North of Monastery Hill
Beneath a bright sky streaked with only a few clouds, Gemma walked on in silence. Her shoes had been made from the best leather, fine enough for halls and short roads, but never for long flight over broken ground. Only now did she notice they had worn through. Even so, the hot stones beneath the road troubled her less than they should have. Her changed skin and feet were tougher than ordinary flesh.
Still, she walked in pain.
The spell she had painstakingly learned had nearly killed her when it turned and struck her. It had left her with barely any strength to defend herself. But for now, that mattered little. The gulf in martial strength between her and the old Hunter was already too wide, and that was without counting the large duck that seemed almost intelligent, like a human trapped in a beast’s body.
Now that the haze that had long clouded her mind was gone, she could think clearly again. And in that clarity, Gemma realized she was a maid and a healer, never a fighter. She also knew she had crossed the boundary between human and fell creature.
The question was whether she could keep that clarity, or whether she would bend the moment she tasted blood again.
“So, we are walking now,” Gemma said at last, trying to keep her mind at ease. “Can you please explain what happened with the Saint's soul?”
The old Hunter, walking beneath a wicker hat that kept his head in shadow, glanced at her. So did the helmeted duck as they moved beneath the blazing sun.
Gemma added, “I really couldn’t feel the Saint anywhere.”
Exhaling softly, the old man spoke. “Madam Duck is carrying an egg.”
“An egg...?” Gemma did not know what that had to do with the Saint or the phylactery.
“Yes. And, you see, she has the gift.” The old man glanced at the beast, who kept striding along with enviable pride.
His answer widened Gemma’s eyes. “The gift? A duck?”
The old man cast a brief glance at the sky before answering, “She likely was not born with it. Probably ate a mage by mistake.”
“T-that’s hard to believe,” Gemma said. In truth, she did not believe it at all.
Enjoying her disbelief, the old man explained with a mentor’s calm, “Have you ever heard that an egg is considered hollow in magic?”
“I may have read a passage or two about it,” Gemma replied, though unsure.
“In the beginning, that was the true phylactery.”
Gemma looked to the duck, struggling to make sense of what she had just heard. “But what happened to the Saint’s soul?”
“Her soul is destroyed. Defeated by a newborn life.” The old man smiled to himself at the poetic justice of it. “Even a lich’s soul is no match for a duckling still inside the egg. If you think corrupted magic is frightening, then you should also learn the power of life. What your Saint cultivated all her life will pass into the duckling, but none of her soul.”
Gemma could hardly believe it. But what he said made a terrible kind of sense. For all her resistance, her cold, calculating mind grudgingly accepted it.
“This is why you should keep your soul within yourself. Otherwise, others may take it,” he said as they continued walking.
She could only nod. After a while, she asked, “Then where are we heading?”
“We are heading west first, then northwest, but before that, I need to buy more ducklings.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Ducklings?”
“Well, it would be a waste to have a great duck and not breed it.”
Gemma’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to breed the Saint?”
He laughed hard, and the duck joined in with amused honks. “A cruel little justice. In a few years, she’ll make a fine duck mother.”
Gemma did not know how to react, caught somewhere between horror and laughter at the absurdity of it. In the end, her smile came out strained and awkward.
As the two walked and talked, the hawk circled overhead. It swept the area with its magical senses but found nothing.
The Saint was truly gone. At last, her shadow over Midlandia was lifting.
***
Campia Manor, Audrey
The Lady of the House watched as Lansius greeted Sir Reginald and five other men in the manor’s humble hall. Lady Ingrid, the House chamberlain, was still being held at the Monastery, but Sir Reginald had brought three officials, seasoned men in their fifties who had handled rents, levies, and estate matters under the previous Lord of Midlandia.
Meanwhile, the other two were renowned scholars who, until now, had mostly declined the House’s offers of post. It was clear Sir Reginald had already softened them toward the rule of the Blue and Bronze.
Once the greetings were finished, Lansius’ old scribe delivered the introduction to the matter. He seemed to have mastered it, which did not surprise Audrey. Her husband and the old scribe had long worked closely in all matters tied to ruling the realm.
That also reassured her, for anything that passed the old scribe wouldn't be too wild. Even so, Audrey had learned long ago never to underestimate her husband. Lansius was a man of endless surprises.
