Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 314 - 313: Observations and Experiences

Under Gawain’s calm gaze, Daniel soon lowered his head: "... In the face of your great power, my loyalty to Typhon and the Eternal Sleepers can be compromised."

"Very well," Gawain nodded in satisfaction, then pointed to the special edition of "Network Security" provided by the Eternal Sleepers. "Let’s start with this one. It will be your first step towards advancement within the Eternal Sleepers. First, what you need to do is not directly spread this knowledge, but identify any critical vulnerabilities in the current mental network and report these findings to others who are slightly above or at the same level as you within the order. When the Eternal Sleepers gradually become aware of these hidden threats, you would present the first Chapter’s concepts as your research results. We will first explore what a distributed network is and the concept of network resource allocation..."

Daniel lowered his head, assuming an attitude of respectful learning.

He really recalled his youth, remembering those years when he first learned knowledge from his mentor...

At the same time, in a certain town in the eastern region of Anzu.

The snow had stopped, and the clear night sky was illuminated by brilliant stars. The starlight shone upon the land, and the snow reflected the starlight, preventing the town in the night sky from falling into complete darkness. In the simple alleys constructed of stone and wood buildings, a tall and thin figure clad in a black hooded cloak silently traversed the alleys.

Finding a corner sheltering from the cold wind, the figure stopped and removed the hood of the cloak.

Beneath the hood was the conspicuous golden hair unique to silver elves and an extraordinarily handsome face.

High-ranked Elven Ranger, Soldrin Frostleaf.

The human town was especially silent at midnight, at least it was so in the areas where the impoverished gathered. Soldrin’s long elven ears twitched gently in the air, hearing the sound of lyres and tambourines still coming from the distant leader’s castle, which signified the night life of the aristocrats was only just beginning.

The High-Ranked Ranger inhaled the fresh yet icy air, and couldn’t help but frown, pressing his hand to his chest.

The mysterious woman was more formidable than he had imagined. Although a Ranger wasn’t typically a class adept at frontal combat, he hadn’t expected to fall into a disadvantage against an opponent suspected of being a Druid.

If he hadn’t taken Byron Kirk’s advice and carried some "new weapons for upholding righteousness," he thought his current situation would be much worse.

While soothing the stab of his wounds, feeling his flesh neutralize the strange toxins with the aid of his supernatural powers, Soldrin recalled the earlier battle—he finally confirmed the woman’s powers were indeed druidic.

Toxins, withered vines, thorns, decomposed treants—all originated from Druidic Spells but were significantly tainted with corruption... Oblivion Association? This seemed the most plausible explanation.

Why would a powerful member of the Oblivion Association infiltrate the elf monitoring station... what was her purpose?

The cold night wind blew through the alleys once more, and Soldrin tightened his cloak, temporarily ceasing his thoughts. It was better to discuss everything after returning to Cecil, where Gawain and his clever subordinates could offer more advice, a far better choice than his aimless speculations here.

Unfortunately, his identification documents were damaged in the prior battle, and upon his return, he found that the eastern region of Anzu had entered a state of heightened security due to changing circumstances. A decree from Duke Silas Loland made the entire region difficult to traverse. The situation was somewhat better in areas with poor order, but in medium to large towns with tight aristocratic control and numerous informants, he had to move cautiously.

In this chaotic, dark era where aristocrats divided power, an outsider without identification did not have a favorable situation—especially since, just a short while ago, he had been serving with the Typhon soldiers, and quite a few of Duke Silas Loland’s knights and officers recognized him. Those individuals were unaware he had defected to Cecil. A chance encounter would be challenging to explain...

The biting cold wind of the northern continent’s winter night was painful. Though the physical constitution of a powerful Transcendent prevented Soldrin from falling ill in such temperatures, he still felt uncomfortable and couldn’t help searching for a warmer place—owing to Duke of the East’s strict governance and martial law, all taverns and inns were closely monitored, and people of another race or those whose accents did not resemble those from the eastern area of Anzu would be subject to inspection. In his peak condition, Soldrin naturally wouldn’t worry about these matters, but now he was gravely injured, and suppressing the toxins within had already depleted most of his strength. He didn’t want to attract the attention of those human Transcendents at this critical time.

While seeking shelter from the wind, a flickering flame suddenly appeared in Soldrin’s vision.

He walked towards it and indeed found a small bonfire at the deepest part of the shabby alley. A few dim figures were huddled by the fire, occasionally one would stir to poke the weak flames and toss a small piece of charcoal or twig into the fire.

A High-Ranked Ranger going to share a bonfire with beggars...

Soldrin smirked silently yet approached nevertheless.

He had better options; even though his condition was dire, he could still find ways to sneak into a barn or even a warm civilian’s home for the night. However, when he saw that small fire, he couldn’t resist approaching—it reminded him of seven hundred years ago, of the most challenging times of the expeditionary army, when he would huddle with human Soldiers and refugees, warming each other during the coldest nights, encouraging one another through the darkest and coldest of times.

Since the establishment and stabilization of human kingdoms, he had not had such an experience for many, many years.

The homeless by the fire noticed the stranger’s approach, immediately becoming tense and wary, but soon they realized he wasn’t a patrolling Soldier—in such cold weather, even Soldiers were reluctant to venture deep into the slums; they usually just circled the street once before retreating to drink.

The person in the black cloak seemed more like another homeless person.

Re-donning his hood, Soldrin approached the bonfire and spoke in a low voice, "It’s really cold."

A vagrant clad in tattered cotton clothing muttered, "No extra room."

"I have a little wine," Soldrin casually pulled out a wineskin from his chest, "Enough for a couple of sips each."

"... Sit on the side then."

