hearing this, he realized that he had unknowingly fallen for the tricks of bad people again.
For a fleeting second, he actually thought that if such a generous gentleman truly existed, he would definitely vote for him if he ever had the chance.
Saint Sith above, how could these profit-driven demons be so wicked!
In this decadent era, is there not a single selfless and dedicated good person?
The glorious Emperor Theodore was unaware that on this night, unknown to anyone, he had a strange resonance with an old farmer from Campbell.
Although it was for completely unrelated reasons, they somehow became one in their minds.
At this moment, someone scratched their head and asked.
"So... what do they teach at this school?"
Soon someone answered with a smile.
"You taught me so much!"
"I heard that besides those unattainable magics, they also teach 'magic,' 'engineering,' 'arithmetic,' 'alchemy,' as well as poetry, art, and so on... That's all I remember."
Upon hearing this, old Abel's heart skipped a beat again.
He knew nothing of magic, nor did he expect a noble soul to be reborn into his family as the fifth child of the "shoe-thrower."
However, the word "arithmetic" was like a ray of light illuminating his barren soul.
It wasn't because he understood this stuff, but because he heard that a guy named Elsie at the Horace Textile Factory had gone from being an accountant in charge of the books to the factory manager just because he was good at calculating things!
Old Abel was a simple and honest man, but he also had his own shrewdness.
Although he couldn't understand the intricacies and interpersonal dynamics within the factory's management, he could still grasp some simple and easy-to-understand principles—
Arithmetic equals accounting, and accounting equals factory manager!
If his children could also master this skill, wouldn't they no longer have to bow and scrape to the foreman for a few pitiful silver pounds like he did?
Old Abel suddenly realized something.
If he had a factory manager's son, wouldn't that be worth ten of them?!
Investing in education... seems more reliable than having more children.
The discussion in the tavern grew increasingly heated, but the topic quickly shifted from the university in Thunder City back to more exciting subjects.
Not everyone has a family; at least among the guys who spend their nights in pubs, there are more bachelors.
However, although they quickly changed the subject, some people were still unable to calm down for a long time, such as old Abel sitting in the corner of the bar.
He downed the glass of cold water in one gulp, but a restless fire ignited in his chest.
Saint Sith above, even these guys with their patched-up clothes are discussing the future of Thunder City. Perhaps it's time for the "shoe throwers" of Silverpine Town to make some changes.
for example--
Like those trendy citizens of Lehman City, why not give yourselves a more respectable surname?
After all, his child is the future factory director, and will need to fill out scholarship application forms later on. He can't let his child be looked down upon in college.
Old Abel felt that Saint Sith hadn't truly abandoned him, this unfortunate fellow, and had even given him guidance when he was lost and confused...
(End of this chapter)
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