His duel with the lich still gave her goosebumps. For all her strength as a mage, it had still been inadequate. She had spoken of protecting him, yet she had not lived up to her oath, and it had nearly cost them everything. She felt the need to train herself harder. Complacency would no longer do.
In her eyes, the world had changed.
The awakening of the undead was the clearest proof that they were no longer living in the old world. The Ageless must have shielded them from the worst of it. But now he was gone, and the world lay at the mercy of corrupted beings.
The shocked murmurs in the hall drew her back.
With calm clarity, the old scribe had told those gathered of the Lord’s plan to waive the agricultural tax entirely for the next four years.
Audrey saw that the three officials were reeling, murmuring among themselves in disbelief. Meanwhile, the two scholars standing beside Sir Reginald remained mostly quiet. Audrey suspected they had learned of this beforehand.
She began to see the battlefield her husband had chosen. As she had guessed, Lansius was approaching this discussion the same way he approached war.
The old scribe delivered his opening move.
Now the other side fully engaged, going straight for the tax rate in Midlandia, which had long stood at 20%. With their victory over the rebellion, their House had, for the most part, become the chief recipient of that tax.
And yet they had just declared that the House did not wish to collect it. The full 20% of agricultural tax would be abolished for four years.
Even Audrey broke a sweat hearing it. No realm could survive that.
One of the officials said it plainly. “No realm can survive without an agricultural tax. My Lord, of all men, must know that roads, markets, bridges, gates, and even walls all need maintenance. Not to mention that bailiffs, guards, and land officials must be paid. And the army, along with the more than ten thousand recruits My Lord seeks, must still be fed during training.”
“My Lord, please reconsider,” the second official urged.
“Please reconsider,” the third repeated. “My Lord may think the treasury is vast, but it would not survive such a reckless policy.”
Audrey noticed that Sir Reginald and the two scholars remained quiet. She realized Lansius had kept them in reserve. They likely held records or arguments that would matter greatly in this meeting.
Now all eyes were on Lansius, seated beside her.
Knowing him, the preparation was likely meticulous. Even so, she still harbored doubts over whether this policy would truly benefit the House. Despite being a ruthless warlord in many wars, he had a soft heart toward the people. At times, too soft that it might unknowingly endanger the House. If it came to that, she would step in and warn him.
Apart from that, she had another concern. Audrey tightened her grip on her other hand. Could Lansius pull this off without falling ill or even fainting?
She could see easily enough that he was far from his best. He had not yet recovered from the fight. His sleep was erratic, yet the physician could find nothing wrong with him.
...
Lansius
Without shifting in his seat, beneath the watchful gaze of his officials, Lansius finally spoke, his voice still carrying a hint of hoarseness. “I have heard your concerns.”
A brief pause followed as he watched the officials bow their heads.
A weary smile touched his lips as he continued, “Be assured that this policy is only for my domain. Even Korimor may opt out.” He glanced at Audrey, who merely nodded without interrupting.
Lansius went on, “The bannerets’ incomes shall not be affected. The traditional manors of the knights shall not be affected. The officials, including your pay, shall also not be affected. And certainly, the army’s pay will not be affected. Only the House’s coffers are at risk.”
Murmurs rose among the three officials.
The first official spoke. “My Lord, we are gladdened by your assurance, but we sincerely doubt whether the treasury, vast though it may be, could withstand having no income, especially for four straight years.”
“And we still have not counted the cost of maintaining roads, bridges, and walls,” the second official warned.
“The walls and roads shall not be affected,” Lansius replied, prompting the officials to frown even more deeply.
The first official spoke again, sweat already beading at his brow. “My Lord, we will need to deliberate, find the necessary records, and make the calculations—”
Lansius raised a hand to stop him. “It has already been done.”
The three officials were stunned. “My Lord...?”
“I have made the calculations,” Lansius said, to the officials’ disbelief. Naturally, they thought he was making absurd claims to silence them. But he casually continued, “When you have finished your own calculations, you will find that the agricultural tax in Midlandia was worth only around a quarter of our income.”
The first and second officials whispered among themselves, while the third looked on in quiet interest.
