Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

"Peter Campbell of Waterside Village!" Bard read out the second name.

No one stepped forward.

Bard narrowed his eyes and repeated, "Peter Campbell of Waterside Village!"

A young man reluctantly walked out of the crowd; he was lean and gaunt with exceptionally large eyes that were darting about. His mouth was slightly crooked, which was why he was registered as Campbell.

The young man shuffled to the side of the carriage but was unwilling to kiss the holy emblem. He sneakily glanced at the "father officer's" expression and stammered, "Sir, I am not a peasant, I am from Revodan, I can't farm."

"Then why did you claim to be a peasant when you registered?" asked Bard, expressionless.

The young man had no answer.

He was an idler from Revodan, who, on the day the city fell, had hoped to profit from the chaos by tying a red string on his shoulder and going out to loot the streets.

However, the attacking army swiftly turned to suppress the unrest, restore order, and round up the looters.

Fearful, he followed the refugees out of the city and hid in the refugee camp. He slipped through the screening process, claiming to be a tenant farmer when he registered.

Seeing that he was silent, Bard asked kindly, "You don't want to farm?"

"Sir," the rogue braced himself and replied, "I can't farm."

"Alright."

The rogue was overjoyed, "Thank you for your kindness, Sir! Thank you…"

Bard pointed at him, showing no emotion, "Seize him!"

Ish passed the flagpole to someone else and with one kick, knocked the rogue to the ground, quickly binding him securely.

Now, the young rascal was completely panicked, "Sir! I am willing to work on the farm! I really am!"

"Shut him up!" Bard ordered.

Ish, wearing iron gloves, delivered a hard slap, knocking the rogue out cold.

"Anyone who does not accept the Poor Relief Contract is a criminal," Bard decreed mercilessly to the now unconscious rogue, "By the power granted to me under the 'Poor Relief Decree,' I sentence you to twenty years of labour. Take him away!"

Ish dragged the rogue, who had passed himself off as Peter, out of the camp as if he were dragging a corpse.

"You have only two paths to choose from!" Bard looked at the refugees again, "Either go and farm on the military estates, regaining your free status after seven years; or serve a twenty-year labor sentence and gain freedom after that. Choose how you want to live! Next!"

"Peter Fisher of Shibi Village!" the crier called out, trembling.

Peter Fisher, who had just been feeling sorry for Peter Black, was now so frightened he was near soiling himself.

He clenched his teeth and moved his feet. Not quite understanding what was said, he only caught two words "seven years" and "land."

Being nothing more than a destitute hired hand, even the worst situation could not rob him of much more.

Peter "Dead Fish Eyes" Fisher approached the carriage, bowed his head, and kissed the holy emblem, swearing his loyalty.

Following the lead of Peter Black and Peter Fisher, the others, whether willingly or not, obediently accepted their fate.

Even if they wanted to resist, they couldn't do it.

The control that Winters and Bard exercised over the refugees was divided into three phases:

The first phase [encirclement], not letting a single refugee slip away;

The second phase [screening and registration], identifying those bandits and scoundrels hiding among the peasants, selecting craftsmen and self-sufficient farmers from the refugees, and registering the remaining landless farmhands;

The third phase [redistribution], splitting up the mass of refugees into smaller groups to prevent any coordinated effort or uprising.

By the third phase, more than twenty thousand refugees had been divided into sixteen camps.

Some camps had as many as two thousand people, while others had fewer than nine hundred, with nearly one-third of them being children.

Although the population of each camp still far outnumbered Bard's soldiers, with the help of three hundred-man teams, they could easily suppress any dissent in an individual camp.

Moreover, many of the refugee farmers had families to care for; even if they wanted to rebel, they had to think of their loved ones. They didn't have the capacity to fight.

The farmers with families did not oppose this "contract"; they were eager to secure sustenance for their wives, children, and elderly.

Some farmers were reluctant in their hearts, but after being called upon, just like the others, they went to the carriage, kissed the holy emblem, and swore their loyalty—even they didn't know why they did so.

…

As Bard watched the refugees come forward one after another, he remembered the words he had spoken in the barracks meeting room yesterday:

"Distribute land? What land to distribute? We are not building a utopia!"

"Self-sufficient farmers need land, from where do we get land for them? All arable land has owners; land without owners is waste land! The self-sufficient farmers need houses, from where do we get houses for them? Self-sufficient farmers need livestock and ploughs, and again, we can't provide those!"

"We can't possibly turn refugees into self-sufficient farmers overnight! Not to mention, I never intended to do such a thing!"

"Don't think about saving the world. Playing the savior is more hated than being simply a villain. The peasants can accept you treating them like the nobility, but they can't accept you being a good person!"

"They can accept a god as a savior, but they can't accept a person as one!"

"You distribute land and food to them, they might momentarily see you as a god! But the day they realize you are human, they will immediately spit on you, betray you."

"So whatever we do, it has to originate from our interests. Only in this way, when one day they betray us, can we accept it without complaint."

"If someone thinks this is exploitation, then that's exactly what I am going to do—I will exploit them!"