Soldrin sat down, and the wineskin was promptly snatched by the person next to him. The individual pulled out the cork and deeply inhaled the aroma at the mouth of the bag, then raised the wineskin to his mouth, trying to suppress it but couldn’t help taking a large gulp.

Then, holding the wine in his mouth as though savoring it and reluctant to swallow, the wineskin was passed to the next person.

Silently, the wineskin circulated among the homeless. By the weak firelight, Soldrin could glimpse each person’s face—some were deeply lined with wrinkles, others had faces already marked by frostbite, and some looked younger, but their bodies were frail and aged. They were wrapped in ragged cotton clothes, or merely a pile of cloth no longer recognizable as clothing, from which an unpleasant odor emanated: it was obvious these people never had the chance to bathe.

"A sip of wine warms you up," a homeless person rasped.

The wineskin eventually returned to Soldrin. He gave it a shake, surprised to find there was still a bit left.

Someone sitting across the fire said, "Save some. Who knows when it might save your life."

Soldrin silently put the wine pouch back into his arms, then sighed softly, "It’s a really cold winter night..."

"You speak so poetically," chuckled a nearby homeless person, "but it is indeed cold."

The person across the campfire mumbled, "It wasn’t this cold last winter."

Someone immediately mocked, "Last winter you still had a house, of course you weren’t cold!"

"Shut up!"

Soldrin listened, then suddenly looked up curiously and asked, "What happened to your house?"

The man sitting across the campfire replied in a despondent tone, "A while ago, it was taken away by Lord Gawain... I owed him five years of rent and couldn’t pay it back, so they confiscated both the house and land."

Soldrin couldn’t help but fall silent.

But the man across the fire didn’t stop, as if recalling the "good days" of last winter, he continued muttering, "Last year I still had a house and a small piece of land... I even had a wife!"

"His wife died several years ago," someone next to Soldrin said quietly, "He’s not clear-headed now."

"It’s all because of that ’Tenant Rent Pardon Act’," said a young man poking at the campfire, "Nothing good comes from it."

"’Tenant Rent Pardon Act’?" Soldrin was taken aback, apparently he hadn’t heard of this act.

In the Anzu Kingdom, earls and above of the land nobility can enact a certain degree of "private law" in their own territories. Depending on their title, the scope of the laws they can enact varies. Some can set tax rates, some can mint currency, some can determine land inheritance rights. Besides a vague royal code, the legal texts in various noble territories can be said to be haphazard, exceedingly chaotic, and sometimes even contradictory. These chaotic laws not only pose a challenge that merchants and adventurers traveling between territories have to face, but also cause great trouble for outsiders like Soldrin who are unfamiliar with the local situation.

"It was a law enacted by Earl Berry ten years ago," said the young man, "The earl allowed those who rent land to delay paying rent, so they wouldn’t be flogged or have their property confiscated in the first year of arrears. But the second year of arrears would double the rent, the third year would double again, and the fourth year would double yet again... If they still couldn’t pay by the fifth year, their houses and land would be confiscated. The earl said it was an act of grace, giving those who couldn’t pay rent due to occasional poor harvests a chance to repay their debts, hence it’s called the ’Pardon Act.’ If one couldn’t pay rent for five consecutive years, it was because they were truly lazy and foolish, unworthy of continuing to farm his land..."

The person wrapped in a worn-out cotton coat next to Soldrin sighed, "But very few can pay it back, most end up like us after five years."

It’s a trap! An utterly simple trap!

How could a farmer possibly repay debts under such constantly doubling rent? Forget about the fifteen-fold multiplier by the fifth year, even the second year would be hard to pay back—they simply can’t save enough surplus grain or money to handle the skyrocketing rent of the second year!

Before this act was implemented, arrears only led to flogging and the confiscation of some property. But after its implementation, anyone who fell behind on rent was destined to lose all their land and houses. Ordinary farmers simply couldn’t understand this.

Because they couldn’t read or do math... nor did they have the mental energy to think about anything other than working and farming.

They face impossible debts to repay in despair, losing their land and homes in despair, yet in the end, they can’t even figure out why all this happened.

Soldrin looked at the small campfire before him and suddenly felt that the memories of everyone coming together for warmth seven hundred years ago had become blurred.

The man across the campfire was still muttering, "I once had a small piece of land, right by the river... I even had a wife!"

Someone nudged him, "Alright, enough, talking too much lets the wind in."

"Time to add more wood to the fire..."

"Don’t put in too much, it’s still a long way till dawn."

"When dawn breaks, let’s head to the Church of the Holy Light. Go early, the porridge will be hotter."

"But not too early—the new priest doesn’t stir the porridge much and tends to scoop from the top, if you go too early you’ll only get thin soup."

Soldrin listened in silence. With the elves’ powerful hearing, he heard the distant castle’s sound of the seven-stringed lute and tambourine finally quiet down.

He stayed awake all night until a faint glow appeared on the horizon, the light of the great sun piercing through the clouds to bathe the town.

The church bells rang in the distance. Soldrin stood up, as did the homeless who had barely had a sleep: the sound of the bells was their wake-up call.

The campfire was nearly extinguished, and the remaining warmth barely reached those huddled around it. The homeless moved their frozen limbs, hoping to regain some strength before the sun fully rose. This would help them preserve their chance to get food at the church door, but as everyone stood, one person remained seated.

It was the man who had sat across the campfire at night.

Someone stepped forward and gave him a nudge, and his hunched body immediately fell to the ground: he was dead.

The homeless silently watched this unfold, someone sighed, "Last night we were short a few pieces of firewood."

"He still had his house last year..."

Soldrin remained expressionless, the descendants of those who had walked hand in hand through darkness and hardship seven hundred years ago had built such a nation?

He turned around and walked towards the street about to be illuminated by sunlight.

He needed to return to the Cecil Clan.