Lansius continued, “I am sure you're aware that this policy applies only to the agricultural tax. The property tax, the tolls on roads, bridges, and town gates, as well as the market tax, all remain in place. And if you have calculated them, you will find that they are far greater than the taxes on farms.”
The third official spoke up. “My Lord, I have done similar calculations in the past and reached much the same conclusion. However, I must stress that losing a quarter of the income would still cripple the House.”
The first official added, “The price of grain in Midlandia has been low for a long time. That is why the agricultural income seems undervalued. But without that income, the House cannot feed its retainers and army.”
Lansius still wore the same smile when he said, “Gentlemen, this gamble is not made without substantial gain in mind. I don't plan to come out poorer. I plan to triumph.”
At that, the hall broke into fresh murmurs. Even Audrey turned to him with newfound curiosity.
“My Lord,” the first official said, dabbing at his sweaty face with a cloth, “I humbly think this policy is too risky.”
“While we are certain My Lord is thinking of the commoners, to us, this looks unmanageable. The House might collapse.”
“How wonderful to hear that my subjects have grown so loyal they now worry over the fate of the House that just conquered them. I cannot help but feel warmed by it,” Lansius quipped, drawing weak chuckles from the hall.
“However, it is too soon to judge before you have heard the reasoning,” he said firmly. “So let me tell you of an empire from my birthplace that followed this very policy, and how it brought them to the height of their power.”
The claim stirred strong reactions in the hall.
The second official quickly argued, “With respect, My Lord, their realm must have been more secure than ours.”
Another added, “Indeed, My Lord, we have only just faced rebellion, and also the matter of the Monastery. Not to mention our troubles with the Margravate of Edessa and the Lords of Lubina.”
Lansius gave a sharp snort. “That assumption is incorrect.”
The officials exchanged glances, and he went on, “Before this empire rose, their land had endured a brutal unification war, the collapse of the first empire, and great civil wars that killed tens of millions, all within less than a century. The realm had fallen into such misery that cannibalism had become rampant. It had grown so dire that not even the crowned Emperor could find four horses of the same color for his procession.”
His words set the whole hall murmuring.
“And before long, this new empire too was regularly invaded by nomads in their hundreds of thousands, much as our Imperium has been.”
Only now did the story draw their full attention. Lansius took a sip from the goblet at his side, which Margo quietly kept refilled.
“When Emperor Wen, the fifth Emperor of Han, came to power, his empire had only just survived another coup on top of the rebellions and civil wars that had already torn it apart. He was chosen over stronger claimants because his mother’s family was not ambitious. He accepted, knowing refusal might provoke a great unrest. But in return for his coronation, he asked for one thing—reduced taxes for the farmers.”
Facing no interruption, Lansius continued, “Early in his reign, he cut the already low tax of 6% down to 3%. Then, the following year, he cut it by half again. And after ruling for many years, he abolished it entirely.”
That drew uneasy looks from the officials.
“And do you know what followed?” Lansius asked. “You would think it would impoverish his empire. But no. Under his rule, the empire’s granaries grew so full that old grain was left outside to rot. And the treasury coffers overflowed with gold and silver, while copper coins were simply thrown to the floor for lack of space to store them.”
“How can that be, My Lord? It sounds absurd,” the first official asked, dabbing at his sweaty forehead again.
Lansius signaled Margo to give the guests something to drink. The pages quickly came forward with goblets of posca. They were on travel, so it was as refreshing as could be had, and safer as well.
As the guests drank, Lansius continued, “What Emperor Wen did was carefully calculated. Their chief policy was one of noninterference with the people. He believed the ruling House should not hinder its subjects in their trade or daily lives. To promote growth, he chose to hide wealth among the people.”
“Hide wealth...?” the official muttered in confusion.
Lansius drew a deep breath. “When farmers keep more of their harvest, they do not merely eat better. With more heirloom seeds spared from the tax cart, they can plant more. With greater food security, they marry and raise more children. And with more hands, they can reclaim land abandoned by war. Villages recover. With more goods in their hands, markets swell. Roads, bridges, and town gates all grow busier.”
His explanation held the hall’s attention.
In the hands of noble Houses, wealth would be spent on grand palaces, vain indulgences, and meaningless luxuries. But if that same wealth remains with farmers in need, it becomes reclaimed land and a growing population. From there, it spreads outward, enriching villages and cities alike, feeding the populace, and providing loyal manpower.
