Family Business 53 (Patreon)

Family Business

Chapter 53

-VB-

The Harrowing came to an end.

It just … ended.

But I knew that it was because Vayne and the crew she went with must have succeeded. Now, I just had to wait for her to return.

However, the end of the Harrowing didn’t make the situation any better for me. My weakness had been exposed, and although the said weakness was not really a weakness but rather merely the weakest link in my impressive chain of achievements, political and social rivals and enemies I hadn’t even known about began to poke and make fun of me.

The Weak Arm Crownguard. (Why don’t they try to fight to the death?)

Bro-Con Marris. (Where did this one come from?)

Magician Marris. (... okay?)

Whatever it was that they felt like saying, they said it. Of course, they said it behind my back.

It reminded me of what I first set out to do, and the more the whispers and schemes came to light, the more I felt like going back to that idea and planning it out. You know, the one about usurping the kingdom and forming a republic without the anti-magic culture of Demacia.

It was also at this point that I realized that it wasn’t just the anti-magic culture that I needed to change or erase but also the dogmatic nature of the people and the kingdom. However, how would I change that? I myself was benefitting from the power given to me by the very dogmatic and rigid political and social structure Demacia stood upon.

I have so far gathered a base of power - my magic academy, a cadre of healers, family, reliant population, and even fame - but I found myself wondering how I could apply those. My attempt at trying to make magic more accepted had worked somewhat. There were still a large number of entrenched haters among both the population and the elite, so I couldn’t say that it’s been successful, merely that I had avoided the worst-case scenario.

Hell, I had trouble getting people in my duchy to accept magic. The rural countryside was only kept in check from open rebellion because I provided cheap healthcare.

Yeah, I provided healthcare, and that was the only reason why the more conservative folks were not telling my tax collectors to fuck off.

… I may be exaggerating a little, but it certainly felt that way to me.

Because I was now back in my Jorasmang City and the first thing I had to do was meet with disgruntled rural folks who’d become shitless scared from the Harrowing.

I sat in my comfortable chair in one of the large meeting rooms of my manor. I dressed in the formal attire of the Demacian noble, a white silk shirt and pants under the blue coat and the gunmetal steel armor on top of that. This was my way of telling the people that I was serious. On the other side of the long table were the three representatives that the rural folks of the Duchy of Jorasmang sent to meet with me.

One of them was a fat, rich merchant in the gaudiest and tasteless outfit for his size (the trope gotta live on!). The other two were more conservative; both of these two had the white and blue outfits as well, which also told me that any and all words they would speak were not only serious but held power.

All three of them bowed.

“Please take your seats,” I gestured for them and they did so. “Would you like to introduce yourselves?”

“Certainly, Your Grace!” the fat one spoke up. “Hailing from the border town of Gamal, I am Ron Quensim. Representing, of course, the towns and villages in the west.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Your Grace,” the skinniest of them all bowed again while seated. He was also the eldest of the three. “I am Daenthal of Leukadam. I have been chosen to represent all of the river towns and villages not of the Jorasmang City.”

“I am Helf. I represent the farming villages to the north, Your Grace,” the roughest and most farmer-like of the three greeted curtly but not impolitely.

“Welcome to my manor and Jorasmang City,” I returned as graciously as I could with the usual smile and nod. “Now, I understand that you three represent the … concerned people of my duchy outside this city.”

“We do,” Helf replied. “Mainly, we are concerned about magic and the magic kin you allowed into the city.”

Magic kin here meant vastaya. Like people back on Earth, there were those who refused to call others by the name they identify with. I didn’t care about this, only that I could understand who and what they were referring to. They could call the vastaya “furries” for all I care. And what was Helf saying?

‘We’re concerned about immigration and reforms.’

The basis of all politics, which also meant that I was unlikely to find any meaningful compromise here. Well, one that didn’t involve me becoming a full-on tyrant and forcing them to, fighting down the inevitable rebellion, and encouraging secret police and totalitarian behavior in me and my descendants.

