Swiss Arms 40 (Patreon)

Swiss Arms

Chapter 40

-VB-

For all of the differences I have seen in this medieval world compared to my modern world, I found that too many things remained the same. People in positions of high power still used their power, if more openly and honestly here than in the future. The working class still worked, if much more disillusioned and aware of their position in the social hierarchy. If nothing changed no matter what the time and place, then what was the point of it all?

I found that idea occasionally coming back to me.

And I found myself rejecting the question and the anarchistic answer the modern me would have presented.

There was a point. When I opened my eyes every morning, saw the people who lived and improved their lives, and realized all over again that these people lived because I had been here, because I had taken part in the war, and that I found myself caring for them more every day.

To question the unchanging yet ever-changing reality and answer it with nihilism and hopelessness was wrong from where I stood.

Why did this question keep popping up?

Because I kept seeing hopelessness and fear for the future in the faces of the constantly arriving if in trickling flow of runaway serfs and free people. It was a duality that I kept on seeing in my people and those who weren’t.

My people - and I think I had enough claim to say that within my head at the very least - moved with a sense of purpose, and they made improving their lives in my fashion their purpose because it made their lives easier in the immediate future and made their children’s lives better in the long term.

The slaves, serfs, and impoverished who found themselves entering my lands looked at me with fear. They knew just as I did that I could kick them back out. There was hopelessness, resignation for some, and clever wit in the minds of others as they tried to work out how they could keep running away.

And every single one of them, upon hearing me out, gave me looks of disbelief.

I offered them food, water, shelter, and even work. If they weren’t sure about my offer, then they got to stay around for a day and talk with the villagers from Davos working in my fort or the residents of the fort itself.

And most would accept my offer after a day.

This was how I gained almost a hundred additional residents after only three months since I first paid off my neighbor for his “lost” serfs.

It was also the third month that I got a very, very rude awakening.

Because Venetian merchants somehow heard about my arrangement with the Count of Zernez and came over with non-Christian slaves, asking if I was interested.

Slavery was wrong, and I wanted no part in it. I also could not strike down the Venetian merchant because he was, legally speaking, within his right to sell his human property as long as they were not Christian.

I glared at the merchant, and the merchant, a thin man with a full beard and bald head, seemed to realize that he may have trusted the rumors a bit too much because he could see and feel the utter hostility and disdain I gave off.

I may or may not have activated [Intimidation].

“Mr…?” I asked in Latin.

“Horatio de Unhort Venezia!” he squeaked out while squeezing his tudor hat very tightly.

“Mr. Horatio,” I began as calmly as I could. “I do not buy or sell slaves. It is an affront of God’s will upon this earth.”

He nodded fervently. “Aye, yes, yes, I-. I was mistaken! I was just -.”

“I will also make it very clear that I despise slavery. It irks me.”

The man looked like he was going to piss himself.

The slaves behind him, all sorts of people from across the Mediterranean, shuffled as they sat at the edge of my [Intimidate] range.

I took a few steps forward, slowly and calmly but no less heavy and firmly, until I loomed over them with the sun directly above me.

---

When he heard about a kind lord who paid for the serfs so that they would not be hunted down by their lords, Horatio thought it would have been a good money maker.

It wouldn’t be hard to play into the lord’s kindness and pity to make himself some fat bag of coins.

He realized now that he shouldn’t have trusted rumors too much nor come up here without having someone else investigate first.

He quailed underneath the burning gaze of the Mountain Lord. Horatio could take the disdain, but the fury behind those eyes scared him.

He’s been at the receiving end of hate before.

He didn’t think he had ever been hated this much by someone who could take his head off on a whim.

“How much did you buy them for?”

“Three hundred fifty guelders e-each.”

“Then you will release them and receive exactly three hundred and fifty guelders in compensation. Understood? Lest I need to make an example out of a slaver in my lands.”

“Y-Yes!”

At least, he wasn’t losing money or his head.

“Now, what else did you bring to trade?”

Horatio actually found himself a better trade buying shiny glazed wares, quality steel, jewelry, and sugar.

So maybe it was a good idea to return.

Just … not with slaves.

---

After the Horatio the Venetian merchant left, I turned to the freed slaves.

And, of course, most of them didn’t understand a lick of what I said in any language.

Except for one.

She was a …

I tried not to look down.

She was a mature lady, dark-skinned and with silky black hair. Even with my hazy memory of my first life, I could tell that she was a Middle Eastern (don’t know why the merchant said she was a Andalusian, which was the opposite side of the Mediterranean from where she should come from).

Unlike others, she had the bearings of a noble lady.

I wondered how she ended up as a slave.

“Are you my master?”

I nearly did a spittake when she asked me that with a stoic face in Latin. Never mind the fact that it was the phrase from one certain unfateful yet interesting anime, I had already made it clear to her that she was not my slave.

“I already told you,” I grunted. “You’re not a slave anymore and I’m no one’s master. Did you tell this to the rest?”

“I have,” she nodded without meeting my eyes. She looked down in deference. “However, I am a woman without craft skills, only administrative ones. If you do not take me as your servant, then I have no choice to offer my body to-.”

I raised a hand, cutting her off.

“You are still not a slave nor am I your master… but I can find work for you.”

She smiled and curtised. “Thank you, master.”

“You’re not going to stop, are you?”

Her smile became just a little bit mischievous. “I don’t know what you’re implying, master.”

I gave her a deadpan stare.

-VB-

“This … the bishop will appreciate a fine gift like this,” the man-at-arms in charge of the caravan said as he stared at the gold-plated ring between his fingers and thumbs. The ring had a detailed four-pointed star.

This was Sergeant Hughes, a man Bishop Siegfried trusted to secure the trade caravan directly between the Prince-Bishop and myself.

Well, I say trade but the truth of the matter was that it was really the bishop buying my goods on the cheap and selling them elsewhere for a profit. Because I couldn’t personally go around selling stuff nor did I care enough to. Profit was great and all, but I could literally mine my own gold, smelt them, and be rich.

Letting the bishop make profit buying and selling like a merchant was a good thing, actually, because there was no way that he could keep the information about me to himself. It would get out eventually, and merchants will surely come.

“Yes,” I hummed as I counted the boxes, their serial number, and compared them to the sheet in my primitive clipboard. I checked them off on my sheet and smiled. “That should be all, sergeant!”

He nodded and put the gold-plated ring back into the leather pouch it came from before dropping it back into the crate he pulled it out of. He gave me a slight bow, and he and the Chur caravan took off.

As they left, I found myself blinking as another caravan came towards my fort and, to my surprise, a young woman in a blue dress was at the head of the caravan, riding sideways on top of a horse.

She looked… pretty. I’ll just go with pretty.

Also unusual. Ladies, rich and noble alike, traveled within carriages, not atop horses.

When she saw me, she lit up with an enthusiastic smile and jumped off of her horse. A pair of guards quickly flanked her, and the trio made their way up to me.

When she was at a respectful distance, she curtsied.

“Good morning! Who would you be, big man?” she asked.

She knew that I was somewhat important. If she didn’t think so, then she would not have curtsied.

I bowed. I don’t see how playing along would hurt me right now. “I am Hans of Fluela. You are…?”

She smiled.

Damn, she looked pretty.

She curtsied again. “I am Isabella, daughter of the Count of Gorizia, the governor of Tyrol and the vassal of the king of Bohemia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And why might a fine lady such as yourself be up here in the desolate Swabian Alps…?”

Her smile became nearly incandescent.

“Please marry me!”