Chapter 184 - 157: A Good Person
Plantagenet City, Benier Palace.
To call it a palace was something of an exaggeration. The building was merely a large manor, but it was the work of the master architect Beniel. The entire structure was elegant and stately, yet also simple and comfortable. Members of the Fran Royal Family sometimes enjoyed staying here, so it gradually became known as Benier Palace.
The Royal Family’s Second Prince was not currently residing in the Royal Palace, but had been living here for an extended period, a decision that had the Old King’s approval.
It was just after dawn, but in one of the palace’s reception rooms, several people were already seated on sofas, discussing business.
"Sir, we implore you to convey our message," several impeccably dressed individuals pleaded.
A middle-aged official in the attire of a Political Assistant was examining the petition they had submitted. It detailed the various measures by which Count Valentine, the Border Count of the Northern Territory, had increased taxes on members of the Artisan Association.
"These measures don’t seem improper, do they?" the official said, a hint of confusion in his voice as he read.
"No, Sir. By the standards of Plantagenet City, perhaps it wouldn’t be much. But the artisans in the Northern Territory have far more meager incomes. This tax increase will drastically reduce their earnings. It’s possible some artisans will go bankrupt, or even be forced to flee to other countries." The man leading the Artisan Association delegation leaned forward. "These artisans aren’t like merchants. Their costs are much higher, but this tax hike is a one-size-fits-all measure that doesn’t differentiate between business owners."
"So, you’re hoping the Prince will intervene?" the official asked, setting down the petition and looking at the men across from him.
"Yes. We’ve raised this issue with the ministers before, but we received no response. The Minister of Finance wouldn’t even grant us an audience. We heard that people in the Royal Capital all say the Prince is kind and merciful, so we thought we would try our luck here," the four senior members of the Artisan Association said respectfully.
"This is indeed a difficult matter," the official said calmly, pushing the petition back toward them. "On the one hand, local Lords do have a certain right to levy taxes. On the other, you must have seen the two enormous Magical Beast carcasses that Count Valentine transported to the Royal Capital. I imagine his army must have sustained losses fighting them. It’s understandable that he would raise taxes to some extent."
"But, Sir..."
"Let’s do this," the official said, raising a hand to cut the man off. "I understand that the lives of commoners in the Northern Territory are much harsher than in Plantagenet City. I will help you deliver this petition to the Prince, and I will do my best to explain your situation. I’m sure His Highness will, in turn, present the matter and its implications to His Majesty the King."
Hearing this, the men from the Artisan Association broke into smiles. "Thank you so much, Sir."
"However, the final ruling rests with His Majesty. But I believe the Prince will do his utmost to champion your cause." The official glanced at them, then back at the petition on the table. "Just leave the petition here for now."
"Thank you, Sir. The Second Prince is truly as merciful as they say in Plantagenet City." Hearing the official’s promise, the men from the Artisan Association all rose, holding their hats to their chests as they bowed.
"No, no, the Prince doesn’t like it when people say that," the official said, rising to his feet as well. "He often says he’s just a good man."
"Of course, of course," the men from the association replied, nodding hastily. "Well, we’ll take our leave, then. We apologize for taking up your and the Prince’s time today."
"Very well. The Prince will certainly address this matter. I will inform you of the outcome, successful or not, in due time." The official smiled and extended a hand.
"Thank you, and please thank the Prince for us." After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the senior members of the Artisan Association departed from Benier Palace.
The Political Assistant picked up the petition again and carefully reread its contents. ’This matter isn’t too tricky,’ he thought. ’I’ll bring it up with the Prince when he returns from the Royal Palace.’
He then straightened his clothes and left the reception room, instructing the guards on duty to keep an eye out for any other visitors. He then made his way through the palace’s many corridors, finally stopping before a particular section of wall.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. He tapped a rhythm on the wall. A few seconds later, the wall began to shimmer with a green light. The glow engulfed the entire section before fading away, revealing a downward passage where the wall had been.
The Political Assistant narrowed his eyes and glanced left and right. After confirming no one had seen him, he stepped onto the staircase and descended.
The staircase wasn’t very long. Soon, the Political Assistant found himself in a large room filled with all manner of bottles, jars, and various pieces of lab equipment. In a cage in one corner were several small, grotesque creatures of varying skin colors. Upon closer inspection, one could discern traces of goblin features on them.
"Master Cunningham, has that batch of ’Little Blue Star’ you promised been completed yet?" he asked, addressing the back of a figure who was busy cutting something at a lab bench.