“Yes, it is something that the countryside has been insistently disobeying me on,” I narrowed my eyes. “I have not asked for much. What is your excuse to not follow my decrees?”

Daenthal looked nervous, Helf tried to hide his nervousness, and … the fat merchant felt not a single iota of fear. The look in his eyes said this was an opportunity to make money. Why was that?

“Your Grace, it is true that you have made decrees regarding equality and tolerance!” Merchant Ron nodded sagely. “I have no qualms with your decrees. No, I applaud it! However, you understand that if we followed your decrees as strictly as they were worded, you understand that we would not be able to survive? The surrounding duchies, counties, baronies, and the like would all refuse to allow us to go near them!”

“Perhaps when I first gave out the decree,” I replied. “But now?”

“Now… the threat of our neighbors remain, Your Grace,” Daenthal replied. “If not from outside, then we have purists who have been … making talks.”

Treasonous talks, I assumed.

“Talks are just that,” I replied coldly. “But if they were to gather using those talks, to make plans using those talks, then I would have to act because they would have acted first. I hope none of you are interested in such talks?”

“No, we are not,” Helf grumbled. “Most of those dipshits forget that you’re strong and got influence with the top brass. I don’t even understand why I’m here. I’d rather be back home trying to figure out those new tools you got us.”

Ah, there it was, the rough man who couldn’t handle formal talk for too long before reverting to his usual speech pattern of cussing and grunting. From what he also said, he was also an early adopter of my tools.

See, I haven’t been just training with Garen when I was over in the Great City of Demacia. I had also been working on other things to improve my standing. It took me embarrassingly long to remember that iron plow was not a thing in Demacia, so I had the one small foundry I directly controlled in Jorasmang City to start making and marketing them. It shouldn’t have been more than a month. It meant that either Helf here was extremely well-connected or followed my work religiously. In either case, Helf was someone who might actually be on my side.

And the merchant should follow where the money goes.

Which meant that the only one I needed to talk to was Daenthal.

So I gave him my full focus.

“You must understand that I am not just acting as the Duke of Jorasmang Duchy but also as a minister working directly under the king, yes?” I asked with a soft smile.

“But the people-!”

“The people are Demacians,” I drawled. “So they will do what the Great City of Demacia demands, no?”

He gritted his teeth and looked down at the table.

“You understand that this very magic is why you and your family are healthier, right?” I sighed theatrically to show just how exasperated I was with him. “Things that would have killed you are solved so easily now.”

“Even … murderous magicians?”

The other two actually froze at Daenthal’s words.

I leaned forward.

“Like me when I defended Demacia?”

Daenthal met my eyes defiantly.

“Mr. Daenthal, perhaps you have personal reasons,” I added. “And I won’t begrudge you for having reasons. However, when you take those reasons and put them into action, then I must act upon them. And unlike you and your cohort, I have the backing of a fully organized magician cadre. Geared more for healing than combat on average, yes, but support nonetheless. I also have a mandate from the king himself to improve the kingdom’s deficiency. What you want is my concern only so far as it does not affect the grand design of the kingdom. And Mr. Daenthal, there is only so much leeway I can give you before you either submit or I use the authority given to me by the king to ensure you do.”

This was why the dogmatic nature of the kingdom was bad. It made this kind of oppression so easy to use. What would have taken months of negotiation, years of political wrangling, and settling on an unsatisfying compromise, I simply brought out the metaphorical hammer and asked if he would like to use it to nail a nail or be the nail that gets nailed.

Daenthal looked at me for a moment longer before his shoulders dropped.

I sent all three on their way, but as I watched them leave my manor and into the city, I snapped my finger.

One of my Black Guards stood up from out of my shadow.

“Yes, sir?”

“Keep an eye on both the merchant and the old farmer. If you see any suspicious activity around them, then report them to me and handle it at your discretion.”

“By your will…” and then the Black Guard was gone.

Ah, I’m a hypocrite. I promised myself that I would make this kingdom into a shining republic like the best countries of my previous life. Instead, I find myself doing the exact thing. Oh, how power corrupts…