This aligned with Lansius' idea of the Shogunate.
Lansius would rather see the people grow stronger than the nobility, which was harder to control. “In Midlandia, with its more than ten million souls, such growth would be significant. A wise man once said: A ruler who takes less from the countryside may, in time, gain more from a thriving realm than from a starving one.”
Still unconvinced, the calmer, third official spoke. “My Lord, while this is profound, I still have my doubts. By my rough estimate, even with growing income from tolls, it would not cover the great loss of revenue from agriculture. I would ask My Lord to reduce the tax rather than abolish it entirely.”
“It is a wise suggestion,” Lansius admitted. “However, I have little faith in our tax surveys. For one, the basis for calculating farmland was far from ideal. They judged only by size, without considering whether the ground was rocky, whether water was hard to reach, or whether normal crops could even grow there. Even where the tables marked land as fertile or infertile, that judgment rested only on recorded past harvests. In many cases, those records had not been adjusted for fifty, if not more years.”
Lansius coughed dryly.
Audrey quickly offered him her goblet of warm water, which he gladly accepted and drank.
“I fear that we overtax much of the land, and likely undervalue the rest. And that's before accounting for bribes and fraud,” he continued. “This period without taxation will give us time to evaluate. Even without taxes to collect, the land officials should not sit idle. I want the surveys and records updated.”
The three officials glanced at one another, troubled.
After some hesitation, the third official spoke again. “Forgive me if I sound stubborn. What you said is true, My Lord, but that is a weakness in land surveys and taxation. Unfortunately, it does not answer the loss of income we are discussing.”
Lansius snorted softly and muttered, “I may have let myself stray.” He paused to think. “Then, to answer your question, I will call on Sir Reginald.”
“My Lord,” Sir Reginald greeted as he stepped forward. He looked slimmer, with a healthier tan to his skin.
One of the officials turned to him and snapped, “What do you know about this?”
As the former lord, Sir Reginald still drew much antipathy from the former Bengrieve officials. Unbothered by their old rivalries, he replied, “The Lord asked us to make the calculations.”
His answer drew startled looks. “You have?”
Sir Reginald gave a faint smile, while one of the scholars said, “A policy that benefits the people is in all our interests. We should set aside our past differences and work for Midlandia’s recovery.”
“The Imperium is no more. Fate is now in our hands. Of our four borders, three could turn hostile overnight,” the second scholar added, speaking almost in riddles.
Not wishing to waste time, Sir Reginald said, “My Lord, at your request, I am ready with my report.”
“Tell them,” Lansius instructed.
“Based on the assumptions My Lord gave me last time, the treasury can hold for five years without taking agricultural tax.”
His words quickly stirred an uproar among the officials.
“Preposterous,” one exclaimed.
“Did you truly calculate this?”
Another demanded, “Let me see the work.”
Sir Reginald signaled to his men, who carried forward a sizeable wooden chest. When it was opened, it proved full of parchments.
“Help yourselves,” he said, whereupon the three officials reluctantly knelt and began examining the parchments, which had been neatly sorted and tied with ribbons.
While they did so, Lansius said, “I believe we can carry on for even more years.”
His claim caught everyone’s attention, and he explained, “If I sell half of my thirty estates, two each year, I could keep this going for perhaps seven more years.”
“My Lord, think of the future generations,” the first official said at once, already preparing an argument about financial suicide.
Lansius promptly raised a hand. “I did not say I was going to do that. But it is within our means.”
He let out a sly grin and turned to Sir Reginald. "Let them know about the plan.”
Two of the officials turned to their former rival. “What plan?”
“The Lord need not sell anything. We have a new way to fill the coffers without taking agricultural tax.”
At least one official gasped. Another, frowning in open skepticism, asked, “A new way?”
“There is an old saying. In this land, a man with a hundred gold coins is still no better than a dog if he has no title,” Sir Reginald said. “The rich farmers, landlords, and merchants have gold, but they have no title. It only makes sense to sell the lower ranks of nobility.”
At that, the officials stirred in visible outrage.
Lansius cut in at once. “It was what Emperor Wen did.”
His answer made the officials hesitate.