"You again. Didn’t I tell you last time? The materials are insufficient." The figure did not turn around, but continued to work on something at the bench.
"Allow me to remind you," the Political Assistant said, his voice laced with malice as he stood on the steps, looking down at the hunched back. "The only reason you are still alive and safe after being expelled from the Magic Federation and having a massive bounty placed on your head is due to the Prince’s protection. There are many people in Plantagenet City looking to purchase ’Little Blue Star.’ If you fail to produce a new supply, the Prince will suffer a significant loss."
"Hmph," the figure sneered, glancing over his shoulder. "Just a bunch of Lustful fools who’ve become useless. They can only get by with the help of drugs."
The Political Assistant stared fixedly at the man’s profile. Messy, salt-and-pepper hair and a beard that reached his chest framed a face as wrinkled as old tree bark. One of his pupils glowed with an unsettling red light, and a contemptuous smile played on his lips.
On the lab bench, a mutated goblin was bound spread-eagled. Its chest had been cut open, and its heart, still connected by blood vessels, was placed on a silver platter. Judging by the twitching of its limbs, it was still alive.
"Go tell that ’merciful’ Prince of yours that because of that foolish Count Valentine and his little forest-clearing operation, I’ve had a problem with my stock," the hunchbacked Master Cunningham said grimly. "I’m short on necessary materials. I can only provide a small amount of ’Little Blue Star.’ Once the current inventory is depleted, I won’t be able to synthesize any more of the drug."
"Is there truly no other way?" the Political Assistant pressed.
"Who gave you the courage to speak to a High Tier Great Mage in such a tone?" Cunningham let out a few cold cackles.
The Political Assistant watched as the man slightly raised a hand as withered and gaunt as a corpse’s, and he recoiled two steps in alarm.
"Relax. I’ve already dispatched my apprentice to investigate. Hopefully, he can find some surviving offspring. If he does, we can find a way to replenish their numbers." Seemingly satisfied with the assistant’s reaction, Cunningham turned back to his work. "In the meantime, you can just raise the price. The Lustful nobles and other degenerates will buy it regardless."
As he finished speaking, a dark-colored bag in the corner flew up on its own. WHOOSH! It traced an arc through the air and landed at the Political Assistant’s feet.
"Now scram. Don’t come back and bother me unless you have a reason," the High Tier Great Mage Cunningham said coldly. He then lowered his head to examine the mutated goblin on the bench, muttering under his breath, ’This reaction is wrong. The Poison hasn’t triggered Magic Power consumption... Relying on the backlash still isn’t enough to effectively resist the Demon Plague.’
The Political Assistant frowned, staring at the hunched Great Mage for several seconds before reluctantly bending down to pick up the bag. Just as he turned to leave, Cunningham spoke in a sinister tone, "It won’t be long until your next delivery of materials. Don’t make a mistake this time. I want healthy males, not street beggars."
The Political Assistant said nothing, merely nodding before turning and ascending the stairs. All he wanted was to get out of this nauseating "laboratory" as quickly as possible.
...
"Those ’veterans’ really are amazing," Evita remarked, fiddling with the ’Lance’ in her hands. "Their couched Lance Charge looks much more stable, and it’s far more powerful."
"Compared to how you did it before?" Shire asked, standing beside her and looking with great interest at the short Lance.
This particular Lance had been specially crafted to suit a Centaur’s physique. It was unlike the long, thick lances resembling tree trunks used by human Cavalry. This one was shorter and made from a tougher material, so it wouldn’t break on the first impact and could be used multiple times.
"Before, we just charged while holding Long Spears with both hands. It’s nothing compared to this," Evita said, glancing down at Shire. "Thanks to those Skeleton Warriors, I feel like my people’s combat effectiveness has increased by at least half."
Shire looked at the brown-haired Centaur girl before him. Her short hair looked as if it had been grabbed by the fistful and unceremoniously chopped off, leaving it jagged and uneven. "Improvement is good. I’ll see if I can figure out a way to modify your armor so you can carry your Lances and bows at the same time."
"Thank you," Evita said, pressing her lips together. In the end, that was all she could manage.
Shire waved a hand dismissively. He knew the Centaur girl hadn’t smiled once since returning from her village. Her mind was likely consumed with "revenge," but having witnessed the death-defying frenzy of the red goblins, she didn’t want to subject the Centaur Race to any more death.
"One step at a time," Shire said with a smile. Just then, he saw Nine-finger running toward them in a panic.
"Leader, there’s a situation at the anthill!"