Though worn down by the unexplained weariness, Lansius pressed on. “During, and only during, these four years without agricultural tax, we will allow anyone to purchase the six lower ranks, to be paid for in grain. The ranks will be gentleman, pagius, esquire, cavalryman, armiger, and knight.”
“But My Lord, this would—”
“I understand your concern,” Lansius said, “but if one pays fifteen cartloads of grain for the lowest title, I think that is fair.”
Bowing his head, the first official said, “But at this rate, any merchant could become a lower noble.”
“And what is the problem with that?” Lansius asked. For the first time, there was a chilling edge in his voice. “May I remind you that many of my retinue were not even born esquires, yet they excelled in war and climbed the ranks. It is only fitting to open the ladder to those who cannot fight in war.”
The two officials couldn't argue.
The third, calmer one spoke. “My Lord, it seems you have thought this through considerably. I think the title will certainly draw much interest. But I fear it will not be enough. Even if several hundred men bought them, it would not compare to a quarter of our annual income.”
Sir Reginald turned to him and answered on Lansius’ behalf. “The higher ranks cost far more. A knight’s title would cost two hundred cartloads of grain, along with delivery to a granary of our choosing.”
“Two hundred?” the first official blurted out, knowing it was enough to feed an army of several hundred men for months, even half a year of campaigning.
“Furthermore,” Sir Reginald added, “the title is not an empty rank. It carries privileges. Even the lowest title would mean better seating at village banquets, and a larger share if there were an annual hunt. The higher titles would carry many more advantages. But the most important are these three—”
The officials, and even Audrey, Margo, and the guards, grew more attentive.
“First, a gentleman’s rank would allow smaller crimes that carry public punishment to be commuted to prison sentences. Second, a holder of pagius rank would be free from corvée labor. Third, the family of an esquire would be exempt from troop levies.”
Murmurs rose through the hall.
One of the scholars spoke. “It may sound like much, but most only formalizes what already happens in society. The richer a family is, the more privileges it receives from the local authorities. By formalizing this, we reduce their reason to bribe our officials.”
Now, not even the officials could argue. With privileges like these, such titles would certainly be in great demand.
“But creating noble titles would require the ministers’ approval...” the second official said, raising a concern.
The scholar beside him replied, “These are lower ranks without peerage. Even if the Imperium were still standing, this should break no law.”
The officials could argue no more. The Lord had come armed with precedent, with reason, and with the very workings of the policy.
Cold sweat gathered on Lansius’ back, but he felt he had made his point. This plan served more than one purpose beyond abolishing the agricultural tax. Many aims were bound up in it, including wealth distribution and social mobility, and those alone were important enough that even if other goals went unmet, it would still be a worthy undertaking.
Moreover, it would bind the common people and merchant class closely to his House.
“Gentlemen,” Lansius said, his voice rougher than before, “if we do this, and if the House lives frugally, we can turn this war-torn Midlandia into the strongest province in four years—”
He coughed hard, but refused the drink Audrey offered and went on, “Perhaps strong enough to defend our land even if the entire North, East, and West descend upon us.”
The hall fell silent, and more than a few finally understood what the Lord was after.
Audrey leaned toward him. Her hazel eyes were gentle but firm. “Please, you have overexerted yourself.”
He finally nodded. Margo and the guards readily stepped in to help him.
Before he left, Lansius gave the hall one final word. “This policy is like a father going hungry so his child may grow strong. I say, let the people grow. Let them thrive. For upon their shoulders, the Shogunate will stand.”
***
PS: I hope it was still a good read despite the rather dry topic of taxes.😅
The zero agricultural tax policy is inspired by the Han Dynasty, and yes, it was very much real. In some periods, agricultural taxes were abolished or kept very low under two generations of emperors. They're later became known as one of China’s golden ages, the rule of Emperors Wen and Jing.
They allowed the empire to grow strong and wealthy, so much so that their successor was able to defeat the nomads and expand the empire to its greatest reach, including the Tarim Basin. That expansion connected them to Persia and the ancient Silk Road, through which even the Romans learned of this eastern empire.
Actually, how many of you enjoy this kind of chapter?🤭
But don’t worry, we’ll be returning to Korelia next chapter.🤗
As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War! 💎💖🦆